The Secret That Shocked De Santis Page 2

  Slowly she became aware of the surreptitious, speculative glances from the personnel working in the room. It was unusual for someone of her rank to be called into the General’s office. They probably thought it was preferential treatment because she was his daughter.

  But perhaps they already knew. That thought horrified her. Did they all know what she’d done and who she’d done it with?

  And it was preferential treatment. She should have been dishonourably discharged or, at best, formally warned and demoted. Instead her father had used his rank to ensure her removal from the service was done in secret.

  So there was no embarrassment for anyone.

  Except she was left with nothing. No job. No home. The reputation she’d worked so long and so hard to build had been burned with the strike of a single match.

  Everything was gone because of that one hour in which she’d lost herself. The one hour that no one was ever supposed to know about...

  ‘I’m ordered to drive you back to the barracks.’ The Sergeant from earlier materialised in front of her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, but the words barely sounded.

  She sat in the back seat of the car and wound down the window, trying to get fresh air to clear her head. Her gaze skimmed over the grand homes, with their marble columns and gorgeous gardens, and beyond to the aquamarine waters of the glorious coastline. The beauty of the wealthy island now oppressed her. She willed the Sergeant to drive faster. She had to find a place and space to think. And that was not San Felipe.

  Doubts and questions scurried in her mind. It was just over three months since that afternoon in the blazing sun. How could she be three months pregnant and not know about it? Horror filled her at the prospect—pregnancy had never been part of her life plan.

  As soon as the Sergeant pulled up to the security station at the base she got out. No one came within sight as she walked to her room, but once she was there it was obvious someone had been very busy in that short time. Her space had been completely cleared. All that was left was a large duffel bag that leaned against the foot of the stripped bed. She opened it and her hurt deepened. Someone had taken methodical care to pack away her few personal possessions. It felt invasive and pointed—and why were the soldiers she’d considered more than colleagues so conspicuously absent?

  Blocking the stabbing wounds and setting her mind to the task, Stella quickly phoned for a taxi to collect her at the gate, then stepped out of her drill uniform and pulled on the first things that came to hand—an old grey tee shirt, black yoga pants. She stuffed her feet into thin, flat-soled trainers. And she added a sweatshirt, because despite the early autumn heat she was freezing.

  She left the clothing she’d removed in a neat folded pile on the end of her bed. Then she hoisted her duffel onto her back and walked past Security.

  In and out in less than eight minutes. Not that her father was ever going to be impressed by anything she did. No matter how hard she tried.

  ‘San Felipe airport, please,’ she instructed the taxi driver, and slumped back against the seat.

  A mere twenty minutes later she was inside the light, airy terminal. Stella ignored the award-winning architecture and walked straight to the nearest airline desk, requesting a ticket on the next plane out.

  The airline attendant smiled and helpfully started typing, but only moments later confusion—and caution—lit her eyes. She kept on staring at her computer screen and tightened her grip on the passport Stella had handed to her.

  ‘I’m sorry...’ she said, then her voice trailed off.

  Stella stiffened, casting a careful check about her. There were two uniformed soldiers in the corner. And another one heading her way. The Captain who’d been in her father’s office.

  ‘I need you to come with me, Ms Zambrano.’ He reached out and took her passport from the airline attendant’s hand.

  Stella didn’t move.

  ‘Ms Zambrano?’ he repeated quietly. ‘This way.’

  Not ‘Lieutenant’. Not any more. Already she’d been stripped of the title that had taken her six years to earn.

  She’d been rejected by the San Felipe army initially so she’d gone to New Zealand—her mother’s birth country. As she held dual citizenship she’d been able to train there. She’d worked so hard, risen through the ranks, until she’d been able to return to San Felipe with a record that not even her father could ignore. She was too good. She’d transferred, determined to maintain the rapid ascent of her career.

  Now she studied her superior officer. Only he no longer had that role, because she was a civilian. He had no authority over her. And she could take him down and run. She’d had excellent training and she’d felled taller, bigger men.

  ‘You don’t want to cause a scene here,’ he said, accurately reading her flash of rebellion.

  Didn’t she?

  ‘I will carry your bag.’ The Captain already had it.

  She felt like snatching it back, screaming in defiance and stamping her foot. But it would get her nowhere. And the Captain was right—she didn’t want to make a scene. She wanted to quickly skulk away and sort out her life in obscurity.

  The airline attendant’s brittle smile widened into an almost comical expression of relief as Stella silently fell into step with the soldier.

  ‘You were at the palace,’ she said, as they walked swiftly. ‘At my f—’ She checked herself. ‘At the General’s office. Why are you here now?’

  ‘I’m following orders.’

  ‘Whose orders?’

  He kept his eyes front and didn’t answer.

  ‘Whose orders, Captain?’ she asked again.

  ‘This way, Ms Zambrano.’

  It couldn’t have been her father who’d sent him after her—he’d have said something back in his office. He’d made it clear he’d washed his hands of her. Which meant it was someone else making the call. Someone even more highly ranked.

  If she’d felt cold before, she was hypothermic now. Under-dressed and vulnerable, she missed the weight and strength of her boots.

  The Captain whisked her through several security doors and along a back corridor. The last door opened out onto the airport tarmac.

  ‘Where are we going?’ she asked, her apprehension growing as she saw the waiting helicopter.

  ‘Somewhere you will be safe.’

  Because she was under some kind of threat? ‘Why wouldn’t I be safe in San Felipe?’

  ‘You were not planning to stay in San Felipe.’

  No. She hadn’t been. Another chilly finger pressed on her spine. ‘So where are you taking me?’

  But it seemed he’d used up his word allowance for the day.

  The helicopter’s engine was already running, the rotor blades whirring. Automatically she ran in low, and refused the offer of assistance from another soldier waiting inside. She knew how to strap in safely—she’d done it thousands of times.

  Her bag was thrown in and the Captain pulled himself up into the seat alongside her, so she was boxed in by uniformed men—as if she were about to make a break for her escape.

  Or as if she needed bodyguards.

  She looked past the Captain to watch out of the window as the helicopter lifted into the air, her fingers curled tight into her palms. Didn’t she have the right to know where she was being taken?

  The men said nothing, but simply by watching out of the window she had the answer in less than twenty minutes.

  Initially, from the air, the island looked imposing and inhospitable. It seemed little more than an oversized rock; nothing but sheer cliffs with jagged edges—a rival for Alcatraz. But as they flew closer she saw a rocky outcrop along the left side. It created a lagoon that harboured the smallest, most private of beaches. On the edge of that rocky outcrop was a tall fortress—a defence tower built cen
turies ago, to prevent intruders from entering the beautiful lagoon and disturbing those on the beach.

  Looking back to the main chunk of the island, she could now see a large stone building. Before she’d only seen it in pictures, but she knew exactly where she was headed. This was the most private place in San Felipe. Access was forbidden unless you had a royal invitation. Because this was the island upon which the royal family vacationed in seclusion, escaping the exhaustion of their daily demands.

  But this was no relaxed, simple holiday home. This was a palace, ornate and ancient, one of the many jewels in the crown of an island principality that had been celebrated for centuries.

  The helicopter circled, giving Stella a perfect view of stone columns, stained glass, statues. The gardens surrounding the main building were large, formal and immaculate. Miles of hedging grew in intricate Renaissance patterns, swirling around rose beds and ponds. She caught a glimpse of a deeper blue beneath a stone archway—a pool. Another glimpse of something white. Her eyes were so wide they hurt, and there was a constriction in her throat that made breathing painful.

  Most people would be thrilled to get a bird’s eye view of this utterly exclusive island—and be beyond excited at the thought of setting foot on the place. Stella wasn’t most people. Stella felt sick.

  As the helicopter began its descent to a small helipad on the farthest reaches of the garden a loud drumming thundered in her ears. She couldn’t tell if the noise was her heart or the helicopter, but it was growing louder, and her breaths came shorter. Her vision blurred.

  Control yourself.

  She tensed her muscles and mentally issued the order. She couldn’t afford to be weak now. She had to be stronger than ever. She had to be the soldier she was and be ready to fight.

  ‘If you would follow me, please?’ The Captain exited the helicopter, hefting her bag onto his shoulder.

  Well, it wasn’t as if she had any choice. She quickly followed him along the immaculately tended pathways, feeling as if she was in the pages of a twisted fairy tale in which she had to cross an enchanted garden to find a beastly prince waiting for her in the castle.

  Except he wasn’t beastly. And that was the problem.

  She wasn’t led to the ginormous archway and large heavy doors that comprised the main entrance. Instead the Captain led her along a small path and then up a narrow stone staircase that took them to a wide patio that ran the length of the building. Large windows were set back from the uniform stone columns, and every so often formed a set of French doors.

  Almost at the end of the building, one set of such doors was thrown wide open. Glimpsing a gloomy interior, she could see rows of bookshelves lining the walls.

  The Captain led her right to the doorway, then turned and bowed. ‘I will leave you here.’

  He was gone almost instantly, his retreat swift and silent. He took her bag with him. And her passport.

  Stella paused, unwilling to take the fateful step inside. She knew that Prince Eduardo De Santis would be waiting for her in that room. The piratical playboy Prince, the handsome patron of all things adventurous and glamorous in San Felipe. Capricious, spontaneous, spoiled.

  Everything she wasn’t.

  Yet he was her one spectacular mistake. Her one tryst. The one thing her supremely disciplined self had been unable to resist that afternoon. And it seemed she was going to pay a fearsome price for her moment of Prince Eduardo’s kind of fun. So now she was more than wary. But, despite the time she’d had to prepare herself, she felt utterly unready to face him. She had no uniform to hide behind, no tactical plan to ensure she won this battle.

  And it was going to be a battle—against herself as much as against him.

  ‘Don’t stand out there all day.’ His voice carried through the open door. ‘Strange things sometimes happen if you stay in the sun too long.’

  It was part command, part dry warning, part pointed reminder. And just his voice had her reacting in ways she didn’t want to. Memories flickered at the edge of her mind. Teasing and tempting.

  She couldn’t let herself remember. Couldn’t let herself fall again. She’d lost too much already.

  Prince Eduardo De Santis wasn’t so much a ruthlessly wicked rake as a seductive buccaneer. He didn’t leave masses of broken hearts in his wake, more soft-eyed smiles and ‘if only he would’ sighs. But he never ‘would’—Eduardo was too much of a freedom loving soul ever to be caught fast.

  For many, that was part of his allure.

  No one had a bad word to say about him, but he was most definitely not all good. He did as he pleased, and pleased as he did. A lover of action and adventure, he was a princely poster boy for all San Felipe’s outdoor amusements.

  And didn’t she know that fact intimately?

  Steeling herself, she walked into the room, blinking to hasten the adjustment her eyes needed to make from the brilliant sunshine to this dim interior. Despite the spots dancing in front of her eyes she saw him immediately. And quelled her quiver. He was as devastating as ever.

  Tall, with thick black hair worn slightly too long, adding to his air of unruliness. His muscled body was clad in a black tee shirt and black jeans. He looked like a special ops assassin—only his feet were bare, in that arrogantly easy way that was so uniquely him. He leaned against the closed door, watching her with eyes that shone remarkably blue. The exact intense hue of the lapis lazuli the islands were famed for.

  That burning sensation curled within her. Her cells smoked at the mere sight of him. And her heart thundered, sending yet more heat around her body.

  Always she’d thought him handsome. Any woman with eyes would. But the pictures online and in the papers and magazines never did him justice. In real life Eduardo was even more impressive. And the utter, skin-tingling thrill of being held captive in his sight...

  Stella also knew the reality of his perfectly sculpted body. The glorious size of him. The force. The skill.

  She halted her mind again. She had to regain some control over this situation. Over herself.

  Her pulse skittered. Her palms dampened as nerves choked her. She couldn’t control that slick softening deep within her.

  How could a man just stand there silently, yet exert such power over her treacherous body? How could he, with just one look, render her mute and immobile? How could she still want?

  Pull it together.

  Because if that medical report was accurate there was something far more serious to worry about. Someone other than herself she had to protect. And Stella had been trained to protect and defend what was most precious. Freedom—of a nation and its people. Including its future people.

  So she paused just inside the door and looked back at him. Keeping her distance. And her cool.

  The long silence built even more of a barrier between them.

  Her nerves stretched as each second ticked on. As he regarded her so steadily with those captivating, all-seeing eyes. As he waited.

  ‘You can’t just kidnap civilians on a whim.’ She finally spoke, making a stand for independence.

  ‘You’re not a civilian.’ His voice held condemnation.

  He’d been so angry when he’d found out who she was.

  ‘I am now,’ she countered, every bit as pointedly.

  Something shifted in his eyes, but he didn’t answer. Didn’t acknowledge what had been taken from her or that he’d been instrumental in that loss.

  She turned and pretended to read the spines of the books on the nearest shelf. Anything to give her eyes a reprieve from looking at him. Her attraction to him was too intense.

  Her annoyance grew. ‘Am I a prisoner?’

  ‘You are here because this is the one place where we can have privacy.’

  ‘We don’t need privacy,’ she snapped.

  She didn’t want to be any
where near him. Not alone. Certainly not on his princes-only island, where he’d probably brought a million mistresses. And she couldn’t let herself think along those lines—couldn’t think of him as a lover. Not anyone’s. Least of all hers.

  She wanted to get away from San Felipe all together and work out what she was going to do with her life.

  The silence turned ominous.

  She was acutely aware of him. All that was unspoken rose, unbidden. The memories she’d pushed back swirled closer, threatening to swamp her. She turned, tilting her head back to glare across the room at him again—in defiance and defence.

  His expression was grimmer still. Stella quelled another shiver. She’d spent years working alongside fearsomely powerful men and she recognised that edge in his eyes. It denoted more than determination. It spelled ruthlessness—said that he had the mental strength to make the harshest, most irrevocable of decisions. This was not the teasing man she’d met that searingly sunny day.

  ‘You have been dismissed from the army,’ he said abruptly.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Because you are pregnant.’

  His tone jarred, damning her with his certainty. And disapproval. Her throat thickened and clogged so she couldn’t answer. She didn’t know for sure, but in her bones she feared it. She feared his response. His retaliation. Most of all she feared her own future.

  She’d been in some seriously dangerous situations in her time, but she’d never felt as afraid as she did right now. Nor had she ever felt so alone. She had no one to help her.

  As a result, she was more than disarmed—she was emotionally disabled.

  Her heart resumed that too hard, too loud thudding again. She took quickened breaths, trying to control her intense physical reaction to this horror situation. Trying to deny that her extreme internal reaction really was to him.

  He lifted himself away from the door and walked towards her with long, easy strides that belied the speed and strength she knew he had. And his expression was too leashed to be anything like reassuring.

  This wasn’t the suave, gleaming-eyed Prince Charming whom the public adored. This was a coldly angry stranger, carved from granite. This was a side of him she’d never seen.