don’t understand. It’s a Stradivarius, one of only sixty left in the world.” She attempted in vain to pull herself free, knowing she personally couldn’t go back after it. She had to protect her baby at all costs, even if that meant she lost Lady Swister, her cello. “Please,” she repeated. “It will only take a moment.”
Grim-faced, he stared, sending a chill of foreboding up her spine. “You want me to risk my life for an instrument?”
“A three-million-dollar instrument. Please.” She gestured again. “We’ve obviously lost the shooter.”
“For now.” A muscle worked in his jaw. “How the hell did you get a three-million-dollar cello?”
“Reginald gave it to me. I—”
They both heard the sharp report of another shot. Seemingly at the same time, the side window of the car behind them shattered.
“Go. Now!” Not hesitating, he yanked her after him.
They took off at a run, across the deserted street and into a narrow alley.
“But my cello…!”
“Forget the cello. This way.”
“My rental car’s closer.” She pointed at the cute red Gaston Mini, parked near the corner. “Right there.” Fishing the remote out of her purse, she punched the unlock button.
A second later, the car exploded.
The force of the blast knocked them both to the ground.
An instant and then Chase yanked her to her feet. Dazed, she could only stare at the roaring inferno that, seconds before, had been her car.
“Are you all right?”
She blinked, looked down at her torn slacks and bloody knees. “I…I think so.”
Sirens drowned out even the still-clanging hotel alarm. Any minute now, police, ambulance and fire trucks should careen around the corner.
“Good.” He tugged at her arm. “Come on then. Run!”
Another gunshot, uncomfortably close, took out another windshield.
“Come on.”
They took off running. Several glances over her shoulder and she still couldn’t see the gunman, or anyone in pursuit.
Still, she had to protect her baby.
“Don’t look back. Just run!” He led her left, then right and left again into a concrete parking garage. Their footsteps echoed as they ran toward a low-slung, black Mercedes.
By the time he bundled her into the car, she was out of breath and panting. Another quick look assured her they hadn’t been followed. “So far so good.”
“They found your room and anticipated the door we’d exit,” he muttered. “It’s only a matter of time until they find us. We’re not waiting around until they do.”
Starting the engine without sparing her a second glance, he shoved the gearshift into reverse, backing so fast his tires squealed. Then he gunned the car forward. The powerful motor roared as they shot into the street. They careened around the corner, barreling toward the main thoroughfare.
Suddenly, she felt every cut, every bruise. Worse than that, her lower back hurt. Alarm flared through her. Had she injured her baby? Sydney cradled her abdomen, trying to regain her breath, her mind whirling.
“What?” Now he looked at her, his hazel eyes missing nothing. “Are you hurt?”
“No. Yes. I—I don’t know.” She bit her lip, both hands covering her still-flat abdomen. “I’m pregnant. I’m worried about my baby.”
“You don’t look pregnant.” One hand on the steering wheel, he issued this observation in a bland, bored tone, as if he dealt every day with shootouts and chases. For all she knew, maybe he did.
“I’m barely eight weeks.” Stiffening, she refused to look at him again, glancing out the window as she finally took notice of her surroundings. They were heading away from downtown, toward the Silvershire International Airport. “Look, Mr. Savage…”
“Call me Chase.”
She ignored him. “Mr. Savage. Where are we going?”
Instead of answering, he gave her another hard look. “Any idea who was shooting at you? And why?”
“No. I think it’s more likely we got caught in the middle of someone else’s troubles.”
“Troubles?”
She waved her hand. “You know. Gang war or something. We were in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
“Princess—”
“My name is Sydney.”
“Sydney, then. They shot at you. No one else. You. Your car exploded. Of course this was aimed at you.”
Lifting her chin, she considered his words. He was right. “Why? Why would anyone want to harm me?”
Keeping an eye on the rearview mirror, he took the exit that led to the airport. “You claim to be carrying the crown prince’s child. You know there’s a political firestorm going on now with those democracy advocates. That’d put you right in the middle of it.”
“True. But Reginald and I aren’t married. My baby is no threat to anyone.”
“Yet,” he said.
“Ever.” Closing her mouth before she said too much more, Sydney caught sight of the Welcome to Silvershire International Airport sign. “Where are you taking me? Why the airport?”
For the first time since appearing in her doorway, he looked surprised. As though she should have known. “The royal jet is waiting.”
“The royal jet?” A tentative spark of hope filled her. “Has he asked you to bring me to him?”
“Who?”
Impatient, she shifted in her seat. “Reginald, of course. My baby’s father. Are you taking me to see him?”
There was no pity in the hard glance he shot her now.
“No,” he said. Nothing more.
But then, what else could he say? Reginald had made it plain he didn’t want her or the unplanned baby she carried. She’d even learned he’d gotten engaged to a beautiful princess from Gastonia. He’d moved quickly, proving his words of love had been nothing but lies.
The knowledge shouldn’t hurt so much, but it did. Mostly, she thought with a wry smile, because she’d unintentionally done the one thing she’d always sworn not to. She’d inadvertently mimicked her mother’s life.
When she looked up she realized Chase watched her and most likely had misinterpreted her smile. No matter, she was going home to Naessa soon. Then what he or anyone else in the country of Silvershire thought wouldn’t matter a whit. Not at all.
She’d managed to do as her mother had done, but unlike her mother, she wouldn’t ever call her baby a mistake. From now on, Sydney had a child to think of. From now on, her baby would always come first.
A quick glance at the handsome man beside her told her nothing. Chase Savage had protected her, but what were his real intentions?
They pulled up to an iron gate marked Private. Chase pushed a button on his console and the barricade swung open. Driving slowly through the rows of hangars, he punched in a number on his cell phone, a razor-thin model which looked like something out of a James Bond movie. He spoke a few terse words—not enough for her to glean the gist of the conversation, and snapped the metal phone closed.
“All settled,” he said cheerfully. “I’ve gotten us emergency clearance.” They turned right, into the airport’s private section.