There was no mistaking the determination on her face. Short of tying her to the bed, he couldn't force her to stay.

He bit back an obscenity, then grabbed a hat and sungla.s.ses so he could go above without being easily recognized. "Deal. We'll sail up to Split, then take the overnight ferry to Ancona, Italy, and travel from there. I don't want to use the Dubrovnik airport."

As he whipped open the cabin door, he turned to look at Justine over his shoulder and gauge her reaction. Her responding blue-eyed stare was intense, tenacious. It was the same look she always had in the starting gate as she dropped her goggles into place, seconds before pitching herself full-tilt down a dangerously steep slope.

She didn't know what she was asking of him. He was letting his heart rule his head by agreeing to her terms. The cost could be high, both to himself and to others, but he wouldn't risk having her harmed.

"When?"

He didn't pretend not to understand. "On the ferry. We need to get out of this marina. The sooner, the better."

Chapter Seven.

She should've left Dubrovnik months ago.

On the slopes, Justine always let her heart rule. Coaches constantly begged her to spend more time studying the courses she raced, to walk the mountain more than once so she could plan how she wanted to approach each section on race day. While she did study them, she did her best when she felt them. When she experienced the catch of her edges against the snow in a particular turn, when she mentally timed the proper amount of air over a jump. When she crouched low, felt her balance locked in the sweet spot, and let her skis take her to the finish line instead of trying to guide them.

With Rocco, she'd done the same. She'd let her heart steer her decisions where he was concerned, feeling her way instead of making a plan or listening to logic. Logic would've long ago told her that the relationship was over and that she should move on. If she had followed logic, they wouldn't be in this mess right now. She'd be safe in Tahoe, interviewing for jobs-or perhaps already employed-and Rocco wouldn't have been left with a vulnerability exposed for the jacka.s.ses who wanted to steal his research.

Justine stifled a late afternoon yawn as Rocco went inside the small white building at the edge of Split's marina to pay for a temporary boat slip. She hung back, keeping her head down so she wouldn't be noticed by a group of men walking toward the parking lot with their fishing gear.

"Done," Rocco said a short time later when he approached the stand of trees where Justine waited. "It's about a ten minute walk to the ferry terminal. There are shops along the way if you'd like to stop for essentials."

"Something to sleep in, a sweatshirt, and a pair of shoes. Maybe another shirt or two. And a bag, so I don't have to cram everything into your backpack."

It took less than an hour to find what they needed and make their way to the terminal. While they waited in line, Justine organized her new purchases in her backpack, keeping back a jet-black hooded sweatshirt and zipping it over her T-shirt for warmth as the sun set. Once they made it to the ticket window, Rocco nabbed an outside cabin with two beds and a small bathroom. "We lucked out that it's a Wednesday," he told her as they showed their doc.u.mentation at the control booth and boarded the ma.s.sive vessel. "On weekends, the ferry sells out."

"Yep, I feel lucky."

He raised a brow at her sarcasm, but wisely said nothing until they'd located their cabin and keyed in to deposit their bags. "I let my phone go dead and left it behind on the boat, just in case the Russians have the means to trace it. I'll pick up a burner phone when we get to Italy. In the meantime, we should use the Internet on board to research flights to the States. We can also check police reports from Dubrovnik to see if anyone called about the gunfire in the alley."

The cabin was warm and cozy, its window offering a view of the darkening Adriatic from each of the two beds. Fluffy pillows and a crisp white comforter tempted Justine to burrow. "If I don't nap soon, I'll be dead on my feet."

"And if I do nap soon, I won't wake up until morning."

Justine cast a longing look at the bed, then reluctantly walked to the door. Rocco was right; if her head hit that pillow, she wouldn't move for a solid ten to twelve hours, about the time they were scheduled to dock in Ancona.

As they climbed the carpeted stairs from their cabin to the deck containing the ferry's restaurant and Internet station, Rocco put a hand on her shoulder. "Tell you what. After we find a flight, let's get dinner. We've had enough cereal today. A real meal will make both of us feel better."

"Food would be good." Much as she hated to admit it to herself, his rea.s.surance helped, and his strong, protective touch meant as much to her as the thought of a meal.

At the Internet station, Rocco took the task of searching for flights while Justine scoured the Dubrovnik news. "I have it," she said a moment later. "They mention my street and say that residents called to complain of noise in the alley just after midnight. A husband and wife insisted that they heard a gunshot, but no one else could corroborate that. Several witnesses reported yelling just before a black sedan exited the alley, but they couldn't agree on the make or model. It says, 'Police are looking for any information, as violence of any kind is rare in the neighborhood.' It finishes by mentioning that the area is adjacent to the Old City and attracts a lot of tourists."

"Nothing on Karpovsky and Radich? No descriptions?"

"No, but I'm not surprised. The angle from the windows makes it difficult to see the area under the fire escape where the sedan was parked." Which meant no one was looking for either man. "You find tickets?"

"Looks like the best option is to fly from Rome to Washington Dulles, then rent a car or hire a driver. I don't see any direct flights to Baltimore. Philadelphia's an option, too. I'm checking on times now."

"If you're paying, get us cushy seats."

He grumbled at her request, but didn't say no. She grinned, then scanned a few other Dubrovnik news sources in case she'd missed anything. Most of the articles were about an upcoming economic summit being hosted in Zagreb or concerned government discussions on funding the restoration of Dubrovnik's many churches. Then an article on Sarcaccia's newest royal family member caught her eye. Prince Stefano's wife, Megan Hallberg, had given birth to their second child, a boy named Dario. The photo accompanying the piece showed Stefano's older brothers, Prince Vittorio and his twin, Prince Alessandro, sitting on either side of their father, King Carlo. The king was grinning from ear to ear as he held the newborn.

"Got it," Rocco said. "There's a flight with s.p.a.ce still available day after tomorrow from Rome to Washington. And, just for you, we can go business cla.s.s. I'm holding the tickets now. Figure it'll be tougher for Radich to discover our plans if we finalize booking as close to the flight as possible. Just for good measure, I'm also going to hold a flight from Rome to New York and one from Venice to New York." He finished the ticket holds, then came to stand behind her. She knew him well enough to sense his unease when he spied the photo on her screen. "What are you reading?"

"Article about the Sarcaccian royal family in the Dubrovnik paper. I know it sounds weird, but I always thought you looked like them. The twins, especially." The more she looked at Vittorio and Alessandro, the more she saw the resemblance. Their hair was the same color and texture as Rocco's, and their eyes were the same. Not only the color, a light shade of brown that stood out against their dark olive skin, but the shape. Even the way they smiled in the photo reminded her of the way Rocco smiled when he was completely at ease.

"Don't you mean that they look like me? I'm older than they are."

"And you claim you don't keep up on celebrity gossip." She logged out of the computer, then twisted in the chair and raised an eyebrow before rising to walk with Rocco to the ferry's restaurant. "At the risk of p.i.s.sing off the man who's about to buy me dinner and airline tickets, you promised to tell me more about the entertainment report you and your mother were watching the day before I moved out. The one about Stefano Barrali. What was so interesting?"

The ease she'd forced into her tone worked. Though his gaze remained guarded, his shrug was casual. "My mother's Sarcaccian, remember? She likes-liked-knowing what was happening in her home country. Besides, it's good for trivia games to know which Barrali was born first."

"You already beat everyone at trivia games."

"At science, sports, and literature, sure. Entertainment and celebrities are my weaknesses."

There was an affability in his voice she recognized, one that warned her he was trying to distract her from the original subject. She waited until they were seated with menus in the ferry's expansive restaurant before trying again. "The Barrali twins' younger brother, Prince Ma.s.simo, apparently got married at the palace late last month. Private ceremony, family only. Nothing like Prince Stefano's wedding, with all the pomp and circ.u.mstance. The country all but shut down for the ceremony."

He shot her a wry look, acknowledging her effort to turn the topic back to the royals. "You're admitting that you keep up with celebrity gossip, then."

She settled on her dinner choice and closed the menu. "I was in the Milan airport the day after Prince Stefano's wedding and it was all over the televisions in the gate area. My flight from there to the States was packed with tourists who'd gone to stand outside the cathedral and watch the procession and fireworks. I couldn't believe how many people are fascinated by the royal family. It's insane how obsessed they can be."

A muscle jumped in Rocco's cheek before he set his menu on the table and scanned the restaurant for their waiter.

She was pushing him and she knew it, but if she missed this opportunity, would he ever open up? In a low, comforting tone, she said, "Rocco, I'm not stupid. There's more to that family than trivia for you. Was your mother involved with them somehow when she lived in Sarcaccia? Is that what you're not telling me?"

He turned back to the table, his eyes locking with hers. "Yes. Intimately."

Justine gaped at Rocco's blunt, unexpected response. Before she could recover, the waiter approached their table and took their orders, with Rocco asking for a bottle of Zinfandel.

"I need to settle in for this," he explained to Justine once the waiter left. "A good Zin will make it easier, though if it gets too crowded in here, or anyone moves within earshot, the bottle's coming back to the cabin with us. What I'm telling you is for your ears only. And even then, only because you wouldn't agree to come with me otherwise."

The waiter returned a moment later to present the bottle and pour. Once Rocco and Justine were alone again, Rocco raised his gla.s.s by the stem and studied the movement of the rich red liquid as he gave it a swirl. Finally, he shifted his focus to Justine. "Before I tell you this, I want you to know that I still love you. I think I fell in love with you that first night we met, when you turned away from that tall Norwegian skier to talk to me. I was eating dinner at the bar and you asked what was on my plate."

"Jagerschnitzel. Sauerkraut. And that crazy carrot salad." She remembered it as if it were yesterday. "You were still, when everything else in the bar was loud and in motion. I think you were the only person in the room who didn't know my name."

She'd had a long day of compet.i.tion, but the hollowness in her stomach drove her out of her hotel in search of dinner despite the fact she had another event the next day. The traditional German bar across the street was the closest place to find a meal, so she'd hoofed it through the snow only to discover the place was packed with raucous skiing fans. She'd almost left, but spotted an open place at the bar and sidled in to place an order. A Norwegian skier she'd met years before squeezed in by her elbow. Having finished his events that afternoon, he was well on his way to an evening spent warmed by beer, bratwurst, and buxom German women. Justine turned to the man on her other side and asked what he was eating to avoid the distraction. That simple act changed her life.

"You won the combined the next day."

She raised her gla.s.s and grinned. "You bet your schnitzel I did. Broke the course record. One of the best runs I ever had."

"Followed by one of the best nights I ever had."

Justine's face heated at his heartfelt words. The night had blown away the day's victory in terms of what it meant. She took a slow sip of her wine and smiled at him over her gla.s.s. "When I went to the bar with my coach after the combined, the patrons were was giving me high fives and cheering, crowding me. Not you. I spotted you at a corner table having dinner alone. You just smiled and gave me a nod, one that said, 'good to see you again.' Everyone else wanted to have photos taken with me so they could post them online or brag to their friends. Much as I appreciated winning and all the attention, that smile meant more to me than you could know."

Once her coach left, she'd walked to Rocco's table and asked to join him, despite the fact she didn't even know his name. It was a spur of the moment decision, one driven-as usual-by her heart instead of her head. Rocco represented an island of calm in the tumult of the bar. She'd soon discovered him to be an island of calm in the tumult of her entire World Cup tour. His mind was on saving lives rather than winning medals and accolades. She loved getting to know him...until she reached the parts he refused to share.

"My mother worked for the Barrali family." The edge of Rocco's lips quirked, though his tone remained even. "She was eighteen, just starting at university, and applied through the school's student employment office for a job as a college prep tutor. Turned out the client was none other than King Carlo. He was the crown prince then, only a year or so younger than my mother. It was her job to ensure he did well on his college entrance exams and wrote compet.i.tive application essays."

Justine suspected Teresa was brilliant. Rocco always claimed he got his intelligence from her, and Justine knew her mother-in-law had graduated at the top of her high school cla.s.s and been accepted to both Harvard and Oxford, though she'd decided to remain near home and attend university in Sarcaccia on scholarship. But Justine had never heard about a position with the royal family.

"She must've been thrilled. Tutoring a future king would be an amazing credential for her resume." Working for the Barralis would've opened doors all over Sarcaccia, let alone the rest of the world. "I imagine she came to know him quite well."

"She did." Rocco paused as the waiter delivered their meals. Once the young man was out of earshot, Rocco said, "In fact, my mother fell head over heels in love with him."

"Oh, no." Obviously the relationship had been one-sided; Carlo was famously in love with his wife, Fabrizia, whom he'd married immediately following his college graduation. Though the king and queen each adhered to royal decorum and avoided public displays of affection, their devotion was evident in the way they spoke of each other and in the stolen glances they shared. "Did she lose her job?"

Rocco surprised her by laughing. "No. She stayed until Carlo finished his entrance exams and his applications. She did so well preparing him that the king and queen gave my mother a sizable bonus and wrote excellent letters of recommendation for her when she left."

"They weren't aware she'd fallen for her student?"

"No." He forked a bite of his fish, then swallowed before meeting Justine's gaze. "Not even when she got pregnant."

Chapter Eight.

Rocco had to give Justine credit. She didn't gasp, drop her fork, or utter a, "you're kidding me" when he dropped the pregnancy bomb. Instead, she looked at him for a drawn-out moment in wide-eyed shock, nodded her understanding of what he'd just conveyed, then picked up her fork and speared a green bean. She didn't need to ask the question aloud; she knew Rocco was the result of the pregnancy.

They finished the meal in relative silence, each lost in their own thoughts. What little was said concerned the quality of the meal or the logistics of boarding a train to Rome the next morning. They skipped dessert, paid the bill, then bypa.s.sed the casino-now filled with pa.s.sengers from a variety of countries seeking an evening's entertainment-to retire to their cabin with the rest of the bottle of Zinfandel.

As soon as Rocco locked the door behind them, they each blew out a long breath, as if they'd been running for hours and had finally crossed a finish line.

"Well...that was startling."

"I a.s.sume you have more to say than 'startling.'" Rocco toed off his shoes and pushed them into the corner before shedding his backpack. He hadn't been willing to leave it in the room while they'd gone to the computer station and to dinner.

"I'm stunned and full of questions, if that's what you mean." She put her hands to the top of her head, elbows splayed as she turned to look at him. "It's unbelievable...but I believe you."

"Pour the wine and I'll answer what I can. Whispers, though. I suspect the walls are thin."

Justine took a seat in the corner beside a Formica-topped table to uncork the wine, which she proceeded to pour into two plastic cups. Once she'd pa.s.sed a cup to Rocco, she kicked off her shoes, leaned back in the chair, and stretched so her sock feet rested on the edge of the bed.

He braced himself to explain what he knew of his mother's relationship with King Carlo, but Justine surprised him by asking, "Why'd you start by telling me that you still love me?"

Rocco walked to the bed with his wine, then sank back against the pillows. "I wanted you to know that I didn't keep this from you because of anything you did. I had days-lots of days-where I almost told you. The worst were when I skipped major World Cup events. If you hadn't gotten hurt, I'd have had to skip the Olympic Trials, too. I wanted you to understand why, for you to know how much I wanted to be there to cheer you on, but I swore to my mother long ago that I'd do whatever it took to keep my paternity a secret. Long before I met you."

Comprehension lit her gaze. "She was concerned about the television coverage."

He gave a curt nod. Skiing received far more attention in Europe than in the United States, with major events aired from start to finish. "Sports reporters like to interview family members watching in the stands. I couldn't risk having to answer questions about us. How we met is safe enough, as is my career, but anything about my background before I graduated from Johns Hopkins could lead to my mother, and then to Carlo."

"You talk to reporters at medical and engineering conferences all the time."

"For professional journals with a focused readership. Their questions center on my work, never my personal life. With the sports reporters, it's different. They have to appeal to a broad audience and personal interest stories are the way to do it."

"You really think a reporter could tie you to the Barralis?"

"My mother didn't want to take the risk. Truth be told, neither did I. First, I want nothing to do with the man or his family. Second, if it ever came to light, imagine the distraction it'd be from my work. Tabloid television would be all over it. h.e.l.l, the regular news networks would be all over it. It'd completely change my life. Both of our lives."

Justine shifted in her chair. "After all these years, I'm amazed no one knows. You'd think it would've slipped somewhere along the line." Her brows rose as another thought occurred to her. "How did she conceal the pregnancy?"

He'd asked his mother the same question. "Apparently she didn't start to show until the very end of her time with the Barralis. Then she told her friends and family she was taking a semester break from school and traveling with a friend she'd met while working at the palace, using part of her bonus money. In reality, she stayed in her apartment, started work on her undergraduate thesis, and made plans for child care."

"And the whole time she was hiding out, Carlo knew?" At Rocco's acknowledgement, Justine asked, "He didn't help her? What about his parents?"

"They didn't tell his parents. My mother apparently told Carlo that she didn't want to have a baby entering the world under a cloud of scandal and insisted I be kept secret. She also feared losing control of her decision-making ability to the king and queen...where she'd live, where I'd be educated, perhaps even custody." Rocco finished his wine, then handed the plastic cup to Justine for a refill. "Carlo's parents and their staff had tight control of his finances. At seventeen, he didn't have a lot of independence, not the way his cla.s.smates did. He gave her money when he could do so without his parents being aware, but it was. .h.i.t and miss. My mother was resourceful. She wanted to handle things herself until Carlo was older and they could marry."

Justine scoffed at that. "Waiting until Carlo reached the age of majority wouldn't avoid a scandal. Marrying an unwed mother would've been taboo for royals then, especially in Carlo's case, since he was heir to the throne." She gave Rocco an obvious perusal. "Then there's you. If Carlo had married your mother, anyone who saw him with you would know he fathered you."

"Believe me, I'm well aware I look like the man." Even if King Carlo's face wasn't familiar due to the man's regular media appearances, Rocco would've known from the way his mother secretly studied him as he moved from his teen years into his twenties, as if she were seeing into her past. Her expressions vacillated between nostalgia and regret, love and pain. Much as she tried to hide it, especially once she met and married Jack Cornaro, Rocco knew her too well.

"No wonder you got twitchy when I said you look like Prince Vittorio and Prince Alessandro. They're your half-brothers. You've never met them though, have you?"

"No." Given their lofty positions, he imagined they'd view him with nothing but scorn. Particularly Vittorio, who was next in line to the throne.

"Ever been curious?"

"They don't know I exist. None of the Barrali children do." He shrugged, hoping she wouldn't see the tension the very thought of Carlo's legitimate offspring wrought within him. "Besides, I already have a brother and sister."

"I thought all three of you were born before your mother married Jack Cornaro." The words weren't even out of Justine's mouth when her expression changed. "No."

"Before you ask, yes, Enzo and Lina are aware King Carlo is their father. They've also kept it secret."

"But the twins are nearly five years younger than you are. He would've-"

"Been married to Queen Fabrizia by then." Rocco set his plastic cup on the nightstand. "That's why I have no desire to meet him. My mother loved Carlo deeply. She planned her life around him. Took enormous risks for him. He claimed to love her, but he didn't fight his parents when his marriage to Fabrizia was arranged...or didn't fight them hard enough. Even after he married Fabrizia, he continued to keep my mother on a string."

"Oh, Rocco."

"My mother was pregnant with Enzo and Lina at the same time Carlo was proudly announcing the birth of his twin sons to the world." Rocco heard his voice crack and hated that the man had the power to churn up such anger. "Can you imagine, fathering two sets of twins with two different women at the same time? Yet he stood on that palace balcony, with Fabrizia beside him, holding Prince Vittorio and Prince Alessandro with such pride on his face...as if they were a perfect family. All the while, there was a pregnant woman in an apartment not ten miles away with a toddler in her lap watching him on television, believing that he was going to leave Fabrizia and marry her now that he had his heirs with a proper, aristocratic wife."

Disgust roiled Rocco's stomach. He hadn't shared this with anyone before. Even when he was with Enzo and Lina, they'd kept their thoughts on their mother's past to themselves. None of them wished to appear unsupportive of their mother, who'd sacrificed so much for them.

"It bothers you, even after all these years."

"When I let myself think about it, which is rare." Dwelling on it helped no one, so he pushed it from his mind whenever necessary. "I know my mother was wrong to believe it, but she was young and in love with the father of her children. Of course, her fairy tale ending never happened. Carlo's father died only a few weeks after Enzo and Lina were born and Carlo took the throne. You can imagine my mother's shock when Carlo called her the day after his invest.i.ture and said it needed to end. He couldn't keep seeing her. He had to think of his country first. When she said she'd wait as long as was necessary, the cold-hearted b.a.s.t.a.r.d informed her that he'd fallen in love with Fabrizia."