by Lisa Childs
“So you weren’t worried about yourself,” he said. “You were worried about me.” He wasn’t used to people worrying about him. His mother certainly hadn’t when she’d packed up her stuff and left him with his father. Back when they’d been friends and partners Aaron had worried, but then Aaron worried about everyone.
“They had no reason to keep you alive,” she said, “and more reasons to want you dead.”
“With a bum shoulder and no weapon, I didn’t pose much of a threat to them,” he pointed out.
She chuckled. “But you’re Whitaker Howell. You’re a legend for the feats you’ve pulled off in battle, for the people you’ve protected as a bodyguard. They would see you as quite the threat.”
“Or quite the pain in the ass,” he said. “And it probably didn’t help that I brought in my own men to take their jobs when Aaron and I were hired as co-chiefs of royal security.”
She must have shaken her head because a wet piece of her hair slapped against his arm. Her hair and her skin was so cold. He wanted to put his arms around her and warm her up. But then he risked them both slipping under water.
“So you parachuted out of a plane to save me,” he mused. “And here I was the one who promised to protect you.” A promise he was still struggling to keep, as he tried to keep them both afloat.
Water splashed her face, and she sucked in a breath and coughed. And as she panicked, her head slipped beneath the choppy surface. Whit panicked, too, but he didn’t let go of her hand. And with his other arm, his injured arm, he dragged her back up. She sputtered and coughed again, expelling salty water from her constricted lungs.
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Y-yes,” she stammered. “And you are my protector.”
With the right resources, he was a damn good bodyguard. He could protect anyone from armed gunmen, from bombs, from fires…
But he had no idea the threats that lurked beneath the surface of the water. And no way of protecting her from them. Or from the water itself as it chilled their skin and blood, threatening hypothermia.
He’d been told it was a peaceful death. It was how his father had gone, too drunk to get the key in the door—he’d died on his front porch during the dead of winter—while Whit had been in the sweltering heat in a desert on the other side of the world. He wasn’t going out like his old man. “We need to stay awake,” he said. “We need to stay alert…”
“To what?”
He wouldn’t tell her his fear that there was something circling them. He focused instead on offering her hope. “If the plane did go down, someone would have noticed it on radar. They might send out boats or helicopters to search for survivors.”
Given that he’d seen no sign of land when they’d dropped into the sea, a search party was their only chance.
“You think help’s coming?” she asked.
“Yes, if not strangers—then Aaron and Charlotte will send someone or come themselves.”
“But how will they know where to look for us?” she asked. “How will they know to look for us—that we’re still alive?”
“Aaron will know,” Whit said. “Just like he knew that Charlotte was alive.” But that was because he loved the woman, because he had a bond with her. Or it was because the man always looked for the best in a situation.
Whit should have known that Gabriella was alive the past six months. But he’d never been as hopeful or optimistic as Aaron. He always expected the worst; there was less risk of getting disappointed that way.
“He loves her?” Gabby asked.
“Yes.”
She fell silent, just floating in the dark. So he prodded her, “We need to keep talking…”
“About—about what?”
He chuckled. “Your nickname is Gabby. You can’t think of anything to talk about?”
“I—I only chatter when I’m nervous.”
If there was ever a time to be nervous, it was now—adrift at sea at night. “Tell me about the orphans,” he said.
She wasn’t gabby. She was eloquent, as she told him beautiful stories of the children’s triumph over all the tragedies of their lives. She talked until her teeth chattered too much for her to get the words out. “Your turn,” she told him.
“I’d rather hear you…” And he would. He loved the sound of her voice, the way it slipped into his ear and into his heart.
“If you want to distract me from how cold I am,” she said, “I’m better at listening.” Something else about her the paparazzi had gotten completely wrong.
“You’re going to make a great mom,” he said. If he could keep her and their baby alive…
She sniffled, either from the cold or from emotion. “I don’t know about that. I didn’t exactly have a loving mother growing up. Or biologically. What kind of mother gives up her baby for money?”
“At least she had a reason,” he said. And he talked. He told her about his mom and his dad. Maybe he told her the stories to warn her that he wouldn’t be a good husband or father. Or maybe he just told her to keep her awake.
But her grasp on his hand loosened, and her fingers slipped free of his. He couldn’t lose her now—he couldn’t lose her and the child she carried. Since he was a kid, he had sworn he would never have a family—that he wouldn’t put himself through the risk of disappointment and pain.
But now his greater fear was that he was going to lose the chance at having one. Even if a search party was dispatched, the wreckage of the plane was nowhere near them. They would probably be presumed dead. And soon that might be true…
*
THE KING’S DEN WAS FULL of people now. Because she was so beloved, nearly every member of the household staff had gathered to hear word of Gabriella’s well-being. Her fiancé was also there, along with his ex-fiancée, who claimed she had come out of friendship to him and relation to Gabby. She was the queen’s cousin, which made her no relation to Gabby. But Charlotte wasn’t about to explain that situation—or even talk to her.
Nor was she going to talk to the father and brother of Gabby’s ex-fiancé, who claimed they had also come out of concern. She was surprised they’d had the audacity to show, after what Prince Linus Demetrios had done. But maybe they wanted to watch King St. Pierre suffer, as they were bound to suffer with the prince in prison now. They probably blamed the whole thing on the king, for breaking that engagement in the first place.
Charlotte suspected that he was blaming himself, too. Even with all the people gathered around, he looked so alone, removed from the others as he sat behind his ornate desk on a chair that was too modern to resemble a throne. But it was still one regardless of the design.
The man was used to being in control—not just of his own life but of every life in St. Pierre. He was helpless now. Charlotte’s heart shifted, as if opening slightly to him. He had made mistakes. So many mistakes…
But so had she.
Would Gabby ever forgive either of them? Or had she died hating them both?
A man strode into the den, and all the chatter in the room ceased. All heads turned to him, as if he were the king about to make a royal decree.
But Charlotte knew him best, so she knew what he was going to say before he even opened his mouth. The anguish and hopelessness was in his blue eyes, dimming the brightness that Charlotte loved so much. The regret was in the tight line of his mouth, and the anger and frustration in the hard set of his strong jaw.
Guilt attacked her first. It was all her fault—her stupid plan that had put them all at risk. But even before the plan, she had hurt Aaron. She’d cost him his friendship with the man who’d been as close to him as a brother. While she’d spent the past three years getting to know her sister, he had lost those three years of friendship; he and Whit had been estranged. Because of her…
They had only just repaired that friendship to lose it again. Forever, this time…
Aaron cleared his throat, as if choking back emotion. But it was clear and steady as he spoke, “The plane went dow
n. A search party went out to the wreckage, but there were no survivors.”
Now the grief hit her. Hard. Grabbing her heart and squeezing it in a tight fist.
“She’s dead,” a woman’s voice murmured into the eerie silence after Aaron’s pronouncement.
“We don’t know that,” he corrected her. “Her body wasn’t found.”
“But you said no survivors…” The woman was Honora Del Cachon, the ex-fiancée of Prince Malamatos.
“From the wreckage of the plane,” Aaron said. He looked at Charlotte now, his gaze holding hers. His eyes had brightened again—not as much as they usually were when he looked at her. But he wasn’t entirely without hope. “But I’m not sure Princess Gabriella went down with the plane.”
“Why not?” Charlotte asked the question now. She had to know if he was only trying to make her feel better or if she had a real reason to hope.
“Because Whit’s body wasn’t found either…”
She wanted to be as optimistic as the man she loved. But she wasn’t like him and Gabriella—who always found the good in everything. She was more like Whitaker Howell, more realist than idealist. “But if they parachuted out before the plane crashed…”
She had an idea of where it had gone down because she’d been with Aaron and the king when they’d been told it had gone off radar. Aaron had gone out to the area where it had crashed, to look for survivors and verify that it had been one of the royal jets. She’d wanted to go along, but he’d insisted she stay behind—probably because he’d worried that she might lose the baby if she had proof that her sister was dead.
That was probably why he was offering false hope now. She couldn’t take it.
“…they landed in the middle of the sea,” she said, “with no land in sight. No help…”
The only boats to pass through the area, where they would have had to jump to escape before the plane crashed, were drug runners, arms dealers and other pirates.
“And they would have been in the water all night,” she added. “With as cold as it gets when the sun goes down, there is no way they could have survived.”
She hated that the brightness dimmed again in her fiancé’s eyes. But she couldn’t cling to a lie. She had to face the reality that her sister and Whit were gone.
Forever…
Chapter Ten
“Stop!” she ordered him. “Put me down.”
But Whit ignored her protest and tightened his arms around her. The waves slapped at his legs as he fought his way from the surf to the beach. He staggered onto the sand.
“I can walk,” she said, but she wasn’t certain if she spoke the truth. After hours in the water, her legs were so heavy and weak that they had folded beneath her when she’d tried to stand in the shallows.
That was when Whit had grabbed her up his arms, arms that had strained against the waves to swim them to shore. Land. They had reached land.
Or was it just a mirage on the endless water? Or a dream? She had nearly fallen asleep several times. Her life jacket had been fairly useless, so her head would have slipped beneath the surface if not for Whit holding her above water.
How had he stayed so strong? So alert? Amazed by the man’s power, she stared up into his handsome face.
Despite the cold they’d endured all night, sweat beaded on his forehead and above his tense mouth. His arms shook from exertion. He was more than exhausted. He was wounded, blood streaking down his arm from his shoulder. It was a miracle the blood hadn’t drawn sharks to attack them.
“Put me down,” she ordered again.
He stumbled as his feet sank in the sand, but he didn’t drop her. That promise he’d made to protect her was one he obviously intended to keep—no matter what it cost him. His health. His strength. His life.
He trudged across the sand, which gave way to a slate patio and stairs leading up from the beach to a glass-and-stone house perched on a hill high above the water. “This island is inhabited,” he said.
When they’d first noticed it, it had seemed little more than a clump of trees in the distance. As they’d swum toward it, the island had gotten bigger but not much. It was just a small stretch of sand, a rocky cliff and a clump of trees. They’d worried that it would be uninhabited. But maybe this was just a tiny peninsula of a bigger island.
“You’re not going to carry me up all those steps.” Gabby fought harder, so that she finally wriggled free of his grasp and slid down his body. Her legs, numb with cold and exhaustion, trembled and threatened to cave again before finally holding her weight.
Fortunately there was a railing beside the stairs, which Gabby climbed like a rope to help her to the top of the steep hill. She gasped at the view at the summit. It was just the hill and the house and the beach below that. The other side dropped off even more steeply to rocks and water. It was no peninsula of a larger island or continent.
“This is someone’s private retreat,” she said as Whit joined her at the top.
He was battered and bruised from his battle with the men aboard the plane. And his skin was flushed either from the sun or with a fever.
After those interminable hours in the darkness, she welcomed the warmth of the sun. But maybe the shock of going from the frigid water to the sunlight was too much for Whit. Could his body handle any more trauma?
He nodded. “There’s a helicopter pad over there.” He gestured with a jerk of his chin as if his arms were too tired to lift.
She followed his gesture to where the trees had been cleared on the other side of the hill from the house. “No helicopter. So nobody’s home?”
Whit walked around—or more accurately—staggered and peered between the trees down all sides of the hill. “There’s a dock on this side of the island.” This time he managed to point but not with the arm of which the shoulder was wounded. “But no boat.”
Panic struck Gabby. She’d been so hopeful that this place would prove their salvation. But with no means of escaping if someone were to follow them here, they were trapped.
“So there’s nothing but the house?” she asked.
*
IT WAS ONE hell of a house. Nowhere near as grand as the palace, of course, but Whit preferred its simple lines. Made of glass and stone, it became part of the landscape, bringing the outside in as sunshine poured through the windows, warming the slate floor beneath their feet.
The door hadn’t been locked. There would have been no point—probably nobody knew where the place was but the owner. Maybe that was a good thing; maybe a bad thing…
It depended on who owned the place and for what reason he required such seclusion. This part of the world wasn’t known for its tourism, more for its guns and drugs and lawlessness.
Whit had checked every room to make sure the place was empty before he’d left Gabby inside alone. Even though he’d only been gone minutes, he expected to find her asleep when he stepped back inside, but she was in the kitchen, flitting around like a bedraggled butterfly.
“You got the power on,” she said with a sigh of relief. “There must be a generator?”
He nodded as he took a seat on one of the stools at the granite kitchen island. Like the rest of the house, the kitchen was all slate and glass. “And enough gas to keep it running for a while.”
“There’s a lot of food, too,” she said. “Dry goods and canned fruit and vegetables and juices. We’ll have enough to eat until someone finds us.”
Whit nodded, hoping that the right people would find them and not the ones they’d just jumped out of a plane to escape. Or worse yet, the person who had given those men their orders. And what exactly had those orders been? To kidnap the princess? Or kill her?
“Nobody will look for us here,” she said, as if she’d read his mind and wanted to set it at ease. “They probably think we’re dead.”
“Maybe they’re right.” His head pounded and his shoulder throbbed. And his stomach rumbled with a hunger more intense than he ever remembered, even when he’d been a kid and his dad
had forgotten to buy groceries. Or he’d spent the money on liquor instead of food. “I feel like hell.”
She pushed a plate of food at him. She’d done something with canned chicken and pineapple, and as he ate it, he became certain he wasn’t dead. Because this felt too much like heaven, with her as an angel, and he’d never imagined he’d wind up there.
As soon as he finished eating, she was at his side, helping him up from the stool. His legs shook from the effort. God, he was so damned tired. He’d never been so tired—not even during his first deployment with those bombs exploding all night every night…
“You need to rest,” she said, guiding him down the hall toward the bedrooms.
He shook his head. “I have to keep watch. Make certain no one takes us by surprise…”
She chuckled and assured him, “We’ll hear them coming…”
He listened and could hear nothing but the waves crashing against the shore below. He never wanted to hear water again—never wanted to be near it—not after all those endless hours they’d spent drifting in it.
“Go to sleep,” she said, gently pushing him down onto the bed.
He caught her hand, needing to keep track of her. He couldn’t lose her again—not like he had six months ago—when he’d thought he’d lost her forever—not like when she’d slipped away from him at sea.
“Don’t go,” he said. “Don’t leave…”
The words brought him back to his childhood—to what he’d said when his mother had packed her bags and walked out with them—leaving him behind. She hadn’t paid any attention to what he’d said, to what he’d wanted or needed.
But Gabby settled onto the bed beside him. And her cool hand stroked across his brow. “You’re so hot. I wish Dominic was here.”
Jealousy flashed through him that she wanted another man…when he wanted only her.
“You need a doctor,” she said.
He shook his head. “No. I only need you…”
*
I ONLY NEED you.
