Guarded Moments

by JoAnn Ross

  "Better the guy's hat than his head. Besides, according to the story, it was a bowler. Can you imagine what kind of blamed fool would wear a bowler in the back Tennessee hills? The way I figure it, the guy deserved what he got."

  "Anyway, Billy Joe fell in love with the daughter of a family the Tremaynes had been feuding with all the way back to the Civil War. But my grandpappy could recognize quality when he saw it, and when Fayrene Drummond came home on Easter vacation from that fancy Ivy League college up north, he knew she was the girl for him. When they eloped, both families hit the roof. But nine months later, when Fayrene gave birth to my daddy, the whole thing just kinda blew over."

  He held the cellophane bag out to Caine, who reached in and absently took a handful of raisins. Caine wasn't at all hungry after that enormous dinner, but stakeouts were so damn boring. "I assume there's a point to this little saga."

  "Of course. The point being that every family, royalty or not, has its little differences. Differences that can eventually be overcome. Besides, you don't even know whether or not Chantal's family would object to the princess marrying a commoner."

  Caine practically choked on a chocolate-covered raisin. "Who said anything about marriage?"

  "A guy could do worse…You know, life gets real humorous sometimes."

  Caine tried to think of one humorous aspect of this situation and came up blank. "How's that?"

  "I've been watching the two of you circle each other like a pair of my daddy's old hound dogs. Neither of you look all that dumb, yet if someone doesn't make a move pretty soon, the princess will be back home walking the floors in Montacroix, and you'll be snapping my head off in Washington. Hell, Caine, you can't deny that you're downright smitten with her."

  "'Smitten'? What outdated Victorian dictionary did you get that from?" Caine muttered even as he secretly admitted the word fit perfectly.

  Who wouldn't be smitten with Chantal Giraudeau? During the long, lonely nights, when he was all too aware that she was asleep on the other side of the door, he'd even fantasized about her settling down with him. But the idea of a princess marrying a guy like him was worthy of the Brothers Grimm or Hans Christian Andersen: a nice fantasy, but a fairy tale all the same.

  "All right, so I'm attracted to her, okay? She's like no other woman I've ever known, and I'd love nothing more than to get out of this car right now, go up to her bedroom and ravish her until we're too exhausted and too satiated to move. Now that I've said it, will you just shut up and eat your damn chocolate-covered raisins?"

  "Sure. But Caine?"

  "Yeah?"

  "Don't wait too long." He grinned. "She just might find out what a jerk you really are."

  The night was silent; the street empty. Next door a dog began to bark and was immediately called back inside the house.

  "Damn," Drew said suddenly.

  Caine's own oath was just as short but harsher as he caught sight of the flickering orange light that had just appeared in Chantal's bedroom window. "Get on the horn and call the fire department," he said, throwing open the car door. "And the police. I'll get everyone out."

  As he took off across the deserted street, Noel Giraudeau's nightmare flashed through Caine's mind.

  The flashing lights lit up the night sky. Outside, on their front lawn, surrounded by hoses, David and Blair Sherwood gathered their children around them and watched in stunned disbelief as the fire fighters worked to save their beloved house. The curious had gathered on the sidewalk across the street, watching as the flames began to lick greedily at the roof.

  Inside, Drew and Caine fought their way past the powerful streams of water being sprayed from the fire trucks as they tried to find Chantal.

  "Dammit!" Caine shouted, his eyes stinging from the wall of smoke as he made his way up the still-intact stairs. "What kind of woman spends a fortune on antiques but won't put out fifteen bucks for a smoke alarm?"

  Drew pulled off his soaked leather jacket and put it over his head. "How about a woman who doesn't want the fire detected?"

  "No way. If Blair Sherwood had anything to do with this, she would have arranged to have her kids spend the night somewhere else." The smoke was becoming heavier. The floor was growing hot beneath their feet. "Besides, you didn't see her showing off this place today. She'd just as soon cut her own wrists as torch it."

  They'd reached Chantal's room. Smoke burned Caine's lungs and he began to cough. The fire had obviously begun here; the four poster was afire and flames were ravenously devouring the curtains. But Chantal was nowhere to be seen.

  "She must be in the passageway," Caine said, pointing toward the fireplace. "Blair said that's the way in."

  Caine and Drew exchanged a look. Both men knew that if they were trapped behind the walls when the roof collapsed it would be the end for all of them.

  "Let's go," Drew said.

  On the other side of the wall, Caine could feel the heat and hear the roar of the fire as it ravaged the house. The narrow passageway was starting to fill with smoke, making their flashlights almost useless. As he crawled along, feeling in front of him, he found himself making deal after deal with God.

  If he could only find Chantal, he'd never sneak another cigarette again. If she was still alive, he'd call his mother once a week, whether he had anything to say or not. If he could get her out of here safely, he'd give ten percent of his salary to Chantal's beloved Rescue the Children Fund every month for the rest of his life. He might even, he promised rashly as he heard the sound of the flames whipping across the roof, try going back to church.

  He was trying to think up yet another bargaining chip when his hand suddenly came across something furry. The calico kitten, terrified by the events of the night, reacted instinctively, clawing a ragged path down the back of Caine's hand. He stopped in midcurse as he bumped into a seemingly boneless bundle of silk.

  "I found her," he called out to Drew, who was following closely behind.

  "Is she…?"

  Directing the beam of his flashlight onto her face, Caine pressed his fingers against the side of her neck. "She's alive," he said, relief rushing over him.

  Drew came up beside Caine and shone his own light over her, lingering on the blood staining the shoulder of her sea-green silk nightgown. "Looks like somebody bashed her a good one," he said, brushing her hair back and exposing a deep gash behind her ear.

  "I'm going to find who did this," Caine vowed. His cold, quiet tone was more deadly than the loudest shout. "And when I do, I'm going to kill him."

  "Why don't we get your lady but of here. Then we can worry about catching the bad guys." He ran his hands quickly, professionally over her body. "I don't think she's got any broken bones. Let's see if we can bring her to."

  Caine lifted her up, cradling her in his arms. Beyond the walls the sound of the fire grew louder. Outside, the lonely wail of sirens continued to rent the air as even more fire engines arrived to fight the blaze.

  "Chantal." His fingers moved over her face, stroking, gentling, comforting. "Come on, sweetheart, you've got to help us get you out of here."

  Chantal opened her eyes and saw Caine, illuminated by Drew's flashlight. Even as confused as she was, she knew that she'd never, as long as she lived, forget the look on his face. There was fear there. And concern. And something else. Something so remarkable, she knew she'd have to think about it later.

  "Caine?" Struggling to sit up, she began to cough. "What are you doing here? What's happening?"

  "That's what we'd all like to know, Princess," Drew said. "But right now, we need to get you out of here."

  She dragged her hands through her hair, struggling to understand. "I'm bleeding," she said in disbelief as her fingers encountered something warm and sticky at the back of her head.

  "You're going to be all right," Caine assured her. "Do you think you're up to crawling out of here?"

  "Crawl?"

  "The house is on fire. The air is fresher close to the floor."

  "Fire?" Her
head was whirling and she felt as if an elephant was sitting on her chest. She coughed again. Once. Twice. Violently. "Oh, my God! Blair! And the children!"

  "They're safe," Caine said as a sound like a freight train roared overhead. The fire was obviously spreading quickly through the attic, and they couldn't afford to waste any more time or oxygen. "Come on," he said, putting his arm around her. "This place isn't going to last much longer."

  They were crawling back the way they'd come when a set of sharp claws suddenly clenched at his back. "Stupid cat," he muttered, doing nothing to dislodge the frightened kitten clinging to his shirt.

  "The kitten," Chantal said. "I remember now. He was crying. He sounded frightened so I came in here to rescue him when suddenly someone came up behind me." Dizziness nearly overcame her; she stopped momentarily to let it pass. "I don't know who it was."

  "We can talk about that later," Caine said grimly. "Right now you need to save your breath."

  They reached the bedroom and were nearly all the way down the hallway when they heard a giant whoosh. The three of them watched in silent awe as a vast column of flames rose up to engulf the curving staircase, greedily eating away the ornately carved banister.

  "So much for taking the easy way out," Drew said.

  "We're going to have to jump," Caine agreed.

  Chantal stared at them. "Jump? From the second story?" Her eyes were tearing from the soot in the air; her lungs were screaming for just one pure, clean breath. There was nothing she wanted more than to get out of this inferno, but surely there was some other way.

  "It's our best chance, Chantal," Drew said.

  "The only one," Caine said. "Come on, Princess, where's your spirit of adventure? Just hold on to my shirt. If we get separated in all this smoke, I might never be able to find you again."

  Chantal couldn't believe the way both men remained so calm. So in control. "I suppose it's time I confess my single failing," she said, struggling to keep her voice steady.

  She was spectacular, Caine thought. Any other woman would be screaming her head off about now. Chantal was obviously royal all the way to her fingertips. "What failing is that?"

  "I'm afraid of heights."

  "You are kidding."

  "I wish I were."

  Caine thought about her admission for only a moment. "No problem. We'll just try one of the back bedroom," he decided. "With any luck, the terrace roof will still be intact."

  Slowly, inch by inch, they made their way back down the hallway. As they passed Chantal's bedroom once again, the glass in the Palladian window exploded out onto the lawn.

  It was only a bad dream, Chantal thought. A night. Soon she'd wake up and find herself safe and sound in bed. Then, in just a few minutes she'd be running with Caine through the streets of Philadelphia, garnering energy for the busy day ahead.

  Unfortunately, this was no dream. The flames rapidly engulfing the house were all too real. Her eyes were tearing violently from the soot and the smoke, and her lungs felt as if she'd swallowed a chestful of burning coals.

  "Here we go," Drew said, leading the trio into what Chantal remembered to be the master bedroom. The heat had peeled the ivory silk paper off the walls, a layer of soot had settled onto the top of the gilded Duncan Phyfe dressing table and flames had begun licking at the colorful postage-stamp quilt covering a Sheraton field bed. "Hey, we're in luck—this room has a balcony."

  The glass in the French doors had been blown out earlier. Caine crawled onto the balcony, the others close behind. "Okay," he said as he helped Chantal to her feet, "all we have to do now is jump down onto that terrace rooftop."

  It was less than eight feet. Eight feet between a chance to live and the probability of dying in this inferno that only hours before had been Blair Sherwood's pride and joy. "I can do it," she said. "But we have to take the kitten."

  Caine was one step ahead of her. Peeling the terrified feline off his back, he unbuttoned his shirt and stuck the cat inside. "The little troublemaker is all taken care of. Ready?"

  The fire had caught on to one of the bedposts and was licking at the acorn finial. Chantal knew it would only be a matter of moments before the entire room was engulfed in flames.

  "Caine?"

  "Yeah?" Beneath the studied calm in his voice, she could detect an edge of impatience.

  "Will you hold my hand?"

  "You've got yourself a deal." Caine's strong, capable hand closed reassuringly over hers. "We'll go on the count of three, okay?"

  Chantal nodded.

  "One."

  She took a deep breath.

  "Two."

  She bit her lip as the rooftop below appeared to swim.

  "Three."

  Closing her eyes so tightly that stars appeared behind her lids, Chantal clung to Caine's hand with all her might and stepped off into space.

  10

  She was so pale. Caine stood beside the gurney, holding her hand, trying not to think how close he'd come to losing her.

  "I must look a fright," Chantal complained, combing her fingers ineffectually through her wet and matted hair. Behind her ear was a row of precisely sewn stitches.

  Her hair smelled of smoke. Soot ringed her red-veined eyes and was smeared across her cheeks. Her bottom lip was split where she'd put her teeth through it earlier.

  "You look beautiful," he said, brushing his thumb over her knuckles. The pearl-tinted fingernails of her left hand were ragged and torn.

  Her laugh turned into a violent cough. "Liar," she said when she could finally speak.

  As he lifted her fingers to his lips, Caine's gaze did not leave her face. "I thought I'd lost you."

  His expression, along with the unmasked emotion in his eyes, made her heart clench, then begin beating all the faster. Chantal knew that the time was fast approaching when they'd have to talk about what was happening between them. But not now. And not here, in this bustling hospital emergency room, where they could be interrupted at any minute.

  "Caine?"

  "Yeah?"

  "There's something I probably should have told you earlier."

  "What?"

  "My father and brother have thought for several months that someone is trying to kill me. In the beginning, I believed they were merely overreacting to a few random accidents."

  "And now?"

  "And now I'm afraid they may be right."

  It was better to get it out in the open, Caine thought. Better for her. Better for him. He'd been frustrated by having to keep his identity a secret. So why was he suddenly so reluctant to admit to the truth?

  "I think that's a good bet. And since you brought it up, I suppose I'd better warn you that the police are waiting outside to talk to you." Only by flashing his Presidential Security ID had he managed to keep them at bay this long. The president, upon receiving Drew's phone call, had dispatched a team of FBI investigators who were also currently cooling their heels in the hospital's waiting room.

  She shook her head, grimacing slightly as giant boulders rolled around inside. "I don't want to talk to the police."

  "Would you rather give the guy another shot at you?"

  His harsh tone grated, but Chantal could read the honest concern in his eyes and decided against responding in kind.

  "I'd rather just get away from here. From all this," she said quietly, waving her hand around the room. The green curtain around them was drawn, but there was no mistaking the hurried, competent activity going on in the emergency room.

  In the cubicle beside them, doctors and nurses worked valiantly in a futile attempt to revive a middle-aged man's heart. Across the room the teenage victim of a gang fight had a gaping knife wound that was being attended by an emergency room intern who didn't look old enough to shave.

  The world hadn't stopped spinning just because she'd almost died, Chantal realized with a small jolt of surprise. Life went on, as it always had. "Please, Caine, take me to the hotel."

  "Dammit, Chantal, this is serious."

&nbs
p; "I know. And I promise that after some sleep, I'll be much more clearheaded and able to answer all their questions in more detail."

  She had a point, Caine conceded reluctantly. He'd questioned her in the ambulance on the way to the hospital, and her story had remained exactly the same: she'd followed the kitten into the hidden passage, was grabbed from behind by an unknown assailant, fought him off as best she could, and that's where all memory ceased until she woke to find the passageway filled with smoke and Caine and Drew bending over her. But still, every moment they waited, the bastard could be farther away.

  Chantal reached up and put her palm on his unsmiling face. "I promise to cooperate. Once I get some sleep."

  He couldn't remember ever vacillating like this. Part of Caine wanted nothing more than to take Chantal as far away from this place as possible. He wanted to escape with her to some balmy tropical island, where they'd pass the time lounging on sun-drenched beaches, sipping Mai Tais and making love.

  As appealing as that idea was, Caine's professional side argued that he shouldn't be wasting time; that he should be trying to track down whoever was responsible for that wicked gash at the back of her head. Whoever it was had already tried to kill her more than once and would undoubtedly try again.

  Caine covered her hand with his. "I'll try to stall them. But you're going to have to talk to them later today."

  "After some sleep," she agreed. "And a shower."

  Giving in, as he'd always known he would, Caine left the curtained cubicle, shaking his head in frustration to Drew, who'd just finished making the necessary telephone call to Chantal's family.

  "They're coming over on the Concorde," he said.

  "All of them?" Facing the entire royal family after such a devastating failure was something Caine was not at all eager to do.

  "I can't imagine keeping any of the O'Bannions away if it had been Tara who'd been hurt."

  "Point taken," Caine agreed, thinking of how his family had rallied around his sister during her recent divorce. "Look, do me a favor and stay with her, will you? I've got to take care of the police and those feds."