Annie West - Captive in the Spotlight

Come with me. The words were in slashing black ink on a page from a notebook. I can get you away from this. You’ll be safe.

Lucy’s head jerked up.

‘Safe?’ With him?

Domenico nodded. ‘Yes.’

Around them journalists craned to hear. One tried to snatch the note from Lucy’s hand. She crumpled it in her fist. He couldn’t want to help her. Yet she wasn’t fool enough to think she could stay here. Trouble was brewing and she’d be at the centre of it.

Still she hesitated. This close, Lucy was aware of the strength in those broad shoulders, in that tall frame and his square olive-skinned hands. Once that blatant male power had left her breathless. Now it threatened.

He leaned forward. She stiffened as his whispered words caressed her cheek.

‘Word of a Volpe.’

She knew he was proud. Haughty. Loyal. A powerful man. A dangerously clever one. But everything she’d read—and she’d read plenty—indicated he was a man of his word. He wouldn’t sully his ancient family name or his pride by lying.

She hoped.

ANNIE WESThas devoted her life to an intensive study of tall, dark, charismatic heroes who cause the best kind of trouble in the lives of their heroines. As a sideline she’s also researched dream-worthy locations for romance—from bustling, vibrant cities to desert encampments and fairytale castles. It’s hard work, but she loves a challenge. Annie lives with her family at beautiful Lake Macquarie, on Australia’s east coast. She loves to hear from readers and you can contact her at www.annie-west.com or at PO Box 1041, Warners Bay, NSW 2282, Australia.

Recent titles by the same author:

DEFYING HER DESERT DUTY

UNDONE BY HIS TOUCH

GIRL IN THE BEDOUIN TENT

PRINCE OF SCANDAL

Did you know these are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

Captive

in the Spotlight

Annie West

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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In memory of our special Daisy, canine member of the family for almost sixteen years and ever-supportive writer’s companion.

And with heartfelt thanks to Josie, Serena and Antony for your advice on Italian language, law and locations.

FOR FIVE GRIM years Lucy had imagined her first day of freedom. A sky the pure blue of Italian summer. The scent of citrus in the warm air and the sound of birds.

Instead she inhaled a familiar aroma. Bricks, concrete and cold steel should have no scent. Yet mixed with despair and commercial strength detergent, they created a perfume called ‘Institution’. It had filled her nostrils for years.

Lucy repressed a shudder of fear, her stomach cramping.

What if there had been a mistake? What if the huge metal door before her remained firmly shut?

Panic welled at the thought of returning to her cell. To come so close then have freedom denied would finally destroy her.

The guard punched in the release code. Lucy moved close, her bag in one clammy hand, her heart in her mouth. Finally the door opened and she stepped through.

Exhaust fumes instead of citrus. Lowering grey skies instead of blue. The roar of cars rather than birdsong.

She didn’t care. She was free!

She closed her eyes, savouring this moment she’d dreamed of since the terror engulfed her.

She was free to do as she chose. Free to try taking up the threads of her life. She’d take a cheap flight to London and a night to regroup before finishing the trip to Devon. A night somewhere quiet, with a comfortable bed and unlimited hot water.

The door clanged shut and her eyes snapped open.

A noise made her turn. Further along, by the main entrance, a crowd stirred. A crowd with cameras and microphones that blared ‘Press’.

Ice scudded down Lucy’s spine as she stepped briskly in the opposite direction.

She’d barely begun walking when the hubbub erupted: running feet, shouts, the roar of a motorbike.

‘Lucy! Lucy Knight!’ Even through the blood pounding in her ears and the confusion of so many people yelling at once, there was no mistaking the hunger in those voices. It was as if the horde had been starved and the scent of fresh blood sent them into a frenzy.

Lucy quickened her pace but a motorbike cut off her escape. The passenger snapped off shot after shot of her stunned face before she could gather herself.

By that time the leaders of the pack had surrounded her, clamouring close and thrusting microphones in her face. It was all she could do not to give in to panic and run. After the isolation she’d known the eager crush was terrifying.

‘How does it feel, Lucy?’

‘What are your plans?’

‘Have you anything to say to our viewers, Lucy? Or to the Volpe family?’

The bedlam of shouted questions eased a fraction at mention of the Volpe family. Lucy sucked in a shocked breath as cameras clicked and whirred in her face, disorienting her.

She should have expected this. Why hadn’t she?

Because it was five years ago. Old news.

Because she’d expected the furore to die down.

What more did they want? They’d already taken so much.

If only she’d accepted the embassy’s offer to spirit her to the airport. Foolishly she’d been determined to rely on no one. Five years ago British officials hadn’t been able to save her from the grinding wheels of Italian justice. She’d stopped expecting help from there, or anywhere.

Look where her pride had got her!

Lips set in a firm line, she strode forward, cleaving a path through the persistent throng. She didn’t shove or threaten, just kept moving with a strength and determination she’d acquired the hard way.

She was no longer the innocent eighteen-year-old who’d been incarcerated. She’d given up waiting for justice, much less a champion.

She’d had to be her own champion.

Lucy made no apology when her stride took her between a news camera and journalist wearing too much make-up and barely any skirt. The woman’s attempt to coax a comment ended when her microphone fell beneath Lucy’s feet.

Lucy looked neither right nor left, knowing if she stopped she’d be lost. The swelling noise and press of so many bodies sent her hurtling towards claustrophobic panic. She shook inside, her breathing grew choppy, her stomach diving as she fought the urge to flee.

The press would love that!

There was a gap ahead. Lucy made for it, to discover herself surrounded by big men in dark suits and sunglasses. Men who kept the straining crowd at bay.

Despite the flash of cameras and volleys of shouts, here in these few metres of space it was like being in the eye of a cyclone.

Instincts hyper-alert, Lucy surveyed the car the security men encircled. It was expensive, black with tinted windows.