“Who I am is Charlotte Green,” she said, “bodyguard to Princess Gabriella.”
When Dr. Platt continued to stare at Charlotte like she was crazy, Aaron said, “It’s true. She’s a former U.S. Marshal and professional bodyguard.” The woman didn’t need to know that she was also royalty. “This man—Mr. Centerenian—brought you the wrong woman. He and his boss kidnapped the wrong woman.”
Dr. Platt shrugged. “It doesn’t matter to me. None of these outrageous claims of yours has anything to do with me or Serenity House.”
“It has everything to do with you,” Aaron argued, because she was the only one who could tell them what they needed to know. “You took money to hold a woman hostage. You’re an accessory.”
“That man brought her here,” she stubbornly repeated. “I had no idea that she had been kidnapped.”
Whit swore. “Bullshit!”
“That gorilla with the gun is not the one giving the orders,” Aaron said. “And he’s not the one paying you. I hope his boss paid you a hell of a lot for what you’re going to wind up giving up for it.”
She arched a brow, her interest finally piqued. “Giving up?”
“Your hospital,” Aaron said.
“Your freedom,” Whit added.
“Your life,” Charlotte murmured. “If I have anything to say about it…”
She didn’t mean it. Aaron was almost certain that she didn’t. That she was just upset. Understandably so for all she’d had to go through.
“You’re threatening me,” Dr. Platt accused, as if she were the victim.
Charlotte stepped closer to her, and even though she was six months pregnant and weak, she was a far more dangerous woman than the administrator realized. “I’m not just threatening,” she warned the woman.
Aaron put his hand on her arm, pulling her back before she vaulted over the desk and throttled the administrator. He told both women, “We need to know who that man is.”
And if Charlotte killed Dr. Platt, they might never figure it out. Or at least be able to prove it.
“You’re already in trouble here,” Aaron pointed out, “so you might as well tell us what you know.”
“Come on,” Whit urged her.
Aaron felt them coming before he heard them. There were enough of them that there were vibrations on the floor beneath his feet. He reached for Charlotte even before the door burst open and the armed men stormed into the office. He pushed her behind him, taking cover behind a filing cabinet, and raised his weapon.
The administrator didn’t have magical powers, but somehow she had summoned the guards as silently as she had last time Aaron had been in her office. Maybe she had a secret button somewhere on her desk, or maybe she had a remote alarm in her pocket.
Or maybe she hadn’t summoned them at all because the first bullet they fired went through her forehead, spattering her brains on the wall behind her. There was no need to check her for a pulse; there was no way she could have survived that shot.
Then the guards swung their weapons toward them, and the office erupted with gunfire. Aaron fought hard to stay between Charlotte and the men as he returned fire. But she moved around him, taking her own shots. Aaron was so concerned about her that he hadn’t even noticed that Whit was down. He’d been hit.
Aaron’s heart slammed against his ribs as he noticed the blood. And in that moment of distraction, one of the guards lunged toward him with gun blazing…
Chapter Eleven
“Her guards don’t have guns, my ass,” Whit murmured as Aaron carried him from the building. Sirens wailed in the distance.
Charlotte’s hand shook as she swiped the badge through the lock on the gate. “Maybe we should wait for the police,” she said, “or at least for an ambulance.”
Whit had lost a lot of blood. But that hadn’t stopped him from saving her and Aaron. He’d taken out the last guard. But none of the men who had stormed into the office had been the one who’d struck her with the gun and stolen her memory. Where was Mr. Centerenian?
“We should wait for an ambulance,” Aaron agreed.
Whit shook his head. “It’s a through and through, and I can move my arm so it didn’t hurt anything in my shoulder.”
“Then you should be able to walk,” Aaron grumbled, but he continued to carry his friend across the lot. And they were friends again.
Enlisting Whit to help her stage Josie Jessup’s death and forbidding him to tell Aaron had destroyed their friendship. Whit had obviously resented—maybe even hated her—for it. And for three years Charlotte had regretted what her job had cost the two men. That was why she’d convinced the king to hire them both for bodyguards. She’d wanted them to work together again.
But she had never imagined how well they would have to work together. They had kept each other alive in that office, and they’d kept her alive. She wasn’t certain who else had survived. Not the administrator. But some of the guards might have.
And Mr. Centerenian was out there, somewhere. So she clutched her weapon close and kept a watchful gaze on the area around them. She hoped she wouldn’t have to use her gun, though, because if she had to, she would need to make the one bullet she had left count.
“Put him in Jessup’s car,” she ordered as she fumbled for the keys and unlocked the doors. “We need to get out of here fast.”
They all squeezed into the sports car, Whit bleeding on the leather seats in the back. Charlotte passed the keys to Aaron, who drove.
“He’s lost a lot of blood,” she whispered, leaning across the console. Warmth radiated from Aaron, chasing some of the chill from her body. “We should take him to the hospital.”
“No,” Whit protested from the back. “Just take me to Stanley Jessup’s. And make sure nobody follows you this time.”
Aaron cursed him, but he took the route toward the lake and the house sitting high on the dune above it. “If you die, you stubborn ass,” he threatened, “it’s on you.”
“Actually it’ll be on you,” Charlotte remarked with a faint chuckle as Aaron carried his friend into the house.
“I’m fine,” Whit promised.
Charlotte reached for the door just as it opened, and she came face-to-face with an older man. His hair was thick and wavy and pure white despite the fact that he wasn’t even out of his fifties yet. And his gaze was green and piercing. She didn’t need an introduction; she knew exactly who he was. Her stomach flipped, and then the baby kicked as if in protest of Charlotte’s lurch of guilt.
“What the hell happened?” the older man bellowed. “Did you shoot him, Aaron?”
Aaron chuckled. “No. Can’t say I haven’t been tempted, though. Where can I put him? He’s all dead weight.”
“I’m not dead yet,” Whit weakly murmured.
“Over here,” Stanley Jessup said, leading them toward a den. “Lay him down on the couch and I’ll call for a private doctor.”
The media mogul understood the need for discretion. Over his head, Aaron met her gaze—as if trying to convince her to tell the man about his daughter.
She was tempted. Never more so than now that she carried a child of her own. But she couldn’t risk Josie’s safety. Not even to ease her conscience.
“Do you need a doctor, too, your highness?” Mr. Jessup asked, his voice gruff with concern.
If only her own father had ever cared about her like a virtual stranger cared…
She shook her head at the self-pitying thought as much as in reply to his question.
“This isn’t Princess Gabriella,” Aaron said.
“I told you I wouldn’t run the story until she got out of danger, but the story’s too big…” His gaze focused on her rounded belly. “I can’t sit on it anymore. The young reporter who has a source at the hospital is ready to run with his story.”
Thinking of the horrific fate that had befallen that poor kid and the nurse who had tried to help her, Charlotte sucked in a breath of pain and guilt.
“I’ll call the doctor,”
Stanley interrupted himself. He grabbed a cell from his pocket and punched in some numbers. Then he lowered his voice as he issued commands to whoever answered his call.
“Are you all right?” Aaron asked, his focus on her rather than his bleeding friend now. “You’re extremely pale.”
His concern was back. But was he concerned about her or was he concerned about his child? Of course, it’s the baby.
She was worried about the baby, too, and what could have happened with all the bullets flying. She could have easily been shot, just as Whit had. Fortunately for her—unfortunately for Whit—the guards had been more focused on firing at the men than at her. She suspected they’d had orders not to harm her baby. Because whoever had employed them mistakenly thought the baby was his…
The administrator had been right. But unfortunately Charlotte hadn’t had the chance to thank her before the woman had been killed.
She should have listened to Aaron and stayed behind the first time he’d brought her to this house. But she hadn’t wanted to be alone with Stanley Jessup almost as much as she’d wanted to learn who had kidnapped and imprisoned her in the mental hospital.
Having spent most of her professional life in dangerous situations, she hadn’t had any qualms about risking her life again. After all, she had survived all those previous dangerous situations, so she’d proven that she could take care of herself.
But it wasn’t just her anymore. She had someone else to think about now—someone who wasn’t a client or a witness but someone who was actually a physical part of her. Someone whose life depended on Charlotte staying alive and healthy.
As the enormity of that responsibility struck her, her knees began to shake, and she started trembling all over in reaction.
“Charlotte!” Aaron called out to her, his voice sharp with alarm. Then he repeated his earlier question, “Are you all right?”
“I—I need to sit down,” she said. “Just rest for a little while, and I’ll be fine.” But before she could find a chair to sit on, Aaron swung her up in his arms. Black spots swam across her vision and dizziness threatened to overwhelm her. She clutched at Aaron’s broad shoulders and his neck, holding on to him tightly.
“Where’s a bedroom?” he asked Jessup, who’d just slipped his cell phone back in his pocket.
Even knowing that Aaron was only concerned about the baby and her health, Charlotte’s pulse jumped at his question—at the idea of Aaron wanting to carry her off to a bedroom. But now that he knew how much she’d kept from him—that she’d kept Josie from him—she doubted he would ever want her—Charlotte—again.
Her head pounded with frustration and exhaustion, and she closed her eyes as the hopelessness washed over her. She did just need some rest—just a little—to get back her energy and her will to fight.
“Top of the stairs,” the older man directed them. “There’s a nice guest suite a couple of doors down the hall on the right.”
She didn’t care if it was nice or not. Hell, anything was nicer than Serenity House. She expected to fall asleep the minute her head hit the pillow. But when Aaron laid her down on the bed, she tensed—unwilling to drop her arms from around his neck. She wanted to cling to him again—wanted to make sure that they had both really survived the shoot-out at Serenity House.
“After he takes care of Whit, I’ll have the doctor come up to check you out,” he assured her.
“You can’t tell him…” she murmured as sleep tugged at her lids, bringing them down.
“I’m sure since Stanley Jessup called him, the doctor will be discreet. He won’t be spreading any rumors about Princess Gabriella being pregnant.”
“Gabby isn’t…” Actually she didn’t know that; she hadn’t seen her sister in months. She had no idea how she was, and the panic must have shown on her face.
Because Aaron assured her, “Don’t worry about Gabby or the doctor.”
She shook her head, frustrated at his misunderstanding. “No doctor.” She didn’t need a doctor. She just needed sleep.
And Aaron. She needed Aaron. He was the father of her child, but she had to accept that was all he would ever be to her.
As if he couldn’t stand her touch or feared she was picking his pockets again, he pulled away, albeit gently, from her grasping arms. He headed toward the door with the explanation: “I need to check on Whit. Make sure he stopped bleeding.”
They had pressed a makeshift bandage, of his own handkerchief, to his shoulder, but the thin swatch of fabric hadn’t done much to stem the blood loss.
So much blood…
Charlotte shuddered as she recalled the horrific crime scene they’d left. So much devastation.
Who was responsible?
“I need to talk to Mr. Jessup, too,” Aaron continued with a heavy sigh.
Fighting to stay awake, she murmured, “You can’t tell him about Josie…”
“It’s been almost four years now,” Aaron said. “What makes you think she might still be in danger?”
She placed her hands over her belly to soothe the baby’s frantic kicking. Or was that her stomach churning with jealousy? And guilt churned along with that jealousy. Trigger had been telling the truth—she and Josie had become quite close. Charlotte should be worried about her friend—not Aaron.
“Trigger,” she reminded him. “He wants to know where she is.”
“You’re sure it’s her whose whereabouts he wanted to know?”
“My last case.” Seeing how close Josie had been to her father had compelled Charlotte to want to get to know her own father.
It hadn’t taken her long to realize that King St. Pierre would never be the father Stanley Jessup had been to his daughter. But Charlotte had stayed because of the bond she’d formed with her sister. It wasn’t just outside dangers that she’d wanted to protect Gabriella from…
But now she focused on another friend. “There must be a reason Trigger wants to find Josie now. Somebody might have figured out she’s alive and hired him to find out where she is.”
“We haven’t seen Trigger since we broke out of Serenity House,” Aaron reminded her. “I don’t think Josie’s in danger.”
“We can’t be sure. Don’t tell her dad.”
“I won’t,” he promised, as he closed the blinds to shut out the morning sun. “Don’t worry. Just sleep. You’re safe here. No one will hurt you.”
It was too late. Someone already had. Aaron had with how easily he walked away, leaving her alone and aching for him.
Aching for a love that would never be hers…
*
HER LAST LUCID thought wasn’t for her own safety but for someone else’s. How could he have doubted—even for a minute—that her intentions weren’t honorable?
Sure, he’d let Whit and all his cynicism and doubts get inside his head, but he had never considered Charlotte with his head.
He had always connected with Charlotte with his heart. That was how he’d known—no matter how morbid the crime scene in Paris was—that she wasn’t dead. Because he would have known…
“She’s not the princess,” he told Stanley Jessup again, as he joined the older man at the bottom of the contemporary metal and glass staircase. It was a wonder he hadn’t slipped carrying Charlotte up them. But then he’d been totally focused on her—on protecting her and their unborn child.
The media mogul snorted. “How big a fool do you think I am? That girl’s the princess.”
She was a princess. Just not the princess that Jessup thought she was.
“That girl is the princess’s bodyguard,” he divulged. It wasn’t like it was a secret that could be kept any longer. “She had plastic surgery to look exactly like her.”
Stanley Jessup whistled in appreciation of Charlotte’s dedication. “Even you guys wouldn’t have gone to those extremes to protect someone.”
“She did.” Because Princess Gabriella was her sister. But that was a story Stanley Jessup didn’t need to have because he wouldn’t be able to not print
it.
“Are you sure?”
“I’ve seen them both together. To people not that familiar with them, they’re virtually identical.” But if you really knew them, they were nothing alike.
So who had kidnapped Charlotte thinking that she was Gabriella? Someone who hadn’t known either of them that well. And where was Princess Gabby?
“Doesn’t matter who she is,” Jessup said. “There’s a hell of a story here. She was held hostage in that hospital for months, apparently. Whit got shot in that place.”
Aaron glanced into the den where the doctor treated his old friend. The former war hero cursed profusely and creatively as a needle penetrated his skin, stitching up the wound.
Jessup reached for his phone again. “I’ll call that young reporter and get him over here to brief us with what he knows.”
Aaron shook his head. “That won’t be possible.”
“You need to get over this need for confidentiality,” the media mogul scoffed. “There’s really no such thing anymore.”
“I’m not talking about the story,” Aaron said. “I’m talking about the reporter. He can’t come here.” He swallowed hard on regret. “I’m sorry…”
The older man groaned. “I’ve heard that tone from you before. Heard that damn from-the-depths-of-your-soul apology. What happened?”
“I don’t know for certain,” he admitted. “But we found him and his source…”
“Dead?”
He nodded.
“Who did that?”
“Probably the same men who shot Whit.” Four of them had stormed the administrator’s office. Two had looked like the Serenity House guards he’d fought earlier—probably why they’d been so determined to shoot him. If not for Whit, Aaron might have been lying on the couch. Or in a morgue. “We left before the police arrived but we need to know what they know.”
“And since you left the scene of a crime, you can’t very well just waltz into the sheriff’s office and ask?”
Aaron shook his head. “Only two of the men shooting at us were hospital guards.” Despite Mona Platt swearing her security force was unarmed. “I don’t know if the other two men worked for the hospital or someone else.” Since they’d shot her first, and fatally, he heartily suspected someone else.
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