More alarm bells clanged in her mind. The same, annoying, insistent alarm bells.

Winona’s eyes popped open on a pitch-black bedroom. She wasn’t twelve and falling into a sinking-deep, mortifying crush with Justin Webb. She wasn’t dancing naked with Justin at the Texas Cattleman’s Club, either. It was just her bedroom, and the telephone was ringing off the hook, at seven in the morning-according to the insane neon dials on the bedside clock.

The instant she read the time, though, she snapped awake fast. There was only one reason for a telephone call at this crazy hour. Trouble. And although technically she was a nine-to-five cop, working with at-risk teens, reality was that kids never got in trouble at nice, convenient hours.

She fumbled for the lamp switch, then hit the ground running, shagging a hand through her tousled hair as she grabbed the receiver.

“Winona?”

Not a kid. An adult’s voice. Her boss, from the precinct. “You know it’s me. What’s wrong, Wayne?”

“You know the jet that was supposed to take off last night for Asterland? The hotsy totsy flight with all the royalty and dignitaries and all?”

“Yes, of course.” So did the whole town.

“Well, something went wrong. She lifted off, barely got in the air before they were radioing in some garbled, panicked message about a problem. Next thing, they’re making an emergency landing about fifteen miles out of town, middle of nowhere, flat as a pancake. Fire broke out-”

She got the gist. The details didn’t matter. “Holy cow. How can I help?”

“Truthfully, I don’t know.” Winona could well imagine Wayne squinting and rubbing the back of his head. He didn’t like trouble in his town. The way Wayne saw it, Royal belonged to him.