The Missing Monarch. Rachelle McCalla

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      Still, his heart lurched with recognition, and he crossed the platform in three strides, just in time for her to brush back her hair and meet his eyes.

      Monica.

      “You shouldn’t be here.” He had to yell to be heard over the sound of the idling plane engine and the streaming wind.

      Her dark eyes snapped with anger and a trace of exhaustion. “Neither should you.”

      “Get back on the plane.” He’d have picked her up and deposited her there himself, but that would require touching her—a risk he wouldn’t take unless he had to. The woman had long ago proven irresistible to him. He didn’t need to get any closer to her than he already was.

      “I’ve traveled too far to turn around now.” Her words sounded worn-out, as though she’d repeated them to herself many times.

      His heart gave a sympathetic lurch, which he instinctively resisted. Had Kirk contacted her in spite of his promise? It was a mistake he’d have to quickly rectify. He couldn’t give her a chance to get under his skin—she’d done it once before, and it had taken him all of the past six years to get over her. “Get back on the plane. The fog is getting worse. If you don’t leave now, you might not be able to leave for days.”

      “I’m not leaving without you.”

      Her commanding tone was met with a roar of interest from the catwalk above, and Thad turned to see a crowd of workmen gathering to watch. Out here on the oil rig, they didn’t get much live entertainment. He quickly realized he wasn’t going to easily convince Monica to leave—not without some explanation. And that explanation needed to be completely private.

      “Fine. Come with me.” He pushed his way up the stairs, past the gathering men, barking at them to get back to work, trusting her to follow him. Once free of the crowd, he turned to find her close on his heels. “This way.”

      As he escorted Monica along the carpeted hallway that rang hollow with each footfall, Thad’s heartbeat thundered more hollow still.

      How had she found him? Never mind that the remote oil drilling outpost sat far beyond even the farthest reaches of permafrost. Never mind that, under strict orders to keep the men civilized in spite of the inhumane setting, women weren’t allowed on the rig any more than tobacco or liquor.

      It had been three days since his conversation with Kirk and his siblings. Had they contacted Monica in spite of his request? How long had she been looking for him?

      And had she been followed?

      He ducked into his office, pulled her after him and closed the door behind them both. Meeting her eyes, he fought the urge to push her away, as far away as he could. For her own safety. And his. And the security of Lydia.

      But Lydia’s security had been breached two weeks before.

      The attacks on his tiny kingdom had toppled his family’s government and left his father, King Philip, in a coma, fighting for life. Thad had warily watched the reports on the news, knowing that, for all his power as the heir to the throne, there was nothing he could do to help his siblings. No, if he stuck his head up, he’d only make things worse. Too bad he hadn’t been able to make them understand that. Monica’s arrival endangered them all.

      He kept his arms to himself. “How did you find me?”

      “Kirk—”

      “Not even Kirk knows exactly where I am.” Thad’s best friend knew only that Thad was living on an oil platform north of Alaska—a vast amount of space for anyone to cover. Thad deliberately moved between platforms frequently. Even his own coworkers had difficulty tracking him down at times. Kirk could have pointed her in the right direction, but Monica would have undoubtedly had quite a time finding him.

      “No kidding.” She frowned, and her mouth twitched.

      “Were you followed? Has anyone been watching you?”

      “If you’re worried about Octavian finding me, you’re too late. He kidnapped me yesterday morning and sent me on this crazy trip to find you. He didn’t know where you were so I had to ask Kirk.”

      “What? Octavian found you? He kidnapped you?” He gripped her by the shoulders and stared into her brown eyes seeking answers. But instead of answers, he felt a rush of emotions. He wanted to pull her into his arms, to protect her from Octavian. But it was too late. “We’ve got to get you out of here.”

      “Did you hear what I said?” Her words came out in a disbelieving whisper. “He kidnapped me. He sent me here to bring you to him.”

      Thaddeus tried not to think about the beguiling way she looked at him through her long eyelashes. He tried not to consider how close her lips were to his. He had to understand what Monica was saying. “Octavian kidnapped you, and then you contacted Kirk. How did you do that?”

      “Octavian already had his number.”

      “How did he get it?”

      “How did he find out about me?” She pulled her shoulders from his hands and stepped away. “You promised me that if I never spoke your name, never made any effort to contact you, never told anyone I’d ever met you, that I’d be safe.”

      Thad’s mouth hung open. The realization of his worst fear sunk in slowly. Octavian had found out about Monica. He’d used her to get to him.

      He’d underestimated his enemy.

      Again.

      “Octavian sent you here?” he confirmed.

      “Yes. He hired the pilot to fly me around until I found you.”

      Thad looked around frantically. “We’ve got to leave. We’ll have to sneak away and hide somewhere else.”

      “No!” Monica’s voice rose to shouting. “Have you heard anything I’ve said? Octavian sent me to get you, to bring you to him.”

      “We can’t go to him.” Thad tried to shush her with a glare that had sent many a calloused oil worker cowering.

      “Listen.” She ignored his silencing expression. “Octavian needs your signature. He needs a document that he says you stole from him. He says if you sign it, he’ll leave us alone.”

      Thad knew he had to contain the situation. Not only that, he needed to get a handle on the unfamiliar emotions that were thrashing inside him like the arctic waters during a storm.

      Even above the constant reek of oil and ocean brine, he smelled her gentle, feminine scent, and memories flew from the prisons where he’d banished them.

      She looked up at him, and he clutched his chest, trying to stifle the aching pain that originated there. He’d tried for six years to cauterize that part of his heart, but one look at her big brown eyes tore open the old wound, proving it had never really healed. Yearnings he hadn’t felt in years awakened from their long hibernation.

      “We need to leave.” She spoke with a note of authority he hadn’t heard her use before. This wasn’t the meek graduate student he’d fallen for so long ago.

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