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bodyguards spirited the prince and princess out of Marrezo after a political coup went wrong. Terrorists killed their parents and took over. Hell of a gruesome bloodbath, and both children were believed to have been killed when the castle was overthrown.”
    “Very medieval and Goth.” Jonah put the unsmoked cigar back in the humidor on Nick’s desk. Neither of them smoked. “I presume they were split up so they wouldn’t be found? They must’ve been pretty young when they fled.”
    Nick nodded. “She was just a little kid. Taken on a circuitous route through Europe, then to the U.S. Visconti was somewhere around twelve—and taken to South Africa. That’s all I know, I didn’t follow the hoopla in the press when he made his triumphant return. What do you know?”
    Jonah gave him an arch look. “The whole media circus of his return from the dead, and his hasty coronation were on the front page of every paper, at the top of the hour on every newscast from Singapore to Siberia a couple of years ago. Hard to miss.”
    Nick threw him a glance. Jonah was a news junkie, and read a dozen news aggregators a day when he gave himself time to bury himself on his computer.
    “Under his steadying influence, Marrezo’s economy seems to be in the black for the first time in two decades,” he reminded Jonah.
    “Presumably she gets a cut?”
    And … bingo. Maybe not. Was she here to finagle a cut? If she was, the princess was going to be in for one hell of a rude surprise. Nick shrugged as he flipped open the notepad on his desk and scribbled down the numbers off the helicopter, even though he’d memorized them a few minutes ago. “If she does or doesn’t, it’s a family matter and none of my concern.”
    “Harsh, dude.” But Jonah’s tone lacked sting. He got to his feet. “Good luck with your princess.”
    “She’s not my—” Nick caught the twinkle in his friend’s brown eyes and gave him a level stare. “Send her in on your way out.” He ripped the page off his notepad, folded it in half, and handed it to Jonah. When Jonah cocked a brow in inquiry, Nick added, “She’s right outside.”
    “Ears like a bat.”
    “So I hear.” Nick watched him cross to the door, then warned, “Hey, Jonah? We still have two weeks at anchor before we head home. Treat everyone—without exception—as a suspect until we know who are us, and who are them.”
    Jonah paused with his hand on the brass handle to look back. “There are people on board I’ve known since I signed on two years ago. Most of them guys you’ve known for longer than that. You really think—”
    “I think that everyone has secrets.” Nick cut in smoothly. “And money, this kind of money, is enough to motivate even the most loyal employee. Watch your six at all times.”
    “I hear you.” Jonah opened the door and stepped aside to let the princess into the cabin. “Ma’am,” he offered cordially, then slipped out behind her and shut the door.
    She looked as beautiful and put together as a fashion model as she paused just inside the door, bringing with her the heady fragrance of hot summer nights. The princess’s makeup was perfect, hair meticulously pulled back. Her eyes were large, dark, and long-lashed, her nose straight, her jaw stubborn. A striking—hell— stunning face. Instinct suggested that the exquisite exterior package was a thin veneer over a gypsy soul.
    “Take a seat.” Nick gestured to the chair Jonah had just vacated. Principessa Gabriella Ilaria Elizabetta Visconti’s bare legs, long, tanned, and looking extremely smooth and stroke-able, flashed beneath the flirty hem of the clingy red dress as she crossed his office. Discreet gold flashed at her wrist and ears, and her black hair was slicked back. He wondered how long it was, and if it felt half as smooth as her skin wou—
    She was nothing more than a royal pain in his ass, he reminded himself. A pain in his ass with an agenda that might very well affect the safety of his