Millions to Spare

“You need to eat,” came Harrison’s deep voice.

She glanced up to see him gesturing at the love seat.

“I need to make a phone call,” she told him, her tone biting.

Melanie and Robbie must be nearly frantic with worry by now. What if it distracted them from their race preparation?

Then Julia wondered if the authorities would simply inform Melanie and Robbie she was in custody at Cadair Racing. If there was some kind of central database of prisoners, Melanie and Robbie could show up here any minute.

“I’m afraid I still can’t allow a phone call,” said Harrison.

“It’s not that you can’t,” Julia retorted. “The problem is that you won’t.”

He gestured to the love seat. “We need to talk.”

Once again, she wondered how much defiance she should show. She hated to give him his way. Then again, refusing to cooperate might simply slow down her release.

She sat, glancing at the food but not giving in to temptation on that front.

Harrison took one of the armchairs opposite. “Starving yourself won’t improve the situation,” he pointed out.

“It’ll give me emotional satisfaction,” she told him honestly.

“In the short term, maybe. But if you’re planning to fight or escape, or plot against me in any way, doesn’t it make more sense to keep up your strength?”

It annoyed her that he was right. “You’re expecting me to escape?”

He chuckled. “No. I’m expecting you to try.”

Of course he didn’t doubt he’d prevail. He was a member of the privileged class, after all.

“Well, I expected you to quickly discover that I am who I say I am, and let me go. Did you even check me out? Did you call Equine Earth Magazine?”

He leaned forward, lifted the silver coffeepot and poured two cups of the fragrant brew. “I looked them up on Google.”

“Then you found out I’m me.”

“I found out a woman named Julia Nash has written articles for them.”

“That’s me.”

He added two lumps of sugar to one of the cups and pushed it her way. Then he lifted the other.

“What made you decide I took sugar?”

“You’re young, you’re American, you’re a girl.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Do you take sugar?”

She pursed her lips. “Yes.”

“Then drink. Your keeling over doesn’t help either of us.”

She gave in. He was right on at least that count. She should keep up her strength. And the caffeine would help her stay alert, should an escape possibility present itself.

“If you’d give me back my purse, I can prove who I am,” she said. “I have a driver’s license.”

“You also have a passport. Or rather, I have your passport.”

“Then you know I’m Julia Nash.”

He was obviously messing with her head for some obscure reason of his own. He had to have every intention of letting her go this morning. Hunger contracting her stomach, she reached for an almond-glazed Danish. If memory served, it was a long drive back to Dubai.

“Tell me again why you broke into Cadair Racing?” he asked.

Julia chewed then swallowed the first bite of the pastry, dabbing her lips with the white linen napkin. “As you’ve discovered for yourself, I’m a reporter for Equine Earth Magazine. I wanted to do a story on you and your horse.”

“Which horse?”

“Millions to Spare.”

“And what’s your story angle?”

“His recent victories.” That seemed generic enough.

“Why Millions to Spare? Ilithyia won more races this year.”

Julia hesitated. This one was a little tougher.

Harrison raised his eyebrows.

She tried not to panic. She had to say something, anything. “Because of his…” No good. She drew a blank.

He gave her an extra few seconds, but then he shook his head.

“I was this close.” He made a centimeter-size gap between his thumb and forefinger. “This close to believing you are who you say you are. But then you had to go and lie again.”

“I’m not lying.” She could easily do a story on him and Millions to Spare. Therefore, technically, she was telling the truth.

He reached into the inner pocket of his jacket. “I brought you your purse.” He pushed it across the table.

Relief flooded through her. He was letting her go. She scooped up the ivory leather bag, snapped open the clasp and instantly noticed the deficiency. “My phone’s not here.” And neither was her passport, dashing her hopes that he might be setting her free.

Harrison stood. “Why would I give you back your phone?”

“So I can call a taxi.”

He shook his head. “You’re a criminal in my custody. You’re not going anywhere until you tell me the truth.”

Julia quickly looked through the purse, searching for the other important item. Where was the cotton swab? Her heart beat deeply in her chest. Where was her DNA evidence?

Harrison started for the door. “We’ll chat again after lunch.”

“But—”

“Do enjoy your breakfast. Can I have Leila bring you anything else? A magazine perhaps.”

Julia didn’t want a magazine. She wanted a cell phone, a PDA, a walkie-talkie, anything with which to communicate with the outside world.

“Can I use a computer?” she tried.

He chuckled. “Right. That’s likely.”

“Well, can I at least get out of this room?” Communication devices were obviously not coming in, so she’d have to get out and find one.

He frowned as he considered her request.

She gestured to the fenced grounds below the balcony. There were also guards at the gate. Come to think of it, the place had an awful lot of security for a horse stable. Maybe horse thieves were common. Maybe Harrison had a legitimate reason to suspect she was trying to steal Millions to Spare.

“Where am I going to go?” she challenged him.

After another silent moment, he relented. “I’ll have Leila show you to the main terrace. There’s a pool there, and the staff will bring you anything you need.”

Julia came to her feet, determined to push her luck as far as it could be pushed. “How about a tour?”

He raised one of his aristocratic brows. “A tour of what?”

“The palace, the gardens, the stable. If I’m going to do a story—”

He snorted his disbelief.

“—it’ll be helpful to slot in some background.”

He stared at her in silence.

“I do want to interview you.”

He took a step toward her. “I’ll give you a tour myself.”

Okay, that wasn’t exactly the perfect solution. She’d been hoping for Leila, or perhaps someone elderly, with hearing and sight challenges.

“Problem with that?” he asked.

“Not at all. I can interview you while we tour.” At least it was a step in the right direction. She could always hope Harrison got called away or distracted while they were out, and then she’d seize the opportunity.

He opened the bedroom door and gestured for her to precede him. They followed the same route back to the great hall. From there, Harrison led her through the glass doors and onto a huge, concrete veranda. It overlooked a picturesque, tiled pool surrounded by palm trees and deck loungers, with a few umbrella tables in the distance.

As they stood side by side at the rail, Julia was struck again by the excesses of Harrison’s lifestyle. Did he honestly feel the need to live like a king?

“What’s your first question?” he asked.

“What on earth do you do for a living?” she asked without thinking.

He glanced quizzically down at her.

“You have a very, uh, nice place here,” she elaborated.

“I own Cadair Racing,” he told her.

“Right.”

“Do you need a notebook for this?”

“No.”

Again, that skeptical glance that told her he was onto her.

“I have a very good memory,” she supplied, checking out the perimeter of the yard. The fence stretched into the ocean, but there was a chance she could wade around it.

“You rely on your memory?”

“Yes, I do.”

He nodded. “Please proceed.”

She wondered if the guards were armed. She hadn’t thought about the possibility of getting shot.

“Julia?” Harrison prompted.

She blurted out the first question that came to her mind. “Your full name.”

“The Right Honorable Lord Harrison William Arthur Beaumont-Rochester, Baron Welsmeire.”

That got her attention. She squinted up at him. “You’re joking.”

“I’m quite serious.”

So that’s where he got all the money. “Are you in line for the British throne or something?”

“Number two hundred and forty-seven.”

“You know the exact number?”

“Of course I know the exact number.” His mouth twitched for a second in what had to be an aborted smile. “Two hundred and forty-six untimely deaths, and I’m in.”

Julia struggled not to grin in return. “Will you kill them off yourself?”

His eyes squinted ever so suspiciously, reminding her that they were adversaries not friends. “Why? Is that what you’d do?”

The questions took her by surprise. “Hey, I might be willing to steal—” She cut herself off, astonished to realize she had been about to confess to stealing a swab of horse DNA.

“What?” he asked softly.

She frantically struggled to regroup.

“What is it you’re willing to steal, Julia?”

Her brain scrambling, she blurted out the first thing that came to mind. “Toilet paper.”

His brows went up.

“Back at the jail,” she improvised. “I was getting pretty desperate.”

He propped a hand against the concrete rail, his gray eyes narrowing. “Why don’t I believe you?”

“Because you have trust issues.”

He gave a dry chuckle, shaking his head. “Never had them before.” Then he shook his head. “You are definitely a problem for me, Julia Nash.”

She shrugged. “Then let me leave.”

“I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

He stared levelly at her for a few silent heartbeats, while the air all but crackled between them.

“If you know,” he finally said, “then I don’t need to tell you. And if you don’t know, then I definitely can’t tell you.”

“That was more convoluted than your full name.”

He gestured to a wide concrete staircase that led down to the pool and began walking. “Care for a swim?”

She kept pace with him. “I thought we were having a tour.”

“It’s getting warm.”

“I’m fine.”

He nodded, but he led her to one of the umbrella-covered tables and pulled out a chair.

Julia sighed. Getting a tour of the stables wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d hoped.

They’d no sooner sat down than three servants arrived. One spread a tablecloth in front of them. One added silver, china and crystal place settings. While the third placed a floral arrangement, a plate of scones and jam, and a pitcher of peach-colored juice.

“Roughing it?” she asked him.

“Is that an interview question?” Harrison dismissed the servants and poured the juice himself.

“No.” She sat back in her chair. “More of an editorial comment on your life.”

“Am I about to get a lecture on privilege and excess?”

“You’re number two hundred and forty-seven in line for the British throne. I’m guessing this isn’t the worst of your excesses.”

He put down the pitcher. “I see you remember the exact number.”

“I told you I had a good memory.”

“And here I thought your lack of a notebook meant you were lying through your teeth, and you never really intended to interview me at all.”

Julia experienced a twinge of guilt. “Shows you how wrong you can be, doesn’t it?”

“Say my name?”

“Harrison Rochester.”

“You know what I mean.”

Julia smiled to herself. “The Right Honorable Lord Harrison William Arthur Beaumont-Rochester.” Then she paused for a beat. “Baron Welsmeire.”

“Damn,” he muttered, obviously surprised.

She pressed her advantage. “Has it occurred to you that I might not be lying?”

“Not even for a second.”

Their gazes caught and smoldered, while some sort of arousal rose unwanted within her.

“Where were you born?” she finally asked him.

“This is going to be a bloody long interview.”

She waited.

“I was born in Welsmeire Castle, south of Windermere—”

“You were born in a castle?”

“Yes.”

“Why not a hospital?”

“Tradition. Bragging rights. I don’t know.”

“So your poor mother had you in a castle so you could brag about it in later life?”

He threw up his hands. “There was a doctor in attendance.”

“Well, wasn’t that good of you.”

“I was a newborn at the time. Wait. No, not quite a newborn at the time.”

“Barbaric,” muttered Julia.

“It was her choice,” said Harrison.

“Well, I’ll be going to a hospital.”

“Good to know.”

Julia took a sip of her juice. “Brothers and sisters?”

“One sister. Elizabeth. Are you always this poorly prepared for an interview?”

Julia ignored his question. “So Elizabeth’s on the British crown list, too?”

“Considerably farther down than me.”

“Do you think that’s fair?”

“Are you here to talk about my horse or revolutionize the British monarchy?”

“We can’t do both?”

He cracked a grin. “Better women than you have tried.”

She moved a little closer. “Are you saying you agree with such a misogynistic approach to succession?”

He leaned in, as well. “I’m saying, at number two hundred and forty-seven, there’s little I can do about it.”

“You could oppose it.”

“In my spare time? I’m a busy man, with a lot of important business dealings and connections, international connections.”

Was he bragging?

He seemed to be watching for her reaction to that statement.

“Okay,” she drawled. “And how long have you lived in Dubai?”

He straightened, peering at her a few seconds longer. “I’ve owned Cadair for ten years. I spend winters here, summers in England.”

“Are you married?”

“No.”

“Engaged?”

He hesitated. “Not yet.”

Julia experienced a jolt of curiosity. What kind of woman would marry a man like Harrison?

Then she quickly realized just about any kind of woman would marry him.

“Sounds like a scoop for me. Who is she?”

“Who says I’ve picked her out?”

Julia cocked her head. “So can I tell my female readers you’re still available?”

“Julia, you have no female readers. You have no readers, period. This is a sham.”

“Then why are you going along with me?”

“I’m trying to figure out what you’re up to.”

“If I leave, I can’t be up to anything, can I?”

“If you leave,” he countered, “you could be up to absolutely anything.”

“I really need to call my friends.”

He shook his head.

“They’re going to think I’m dead.”

He got that intense, probing look on his face again. “Now, why would they think that?”

“Because I disappeared for twenty-four hours in a foreign country. In my world, that’s weird.”

“And what world is that?”

She leaned forward, slowing her speech, enunciating each word. “Horse-race reporting.”

“I almost believe you.”

Chapter Four

It took Julia nearly two hours of feigned interest in libraries, paintings, statues, a wine cellar and Middle Eastern horticulture before Harrison was finally called away on business. He threatened to lock her back in her room, but she all but begged to see the stables. Finally, he relented, and left her in Leila’s care.

It didn’t take her long to figure out why he’d let her loose in the stables with a younger, smaller guard.

There wasn’t a single phone to be found in the cavernous building. Julia had seen a lot of stables in her career, and this one was magnificent. A rubberized floor, cedar plank stalls and dozens of horses were illuminated by fluorescent lights embedded in the high, tin ceilings.

They passed a tack room, and she abruptly halted.

“Can I look in there?” she asked Leila.

“Yes, you can,” said Leila politely, coming to a stop.

“Did you grow up in Dubai?” Julia asked, while she pretended to check out saddles and bridles and halters.

“I went to boarding school in Cambridge,” Leila replied.

“Really?” That explained her perfect English and her rather mixed accent.

“I know you’re looking for a phone,” said Leila, regret in her dark-brown eyes.

“Harrison knows it, too,” said Julia. “I’m guessing I won’t find one here.”

Leila shook her head.

“Yeah,” said Julia with regret. “Otherwise he wouldn’t have let me look around.”

“Not without being here to watch you,” said Leila. “His Lordship is quite intelligent.”

“You actually call him that?”

“His Lordship?”

Julia nodded.

“That’s his title.”

“I’ve been calling him Harrison. Was I incredibly rude?”

Leila fought a smile.

“What?”

“You’re his prisoner. Being rude seems like a small indiscretion.”

Julia couldn’t help but smile in return. “I suppose being rude is the least of my worries.”

“He’s a fair man,” said Leila.

“Then why won’t he let me make a phone call?”

Leila shrugged.

“You know, don’t you?” asked Julia. “But you can’t tell me. Out of loyalty to your employer.”

Leila didn’t answer.

“I can respect that,” said Julia. “And I don’t want you to get in trouble. But, I promise you, I wasn’t trying to steal any horse.”

Something flickered in Leila’s expression.

“What?” asked Julia.

Leila shook her head.

“Damn. I’m sorry.” She was putting the poor girl in an awkward position. “Can we carry on with the tour?”

Leila looked relieved.

They carried on down the barn hallway. Now that she knew there wasn’t a phone to be found, Julia paid more attention to her second mission.

Millions to Spare.

Five hallways later, she spied the horse and abruptly stopped at the stall.

“You mind if I…” She flipped the latch and slipped inside before Leila could protest. “Don’t worry,” she called back. “I’m really good with horses.”

That was a stretch. But since she’d survived a ride across the UAE cuddled up with Millions to Spare and his friends, she figured she was safe in his stall for a couple of minutes.

“I don’t believe you should—”

“I’ll just be a second. It’s not like he has a phone,” Julia joked.

She didn’t have a cotton swab. But she’d seen enough crime dramas to know hair would work, too. Particularly if she got the roots.

Under the guise of petting the horse’s neck, she plucked out a few hairs from his mane, tucking them into the pocket of her dress.

Leila’s voice was worried. “Julia, really, you must—”

“On my way,” Julia told Leila, slipping back out of the stall and latching the door. “He’s a beautiful animal. I’m going to feature him in the article.”

Leila gazed at her with what Julia could have sworn was disappointment.

“What?” Julia asked.

“Even I can tell you’re lying.”

Julia stopped. “I promise you, Leila. I’m not going to steal anything or hurt anybody.”

Leila still looked skeptical.

Julia took a breath. “I have a friend who’s in trouble,” she said, being as honest as she could. “I’m here to find out more about Harrison and Millions to Spare. Nothing else.”

The two women stared at each other for a long minute.

“Would you care to join me in the pool?” asked Leila.

Feeling the sweat trickle down her neck in the oppressive heat of the barn, Julia nodded to accept the invitation.

Harrison watched from a second-story window while Julia jackknifed from the diving board into the crystal-blue water of the estate’s main pool. She wore a sleek, navy one-piece suit, her creamy skin flashing beneath the clear water.

She was an extremely attractive woman, lightly tanned, her body toned from some kind of an active lifestyle. Her auburn hair looked darker when it was wet, and he could imagine her deep-blue eyes flashing as she surfaced and called something to Leila.

Leila grinned as she shouted something back.

Harrison clenched his jaw.

Julia was down there co-opting Leila, gaining her trust. Which was exactly what a good operative would do.

There’d been a thousand signs that Julia wasn’t a spy. She wasn’t anywhere near alert enough to her surroundings. She didn’t look around when she emerged from a doorway, didn’t scan the distance or check for blind corners. She didn’t even glance to see if any of his staff were concealing weapons, and she hadn’t paid the slightest attention to his security guards while they toured the garden.

But then, just when he’d become convinced she was nothing more than a klutzy reporter, she’d raised his suspicions all over again.

Leila was vulnerable. She was young, impressionable. She’d be interested in someone from America. Julia had figured that out, and was obviously ready to exploit it.

“Your grandmother and Brittany are on the way from the airport.” Alex joined Harrison at the window.

He followed the line of Harrison’s gaze down to the pool. “So whatever it is you’re going to do about Julia, you might want to do it in the next fifteen minutes.”

“Why?”

“You being sarcastic?”

Harrison shook his head.

“Because, old man,” Alex said with exaggerated patience. “Brittany may ask—oh, I don’t know—something along the lines of, ‘Harrison, who is that gorgeous woman swimming in your pool?’ to which you would reply…?”

Harrison got Alex’s point. “Right.”

Alex clapped him on the shoulder. “If she’s a spy, I’m a ballerina. Kick her loose, lock her up, send her back to the police station. But if you want a chance in hell with Brittany, get Julia out of the way.”

“…and I need to see him right now,” Nuri’s voice roared from the hallway.

Harrison and Alex both pivoted toward the sound. They were halfway across the room when a breathless Nuri appeared in the doorway. “It’s Millions to Spare.”

“What about him?” Harrison demanded.

“He’s been poisoned.”

“What? How? Where’s the vet?” Harrison elbowed his way past Nuri and into the hallway, striding for the main staircase.

Nuri immediately turned and kept pace, while Alex fell in behind them.

“The vet is attending the animal,” said Nuri. “But, I am sorry to say…” His pause was coldly ominous. “It is too late.”

“What do you mean, too late?” Harrison demanded, knowing full well what that had to mean. But his heart wasn’t ready to accept that his horse was dead.

“He was found down, with tremors,” said Nuri. “The vet came immediately, but the poor beast’s heart and lungs gave out.” The stable manager took a breath. “There were flecks of blood in his nostrils and his eyes had yellowed.”

“Fannew?”

The tiny cactus grew wild all over the area, but the spines kept horses from eating them. Someone would have to have deliberately—

Julia.

Harrison hit the staircase and broke into a trot, marching through the great room and across the veranda.

A shriek of laughter came up from the pool.

He took the stairs two at a time, closing on poolside, where the two women were wrapped in towels beside one of the umbrella tables.

“Did she touch Millions to Spare?” he demanded of Leila.

Both women turned, and Leila’s jaw dropped open at the sight of Harrison’s expression.

“Did she touch Millions to Spare?” he repeated to another stunned silence from Leila.

“Yes,” Julia cut in. “I was in his stall. Why—”

Without breaking his stride, Harrison grabbed her upper arm, pressing his other hand against her neck, and backed her into the wall of the pool house, his mind fogging red.

Her towel dropped, and she scrambled to keep her footing on the slippery deck.