Wynn left the comfort of Chey's embrace for Leander's when Chey handed her off and paced back to the landline to make another call. Leander wrapped Wynn up, crooning quiet, soothing words in her ear.
“I don't care what else happens,” she whispered against his throat. “If you come out of this okay, you have to stop all this. No more missions, no more...just no more of this.”
Of course he'd known this discussion was coming. This wasn't the time or place to tell her that he couldn't—didn't want to stop doing what he loved to do. What he felt he was born to do. And he was good at it. Good at saving lives, at spying and getting in and out of tough situations. His father's machinations had nothing to do with the missions of the Elite.
“Let's talk about that later,” he said, keeping his voice low as Chey made contact with someone on the other line. He watched her features shift into a frown, which made his heart skip a beat or three. Then she smiled and relief washed across her expression.
“Are you sure? No doubts? Okay, thank you. No, I'll have someone else contact him.” Chey ended the call. “You were right, Leander. They lost the signal—because Urmas can't get through either—but did land the plane safely. Can you try again now that they're on the ground?”
Leander breathed a heavy, inner sigh of relief. It was Chey's husband, yes, but also men he considered brothers in arms. The closet thing to blood brothers he would ever have.
“Yeah, let me try again.” He squeezed Wynn lightly and released her to take the handset from Chey. While the women expressed their great relief, Leander dialed Mattias's number again.
“Mattias,” the prince said when he answered on the second ring.
Leander turned away from the room at large, putting his back to the others. “Thank god. Man, I thought you might have gone down.”
“We hit a blackout patch, no calls in or out. Sorry about that. We're in Serbia right now, having the men, their weapons and the plane itself checked out. Did you get any answers from your father? Sander wants to know how Chey is—where she is.”
“She's with me, so is Wynn. We're all here at my father's house.” He paused, then said, “Look, I need a favor, Mattias. It's a big one.”
“Anything. Name it.”
Leander never asked the royal family for anything. Not in this tone, not with this kind of seriousness. He liked to provide for himself, enjoyed his independence and making his own way. This time, he needed a longer reach, needed someone who could make things happen that he could not. He wasn't as politically connected as Mattias and Sander, and hated to lean on them now for this. There was no other way, and so, he jumped in with both feet.
“My father is a bioterrorism expert. He has worked for an offshoot of the department of defense here in the US for years. To make a long story short: he injected me with an experimental virus when I was supposed to get something else, and now he can't get access to the antidote. He doesn't have everything he needs here to make more, so we need someone to contact the authorities and see if we can get clearance to get it. Dad says he thinks there's a batch in Georgia at a facility there.” It was a long shot, and Leander knew it. He rubbed the back of his neck as Mattias relayed all the information to Sander in the background. A few moments later, Sander picked up where Mattias left off.
“Hey, tell me who I need to call. I'll get right on it. I can't guarantee anything, but I'll pull as many strings as I need to and use every favor I have coming to me,” Sander said.
“Thanks. I'm not sure who you need to call, though. I--”
“Tell him he needs to go through the chain of command from the highest to the lowest. The man at the Georgia facility who has the power to release it to me, his name is Trent Young,” Nathaniel said, clearly listening in on the conversation.
“Go down through the chain of command, Sander. Dad says someone by the name of Trent Young at the Georgia complex can get us what we need,” Leander relayed.
“I'll do it. How much time do we have?”
“Less than a day.”
“...damn. Are you somewhere I can call you back?”
“We will be shortly. I'll move everyone from here back to the airport and wait for your call.”
“Good. By the way, you probably saved our lives. I don't have all the details yet, but apparently they've found something in one of the guns and one of the phones.”
Leander detected the heaviness of relief in Sander's voice. “I just wish we would have figured it out sooner. I'm glad you got on the ground safely.”
“And we'll get you fixed sooner than later. I'll call you.”
“Thanks.” Leander hung up the phone and turned back to the others. The women had dried their tears, though still looked mildly shaken. “We're all going to the airport. Dad, get what you need. Sander will see what he can do.”
Hopefully, it would be enough...and in time.
Chapter Twelve
Wynn stared at the private plane, arms crossed over her chest, hips tilted back into the rental car at her flank. After dropping off one car, the quartet had arrived at the airstrip and parked in a slot with a full view of the runway and part of the holding area for aircraft. A tepid breeze rustled the edges of her borrowed shirt and flipped the ends of her hair this way and that. Pensive in the aftermath of so much frightening information, she at first didn't know what to say to Leander.
Lean and strong, he stood next to her with his hands in his pockets, a pack sitting at his booted feet. Chey, on the other side of Leander, was in quiet conversation with Nathaniel, the words too soft to hear.
“I wish you would have told me about all this sooner,” Wynn finally said. She knew Leander's past was a touchy subject, as defined by how artfully and easily he'd sidestepped all her questions during their relationship. Glancing over, she studied his handsome profile, resisting the urge to brush her knuckles against a thin layer of whiskers on his jaw.
“It's not something I like talking about,” he said with a sincere glance her way.
“I can see why, except I'm your fiance, Leander. I should know these things. I didn't even know what your dad's name was when I got here.”
He tilted his body to face her. Better, Wynn thought, to keep his conversation hidden from his father.
“All this is what caused us to drift apart. I don't like what he works on, the diseases and viruses and other things that can take out masses of people at once. It bothers me in the core of my being, and knowing it's his passion drives a wedge between us. I did come to him two months ago for what I thought would be a harmless shot to boost my immune system, and we can see how that turned out. Not just the booster, but to try and smooth things over between us.”
Wynn studied his face. “I know. And I don't like those parts either. Yet he's apparently good at what he does, since he still works for them.”
“Too good. Whenever there's an outbreak of some strange virus in a foreign country, and the death toll rises, I'm always asking myself if it's something he worked on. If those lives lost are directly related to his 'work'. It's a hell of a way to live.”
She knew she wouldn't like it if her father engaged in activity like that either. Reaching over, she stroked her fingers along his arm, maintaining eye contact. “I can understand that,” she said in a quiet voice. Then added, “You don't seem especially concerned about what might happen to you tomorrow.”
“There's no use freaking out over it. Sander will either come through or he won't. If I do die, maybe it'll be the catalyst for my father quitting his job.”
Wynn frowned and bit the inside of her lip to keep the emotion at bay. In an even voice, she said, “That's a huge chunk of irony to swallow on his part. Let's hope Sander comes through. And really, this should teach you to reply to repeated messages. If you'd just called him back--”
“I know, Wynn. I know.”
Stepping forward, she nestled her cheek against the hollow of his throat. His skin was always warm here, and she liked to feel the steady blip of his pulse. Reassu
red that for now, he was strong and healthy, she wrapped her arms around his middle, sending up a silent prayer that Sander could make good use of his contacts and position to help Leander.
The thought of losing him was more than she could bear.
. . .
It all came down to this call. Leander plucked his vibrating cell phone from his pocket and put it to his ear. “Hey, old man.”
“Hey, Leander,” Sander said.
“How did it go?” One arm around Wynn, gazing out over the airstrip, Leander waited to hear his fate.
“I got it. Head to the Georgia facility that your dad was talking about, and ask for Trent Young. Your dad has to be with you and the girls won't be allowed in. They'll give you a dose of the antidote in return for your complete silence about the entire thing. You'll have to sign a document and all that junk,” Sander said.
“I'll sign whatever they want.” He squeezed Wynn and let her go. “I owe you, Sander.”
“Count us even, Leander. You've done far more for us than I can even recount. I don't suppose you'll mind accompanying the women home when you're through? If you're feeling up to it, I mean. Make them wait on the plane for you no matter what they say when you arrive in Georgia.”
“Done. And yes, I'll bring them back once I get the antidote. The last place I want to stay is here.” Leander wanted out of California altogether. His visits to the place he once called home were infrequent and far between.
“Excellent. We're still in Serbia, trying to get more information about who set us up.”
“Once I drop the girls, I'll fly to where you are.” Leander's first instinct was to get right back on the job. A sharp look from Wynn, along with her aghast, gaping jaw, reminded him of a certain wedding he needed to attend. His own. He gave her an apologetic look, yet still had the desire to fly out at the soonest possible opportunity to aid Mattias and Sander. If anything happened to either of them, he would feel responsible.
“I hope you didn't say that within hearing range of Wynn,” Sander said.
“If you can believe it, and I'm getting a daggerish kind of stare in return.” He didn't bother to hide that part of his conversation from Wynn.
She poked him in the chest with an index finger to the silent tune of you're not going anywhere, Mister.
“I'll see you soon,” Leander said to Sander, and severed the line.
“What did he say?” Nathaniel cut in, brows drawn into a frown.
“That we're cleared to go to Georgia and speak to this Trent Young you know. He'll give us a dose of the antidote as long as I'm sworn to silence and sign a wavier stating I won't speak about it to anyone,” he replied. Wynn and Chey wouldn't be going into the compound, so he didn't think it necessary to tell the men in Georgia that two others also knew about the situation.
Nathaniel's relief expressed itself with a long exhale and a brief shuttering of his eyelids. “Thank god,” he whispered.
“Look dad, I know you didn't do it on purpose. I've been in your lab before, and I know how meticulous you keep things. It's probably the first 'accident' like this you've ever had—it just happened to be with me. No doubt the argument we got into while we were in there didn't help.”
Nathaniel smiled a thin, watery smile. “Perhaps, but it's no excuse. Let's get going. I'd hate to be 'off' on the time of the virus going into action.”
“Wait, you think he could have a problem before tomorrow?” Wynn said, voice arcing high.
Leander herded the group toward the plane, giving the waiting pilot the signal that it was time to go. “Don't worry, Wynn. We've got the rest of today and most of tomorrow. We'll be there in plenty of time. It's not that far to fly from here anyway.”
“Far enough,” Wynn said, a mild note of worry and complaint in her voice.
“It hasn't been off yet,” Nathaniel added, toting his pack toward the plane. “But I don't like to cut things so close.”
Leander said, “Let's not worry until we have to.”
. . .
Waiting on pins and needles had never been Wynn's strong point. Neither had dealing with someone who looked so forlorn and lost as she thought Nathaniel did. Sitting across the plane from his seat, ensconced on a couch while he occupied a chair, she regarded him while he stared balefully out the window. His brow had been wrinkled into a frown for an hour, his lips pressed tightly together as if to muffle things he might otherwise say.
Below, the earth shifted by in patches of brown and green, sometimes obliterated altogether by cotton-like clouds.
Chey, on the phone with Sander, and Leander, on a call with Mattias, weren't there to distract Wynn from the idea that someone should reach out to Nathaniel and try to make him feel a little less alienated. No, she didn't like what he did for a living any more than Leander, and no, she wasn't at all happy that her fiance's life was dangling by a proverbial thread. That didn't mean she couldn't feel compassion for a man so thoroughly and recognizably upset by his mistake. Now and then, she'd caught him glancing toward Leander with an almost wistful look, a look that tore at Wynn's heartstrings. In her own life, she'd had a fantastic relationship with both parents, and couldn't imagine not leaning on her father when she needed to. Despite Leander's apprehension about his father's profession, Nathaniel was still a living relative with emotions and feelings like anyone else. If he'd been one ounce less worried or uncaring of Leander's demise, she would have dismissed her compassion altogether and let him suffer in silence.
After a quick glance toward the conference room to confirm Leander's distraction, Wynn rose from the couch and crossed the few feet to a seat opposite Nathaniel. She sat, tucking one leg beneath her. Nathaniel didn't immediately look over. He rubbed his hands together, over and over, as if smoothing a heavy layer of lotion into his skin. A nervous tic, Wynn decided.
“Have you ever thought about giving up your job to salvage your relationship with Leander?” Wynn asked, cutting straight to the chase. She rarely beat around the bush when she wanted to know something, and right now, time was of the essence.
“No. For a long time, I was under contract and couldn't, even if I'd wanted to. You don't just engage in this kind of activity and come and go at your leisure, hm?” His brow twitched, but he didn't look away from the window.
“But I can tell this is eating at you. I can tell by the glances you're giving him that you miss him. And there's a lot to miss, if you don't mind me saying. He's a great guy.”
“I'm sure he is. Upstanding, if a little on the wild side, and deeply involved in helping his friends. I might not see him much, Wynn, but I know my son.” His mouth quirked at a corner.
“Then why don't you consider retirement? You could come visit us in Latvala. Maybe, after the wedding, we could all spend some time together.” Wynn wasn't sure why she was trying so hard to bring Nathaniel back into Leander's life. Leander had made it clear he didn't want to be involved. Perhaps she thought Nathaniel's sense of loneliness didn't have to be permanent, and that just maybe, maybe, Leander wanted a more normal relationship with a father who wasn't engaged in developing deadly diseases. They were polar opposites in most ways that Wynn could see, which meant nothing if they could find a way past their problem.
Nathaniel met Wynn's eyes. His were vaguely coy and solemn at the same time. “It's difficult to explain to someone who will never understand what it's like to do what I do. The science of it is fascinating and challenging. I could no more turn my mind off now than I could stop willfully breathing. Don't get me wrong, Wynn. I love Leander and I would like to be a bigger part of his life. But I also respect his wishes and understand that he's against everything I'm passionate about. It is what it is, young lady, and we've spent years trying to find a way around it.”
“What about grandchildren?” Wynn threw that out there on a whim. Children were not on her and Leander's radar for now, but one day, they would be. The coy solemnity Nathaniel wore vaporized into something more like shock. He looked briefly taken aback.
“I suspect I won't be a part of their life anymore than Leander is a part of mine now.”
“That's a shame. I can't say that I like what you do anymore than Leander, but you're living, and our kids should know you if they can. It's hard for me to believe that you'd allow your work to come before your kids and grandkids.” Wynn couldn't wrap her mind around that kind of commitment.
Nathaniel's hands came apart, palms up, as if to ask her what she thought he should do. “This is the way it is, and the way it has been, for a very long time. He's made himself a good life, a happy life as far as I can tell, and although I'll always love him, I've come to accept his decisions as a man. Likewise, even if he doesn't appreciate what I do, he respects mine. It just means a continuation of the rift, that's all. We'll be in touch for the important things.”
“He didn't invite you to the wedding, did he?” Wynn asked.
Nathaniel's gaze returned to the window. He stared out at the vast expanse of blue sky. “No, young lady. He did not.”
Chapter Thirteen
A late afternoon breeze gusted through the open door of the jet. Wynn stood at the topmost stair, Chey at her side, while she watched Leander look back from the sedan parked on the tarmac. For the foray into the complex to receive the antidote, Leander had changed into 'normal' clothes; jeans and a tee shirt of heather blue, though the black boots with thick tread remained. Even in street wear, she thought he would have stood out in any crowd. It wasn't just the way he had half his hair pulled back away from the even angles of his face, or the lean but strong figure he presented in his clothes. It was the presence he carried himself with. Confident, self-assured, determined. He pointed a finger at her and gave her yet another warning.
Royal Elite: Leander Page 11
