Protecting the Pregnant Princess

by Intrigue Romance

  Jane fought to keep her lips from twitching in reaction to the nurse’s blatant lie. Wouldn’t the guard remember that the nurse had given her no medication?

  If only this woman had access to a door-opening name badge, Sandy could prove an even more valuable ally because Jane suspected she would help her escape if she could.

  Of course the other man—Timmer—had promised he would return. Could he? Was he physically able to return?

  “Good,” the guard grunted. “And he won’t get another chance to talk to her.”

  She held in a gasp as fear clutched her heart. Had one of those shots struck the man?

  “Why—why won’t he?” the nurse nervously asked the question burning in Jane’s mind.

  The guard did not answer, just issued another order. “Leave now.”

  “But—but I should stay to monitor her—”

  “Leave now,” Mr. Centerenian repeated.

  The lock clicked again and the door opened with a creak of hinges and rush of cool air from the hall. It closed again, shutting in the stale air that smelled faintly of the cigarette smoke that always clung to the guard.

  Had Mr. Centerenian left with Nurse Sandy? Was Jane alone again?

  She nearly opened her eyes but then the guard spoke again. Since the older woman had left, he wasn’t talking to the nurse.

  Jane peered through a slit in one lid and saw that his cell phone was pressed to his ear. He spoke in a language she couldn’t place but somehow understood. She interpreted his side of the conversation.

  “There is a problem,” he said. “Someone got inside her room tonight. He saw her…”

  Mr. Centerenian grunted in response to whatever the person he called told him and then agreed, “Yes, it is no longer safe to keep her here. I will bring her and your unborn child to the airport tomorrow night to meet your private plane.”

  Who the hell was the guard talking to? Who was the father of her unborn child? She had suspected it was the man who’d snuck into her room. If not him, then who?

  She barely restrained her urge to attack the guard and demand that he tell her who he was talking to, who he was bringing her to meet. But she couldn’t risk getting hit again. An apparent blow had already cost her too much—of her strength and her mind.

  And she needed all she had of both to escape before the guard brought her to the airport. She feared that if she got on that private plane, that she would have no hope of ever regaining her freedom.

  She couldn’t trust that the man who had snuck in would keep his word to return and help her. She didn’t know if he even could—if Timmer had survived his confrontation with the guard. She waited but Mr. Centerenian said nothing of the man he’d caught in her room.

  Was he alive or dead?

  And who the hell was he or had he been to her?

  *

  PAIN EXPLODED IN Aaron’s stomach, sending his breath from his lungs in a whoosh. He doubled over, hanging from the arms holding him back. Not that he couldn’t have broken free had he wanted to fight. But as he writhed around in an exaggerated display of pain, he lurched forward and accidentally fell against the guard who was using him as a punching bag.

  “And don’t come back unless you want more of that,” the man warned as he pushed Aaron back. He pushed him through the gate he’d already opened that led from the building to the employee parking lot.

  The lot was behind the big brick building and dimly lit. The few parking lights flickered and cast only a faint glow that reflected off the windshields and metal of the cars filling the lot. Darkness was gathering, pushing the last traces of daylight into night.

  The gate snapped shut behind him and the lock buzzed. That gate and the one between the guest parking lot and front entrance were the only ways through the sixteen-foot-high fence surrounding the building.

  Serenity House was a freaking fortress—more prison than hospital. If Charlotte was the woman in Room 00, it was no wonder that she hadn’t managed to escape yet—despite her skills. Of course if she’d been telling him the truth, she’d forgotten all those skills…except for how to strangle him. Only she hadn’t been as strong as the woman he remembered—as the woman with whom he’d made love one unforgettable night.

  Images flashed through his mind. Moonlight caressing honey-toned skin and sleek curves. His hands following the path of the moonlight. Then his lips…

  And her hands and her soft lips, touching him everywhere. Passionate kisses, bodies entwined…

  His breath shuddered out in a ragged sigh as he shook off those skin-tingling memories. That had been one incredible night. And even though they’d used protection, it wasn’t foolproof.

  Was that baby she carried his? The dates would probably be about right. But was the woman?

  He would find out soon. For the sake of the guards who watched him yet from behind the gate, he stumbled across the parking lot with the drunkenlike stagger of a boxer who’d taken too many hits.

  Aaron had driven separately from the U.S. Marshal, which was good since Jason “Trigger” Herrema had left him without a backward glance. Some partner Trigger must have been to Charlotte. No wonder she was so strong and independent. And no wonder she had resigned from the U.S. Marshals for private security.

  But Charlotte Green wasn’t the only one with skills. Aaron clutched the ID badge he had lifted from the guard who’d hit him. The guy had seemed too arrogant an SOB to admit or even realize that Aaron had taken the badge off him. At least not right away. But he might eventually figure it out. So Aaron had to act quickly.

  But not too quickly that they were waiting and ready for him to try something. He also needed backup. Obviously he couldn’t count on Trigger, the man, so he needed another kind of trigger—one on a gun.

  He hurried toward his vehicle, which was a plain gray box of a sedan that he’d rented at the airport. His gun wasn’t inside but back at the cottage he’d found in the woods near Serenity House. He hadn’t rented it; he hadn’t needed to—it had looked abandoned or at least out of season for the owners. The cottage was close enough that he’d figured they would be able to run there if they weren’t able to reach his vehicle.

  But now that he had seen Charlotte or Princess Gabriella or whoever the hell she was and realized how weak she was, he suspected that outrunning anyone was out of the question.

  He needed wheels and a very powerful engine. Maybe he should have gone for fast rather than nondescript when he’d rented a car. Just as he was considering his choice, shots rang out—shattering the rear window. He ducked down, easing around the trunk toward the driver’s side. Maybe if he kept the car between him and Serenity House, the guards wouldn’t have a clear shot—if they were the ones shooting. But he’d seen no weapons on them. Then the driver’s side windows shattered, bullets striking first the rear window and then the front window.

  “I’m not getting the deposit back on this rental,” he murmured as he clicked the key fob to unlock the doors. He could have just reached through the shattered window and unlocked it himself, but he didn’t want to raise his head too high for fear that it might be the next thing a bullet hit.

  He didn’t even know where the hell the shots were coming from. Serenity House? Or somewhere in the parking lot behind him?

  He ducked down farther, suspecting the shots might have been coming from behind him. Maybe he had his answer about where the hell the private security guard had gone. Instead of standing sentry outside Room 00, he’d set up an ambush outside Serenity House.

  With the door unprotected, Aaron had the best chance to free Charlotte or Princess Gabriella. But he couldn’t go back inside. Shots kept firing, and he knew it was just a matter of time before one struck him. He had to get the hell out of here while he still could.

  Chapter Four

  Shots rang out, echoing inside Jane’s aching head. She reached for her gun, but it wasn’t on the holster. Hell, she wasn’t even wearing the holster. Instead her fingers encountered the soft mound of her burgeo
ning belly. Of her baby…

  She jolted awake, as if fighting her way out of a nightmare. But she awakened to the nightmare, not from it. She still couldn’t remember who she was or how she had wound up trapped in this strange hospital jail. But she hadn’t forgotten that she needed to get the hell out of here.

  And not to that private airport. She couldn’t let the surly Mr. Centerenian take her there. When? Tomorrow night? Tonight? She had no idea how long she’d been asleep. She wore no watch, and there was no clock for her to mark the seconds, minutes or hours.

  Given the urgency of her situation, how had she fallen asleep? Was she the one to whom the nurse had really lied? Had Sandy actually slipped her a sedative? But Jane didn’t feel groggy from drugs. She was just tired—either because of the concussion or the pregnancy.

  The baby shifted inside her, kicking against her ribs as if trying to prod her into action—reminding Jane that she had someone besides herself to protect now. No matter who the father was—she was the mother. Something primal reared up inside her, clutching at her heart and her womb. A mother’s instinct, a mother’s love. This was her child.

  Her baby girl. She felt it with a deep certainty that the baby she carried was a girl. Had she had an ultrasound? Even though she didn’t remember the process, maybe she remembered the results.

  “Okay, baby girl, I don’t know how we got here,” she murmured. “But that doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that we’re getting out.”

  She just had to figure out how. She tugged on her wrists, fighting to loosen the restraints. Maybe that man—Mr. Timmer—hadn’t tightened them as much as she’d feared. Or maybe the nurse had returned and loosened them while Jane had been sleeping. Either way, she had enough play to slip one hand free. Just as she reached out to undo the other strap, the lock beeped. And hinges creaked as the door opened.

  Damn it! Maybe she had slept too long. Maybe she’d slept away a day and any chance she’d had of escaping this nightmare of captivity.

  *

  SHE WAS STILL HERE.

  Aaron’s breath shuddered out with a sigh of relief. He had worried that they might have moved her already, that they probably had just minutes after he’d been discovered in her room. But then maybe they didn’t realize those last shots—fired at him in the parking lot—had also missed him.

  As he studied her, his relief ebbed away, and his concern returned. She lay, her body stiff and unmoving beneath her blankets. Maybe when they hadn’t managed to get rid of him, they’d decided to get rid of her instead. Was she dead? Or just playing dead like she had the first time he had come into her room?

  He moved toward the bed, hoping that she would reach out to strangle him as she had last time. She wasn’t strong enough to hurt him but it proved she was still strong enough to fight.

  He opened his mouth to whisper her name but had no idea what to call her. Was she Charlotte or Princess Gabriella? He wished he knew. Since he wished she was the woman he had already begun to fall for, he called her, “Charlotte…”

  Her eyes opened wide with shock, but probably at the sound of his voice rather than any recognition of her name because she said, “I thought you were dead.”

  “So did I,” Aaron admitted.

  If the Marshal hadn’t shown up in the parking lot when he had, those shots probably wouldn’t have stopped until Aaron had been hit. And killed. But Marshal Herrema’s car pulling into the lot had sent the shooter into hiding. Aaron suspected he would come out again—just hopefully not until Aaron got her to safety.

  “We have to get out of here,” he said, reaching for her restraints.

  But she already had one arm free and quickly freed her other arm. “I thought you were shot,” she said. “I was sure I heard gunshots.”

  “You did,” he confirmed.

  “The guard with the Glock?” She swung her legs over the bed but hesitated to stand.

  “Yes.” She knew guns. She had to be Charlotte, or had Charlotte taught Princess Gabriella to identify firearms? “He caught me coming out of your room.”

  She glanced toward the door, her caramel-colored eyes widening with fear. “After catching you, I’m surprised he would leave my side for a second—even for his nicotine fix.”

  Her fear made him think she was the princess. Because he’d never seen fear on Charlotte’s face. Passion. Anger. But the fear had been Gabriella’s.

  “I came up with a distraction to get him away.” Trigger, in a short dark-haired wig that made him, from a distance, look like Aaron. “But we don’t have much time.” Before the guard either gave up trying to catch Trigger or caught him and figured out he wasn’t Aaron.

  She gestured at her hospital gown. “I won’t be able to just walk out of here dressed like this, and I don’t think I have anything else to wear. There’s no bureau or closet in here.”

  He’d noticed that the first time he had broken into the room. There had been no sign of her belongings—nothing to provide a clue to her identity or a wardrobe for her departure. So he had come prepared. He handed her the wad of clothes he’d had clenched under his arm. She unfolded the drab green shirt and pants. He’d stolen the scrubs from the employee locker room. He reached for her arm to guide her from the bed, so that she could change.

  She stood but swayed on her bare feet.

  Aaron grabbed her. “Are you all right?”

  The blow to her head had obviously stolen more than her memory. Would he be able to get her out without assistance? Maybe he should have brought along a wheelchair.

  She drew in a deep breath and, using his arm, steadied herself. “I’m fine.”

  “Do you need help getting out of the gown?” he asked. And images flashed through his mind of another time he’d undressed her…

  “No. I can manage myself.” She hadn’t lost her stubborn independence. She had to be Charlotte.

  “Turn around,” she ordered him, her modesty misplaced. If she was Charlotte, he had already seen every inch of her naked. He had already caressed and kissed every inch of her naked skin.

  But he obliged her and turned back toward the door and kept watch through the small window to the hall. For a big building—three stories of brick and mortar—the place was surprisingly quiet and nearly deserted. Where were all the other patients and visitors? Locked up and locked out?

  “Actually I can’t manage,” she corrected herself. “These damn ties are knotted in the back. Can you undo them?”

  He drew in a deep breath to steady his suddenly racing pulse, and then he turned to face her again. She stood with her back toward him, her long hair pulled over her shoulder so it would be out of the way. She had already pulled on the pants and stepped into the slip-on shoes. Her arm over her shoulder, she contorted as she tugged on the straps binding her inside the hospital gown.

  “You’re making it worse,” he observed and gently pulled away her fingers. Forcing his fingers to remain steady, he unknotted the ties and parted the rough cotton fabric.

  Baring her back reminded him of lowering the zipper on another kind of gown—one of whisper-soft silk that had slid down her body like a caress—leaving her bare but for a tiny scrap of lace riding low on her hips. She wore no bra now, either. Maybe she thought turning away from him protected her modesty. But he could see the side of her full breast and the nipple puckered with cold. But the rounded mound of her belly drew his attention from the beauty of her breast.

  This was another kind of beauty.

  One that stole away his breath. Was the baby she carried his? That was only possible if she was Charlotte. While he suspected that she was, he wasn’t certain if that was merely wishful thinking on his part rather than fact. Hell, not even she knew for certain who the hell she was—if he could believe her claim of amnesia.

  She tugged the scrubs shirt down over her breasts and burgeoning belly. The cotton stretched taut. He should have found her a bigger size, but he’d grabbed what he could from the first accessible locker. He’d acted quickly
then because they didn’t have much time.

  “Are you ready?” he asked, the urgency rushing back over him. Trigger might have already been caught. Time was running out. “Do you have everything?”

  “There’s nothing here,” she said. “We shouldn’t be here, either.” As she turned toward him, she swayed again and clutched at his arm.

  “You’re not fine,” he said, disproving her earlier claim. “You’re weak and dizzy.”

  “I will be fine,” she amended herself. “Once we get out of here. Let’s go.” And then instead of holding on to his arm for support, she was tugging on it to pull him toward the door. “You still have your badge?”

  He shook his head even as he pulled the ID from the lanyard around his neck. “Not mine.”

  This was probably better. Since it belonged to one of the Serenity House security guards, it had access to more areas than Mr. Ottenwess’s badge had.

  “I was fired.”

  “Then how did you get back in?” she asked, her golden-brown eyes narrowing with suspicion.

  He lifted the badge toward the lock. “I grabbed this off the guy throwing me off the premises.” His stomach clenched in protest of the blows it had taken to provide the distraction. He could have fended those off and would have had he not needed that damn badge.

  Her brow furrowed now—with suspicion. “Who are you?”

  He sucked in a breath of disappointment. “You still don’t remember me?”

  “I don’t remember anything before I woke up in this place.” But she looked away from him as she said it, as if unable to meet his eyes.

  Why? Because she lied? But why lie about having amnesia? Was she playing him for a fool?

  What the hell was going on? Was this whole disappearance just a way to get the princess out of the obligation the king had announced at the ball? That was what Rafael St. Pierre and Whit had suspected until they’d seen the hotel suite.