Royal Elite: Leander (12 page)

“Yeah, yeah, I'm with you, Mattias.” Leander fell to silence, scratching his chin with a finger. He finished off the water next and dropped the bottle into a small waste bin. “Maybe whoever is in charge sent the shooters to see what we would do with them. Did you check for wires?”

“Thoroughly. They're not wired in any usual way. All Ahsan could get out of them was how many men were in Kristo's building and their positions. Nothing more about who is ultimately running the thing.”

“Huh.” Leander raked a hand back through his hair, studying the floor while he paced. “It could be that they didn't know how many of
us
there were, either, and thought they might come in, find us all unarmed but watching, and take
us
hostage or disperse us if they didn't think we were a threat. For all they knew, we were part of the media.”

“It could be. Someone probably recognized Chey and that could be what triggered it, too. A two-for-one ransom deal, not realizing who was inside the building to begin with,” Mattias added.

“Do these scenarios ease your doubts?” Leander wanted to get a feel for Mattias's instincts. Mattias hesitated.

“To be truthful, Leander, not really. There is still something that seems off. Like we're overlooking something painfully obvious.”

“What's the most far out scenario there could be? That the whole thing was a set up from the beginning, to lure us out into the open, to get us all together in the same place--” Leander paused, struck by a wild thought. “Mattias. Land the plane. Land it
anywhere
you can, as soon as possible. Land it
now.
”

“What? Why?” Mattias's voice took on immediate wariness and tension.

“Sacrifices. The men are sacrifices—and don't know it. They're plants and they've got a device on board.” Leander was as certain of it as he'd ever been in his life.

“But we searched. They didn't have anything on them,” Mattias said. Then, in a muffled voice, Mattias passed on the message to land the plane.

Leander waited Mattias out, pacing the room in agitation. Thinking. It didn't take him long to come up with an answer. “Weapons. Did you confiscate their guns and take them with you on board? What about phones?” Leander paused when he got nothing but dead air. “Mattias?
Mattias?”

He dialed the prince's phone again, heart hammering in his chest.

No answer.

. . .

Two days.
Wynn, able to only snag a couple hours of restless sleep, was up before the sun. Leander's deadline, the first thing on her mind, was still on her mind two
hours later after a shower, change of clothes and quick breakfast of half a bagel and coffee. She hoped Nathaniel meant what he said.
I'm the only one who can save him.
And if this was Nathaniel's way of bringing his son home because Leander wouldn't come otherwise—she might cheerfully choke the man. She didn't know the source of strife between the two, but using tactics like these wasn't okay with her.

Checking out of the hotel, which was another twenty minute drive from the cafe, she loaded her luggage and drove down Redwood Highway, determined to be there when Leander and Chey showed up at the house. Chey hadn't called to tell her they'd landed, but Wynn didn't care.

This time, she wouldn't be left in the dark.

. . .

“What's wrong?”

Leander exited the bedroom, showered, dressed and ready for a new day. An hour and a half had passed and still, no word from Mattias. Calls to Ahsan's phone and Sander's line had gone unanswered. He didn't want to think the worst,
wouldn't
think the worst. Chey, being the astute person she could sometimes be, picked up on his concern before he could hide it better.

“I just want to get this over with,” he said, and it wasn't a lie. As far as his father was concerned, Leander had faith that the man would tell him what he needed to do, or where he needed to go, or who to watch out for, and everything would be fine. Time
was
becoming short, however, and he would be glad to know what was going on and be done with it.

“Are you sure?” Chey had slipped into a new pair of jeans and a clean tee shirt of baby blue some time between when she'd left the bedroom and now.

“Yeah, I'm sure.” Leander cut a quick smile her way, then went to the small kitchenette to find something to eat. He always preferred making his meals himself rather than wait on the stewardess to do so. Plucking a banana off a stem of four others, he ate that first, willing his stomach to calm down.

All he could think about was his brethren and their plane. If he was right, the entire Kristo plot had been a set up. To trap as many of the Royal Elite together at one time as possible. There was only one thing the perpetrator meant to do with them all—kill them. Leander had given long thought to a mutual enemy between them, and had to admit it could be many people. In their line of work, breaking up sex rings, trafficking rings, attempted murders and so on, there were others who were not enamored of their involvement.

Such was the case months and months ago when the team had been targeted specifically. Then, the mastermind of the threat had been allowed to live, albeit with a string of blackmail threats a mile long to keep him in place. This man, Franklin Carr, was at the top of Leander's list of suspects. He had everything to gain by obliterating prime members of the Royal Elite so he and his partners in crime could get back to their illegal business trade.

“How much longer until we land, do you know?” Leander asked, finishing off the banana. Realizing Chey had been watching him during his brief reverie, he refocused his attention and vowed not to get distracted like that where she could see.

“Fifteen minutes or so, the stewardess said.”

“Good. I want Wynn to stay away from the house, so we'll rent a car when we land, and I'll drive you to where ever she's at.”

“I think it's better if we all go. What if your father is doing this against his will? Maybe you'll need backup or witnesses.”

“I'll deal with it, I promise, Chey. He wouldn't do anything to hurt me.”

“What if he didn't have a choice?” she arched a brow.

“Even then, he's smart enough to figure a way out.”

“Wynn won't like it.”

“I know. But I can't do what I need to while worrying about whether she—and you—are okay while we're there.” Leander tossed the peel in the trash and thumbed back at the bedroom. “Gonna grab my pack. Will you call Wynn and tell her to expect us and get the name of her hotel?”

“I will.”

Leander understood that Chey wasn't at all happy with the plans, either. This was a necessary evil, however, and he wouldn't budge from his initial directive. As he closed the door to the bedroom, he dug out his phone and made another call.

Please, please, he pleaded silently, answer the phone.

The last thing he wanted to do was have to tell Chey that Sander had perished in a plane crash.

Tension hummed through Leander's body as he drove the Redwood Highway. The ancient trees that he'd grown up with were familiar and loved, the scents welcoming after so long away. Trepidation came with the proverbial territory, however, and he could only appreciate the striking scenery on the surface. He knew what lurked ahead, what awaited at his childhood home. Fingers tight on the rental car wheel, he focused on the road while worry ate up his insides. No one had answered their phones on the plane. His messages had gone unreturned. Being in Chey's presence meant he couldn't contact anyone else from the Elite to check on the plane's status without alerting her to trouble, only adding to the pressure.

Exhaling a long breath, he turned his attention to the problem at hand: a missing Wynn. “Why don't you tell me where she
was
staying,” he said, trying again.

“She's not there. I'm guessing she's waiting somewhere on the road you live, not
quite
at your house, but close enough not to miss us when we drive by,” Chey said, pulling her attention in from outside and across the car to him.

Leander struggled not to shout. He wasn't typically a shouter, but he'd given his cautions for a reason.

Stubborn damn women.

Giving in to the only recourse he had left, biting back harsh words for the queen of Latvala, Leander turned off the main highway twenty minutes later and followed the back roads deeper into the woods.

“I can't believe you grew up here,” Chey said, angling her head to try and get a better view of the tall, tall trees.

“It was...interesting,” was all he said. He ignored the questioning look Chey shot him.

On the final road, turning the corner onto a dead end street, Leander blew out a long, slow breath and prepared himself. Ahead, he saw a rental car pulled to the side of the road and came to a stop behind it.

“There she is,” Leander said with no small amount of relief and irritation all at once. He put the car in park, unclasped his seat belt, and got out of the car at the same time Wynn climbed out of hers. He knew she'd borrowed clothes from Chey by the outfit of plain jeans and a pretty button down silk shirt of mint green. No plaid in sight, a calling card of Wynn's regarding fashion. Her style was always a bit more modern than Chey's, who trended toward classic elegance.

Trotting from her car to his, Wynn threw her arms around him and hugged him tight. As irritated as he was that she'd not heeded his warnings, he was glad to see her. She smelled good, felt good, and he swung her around in a little circle before planting a possessive kiss on her mouth.

“You should have stayed away,” he said against her lips.

“It's your life on the line, Leander. I couldn't.” Leaning back enough to see his eyes, she smoothed a few loose strands of hair away from his face.

He wrecked the neat style of her hair—hanging loose and straight to her shoulders in a familiar bob, the precious curls of sleep ironed out—by returning a stroke of his hand through the silken softness.

“Why don't you two take one of the rental cars back to whatever hotel you were at--”

“No. We're both coming with you,” Wynn said, cutting him off.

“Yes, we're coming with you.” Chey strode up on his other side and checked a non-existent watch on her wrist. “And time's wasting.”

Yes. Yes it was. Leander pressed another kiss to Wynn's mouth, then set her feet on the ground. “Follow me up to the house.”

He gave Wynn's backside a firm pat, then turned back to the car, knowing without being told that Chey would ride with Wynn the rest of the way. A glance back just before sliding into the driver's seat assured him he still knew the girls as well as he ever had when Chey and Wynn climbed into the vehicle ahead.

Passing them on the road, he drove the last quarter mile and turned into the driveway of the only house within sight. The log cabin styled home sat on its own plot of acreage in the middle of the forest, protected not only by the sturdy, old-as-dirt trees but surveillance monitoring every inch of the road and grounds in a half mile radius. A person couldn't get within range of the house from any direction without someone knowing about it. The only reason the security hadn't come forward to stop them was because they didn't consider him a threat.

Cutting the engine, he waited for the girls outside the car, fidgeting with the keys. He was openly dressed in dark clothing but had deposited all the weapons except one hidden gun and a knife in the trunk. He had Chey's safety to think about as well, and took the job of keeping her alive seriously.

Snatching Wynn's hand, Leander led the way up the drive. He wasn't surprised to see his father exit the front door and wait on the porch, dressed the same as he always had in what Leander referred to as 'old man pants' and a gray plaid button down.

“So I see you've met my fiance already. Wynn and Chey, my father, Nathaniel. Dad, Wynn and Chey.” Leander made formal introductions as they approached the steps.

“Good to meet you, Nathaniel,” Chey said, tipping her head in a cordial nod.

“Hello,” Wynn said more quietly.

Nathaniel glanced between the women. “Yes, yes, hello. You shouldn't be here. I don't imagine Leander's very happy about that.”

“No, but we're here, and we'd like to know what the threat is about,” Wynn said, clinging tight to Leander's hand.

Nathaniel looked pointedly at Leander.

Put on the spot, unable to have a discussion without the girls overhearing, Leander made a choice. The choice to admit what his father did for a living, to inadvertently fill the women in about some of the uncomfortable lessons of his past. Secrets could only be kept so long. He nodded once to his father.

“Come inside, then.” Nathaniel held the door open.

Leander suffered flashbacks as he stepped inside the cabin, which looked so much like it always had. Warm colors, inviting furniture, the homey feeling of comfort and security, as if nothing bad could ever happen in
this
house. He didn't bother to sit down, preferring to stand in the middle of the living room with the girls at his flank while Nathaniel closed and locked the door behind them.

“I'm afraid I've got bad news, Leander,” he said when he faced him, his features pinched, skin paler than it was moments before.

“So it appears. Who is it I've got to watch out for?” That was the conclusion he'd come to after the long flight: his father had intel about an act of revenge on
him,
and was using Leander as either bait or blackmail.

Silence descended on the living room. A tense kind of silence that Nathaniel broke by spreading his hands wide, palms up, as if seeking supplication. “When I offered you something to help a while back--”

“Two months ago, yes.”

“What was two months ago?” Wynn asked, interrupting.

“I wasn't feeling well and I had...something to do, so I sought my father out for help,” Leander said, instinctively vague with the information.

“You mean you had a mission with the guys and weren't feeling up to par.” Wynn cut straight to the chase.