“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.”
A long minute passed in silence. Then Chey said, “I will. I'll find him and send him home. Let me go and take care of this.”
“All right. Be careful. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Wynn ended the call and stared balefully at the beautiful forest. The serenity failed to calm
her pounding heart. There was no way she was leaving before Leander got here. No way she was flying back to Latvala to wait and see if he lived or died. Nathaniel might not want her at the house, and perhaps he was right in thinking Leander wouldn't want her there, either, but she refused to be anywhere else until she knew Leander's fate.
Striding back to the car, she got on the road heading north. Now that she had a signal, she decided to find the first restaurant, tourist spot or lodging that came along. The second Chey called to tell her Leander was on his way, she would circle back to Nathaniel's and meet Leander there.
She didn't care who liked it.
Chapter Seven
Leander smudged another bead of sweat away from his temple. As the day grew long, and the sun rose higher, the temperature inched into the low three digits. Kneeling near the same window, he brought the binoculars to his eyes again and took stock of the streets.
Bikes, cars, and pedestrians buzzed along the thoroughfare and sidewalks, resembling a busy bee hive. Many pedestrians, natives of the country, wore headgear or scarves of one type or another to combat the heat. He could imagine how hot it must be in direct line of the sun, considering the sweltering conditions in the shade. Leander wished they could open the windows to provide at least a little breeze, but anyone paying close attention from Kristo's building would notice that kind of change. Considering this structure had been abandoned long ago, the difference might give the game away.
On hold until further notice, all any of the Elite could do was keep a close watch on things.
Scanning the faces in front of the building, Leander ticked his binoculars further down the sidewalk, always on the alert for someone acting suspicious.
What he didn't expect to see, however, was a familiar dark head a block away from Kristo's holding place. His haunches tightened as he raised up two inches to give him a better shot.
The woman—and there was no doubt it was a woman, with the curves contained in her jeans and pressing against a plain tee—turned around, one hand up to shield her eyes. Even past the partial block of the profile, Leander would have known her anywhere.
Chey.
It couldn't be. Four men surrounded her, a casual but alert quartet of guards that Leander recognized from Kallaster castle.
“Damnit!” He spit the curse with a vehemence that nearly threw his balance off.
“What's wrong?” Ahsan, who had been also keeping watch out a window while Mattias and Sander patrolled the lower floors, waiting for word, cut a glance toward Leander.
“It's Chey. For the love of God, she's down there.” Leander eased to the side of the window, then smoothly rose to a stand. Hearing Ahsan bark a quiet curse, Leander wasted no time creeping through the door and into the hallway, where he felt safer standing upright.
“Sander!” Leander maintained control of the hoarse shout, so the noise didn't penetrate any shattered windows and leak outside, where anyone might hear. He darted along the hallway, then descended the stairs.
No reply. Sander and Mattias were probably all the way on the lowest level.
Boots thudding on the steps, he held on to the binoculars with one hand and kept the other free to snatch a weapon from a holster if need be.
“Sander!” Leander bit back another curse. What the devil was Chey doing here, of all places? In one fell swoop, the woman turned the entire operation on its ear. In his mind, he started racing through scenarios. If Chey got too close to Kristo's place of capture, if Chey became the captured, if Sander lost his head and got into the line of fire. Separately, he also started coming up with alternate plans for each scenario as he thought of it, so his reaction time would be less.
Hitting the bottom level at a run, Leander speared glances left and right along the hallways. Down here, with the outside world right beyond the walls, he lowered his voice to a hiss. “Sander!”
Rounding out of a room halfway down the hall, body tense and alert, Sander headed his way. In a similar low voice as Leander, he asked, “What?”
Mattias appeared at the far end of the hall, phone to his ear.
“Chey's here,” Leander said once he was in easy speaking distance.
“What? What do you mean, Chey's here?” In that instant, Sander's body tensed, hands flexing in and out of fists.
“I saw her through the binos. She's on the damn sidewalk with four guards, about a block down. Did you tell her we were here?” Even as he asked it, Leander knew better. Sander might not go on every mission with the rest of the Elite, but he was highly trained and excellently skilled. He wouldn't make that kind of grave mistake. Not unless it was a part of the grand plan, which Leander would have been told about.
“Of course not. And if I go outside like this, it'll set off Kristo's guards.” Sander's jaw flexed.
“All right, I just got information—what's wrong?” Mattias arrived looking distracted by his call, which promptly changed to concern once he saw Sander's face.
“Chey's here. About a block down on the sidewalk, with four guards,” Sander said, filling Mattias in.
“Why is she here?” Mattias asked.
“We don't know yet, and we're dressed for combat, so we can't just go waltzing out there in front of everyone. I brought a change of clothes, but--”
Sander cut Leander off. “Do it. Go change right now, and get over there as fast as you can. Mattias, stay down here and guard the doors.”
No one asked questions. Leander darted for the stairs and pounded up each flight, Sander right behind him. Time was of critical essence. Should Chey decide to wander toward Kristo's building, all bets and plans for the day were off. They would switch to a recovery mission—for Chey.
Going in low, Leander made his way to his pack, setting the binoculars on the floor. Crouching, he divested himself of belts and holsters and weapons so he could get his vest and shirt off.
“Keep the pants, Leander, we'll have to risk it. There's no time. Just change the shirt,” Sander said, coming in low and hugging the wall. He circled around to Ahsan's left side and eased to a stand.
“She's still in the same spot she was when Leander left,” Ahsan said, looking through a pair of binoculars. “It seems as if they're lost or looking for something.”
Sander brought up his own pair of binoculars and sighted in. “My god. What is she thinking.”
Pulling a gray tee shirt on, Leander stuffed a gun into the back waistband of his pants and added another two magazines to a front thigh pocket. He couldn't go out there unarmed.
Leaving Ahsan and Sander to track Chey, Leander slithered out of the room and bound down the stairs. Pushing open the main level door, he stepped outside. Once in the sun, his entire demeanor changed. Gone was the skulking and sneaking. He walked like he had a right to be there, as normal and unobtrusive as anyone else. Shoulders square, chin level to the ground, he set a brisk but not frantic pace behind the buildings, using the cover to keep hidden until he absolutely had to get in the open. Cutting through an alley a block down, judging that to be roughly where he'd seen Chey last, Leander prepared himself for action.
If all went well, he would have an unharmed Chey in his possession within minutes.
. . .
Wynn curled up in a booth in the Redwood Cafe, a quaint coffee shop catering mostly to tourists. Unable to do anything but wait for Chey's call—and fret over Leander—she sought refuge out of the sun in a place she wouldn't lose her signal. The cafe itself, constructed of redwood (already fallen trees, the cafe management made sure to note) with a metal roof and tables covered with beige linen, was busy with an influx of tourists. Wynn engaged in harmless people watching, one knee jiggling restlessly under the drape of the tablecloth. She couldn't sit still, couldn't stop herself from relentlessly going over her conversation with Nathaniel.
The man wasn't what she'd pictured whenever she'd thought about Leander's father. For one reason or another, she thought of a cunning, sharp looking man better suited to the cover of a GQ magazine than wh
at she'd found at the house deep in the redwoods. Leander was cut from that cloth, of the cunning kind, with stealth and intelligence in spades. He was also handsome enough to grace the cover of any magazine. While she couldn't account for Nathaniel's smarts—she didn't even know what he did for a living—he seemed the polar opposite of Leander. Quieter, less outgoing, prone to seriousness.
In the next breath, she chided herself for making assumptions. People were often not what they appeared on the outside, or on the first meeting. Maybe Nathaniel was more like Leander than she knew.
Picking up her phone from the table top, she checked for messages. Even though it hadn't chimed or beeped at her, she checked anyway. Every hour that went by, Wynn grew a little more nervous. It was another hour closer to the day Leander would no longer be alive.
“Excuse me, Miss. Would you like a refill on your coffee?” Red mouthed with short brown hair, the waitress cocked her head expectantly, a stainless steel pot dangling over the table. Over Wynn's forgotten, cold mug.
“Oh, yes. Thank you.” Wynn turned the phone off and gave the waitress what she hoped passed for a polite smile.
“Did you wanna look at the lunch menu yet? Or--”
“Not yet, no thank you. I'm waiting on someone, I hope that's okay.” Wynn felt like she needed to explain her somewhat extended stay in the cafe. Many tourists came and went; few lingered longer than a half hour.
“Wait as long as you want, sweetheart.” The waitress winked, flirting, then sashayed off to make the same offer to another patron at the long bar.
Wynn's bangs ruffled when she exhaled. Her knee twitched and jiggled.
The very last thing she needed was more caffeine.
Wynn picked up the mug anyway.
. . .
A bicycle pulling a short cart full of cabbage nearly ran Leander over. In the nick of time, reflexes honed to a fine point with the surge of adrenaline, Leander twisted out of the way. The biker called back a scathing stream of Turkish and kept going, losing only one cabbage along the way. Five boys with dusty feet, sticks in their hands, dropped their toys and rushed to claim the downed vegetable.
Royal Elite: Leander Page 6
