Protecting the Pregnant Princess

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 burgeoning 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 W AS 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.