Royal Elite: Leander (7 page)

“You better have a good reason to be here,” a voice said behind her.

Wynn spun around, fingers clutching the letter so hard it crinkled. The man standing between her and the homestead wore such a hard look that it momentarily set Wynn back. That he'd managed to convey hostile intention with features that looked soft, almost rubbery, as if he'd not lost all the baby fat out of his face even in his middle fifties, was a feat in itself. Thin, metal rimmed glasses covered eyes the exact same color as Leander's. A neutral gray, lighter than slate but darker than ash. Close to six feet, his build was bird-like, thinner through the extremities and lean everywhere else. A plaid shirt of white and tiny blue lines looked a little more nerdly than anything Leander might wear, as well as the beige slacks and loafers this man wore. He resembled someone Wynn would expect to find at a troublesome desk job in a mediocre company.

What shocked her more than anything was the shotgun he held in two hands across his body, muzzle pointed up in the air.

“I...you must be Leander's father. I came here because of this.” Wynn flipped the paper around, fingers pinching the edge so the rest flopped into the man's view.

The man never looked down. He stared at Wynn as if trying to decide whether or not to shoot her.

Undaunted, Wynn said, “It says here that Leander is in danger. I want to know what kind of danger and how to make it go away. You—this
is
your letter, it has to be—state that he'll die unless he comes to see you. So what can you do to help him? What information do you have that he needs?”

“And so he will. Die that is. Since you've got the letter instead of him, I suspect you've confiscated his mail and that he hasn't seen it. Either that, or he's choosing death.” The man tightened his grip on the shotgun, as if the thought of Leander willfully ignoring the summons upset him.

“He hasn't seen it because he's gone right now. I mean away from home. I'm Wynn, his fiance. I opened the letter because someone hand delivered it and I thought it might be important.” Wynn forced herself to focus past the sudden pounding of her heart. To hear someone speak of Leander's demise so cavalierly shook Wynn to her core.

The man frowned. “His fiance?”

“He hasn't told you? It mentions a grudge in the letter. Have you two not spoken in a while?” Wynn flapped the paper up and down a few times, growing impatient with so few answers.

“Tell him that I meant every word I said. Urge him to come home, at least for a few minutes. If he wants to live, that is.” The man, who had never bothered to introduce himself, lowered the gun to his side in an easy motion that suggested prior military training. He made a strange, flipping motion in the air with his hand, then pivoted on a shoe and stalked back toward the house.

Wynn stared at his back, dumbfounded to be left in the proverbial dust.

“Wait!” She trotted forward, refolding the letter, and stuffed it into a back pocket.

He continued across the patio area toward the back stairs.

“That's the problem. I can't get in contact with him right now. If you tell me why or how he's going to die in four days--”

“Three.” The man stopped mid-step and twisted his torso back to look at her. “Three days.”

Wynn stopped near a sectional. “Look. If you don't help me, I can't help
him.
He's off on some...thing. A mission or something. He doesn't answer his phone when he does this, but I might have access to finding him. Three days isn't a long time, or enough time, not with the flight delays and time differences and whatever else. Tell me what he needs to know to be safe, and I'll take the knowledge back with me instead of wasting more time for him to come here.”

“I can't do that.”

“Why not? He's your son and you bothered to write him a cryptic letter that wouldn't have answered any questions for him, either.”

“If he wanted to live, he would know to heed my words. It's his choice to decide, not mine to chase him down.”

A blaze of anger shot through Wynn. This was his
son
they were talking about. She didn't understand his unwillingness to go with her. Fear for Leander's life enhanced her irritation. “You might not love him anymore, but
I
do, and I want him to live,” she said, adamant that he listen.

The man paused again just as he began to ascend the rest of the stairs, turning to meet her eyes. Something like sorrow passed across his features. For a moment, he appeared to age right before Wynn's eyes.

“I wouldn't have gone to the trouble of hiring someone to take a message all the way to Latvala if I didn't love him. You misunderstand. Leander wouldn't take any of my calls last week, not one, so it has to be his decision to come to me for help. I'm the only one who can do it. The only one who can save him. Do you see the irony in the fact that he doesn't want my help, but without it he'll die?”

“Did you tell him that on the phone?”

“I couldn't. Can't. Because then he'll call back and ask why and I can't talk about it over the phone.”

“Why? What is going to happen to him?” Wynn couldn't recall a time when she felt so frustrated and helpless.

“Contact him, tell him to come home. Hurry, Wynn, if you really want him to live.” The man landed on the porch and walked to the back door. Before he entered, he glanced at one of the outbuildings, then toward the trees, and finally let himself inside.

Wynn couldn't help but look in the same direction. She saw nothing particular in either place, yet the hair went up on the back of her neck and she could have sworn she was being watched. There was a sense of expectancy or anticipation in the air.

Fishing her cell phone out of her pocket, ignoring the warning bells going off in her mind, Wynn tapped a button while the screen flared to life.
No Signal.

“What did they say?” Leander, who had taken up a kneeling position near one of the windows facing the building where Kristo was being held, glanced over to Mattias at the end of the phone call.

“Augustin is appealing. He says he doesn't have the money to pay so he's attempting to work out a trade,” Mattias said, ending the call. He slid the phone into a vest pocket.

“And the people holding Kristo for ransom?”

“Not good. They're getting impatient and want cash, not a stash of gas or oil or whatever other export Augustin will try to use.”

“Think we'll have to go in before darkfall?” That was the highest point of danger, rushing the building in broad daylight. Not only for the lookouts sure to be scanning the street but for pedestrians who might get caught in any crossfire.

“I don't know. But it's looking more and more like the situation might come to a head sooner than later.” Mattias edged to a window to scan the street. “I'm going to go down and tell Sander.”

The king of Latvala had left fifteen minutes earlier to prowl the property and make sure no unwanted guests had paid a visit to the lower floors.

“All right. I got this up here.” Leander, with his gun at his side, safety engaged for now, panned the street as he'd been doing the last few hours. Sweat trickled down his cheek and dripped onto his vest. It was hot and getting hotter. He guessed the temperature to be in the mid-nineties already.

Ten minutes later, a muffled scrape near the door set Leander on alert. In a smooth motion, he thumbed off the safety, swung his body in a pivot on one knee, and brought up the gun to aim at the doorway.

“Coming up,” an accented voice said.

Leander lowered the weapon just as Ahsan Afshar entered. “Good thing you called out before you got here.”

Tall, broad and dark haired, Ahsan flashed Leander a grin and followed the walls toward the windows to stay as much out of sight as he could. “I know what a hair trigger you've got, and I like my life, thanks.”

Leander snorted and slid the gun into its holster. That freed up his hands to raid his pack for a bottle of water. “Did you get all the information from Mattias and Sander downstairs?”

“Yes.” Ahsan, dressed similarly to the others, lowered his pack to the floor. “Looks like we may be doing a daylight raid after all.”

“Maybe. I've been watching the foot traffic down there, and the later it gets, the busier it gets. Even if we go in the back, someone's bound to see. Pedestrian or kidnapper.” Leander peered over the sill toward the street. Cars and people came and went, busy about their day.

“Mhm.” Ahsan picked up his binoculars and scanned the front of the far building. “It's going to get interesting.”

Leander muttered under his breath. Interesting in their business was code speak for
deadly
.

. . .

In an effort to remain as calm as she could, Wynn counted to fifty before she tramped up the steps, crossed the porch, and knocked hard on the door. “Sir? Excuse me, but my phone can't get a signal. Can I use yours? A landline, maybe?”

Nothing. No answer. She knew he was in there, and knocked again.

“It'll take me forty-five minutes to get back to the airport, and another day to return to Latvala. Well, what with the layovers and time difference. Anyway, please open the door!” Wynn stared balefully at the house, exhaling in frustration.

After knocking twice more, the door swung open and Leander's father, lips quirked into an annoyed line, stepped back to let her in. The shotgun was gone.

“Stop that infernal banging, I can't hear myself think. The phone is on the bar,” he said.

“Thank you.” Stepping past, Wynn entered into a dining-slash-kitchen area of considerable size. Beyond, through an arch, was the living room. Tastefully furnished with leather and wood, the house exuded comfort and security, a home any parents could raise children safely in. Warm tones throughout created a hunting lodge atmosphere, yet no where did she see stuffed animal heads or other signs of taxidermy.

Veering to the counter in question, which clearly doubled as a breakfast bar, Wynn snatched up the handset and dialed Leander's number. His father obviously already had it, so she wasn't concerned about leaving traces behind.

“Leander, it's me. You need to call me back immediately, it's an emergency. I mean it, call me a.s.a.p.” Wynn ended the call, took a deep breath, then dialed Chey's cell phone.

No answer. Wynn cursed under her breath. Chey wouldn't recognize this number and would probably ignore it altogether. When the voicemail came on, she said, “Chey, it's me. It's urgent, so call me back. If you can't, then find Leander and
make
him get on a plane for home.” Setting the handset back in the cradle, Wynn turned to face Leander's father.

“I'm sorry, I didn't get your name,” she said, taking the blunt route. Leander had always spoken of his parents in the vaguest terms, never using their names.

“Nathaniel.” Standing near the archway, hands in the pockets of his pants, Nathaniel stared at Wynn with a considering expression. At length, he said, “He won't like that you've come here, not at all, young lady.”

“Why not? This is his childhood home, isn't it? He was raised here, played here, grew into the man that he is here, didn't he? We share many things, I don't see why he wouldn't want to share this, too.”

Nathaniel smiled a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “Those are not my secrets to tell.”

“I don't understand. Why can't you just tell me what's going on? He's my fiance. Surely you have to realize how distraught I am.” Wynn pressed her fingers against the base of her throat while she talked, a gesture of pleading and desperation.

“It's a bad situation, young lady--”

“Wynn. My name, is Wynn.”

“It's a bad situation,
young lady,
and as I've already said, it's not my place to divulge his secrets.” Nathaniel stepped into the living room, toward the closed front door. “I'll see you out now.”

“But you can't just kick me out!” Appalled, Wynn didn't move. Not one step. Not so much as a flinch toward the doorway. “It's useless for me to try and go all the way back to Latvala, just to track Leander down where ever he is. That will eat up all the time. I'd rather wait here if you'll allow it.”

Nathaniel opened the door. A hinge squeaked in protest. Then he repeated, “He won't like that you've come here, and he especially won't like arriving to find you still on the property. Believe me when I say that you won't want to be here when he comes.”

Tonguing the inside of her teeth, trying to find the right words, or the right sentiment to get Nathaniel to let her stay, Wynn finally realized it was no use. She didn't want to antagonize the man to the point he called the police or ruin any kind of future relationship they might have.

Stepping away from the bar, she crossed the room, stepped onto the porch, and trotted down the stairs.

Neither said goodbye as Wynn made her way back to the rental car.

. . .

Eleven miles down Redwood Highway, Wynn's cell phone went off. Veering to the side of the road, she put the rental car in park and snatched the phone off the seat. She'd been driving the main thoroughfare, glancing at her phone often to see when she reached a spot that gave her a signal. Someone else got through first, and Wynn didn't bother looking at the caller ID when she answered.

“Chey?”

“It's me. What's going on? I just got your message.”

“You have to find them. Find Leander. Tell him that he
has
to come home immediately.” Turning off the engine, Wynn got out of the car. She was over far enough not to impede traffic. Walking toward one of the tree trunks, she slouched her shoulder against it to contain her need to pace. A veritable cathedral of immense Redwoods surrounded her on every side, throwing shade down from leaves hundreds of feet above.

“What happened? I'm in Ankara, on the way to the hotel.”

“It's too long of a story to tell right now. But Leander's life depends on him getting back here within three days. I don't have to tell you that time is running really short.” Wynn tried to quell the shake in her voice. “It won't do me any good to get on a commercial flight right now. You're my best shot at finding him, Chey. Please. Do whatever you have to.”