Millions to Spare. Barbara Dunlop

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