Nina Bruhns - Capturing the Crown Bundle

But then, she was a princess.

“Where are you going?”

“That’s none of your business,” she told him, matching his cool tone. “Since I have little to do with the royal family of Silvershire these days, I don’t understand why you’re here. What do you want?”

He flashed her a hard look, belatedly remembering at the last moment to soften it with another smile. “As you saw from my ID, I’m with the royal publicity department. His Grace, the Duke of Carrington, sent me.”

She stared, her emotions flashing across her mobile face, hope, disbelief and a tentative joy chief among them. She read the badge one last time before handing it back to him.

“Reginald spoke to the duke?” she asked. “He told him about our baby?”

Hearing the raw emotion in her voice, Chase felt a flash of pity. The look she gave him told him she’d seen and hated both that and the fact she’d let her guard down enough to show her feelings to a total stranger.

Chase narrowed his eyes. “I wasn’t informed how Lord Carrington learned of your claim.”

“But Reginald—” She bit her lip.

“Reginald what?”

One hand instinctively went to her belly. Protective. He noted this and filed it away for future reference. “What do you and/or Lord Carrington want with me?”

She was sleek and beautiful and sexy as hell. Chase could think of a thousand ways to answer that question, though he’d say none of them. He had a job to do.

He lifted his briefcase. “I’ve been authorized to offer you—”

The window exploded in a shower of glass.

“Get down!” He leapt at her.

Too stunned to react when he pushed her down, Sydney fell heavily, the man on top of her. Panicked, terrified the fall had hurt her unborn child, she fought to get up.

“Stay down,” he snarled. “That was a gunshot.”

“A gunshot? Why would someone shoot at me?”

When he looked at her, she saw a different man. Gone was the affable, smiling stranger. This man wore a grim face, a hard face, the kind of face she’d seen on her mother’s bodyguards, hired mercenaries for the most part. Dangerous men who played by their own set of rules.

“Who are you, really?” She whispered, still cradling her abdomen. “You might be in public relations now, but I’m thinking you might have another job title, as well.”

He looked away, climbing off her, still keeping low to the ground.

Another shot rang out, taking out what was left of the window.

He cursed. “That window—what’s it face?”

Confused, she shook her head. “I’m not sure. I’m on the sixth floor. No view. All that’s out there is the roof of one of the lower buildings.” Then she realized what that meant. If she were to climb out her window, she’d be able to step without much discomfort onto the other roof.

The shooter was that close! She had to protect her baby.

“We’ve got to get out of here.” He grabbed her hand, yanking her to her feet. “Stay low and follow me.”

He started for the door.

She grabbed her purse. “I need my passport.”

“Come on.” Once they reached the hall, he turned left.

“The elevator’s that way.” She pointed right.

“We’re taking the stairs. Hurry.”

They hustled all the way down. Their footsteps clattered on the metal edges, echoing in the narrow stairway.

“Let’s go, through here.” Tone low and urgent, he shepherded her out a door marked as an emergency exit, instantly setting off the hotel alarm. “Good, a distraction,” he shouted over the clanging bell and whirring siren.

Outside, momentarily disoriented, Sydney stumbled, squinting into the bright sunlight. He gave her arm another tug, urging her on, past the line of parked cars on the curb.

“My cello.” She suddenly remembered her beloved instrument. “I can’t leave it. Go back and get it, please?”

“No. I’ll buy you another.”

“You 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?”