“You’re going to kill her?”
Those bushy brows arched in question. “Why would that matter to you—if she’s really already dead?”
“Just didn’t think the king would order his daughter killed,” Whit said. “So who are you working for now?” He knew Zeke didn’t intend to let him live, so he might actually tell him the truth.
“Someone who wants the princess to never return to St. Pierre.”
“Who?” Whit persisted.
Zeke taunted him, “If she’s really dead, what does it matter?”
Whit couldn’t say it—couldn’t bring himself to utter the lie. Before today he had never been superstitious, but he couldn’t risk it now—that saying she was dead wouldn’t somehow make it come true.
“I want to know who you’re working for,” Whit persisted.
“Why?” Zeke asked. “It’s not like you’re going to need a job anytime soon.”
Whit shrugged. “You don’t know that. The king is not going to be happy with me for not bringing the princess home.”
“The king won’t fire you,” Zeke assured him. “Because he won’t need to. I’ll fire you for him.” And he lifted the gun and pulled the trigger.
Chapter Twelve
The sound of the gunshot echoed off the hilltop. Gabby felt the vibration of it in the sliding door against which she leaned, trying to see inside. But Whit had pulled the drapes across it, blinding her to what was going on inside the house.
Who had gotten off the helicopter? And had Whit just calmly let them inside the house to shoot him?
Her heart pounded furiously and so loudly she could hear it ringing in her ears. Or was that just the echo of the shot yet?
The wind picked up, whipping her hair around her face. And she realized what the noise really was: the sound of another helicopter.
Was it backup for the first? More of the men from the plane?
She clutched the gun she held. Should she storm inside the house? Or should she run to the helicopter in the hopes that it might actually be someone to help? Her head pounded with indecision and fear. Her instincts had her wanting to storm inside the house—wanting to protect Whit.
So she followed her instincts and pushed open the patio door. She listened but heard no voices, no sound above the pounding of the helicopter blades as it approached that small pad on the other side of the house. She drew in a deep breath and lifted the gun before stepping inside.
Glass crunched beneath her feet as she crept across the living room. The coffee table top had shattered, leaving only the brass frame. And that had been twisted. Chairs had toppled onto the slate flooring.
There had been a struggle. But there was no body left behind to tell her who had won or who had lost. Where was Whit? And with whom had he struggled?
He had rested for a day, but he hadn’t completely recovered from their overnight in the sea or his gunshot wound. As she studied the mess, she noticed the dark liquid spattered across the glass fragments and the slate. She crouched down, as far as her burgeoning belly allowed, and reached a trembling finger toward the spill. Then she lifted her hand and analyzed the stain smeared across her fingertip. A bright red stain.
Had Whit’s wound re-opened or did he have a new one?
Tears stung her eyes. Tears of regret and guilt and anguish. She shouldn’t have waited so long before coming out of the shelter. She should have followed him right back inside the house. What kind of mother was she going to be for her baby if she’d done nothing while his father had been harmed?
Where was Whit? How badly was he hurt?
She wasn’t just concerned that her baby might have lost her father. She was concerned that she might have lost the man she loved...and before she’d even had a chance to tell him how she felt.
* * *
W
HIT
HAD
HAD
to get Zeke outside—because he’d noticed the shadow outside the slider. And he’d known that Gabby had been too worried to stay where he’d put her. She’d been worried about him—when she should have been more concerned about herself and their child.
She’d done the same thing at the orphanage—making sure the men had seen her, so that they would leave her aunt and the kids alone. She had used herself as bait to lure the danger away from the others.
She cared so much about everyone...but herself.
“It took two of you to replace one of me,” Zeke taunted him as he pushed Whit forward with the barrel of the gun buried between his shoulder blades. “You really think you alone are any match for me?”
“Are
you
alone?” Whit asked. He had seen no other men with the guard. And Zeke had been a helicopter pilot when he’d served his country and later when he’d served whatever country had paid him the most.
Zeke snorted. “More alone than you are. Where is she?”
“I told you. She’s dead.” He hated saying it; hated how the words felt in his mouth. Bitter and sickening. And he hoped like hell his superstition wouldn’t be proved a reality. Ever.
“The next time I shoot, it won’t be a coffee table,” Zeke warned him. “And the only one who’s going to be dead is you.”
Whit chuckled and reminded Zeke, “But you’re the one who’s bleeding.”
When the guard had shot the coffee table, Whit had struck him hard—trying to knock him out. But the man had an iron jaw. All Whit had done was broken his skin and drawn blood.
And rage.
Zeke had swung the gun toward Whit then. But he’d kept him from firing by saying that her body had washed up on the beach. And so he’d drawn Zeke outside to the steepest edge of the hilltop.
The wind picked up, and the pounding of helicopter blades alerted them to the arrival of another aircraft. Backup for Zeke?
But all his men must have been gone because he lifted his gun and aimed it at the helicopter. As it flew over them, Whit recognized the royal seal of St. Pierre. Maybe Aaron was inside—maybe he and Charlotte had figured out Zeke’s duplicity and followed him here.
Zeke must have come to the same conclusion because he squeezed the trigger, getting off one shot before Whit struck him. Instead of swinging toward the man’s iron jaw, though, he slammed his fist into Zeke’s arm—with enough force to knock the weapon for his grasp.
The Glock flew from the man’s hand, dropping over the cliff. While Zeke turned toward where it had fallen, Whit pushed—sending the man tumbling over the side.
But Zeke’s arms thrashed. And as he reached out, he caught Whit’s shoulder and pulled him over the edge, too. He felt the weightlessness that he had when he and Gabby had jumped from the plane. But this time he had no parachute strapped to his back—nothing to break his fall on the rocks.
* * *
A
ARON
’
S
HEART
LURCHED
as the helicopter took the hit. His gaze flew to the pilot, who grappled with the controls as the aircraft shuddered and shook. “This is why I wanted you to stay at the palace,” he told his fiancée.
“And let you take on Zeke Rogers alone?” Charlotte asked, shaking her head at the thought.
“I would have brought some of the men Whit and I trust,” he said.
She passed over the island, struggling to bring the helicopter under control again. Over open water, the engine sputtered once. Twice.
“We can’t trust anyone,” she said. “But each other...”
He trusted her. He trusted that if anyone could save them right now—it was her.
But what about Whit? Were they already too late to save him and Princess Gabriella? Were they on this island—as the parachuting and ocean current experts had told first Zeke and then them?
Or had they been lost at sea as Charlotte had been so convinced? She wouldn’t let herself hope. Instead she’d been intent on tracking down who was responsible for the attempted kidnapping that had gone so very wrong...
And when they’d gotten on Zeke’s trail, it had led them here. To this private island getaway. Or rather, hideaway, given that the man who owned it had used questionable methods accruing the wealth to acquire the island.
He could have been the one shooting at them. Whit wouldn’t have been. He would have recognized the royal seal and waited to see who landed. Then he might have started firing if he’d realized Zeke Rogers had sold himself to a higher bidder.
Why had it taken the king so long to realize that Charlotte had been right not to trust the man? Why had he?
It was a mistake that had cost him. He’d aged another ten years with the realization that he had been the one who’d put his daughter at risk. Not Charlotte. Not Whit.
And what about Whit?
No bodyguard had ever taken an assignment as literally as Whit. He would do whatever was necessary to protect a client—even give up his own life for theirs. Aaron suspected that was never truer than now, with Princess Gabriella carrying Whit’s child. The guy had always claimed that he would never get married, never be a father. Aaron didn’t know his reasons why, but he doubted one of them had been death.
A dead man couldn’t become a husband or father...
Aaron should have married Charlotte before they’d ever left Michigan. He shouldn’t have let him talk her into making sure Gabby was safe first.
“That’s definitely the helicopter Zeke took,” Charlotte said. The royal seal was on the bottom of it but it was the same royal blue and bright magenta of the one she flew. Or tried to fly.
The engine sputtered again. They needed to land. But Zeke had planted his helicopter in the center of the small cement pad. The island wasn’t big enough to have a clearing where they could land. There was only the house and then the hill dropped steeply off to the rocky beach below.
He trusted Charlotte. But there was only so much she could do. The helicopter was going down whether or not she found a place to land safely.
* * *
G
ABBY
’
S
THROAT
BURNED
yet from the scream she’d uttered when she had watched the two men tumble over the cliff on the other side of the helicopter pad. She’d checked out the island earlier—when Whit was asleep. She knew this side had no stairs leading to a beach. It had no sand—only jagged rocks from the top of the hill to the water below.
Dread kept her legs locked in place—unable to move forward, to run toward the edge of that cliff. She had a horrible feeling that she knew what she would see when she looked over the edge.
Like a bird of prey, the helicopter circled back again. It was the colors of her country. But that offered Gabriella more fear than comfort. The only one she could trust who worked for St. Pierre was Whit.
And he was gone.
The helicopter engine sputtered. The metal screeched, trees scraping it, as the helicopter made its crash landing. It landed in a tiny clearing behind her, between her and the house. Leaving her an unobstructed view of that cliff.
She kept watching it. But Whit didn’t pull himself up it. Neither did the man he’d pushed over the side. No one came back up.
Finally she forced herself to move toward where they had fallen. But her legs trembled so badly that she had no balance. She stumbled and pitched forward. To protect her baby, she put out her hands—and dropped the gun Whit had left her for protection into the thick grass.
Behind her the helicopter engine whined down to silence. It was eerily silent. So quiet that she heard the footsteps on the grass.
Panic overwhelmed her, sending her scrambling for the gun. She delved her hands into the grass. But it was so thick and long that she couldn’t find the weapon.
She had nothing to protect her. No gun. No Whit. Tears of loss and fear and frustration stung her eyes, so that they watered. And her throat filled with emotion. She couldn’t even scream.
But what did it matter? Who would hear her? Anyone who cared was gone.
Strong hands grasped her arms and pulled her to her feet. She drew in a shuddery breath, trying to summon the strength and courage to fight.
Whit might have been gone. But she still had her baby. She had to fight for him—to protect him and herself from whoever had come for her.
So when she turned, she lifted her leg and kicked out with her all might—hoping to knock her attacker’s legs from beneath him—hoping to knock him off balance enough that she could escape.
But there was more than one.
Chapter Thirteen
Aaron caught Charlotte, stopping her fall. Gabby gasped in shock over seeing her sister and realizing that she’d nearly knocked down the woman—the very pregnant woman.
“Oh, my God!” she exclaimed. “Are you all right?”
Charlotte nodded. “Are you?”
The tears she’d momentarily blinked away rushed back, filling her eyes and her throat, so she barely got out her, “Yes.”
It had been Charlotte and Aaron on the helicopter. Charlotte and Aaron who had nearly crashed. She’d nearly lost them, too.
“Where’s Whit?” Aaron asked anxiously, his blue eyes bright with fear for his friend’s safety.
Hysteria threatened, but Gabby pushed it back to reply, “Whit’s gone...”
“Where’s Whit?” Aaron asked, glancing around the small area. “Did Zeke take him somewhere?”
Zeke Rogers. That was who had landed in the first helicopter. That was who had fired those shots. That was whom Whit had been fighting when he went over.
“Come quick,” Gabby ordered. She hadn’t believed help would come, but it had. So maybe she needed to believe again—in Whit. To hope...
“They were fighting,” she said, gesturing ahead of her at the cliff as she struggled to run through the tall grass, “and they fell.”
She ran but Aaron wasn’t pregnant, so he was faster. He beat the women to the cliff, stopping only at the edge. His jaw clenched as he stared over the side.
When Gabby rushed up, he turned around and stopped her with his arms on her shoulders. “Don’t look!”
That had been her first instinct, too, not to look when she was so certain of what she would find. Utter despair and loss. But she hadn’t thought there would be help, either. She hadn’t really believed that anyone would ever find her and Whit. So she had to look. Had to know for certain...
She tugged free of Aaron’s grasp and looked around him. Her gaze was immediately drawn to the edge of the water below, to the body so busted up on the rocks so that it looked like a broken marionette.
“That’s not Whit,” she said with horror. It couldn’t be Whit. He couldn’t be gone.
But they wouldn’t be able to confirm or disprove the identity of the body because waves tugged at it, pulling it from the rocks to disappear into the ocean.
She screamed.
* * *
W
HIT
’
S
ARMS
BURNED
with his effort to hang on, his hands wrapped around a rock jutting from the cliff. The rock was damp, and his grip began to slip. He didn’t want to wind up like Zeke, who’d crashed onto the rocks below. His eyes had been wide open, staring up at Whit in death. But now he was gone.
And Whit heard Gabby’s scream. It chilled his blood with fear—for her safety more than his.
“Gabby!” he yelled back. “I’m coming. I’m coming!”
He wouldn’t leave her—not like this. Not any way. As one hand slipped off a wet rock, he lurched up, reached out blindly with his free arm and somehow managed to clasp another rock while not letting go of the one he held. The rough edges cut into his palm, and his shoulder strained with the movement. But he didn’t care. His own discomfort was nothing in comparison to the fear and anguish he’d just heard in Gabby’s scream.
She screamed again—his name. But now her voice was full of hope and relief. “Whit!”
He stared up at the hilltop and found her leaning over the edge. A rock beneath her foot slipped loose and tumbled down the cliff. And she slipped, too.
“Gabby!”
But strong hands grasped her arms and pulled her back. He couldn’t see her—couldn’t see who had her or if she was really safe.
“Gabby!”
Now someone else stood on the edge, staring down. “Son of a bitch,” a deep voice shouted. “What the hell...”
“Aaron!” Relief that Gabby was safe flooded Whit. His friend would protect her, like Whit had tried, with his life if necessary.
“How the hell am I supposed to reach you?” Aaron asked with frustration, as if he were trying to figure out a particularly vexing puzzle.
Whit’s grip, on one rock, slipped again. But once again he held tight with the hand that had a hold on a rock and swung his free arm. He managed to catch the edge of another rock—higher up. “I’m coming,” he assured them.
Aaron must have taken him at his word because he disappeared from sight. Disappointment and panic flashed through Whit. They had only just regained their friendship and their trust. So he suffered a moment’s doubt—wondering if his old friend was really going to help him.
That panic had him swinging his arm again, trying to reach a higher rock. But his fingertips slipped off, and his arm swung back—nearly making him lose the grip he had with his other hand. He kicked out, trying to find a toe hold.
And beneath him the waves crashed against the rocks, as if getting ready to carry his broken body out to sea, too.
But he wasn’t giving up. Not yet. Not ever. He swung his arm toward the wall of rocks again—trying to catch hold. And his fingers touched something else—rough fibers. A rope dangled over the edge.
“Grab it!” Aaron shouted.
Whit grasped the rope in a tight fist. But he didn’t let go of the rock with his other hand. And finally he got a hold with his foot.
“I got you,” Aaron said. “I can pull you up.”
Maybe he could. While not as big as Whit, Aaron was a strong guy. But still Whit couldn’t completely give up control or trust. Instead of just holding on and letting Aaron pull him up, he used the rope as a railing to make the climb himself.
He was climbing up to Gabby—to make sure she was safe. Even though Zeke was gone, it wasn’t over. If Zeke had been working for someone, that person could hire another mercenary to finish the job. But even if they figured out whom Zeke had been working for, Gabby would always be in danger; her life and her safety always at risk because of who she was. Princess Gabriella St. Pierre.
And he was just a royal bodyguard...with nothing to offer her but his protection. And he hadn’t done a very damn good job of protecting her yet.
She would be safer with Charlotte. And happier with a prince. So when he stepped foot on the topside of the hill, he resisted the urge to grab her up in his arms and hold her close. And when she reached for him, he caught her hands and stopped her from embracing him. Because if he gave in to temptation and hugged her, he would never let her go again.
“Are you all right?” she asked, her beautiful face stained with tears she’d shed over him.
She was too good for him. Too good for anyone...
“What the hell happened?” Aaron asked.
Whit nodded. “I’m fine. It was Zeke who hit the rocks.”
Charlotte nodded. “We figured it was Zeke.”
“Acting out of revenge,” Aaron said, “for us getting him fired.”
Whit shook his head. “It was about money.”
“Was he going to kidnap me to get my father to pay him a ransom?” Gabby asked. She tugged her hands free of Whit’s, as if self-conscious that she’d reached for him and he’d held her off. She slid her palms over her stomach, as if to soothe their baby.
He could walk away from her—to keep her safe. But could he walk away from his son? Hell, the child—heir to a country—would probably be in even more danger than Gabriella had been.
“I think it was about money,” Whit agreed. “But I think someone was paying him...”
Gabby flinched, as if in pain. And he couldn’t add to that—couldn’t tell her what Zeke had been paid to do: kill her.
“You’re not feeling well,” he said.
She glanced up at his face, as if dazed. And she began to tremble. “I’m fine,” she said. But she had to be lying.
“Aaron, get them back to St. Pierre,” he ordered.
“What about you?” Aaron asked. “Aren’t you coming with us?”
“I need to clean up around here—make sure Zeke was alone.” And that the man was dead. He intended to go down to the beach below.
And Charlotte and Aaron must have read his intentions. “Aaron can stay with you. I’ll take her,” the former U.S. Marshal said. “We have a pilot with us.”
“But your helicopter was hit.”
“The bullet did no structural damage.”
“Is the pilot someone we can trust?” Whit asked. Before they could answer, he shook his head. “You better fly them, Aaron.” Because somewhere out there, someone still wanted Gabriella dead.
“I’m the one who flew us here,” Charlotte said. And then she was the one who’d landed the helicopter after it had been hit. “I’ve had my pilot’s license for years.”
“Of course you have,” Gabby murmured—with a flash of bitterness.
And Whit remembered that the women had unfinished business between them. Charlotte had kept secrets from Gabby that she’d had no right to keep even though she’d had her reasons. Maybe sending the two of them off alone together wasn’t the greatest idea.
“So let’s go,” Gabby said, and she left him without a backward glance—as if she’d dismissed him after he’d done his job. Was that all he was to her? An employee? While she walked away, Charlotte and Aaron embraced—as if the thought of spending just mere hours apart was intolerable to them.
“Be safe,” Aaron implored his fiancée.
“Always.”
“I love you.”
“I love you more,” she said and pressed a hand to her own swollen belly. “Because I love you for the both of us.” With another quick kiss for her baby’s father, she followed Gabby to the helicopter pad.
Both men stood until the helicopter lifted off and flew away—its engine loud and strong and its course straight.
“No smart remarks?” Aaron asked.
“About what?” He knew, though. He’d teased Aaron in the past about his public displays of affection. The man always fell easily and hard. But he’d never fallen as hard as he had for Charlotte Green, and those feelings were so much stronger because they were reciprocated. Whit couldn’t tease him about that—not when he was envious as hell of what his friend had found.
Aaron narrowed his eyes, which were an eerie pale blue, and studied Whit’s face. “Are you really okay? You didn’t hit your head when you went over the cliff?”
Whit shook his head. “There are steps over here leading down. We need to check down there—”
“He’s gone,” Aaron said. “There’s no way he survived that fall.” He shuddered. “I can’t believe that you did—that you caught yourself. You are so damn lucky—like a cat with nine lives.”
Whit nearly shuddered, too, at Aaron making the same comparison the mercenary had.
“But knowing you like I do, you probably used up the last of those nine lives today,” Aaron continued. “So we shouldn’t risk going down that cliff.”
“Maybe Zeke lost his phone,” Like he’d lost his life, on the rocks, “when he fell. If we can find that and figure out who he was talking to, maybe we can figure out who hired him.”
“You think Gabby’s still in danger?” Aaron asked, with a glance toward the sky—obviously concerned about both women. But the helicopter was long gone.
“I know she is.” And even after they found whoever had hired Zeke, she would still be in danger—still have people trying to kidnap her for her father’s fortune.
“What else do you know about her?” Aaron asked. “Who the father of her baby is?” The question was obviously rhetorical; his friend was pretty damn sure it was his.
Whit clenched his jaw.
And Aaron whistled. “I can’t believe it—after everything you’ve said about never getting married—”
“That hasn’t changed,” Whit said. There was no way in hell a princess would ever consider marrying him. And even if she did take the chance on him, her father would never approve their marriage.
“And the fact that we have a job to do hasn’t changed, either,” he continued. “We need to protect her.”
“From whom, do you think?” Aaron asked.
Whit shrugged. “I don’t know. We thought it might be Prince Linus’s father. She doesn’t think her ex-fiancé could have concocted that elaborate a plot on his own.”
Aaron gasped. “King Demetrios and his younger son are at the palace. They said they were concerned about her. Why would they want to hurt the princess?”
Whit shook his head. He couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to hurt Gabby. “I don’t know if they’re involved. All we know for certain is that someone wanted her to
never
return to St. Pierre.”
And Gabriella was already on her way...
* * *
“I
DON
’
T
NEED
to ask who the father of your baby is,” Charlotte remarked, once she and Gabby walked into their private suite of rooms in the palace.
They hadn’t talked at all on the helicopter. Gabby hadn’t been ready to deal with the woman she now knew was her sister. Nor had she been able to deal with her disappointment over how Whit had treated her. It was like their making love had been just her dreaming.
Because he had acted like it had never happened. He had acted like they had never been intimate enough to have conceived the child she carried. His child.
“You don’t?” Gabriella wondered. Because Whit had certainly not betrayed their relationship. But Charlotte had always been able to read her—even while she, herself, had been keeping so much from Gabby.
“You love Whit,” Charlotte said, her voice soft with sympathy. From the way he’d acted, she had undoubtedly been able to tell that Gabby’s feelings were not reciprocated. “You were falling for him six months ago, but now you love him.”
Gabriella shrugged. It didn’t matter how she felt since her feelings were not returned. He’d asked her to take a risk on him...
A risk that he would figure out how to love? That risk had obviously not paid off.
“I don’t need to ask who the father of your baby is, either,” Gabby said, her heart warming as she studied Charlotte’s face—so like her own except for the happiness that illuminated it from within—making her breathtakingly beautiful.
“I got pregnant the night of the ball,” Charlotte said, pressing her palms to her belly as Gabby always did. “The same night I assume you must have since we both left the next day.” Her light of happiness dimmed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that my plan went so wrong.”
“You were the one who was kidnapped,” Gabby reminded her. “I’m sorry...”