But there were times in the very dark of night when doubts whispered across his mind. Had Jonathon’s depression also brought with it an anger against the country that had used him up then put him out to pasture?
“Dad was thrilled when they asked him to be a part of the Phantom team. The project gave him new life, a reason to get up in the mornings.”
Adam knew he was talking too much, exposing pieces of himself that he would not be able to retrieve. But, Isabel’s gaze compelled him to continue and he felt as if a dam had broken inside him and the words and emotions had to gush out.
He leaned forward once again. “He was so excited about the project. He pored over blueprints day and night, huddled with top scientists and technicians, determined to make the Phantom the best fighter plane ever known.”
“So, what happened, Adam?” Isabel got up off the bed and knelt by the side of his chair. “Your father and two pilots took the Phantom for a test flight, and the plane, your father and those two pilots disappeared. No wreckage was ever found.”
“I know.” The words whispered from him painfully. And because no wreckage had been found, speculation was that Admiral Jonathon Sinclair and the two pilots had sold out to foreign interests.
Rumor had it that the billion-dollar state-of-the-art plane was now hidden away on foreign soil and that the three men who had been in the plane were now sitting on some sunny beach enjoying millions of dollars…the price paid for treason.
But, Adam knew the real price of treason was a pain that broke the heart and a shame that seared the soul.
“I really don’t know what happened,” Adam said. His heart ached with a torturous depth of pain. His father had always been his hero, and Adam wasn’t sure which was worse—believing him gone forever, or believing him a traitor. “But, I’ll tell you this…there are really only two possibilities. Either my father is alive and a traitor, or he’s dead.”
He was surprised by the thick emotion in his voice. He cleared his throat, uncomfortable to realize how close he was to losing it…closer than he could remember being for a very long time. He forced a smile. “I hope you’ll get a happier ending when we find your father.”
“Oh, Adam. I’m so sorry.” Her eyes shone with a deep empathy. Before he could guess her intent, she stood, then sat on his lap. With a deep sigh she wrapped her arms tightly around his neck.
She laid her head against his shoulder and held on to him with a fierceness that surprised him. It was as if she believed if she held him tight enough, she could keep him from falling into the black abyss of his emotions.
And to his surprise…it worked.
Twenty-four hours before, Isabel never would have crawled onto Adam’s lap to offer him comfort. But now she felt as if she were merely reciprocating the tenderness and caring he had shown her when they’d first gotten out of the cab.
For the past two months he’d been doing everything he could to help her find her missing father, to support her through the ordeal. And all the while he’d been burdened by the heartache of his own father’s disappearance.
She wanted to tell him that she’d assigned a couple of investigators to continue to delve into the mystery of the vanished plane and the men aboard, but she was afraid of giving him false hope. It was possible Adam would never have any answers. She tightened her grip around his neck.
“Isabel.” His voice was soft, and she felt his heartbeat thudding a pace that seemed too frantic to be normal.
“Yes?” she replied without moving.
“We should probably get down to the bar, see what information we can gather.” He didn’t move either and she wondered if he liked holding her as much as she liked being held by him.
“Isabel.” This time his voice held a distinct edge of irritation. He stood without warning, forcing her to her feet. His features were taut, his eyes expressionless chunks of granite. “We need to get back to work.”
Heat flushed her neck and face, the heat of humiliation. “Of course,” she said briskly. “Let’s get back to work.”
A few moments later she followed Adam down the stairs to the tavern, a lingering embarrassment sweeping through her. What was wrong with her? What had she been thinking? To curl up in his arms and hug him with such abandon.
The answer was that she hadn’t been thinking at all. Since the moment in the cemetery when she’d recognized Pam Sommersby among the mourners, Isabel had been functioning on sheer emotion, which was not only uncharacteristic, but also foolish.
Just because Adam Sinclair was handsome as sin and had beautiful, sexy eyes that melted her insides, just because they were playing house at the moment and shared a common concern for their missing fathers, didn’t mean there was anything personal between them.
She would not make the mistake again of trying to make it personal. This was about finding her father, and Adam had given absolutely no indication that he intended it to be anything more.
She’d obviously irritated him with her demonstration of compassion. She certainly wouldn’t make that mistake again.
The minute she and Adam sat down at a table near the front door of the tavern, Will Tammerick joined them. Adam ordered the three of them a drink, earning a grin of approval from Willie.
“It was rather a sad turnout for Shane,” Isabel observed once they had been served.
“Yeah, most of Shane’s friends suddenly don’t want to be associated with him, at least not in public. Nobody wants royal security breathing down their necks.” Willie downed his drink in two thirsty gulps. Adam signaled for another.
“And you aren’t afraid of royal security breathing down your neck?” Isabel asked him.
Willie laughed. “I got nothing to hide. Me and Shane, we were drinking buddies, but I sure as hell didn’t know he was in on kidnapping the king. He must have got sucked in with that group of weirdos he started running with.”
Adam and Isabel exchanged a quick glance. “Group of weirdos?” Adam echoed.
“Yeah, rebel types that call themselves the Patriots, or some such nonsense.” Willie snorted derisively. “What they are is a bunch of miserable misfits who all hate the Stanburys.”
Isabel knew there were people in Edenbourg who wanted to destroy the monarchy, but she’d never heard of a group called the Patriots before. She made a mental note to have Ben do some research on the group.
“Who doesn’t hate the Stanburys?” Adam replied, an odd fervent light in his eyes. “They’re the haves and we’re the have nots in this country. It’s too bad somebody doesn’t kidnap all of them, every damn Stanbury on earth.” Adam slammed his fist down on the table, as if to punctuate his sentence.
Both Isabel and Willie jumped at the punctuation.
“I’m going to get a breath of air.” Adam jerked out of his chair and disappeared out the front door.
“Your old man has a bit of temper in him,” Willie observed.
Isabel shrugged. “He has a few hot buttons. The Stanburys just happen to be one of them.”
“And why is that?” For just a moment Willie appeared stone-cold sober.
“At one time he wanted to work for the palace,” Isabel ad-libbed. “But, they told him he wasn’t the right material, that he wasn’t good enough. It’s been a festering sore ever since.”
She desperately hoped the story sounded plausible and reminded herself to tell Adam what she’d just told Willie. “I spoke to Shane a couple of weeks before he was killed and he mentioned somebody named Pam. Was she the tall blonde that was at the cemetery this morning?”
“Yeah, that was Pam.” Willie gazed mournfully at his empty glass, then looked back at Isabel. “Shane was that gal’s heart. His death near killed her.”
“I’d like to talk with her. You know, extend my condolences. Do you know where I can find her?” Isabel held her breath.
Willie shrugged. “I know she’s got a place close to here, but I don’t know exactly where it is.”
Isabel swallowed her disappointment. Willie tw
irled his empty glass and she gestured Bart for a refill. She’d ply Willie all night with drinks if it might get her some more information.
“Before Shane got himself killed, him and Pam spent most evenings here. I imagine eventually she’ll come in,” Willie said.
Eventually wasn’t quick enough, Isabel thought in frustration. If her father had suffered a stroke as Meagan had said, then he needed medical attention sooner rather than later.
The rest of the evening continued to be a study in frustration. Adam rejoined Isabel and Willie and, as the hours passed, Willie introduced them to many of the tavern’s regulars, but no more information about the Patriots, Shane or Pam was forthcoming.
By eight that night, Isabel had a headache from the noise and smoke and excused herself to go back to their room. Adam remained behind and she hoped desperately that on his own he could gain some clues as to where the king might be being held.
In the room, Isabel took a long, hot shower, shedding the smell of the tavern down the drain. She towel-dried, pulled on her silk nightgown and matching robe, then sat down on the edge of the bed, exhausted by the roller-coaster events of the day.
She hadn’t expected everything to be quite so difficult. She’d hoped vital information would fall quickly into her lap and this whole undercover operation would be finished within a week.
Now she realized that information wasn’t going to just fall into her lap. They would have to meet the right people, ask the right questions and hope for more than just a little luck.
She also hadn’t considered how difficult it would be sharing intimate space with Adam. They had spent less than twenty-four hours together and already they had kissed twice. Granted, the first kiss had been necessary to establish their charade. And she suspected the second kiss had been a gesture of pity on Adam’s part.
She’d been crying, half-hysterical, and he’d merely kissed her to comfort her. Even knowing the reasons for the kisses didn’t negate the sweeping emotions that coursed through her when she thought of them. The truth was, she liked kissing Adam; she liked kissing him far more than she should.
She shoved these thoughts aside, disturbed that he could fill her head when she should be thinking about finding her father.
The phone on the nightstand caught her attention. She should call her mother. Since her father’s kidnapping, few days went by that Isabel didn’t speak to her mother.
She’d just dialed the number that would ring Queen Josephine’s private quarters when Adam returned to the room.
“I’m calling my mother,” she explained.
He nodded. “I’m going to take a shower.” He disappeared into the bathroom at the same time Queen Josephine answered the phone.
“Mother,” Isabel said.
“Isabel…where are you? I called you today and was told you’ve gone into seclusion. I’ve been worried.”
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to worry you. Has there been any news?” Isabel heard the sound of the shower running in the bathroom and tried to shove away the picture her mind attempted to produce…a picture of a wet, naked Adam.
“No…nothing.” Queen Josephine’s voice was heavy with despair. “Edward isn’t doing very well. I don’t know what’s wrong with him, perhaps the stress of taking on the throne, but he looks quite ill.”
“How’s Dominique?” Isabel asked, hoping to change the subject to something more pleasant. Isabel’s sister Dominique’s six-month pregnancy was a source of great happiness not only to Isabel and her mother, but to Stanbury supporters around the country.
“She’s doing just fine.” Josephine released an audible sigh. “Isabel, I haven’t forgotten that you haven’t answered my original question. Where exactly are you?”
Isabel was vaguely aware of the shower water turning off in the bathroom as she considered what to tell her mother. “Don’t ask,” she finally replied. “Mama, I can’t just sit in my office and wait for others to find father.”
“You aren’t doing anything foolish, are you?”
Isabel looked up as Adam came out of the bathroom. He was clad only in a pair of athletic shorts and brought with him the scent of clean maleness. “Of course not,” Isabel answered, unsurprised to find her mouth suddenly dry.
Had there ever been a chest so broad, so wonderfully sprinkled with just the right amount of hair and sharply defined with muscle? Isabel tore her gaze from Adam as he dropped into the chair.
“Isabel…don’t get in over your head,” Queen Josephine warned.
“I won’t,” Isabel replied, but she knew it was a lie. She was in over her head…way over her head where Adam Sinclair was concerned.
After Queen Josephine said goodbye to her eldest daughter, she moved to one of her bedroom windows. The view from this particular window was supposed to inspire peace and tranquility. The courtyard was filled with stone statues, flowers and an impressive fountain, but the view hadn’t inspired peace or tranquility for her in the past three months.
“Michael, where are you?” she whispered.
“You must hang on. You must be strong so you can return to me.”
The news that Michael had possibly suffered a stroke while in captivity had shot waves of panic and desolation through Josephine.
She moved away from the window, her heart heavier than it had ever been. Sinking into a plush chair, her head was filled with thoughts of the man she had married thirty-three years before.
She’d only been twenty-one when she’d married him. Their marriage had been a loveless match, a political alliance between her country of Wynborough and Michael’s homeland of Edenbourg. She’d met Michael on the day of her marriage to him, and had pledged her life to his for the sake of her country, and for the children she would eventually bear.
On the surface, the marriage had been a success. She and Michael had come to an understanding. He stayed busy running the country and she had her charity work and her friends. It had been a comfortable life.
Then, on the day of Michael’s granddaughter’s christening, Michael had disappeared. In the days that followed, Josephine had been shocked to discover the profound depth, the utter, all-encompassing love she felt for her husband.
She couldn’t believe that fate would be so cruel as to open her heart to her love for Michael when it might be too late to share it with him, when she might never get the opportunity to tell him just how much she loved him.
A knock sounded at her door. “Come in,” she said.
Edward Stanbury, her husband’s brother, entered the room.
Josephine hadn’t seen him since the day before and hoped she hid her shock at his appearance.
Since taking on the crown, Edward had aged years. His blue eyes were dull, his skin pasty white. His gray hair was limp and he appeared to have lost weight, giving him a gaunt, sick appearance.
“Is there news?” Josephine asked, rising from her chair.
He shook his head and waved her back down. “I’m afraid not. I just came by to see how you were doing.” He leaned against the back of the chair directly across from where she sat.
“I think the real question should be how are you doing? Edward, you don’t look well.”
“I must confess, I’m not feeling very well. Perhaps I’ve caught a bug of some sort. Or maybe it’s stress.” He smiled ruefully. “After all my divorces, I thought I knew all there was to know about stress, but nothing prepared me for ruling a country.” He hesitated a moment, then continued. “I’m thinking of stepping down, Josephine. I’m really not feeling well.”
Josephine’s mind raced, her first thought what was best for the country. If Edward relinquished the crown, then his eldest son, Luke, would be next in line. “Of course, you must do what you think best,” she replied, although her heart cried out in anguish.
It should be Michael on the throne, and if not Michael, then his son, Nicholas. But, Michael was missing, and Nicholas was in hiding so everyone in the country would think him dead.
“I haven�
��t decided yet.” He frowned, looking far older than his fifty-five years. “There are so many things to consider. If only…” he allowed his voice to trail off.
Josephine could guess where his thoughts were going. “Yes, if only we could find Michael,” she said, surprised to feel the burn of tears behind her eyes.
“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow?” Edward said, as if he sensed her need to be alone.
“Yes.”
With a nod, Edward turned and left.
Michael. Michael. Michael. Her heart cried his name in an endless litany of pain and love. Where are you? Why aren’t you here with me?
He’d already missed so much. He’d been absent for Dominique’s marriage to the King’s High Counsel, Marcus Kent, and had missed seeing her burgeoning pregnancy. She was already through her second trimester.
Josephine frowned, a sudden thought skittering through her mind. So far Dominique had insisted nobody be told the sex of the baby she carried. Neither Dominique nor Marcus knew.
But, if the baby was a boy, with Michael and Nicholas absent, then the baby was the true heir to the Edenbourg throne. Before Edward stepped down, before Luke could step in as regent, Josephine needed to talk with Dominique.
Of course, the best possible solution was to find Michael alive and well. The tears that had burned behind her eyes now slid down her cheeks as she thought of her husband.
Please, Michael, get home safely. The country needed him. But, more importantly, she needed him.
Chapter Five
Adam sat in the back of the tavern and watched as Isabel made her way toward the bar. It was nearing closing time and Adam was tired and more than a little bit cranky.
For seven nights he’d slept in that infernal chair. And for seven days and nights he watched every man in this place lust after his “wife,” and his own lust for her had grown by the minute.
Tonight she was clad in a black dress no bigger than a handkerchief. Gold chains served as the back of the dress, displaying far too much skin as far as Adam was concerned.
Beneath the chains, her skin looked creamy and smooth, and he knew every man in the pub had entertained the fantasy of touching that skin. He’d certainly spent far too much time indulging in sensual fantasies where she was concerned.
An Officer and a Princess Page 5