The Princess and the Billionaire (Billionaire Lovers - Book #2)

by Barbara Bretton

  She stopped, a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. Florida! Connie and Matty were vacationing down there. Certainly they would never hold a family party without the matriarch of the family present. Apparently they considered it preferable to bring the entire party down there to Connie instead of bringing Connie up to the party.

  “Americans,” Isabelle murmured as she leaned back in her seat and tried to get comfortable. What an amazing lot they were.

  * * *

  Daniel called his sister Cathy to make sure the baby shower wasn’t under way.

  “I don’t want to scare you, Danny, but the party’s next week.”

  “I didn’t think you’d forget Maxine.”

  Cathy sounded affronted. “Of course we wouldn’t. Maxine is family.”

  “That’s what I told her.”

  “Besides, Mom and Pop are still in Florida. How could we have a shower without Mom?”

  “I don’t have any answers, Cath.”

  “Have you called the police?”

  “Yeah, but they won’t do anything until she’s been gone twenty-four hours.”

  Cathy was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know how to ask this, Danny, except to just ask it: Could she have walked out on you?”

  “What the hell kind of question is that?”

  “One that has to be asked.”

  “No, she wouldn’t walk out on me.”

  “She’s an unmarried, pregnant princess who’s thousands of miles away from everything and everyone she knows.”

  “Save the analysis for the paying customers, Cath.” He slammed the phone down.

  Maxine entered the room. “What did she say?”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  With that, Maxine burst into tears. “Something terrible has happened, Daniel. I can feel it in my bones.”

  He tried to comfort the woman, but his own nerves were stretched so taut he felt like he was ready to snap. “Wait a minute,” he said. “Did you call the Poconos?”

  “Ivan’s house?” Maxine shook her head. “I wouldn’t be thinking she’d go all that way.”

  “Who knows?” countered Daniel. “Anything’s possible.” She could have called for a radio car and taken a spin up to the mountains. She was crazy about the place, all those mountains and lakes. She’d said it reminded her of Perreault.

  Maxine punched the number in, then handed the telephone to Daniel. He listened to it ring five times. Ten. Twenty. He handed the phone back to Maxine. “She’s not there.”

  “Or she’s not answering,” said Maxine, hands trembling as she replaced the receiver in the cradle.

  Another cold blast of fear iced his blood. “Or she can’t answer.” He grabbed her car keys from the sideboard. “You stay here in case Isabelle calls.”

  “Where are you going?”

  He met her eyes. “Ivan’s place.”

  Maxine crossed herself. “Dear God, I pray she’s there.” He didn’t know which prospect scared him more: finding the house empty or finding her there alone and in trouble.

  “Call as soon as you get there,” Maxine said, giving him a swift hug.

  “She’ll be there,” he said. She had to be.

  * * *

  Connie Bronson had never mastered the art of traveling light. An overnight trip for Matty’s wife required a pullman suitcase, carry-on luggage, and a tote bag that doubled as a pocketbook. In the early years of their marriage, Matty had railed against her inability to leave home without everything she owned, but with time had come patience. Now, after almost fifty years as husband and wife, Matty was able to shrug his shoulders and chalk it up to one of the differences that made life interesting.

  “Do you have the carry-on?” Connie asked as they deplaned Delta 104, Orlando to JFK.

  “I’ve got the carry-on.”

  “The Mickey Mouse T-shirts?”

  “I’ve got the T-shirts.”

  She stopped midpoint in the jetway, to the consternation of the two hundred thirty-five people behind her. “We forgot the Cinderella watch for Katie.”

  He patted his breast pocket. “Got it, Connie. Now can we get the lead out?”

  Frank was waiting for them at the luggage carousel. “Good to see you back, folks,” he said, pumping his boss’s hand. “Things aren’t the same without you around.”

  “Frank!” Connie exclaimed, giving the man a hug. “What are you doing here? Your tonsils.”

  “Piece of cake,” said Frank with a grin. “They decided not to do it. I’m on enough antibiotics to kill an elephant’s tonsillitis.”

  “I’m so relieved,” said Connie. “Danny had his tonsils out when he was twenty-one. Dreadful for an adult.”

  They kept up a running discussion on the pros and cons of modern medicine while they waited for the luggage to appear. Matty tapped his foot impatiently.

  “Could be halfway home by now if it wasn’t for all your junk,” he said to Connie who rolled her eyes and ignored him.

  Twenty minutes later, each lugging a considerable load, they made their way out to the street where the Lincoln awaited them.

  “Hey, Mr. B.!”

  Matty spun around. A big, burly skycap beamed at him. “Joe!” He offered his hand. “Great to see you, pal. Where you been keepin’ yourself?”

  “I been everywhere, Mr. B. International, the shuttle. Even managed Teterboro for a while, real close to home, but the money’s better over here. Got my son hooked up over there, though.”

  “Say hi to Ronnie, would you? Last time I saw him he was in Little League.”

  “Will do.”

  Matty turned to leave, but Joe had more to say. “He saw Danny’s princess out at Teterboro a little while ago. Said she was even cuter in person than on TV.”

  “She’s a doll, all right. We’re all looking forward to that baby.”

  “Coming soon?”

  “First week in July.”

  “Ronnie said she looked like it was any time. He kinda wondered what she was doing flying off someplace.”

  Matty frowned. “Flying off?” He turned to Connie. “Were Danny and Isabelle going anyplace?”

  Connie shook her head. “Isabelle said they’d be staying close to home until the baby comes.”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Look,” said Joe, “maybe I got it wrong.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” said Matty, clapping him on the back. “We’ll figure it all out when we get home.”

  * * *

  Isabelle stared out the window at the endless blackness of the Atlantic Ocean. They had been airborne for almost four hours. She’d accepted the explanation that they were flying over the water in order to avoid heavy traffic from commercial airliners, but it seemed to her that it was more than time to see the lights of the Florida coastline twinkling below.

  She unbuckled her seat belt and put the latest issue of Vogue down on the table in front of her. Rising slowly to her feet, she massaged the small of her back. Her muscles were cramping from sitting for so long. Even her legs hurt, whether from the inactivity or the cabin pressure she didn’t know, but she felt perfectly dreadful. A pleasant cabin steward had checked with her periodically, offering her beverages and more reading material, but he had only smiled politely when she asked questions and had neatly sidestepped answering any of them.

  Carefully. Isabelle made her way toward the bifold door that separated the cabin from the rest of the plane. Gripping the handle, she made to pull it open but was met with resistance. Locked? She tugged at it, harder this time, and was rewarded with a “Just a moment” from inside.

  She stepped back, her heart pounding faster. Listening carefully, she heard the faintest click of a lock, then the door folded open. The woman in the blue Chanel suit smiled at her, the same kind of pleasant smile as the cabin steward’s.

  “So sorry,” said the woman. “We often have difficulty with the hinges.”

  “It was locked,” said Isabelle, hands clasped over her belly
.

  “You’re mistaken,” said the woman, still pleasantly smiling. “Why on earth would we lock the door?”

  “That is the second question I wish to ask.” She met the woman’s eyes. “I must demand to know where we are going.”

  The woman’s smile didn’t falter. “Now, you wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise, would you?”

  “At this point, yes, I would.” She gestured toward the window. “I know we’re on the way to Florida for the baby shower. Shouldn’t we be seeing land by now?”

  “Oh dear,” said the woman. “How on earth did you guess?”

  “Well, it wasn’t terribly difficult.” Her royal hauteur reasserted itself. “Although I must say by the time we reach the baby shower, I shall be ready to go to bed.”

  The woman patted Isabelle on the hand in an overly familiar fashion. “I’m so sorry, dear. We didn’t want to worry you, but there is some heavy weather up ahead, and we’ve been diverted temporarily.”

  Isabelle frowned. “Do we have enough fuel?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “I’d like to make a telephone call.”

  “I wish we could accommodate you, but we don’t have the equipment to do so.”

  “Would you ask the pilot to relay a message? Perhaps someone on the ground would place a call for me.”

  “Of course,” said the impeccably groomed older woman. She disappeared for a moment then returned with a piece of watermarked white paper and a pen. “Please write your message down, and I’ll make certain the pilot relays it.” Somewhat relieved, Isabelle jotted a note to Daniel that she was fine, even though he certainly must know she was en route to the baby shower. “Thank you,” she said, handing the note to the woman.

  “Our pleasure. I only regret we’ve given you the slightest apprehension.” The pleasant smile reappeared. “Now if you would please return to your seat and buckle your lap belt. As I said, there are storms in the area, and we like to take all precautions.”

  Isabelle did as the woman requested. There was nothing wrong with taking precautions. Given her condition, it was a prudent thing to do. “Everything is all right,” she said out loud as the plane cut its way through the darkness. There was absolutely nothing she could do about the storms. She should be relieved the pilot was exercising a high degree of care. Better to arrive tired and grouchy than to have something dreadful happen.

  “Positive thoughts,” she admonished herself. She stifled a yawn and glanced at her watch. The glitter of gold from her bracelet made her smile despite her fatigue. Almost seven in the evening. She was hungry and tired and not at all in a party mood.

  She closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep. Perhaps she’d feel more cheerful after a nap.

  * * *

  Daniel turned the wheel sharply and made a left into the driveway. The truck screeched to a stop, kicking up dirt and gravel. Immediately he noticed Ivan’s cottage was dark. Leaving the engine running, he sprang from the truck, raced up the path to the front door, and jammed the key into the lock.

  “Isabelle!” He swung open the door and switched on the lights. “Princess, are you here?”

  No answer. He glanced around the living room. It looked exactly as they’d left it a few weeks ago. The fear that had been building inside him exploded. She wouldn’t do something like this. She wasn’t the kind who got her kicks out of making the people she cared for worry themselves sick.

  He searched the rooms, the closets, looked under the beds. Nothing. He was about to check the garage when the telephone blared. He was on it before the second ring.

  “Did you find her, Maxine?”

  “It’s not Maxine, Danny. It’s your old man.”

  For the first time in his life he understood how it felt to be scared to death. Death would be easier than the crushing sense of terror closing in on him. “Whatever the hell it is, Pop, just say it.”

  “We’ve got trouble, Danny. She’s been kidnapped.”

  Daniel broke all the speed limits between Ivan’s house and the airport where Matty said a private jet would be waiting for him within the hour.

  Kidnapped. He clutched the wheel as beads of sweat broke out along his temples and the back of his neck. What kind of son of a bitch would kidnap a woman in the ninth month of pregnancy? If Matty hadn’t bumped into Joe at the airport earlier, they’d still be beating their heads against a brick wall, trying to figure out where Isabelle had disappeared. Matty had immediately called in a few favors and reached the traffic controller at Teterboro. The plane belonged to Malraux International, and it was a safe bet it was en route to Perreault.

  He reached the airport in record time. Matty was waiting for him on the tarmac next to their chartered jet. The plane was small and sharp-nosed. The pilot could propel it across the Atlantic fueled only by Daniel’s rage.

  “We’ve got a problem,” Matty said as soon as Daniel joined him. “Interpol’s involved. They want us to stay out of it. We might endanger Isabelle and blow their operation.”

  “Fuck Interpol. I don’t give a goddamn about their operation.”

  “They can get nasty.”

  “Let ’em try. They’ll have to kill me first.”

  “Don’t tempt them, Danny. When you get to this level of shit, even the good guys play rough.”

  Daniel started up the steps to the plane with Matty on his heels. “What the hell are you doing? You’re not going alone.”

  “Do me a favor, Pop. Stay home.”

  “I love that woman, too,” Matty said, “and that’s my grandbaby she’s carrying.”

  “I don’t have time to waste fighting with you,” Daniel said, entering the cabin. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Once they were airborne, Matty filled Daniel in on the details of Juliana’s death.

  “She died two weeks ago?” Daniel stared out the window at the vanishing earth below. “Why didn’t it hit the news?”

  “They’re keeping it under wraps, going to claim it was a suicide. Postpartum depression.”

  “But it wasn’t?”

  Matty shook his head. “Afraid not.”

  As far as Interpol could tell, Juliana had been injected with an overdose of barbiturates. A suicide note had been found next to her body. Whether it had been forged or written under duress nobody knew.

  “Damn it. This doesn’t make any sense,” Daniel said, dragging his hand through his hair. “Juliana was exactly what Malraux needed. She’s played ball with him from the beginning, right down to marrying his son. What the hell did they have to gain by killing her?”

  * * *

  Groggy and unrefreshed, Isabelle gave up the quest for sleep. She’d dozed fitfully, her dreams tangled and surreal, leaving her perception of time out of kilter. Early morning sunlight filtered through the cabin windows. Impossible. Opening her eyes, she glanced at her watch. Not quite midnight. She reached over to lift the shade.

  “Oh, my God.” Instead of the Florida coastline she saw the jagged peaks of snow-capped mountains. She knew those mountains. It was all as familiar to her as her reflection in the mirror.

  Perreault. She’d never thought to see it again, never wanted to see it again. Dawn’s light cast a pinkish glow across the mountains. As a little girl she’d believed it was the touch of a magic wand, transforming the tiny country into a wonderland. How little she knew what constituted magic.

  The woman entered the cabin. “Good,” she said, “you’re awake. We’re about to make our descent into the airport.”

  “Orlando?”

  The woman looked mildly embarrassed. “It will all be made clear, your highness.”

  Your highness? There was something about the way the woman said it that alarmed Isabelle even more than the fact that she’d been abducted back to her homeland. Stay calm, she told herself, moving her hands in small circles on her belly. Getting upset wouldn’t be good for her or for the baby.

  The woman seemed to sense her thoughts. “You are in no danger whatsoever, your h
ighness. I am a licensed obstetrician. Your well-being is our top priority.”

  Isabelle nodded curtly. “I am relieved to hear that.” She thanked God for the glass wall of reserve that most members of royalty employed upon occasion. Coolly she turned to look out the window. “We’re landing at the little airstrip near the castle? The runways there are scarcely more than paths in the dirt.”

  “There have been some improvements since you left, your highness. I think you will be well pleased.”

  What possible difference did it make if Isabelle were pleased or not? Whatever was going on had nothing to do with her pleasure and they both knew it. “I suppose this is my sister’s idea of a fitting punishment,” she said as the plane knifed through the clouds. “What Juliana giveth, Juliana taketh away.” This was probably an elaborate ploy to strip her once again of her money so they could fund more improvements to the airfield.

  “This isn’t a police state.” She shifted position in an attempt to ease the cramping muscles in her lower back. “Juliana has achieved her goal. I request the jet be refueled so I can return home immediately.”

  “Perreault is your home.”

  “Perreault is where I was born, Doctor, but it is not my home.” Home was in New York, with Daniel and Maxi and Ivan and all of the Bronsons. They were the only true family she’d ever known.

  “You will understand everything soon, your highness, I promise.”

  The plane touched down, bumping its way across the runway. The seat belt cut into her lower abdomen as the pilot braked to a stop. Daniel must be wild with worry. He’d probably called the police or the FBI or whoever it was Americans called in situations like this. She wouldn’t put it past Juliana to try to hold her for ransom. Why settle for her trust fund when Juliana could tap into the Bronson fortune? If it didn’t mean being stranded in Perreault, she wished Daniel would tell her sister to go straight to hell. And Maxi—she couldn’t bear to think how Maxi would feel, knowing the two girls she’d raised were once again battling.

  The doctor stood up. “We can deplane now.”