The Missing Monarch

by Rachelle Mccalla

  “I suppose they’re on another line,” Thad observed.

  “I don’t think so.” Monica scowled. “It should have continued to ring, then. They have call waiting. But both of my parents’ cell phones went straight to voice mail.”

  “Why would they have their phones turned off?” Thad asked. If they were hoping for news about their grandson, Monica’s parents should have been waiting for the phone to ring.

  Monica hugged herself. “I don’t like it.”

  Thad pulled her by the shoulder into his embrace, his mother tucked under one arm, his wife under the other. The long-numb parts of his heart burned with the irony. Their embrace should have been a happy reunion.

  Instead, his mind latched on to his mother’s unspoken warning. Was Corban Lucca even now headed for them, ready to finish the job he’d been itching to complete since the moment the ambush had struck? Had his father become more of a liability than an asset?

  “Monica, I’d like you to take my mother down the hall. There’s a chapel just past the elevators—”

  “I’m not leaving your father’s bedside.” The queen shuffled back to the chair where she’d been keeping silent vigil over her husband.

  Thad pulled in a breath and tried to think how to impress upon his mother the importance of leaving for her own safety—without upsetting her further.

  But the sound of shouting that carried from down the hall told him that he didn’t have time to argue. He looked outside the door in time to see some of Petrela’s guards, followed by more men who he didn’t recognize and behind them all, a very determined-looking General Corban Lucca.

  “Stop him!” Kirk’s voice carried above the rustle of men and boots.

  Thad looked down the other end of the hall, then back to his mother and Monica.

  “Is there another way out?” Monica asked.

  “There’s a fire exit at the end of the hallway,” the queen noted.

  But Thad could see that Petrela and Lucca’s men combined outnumbered the guards posted in the halls. He could see no sign of Petrela, nor of Kirk or Stasi. But as the newcomers held their guns on the men stationed along the corridor, Lucca made his way quickly toward the king’s room.

  “There’s no time,” Thad realized. Lucca could be inside the room in a matter of seconds. And while the men in the hallway were all packing weapons, Thad realized, too late, that he should have brought a gun. “Hide!” Thad pulled the privacy curtain closed, obscuring the king’s bed. Then he stepped into the hallway to face Lucca.

  General Corban Lucca of the Lydian Navy stopped just short of the doorway, flanked on either side by his men. He wasn’t in uniform, but Thad quickly noted the bulge under the man’s jacket.

  He was packing heat.

  So were the guards in the hallway, but Lucca’s men had their weapons drawn, holding the guards at an impasse. Thad suddenly felt vulnerable, unarmed and caught slightly off guard.

  Lucca spoke. “I appreciate your willingness to let me visit. I have been eager to pay my respects to our fallen monarch, but have been unable to get past the guards without your cooperation.”

  Thaddeus chafed at the general’s words. His father wasn’t fallen—that would imply he’d died. “I’m not allowing you to visit.” He crossed his arms over his chest, more than aware that he wasn’t wearing any sort of body armor. If Lucca decided to pull his weapon, Thad’s only shot at survival would be to dive out of the way.

  And leave a clear path to his father’s bed.

  “Step away, boy,” Lucca challenged him.

  Thad planted his feet firmly in the doorway. “I’m sorry if you were misled by your ease in getting this far. I’m not allowing you through to see my father.” He cast a furtive glance down the hall, where he spotted Petrela easing himself past the posted men. What was the general up to? Was he working with Lucca? Would the two men pounce, overwhelming him the moment Petrela advanced past the guards?

  Or could the general really be trusted?

  Lucca followed the dart of his eyes, and smiled when he spotted Petrela’s advancing figure. He turned his attention back to Thad. “Let me in, boy, before I have you removed.”

  “That won’t be possible.” Thad stood his ground. “You’re the one who’s going to be removed.”

  “Oh?” Lucca chuckled.

  Thad felt his heartbeat thudding in his chest. He could hear rustling in the room behind him, and was more than aware of the precariousness of his situation. He wasn’t just guarding his father. He was guarding his mother and wife, as well. For security reasons, his father had an interior suite—the room didn’t even have a window. Other than a tiny closet of a bathroom, there was nothing inside the room but the bed, the medical equipment and a few chairs.

  A few shots could fell them all, and with them the kingdom.

  Thad had no choice but to keep Lucca talking—anything to delay him from drawing his weapon. Perhaps, if he kept him talking long enough, reinforcements would arrive. “General Corban Lucca, I’m afraid I’m going to have to have you taken into custody. We have evidence that you’ve been conspiring with Octavian to overthrow the monarchy. All of Octavian’s conspirators are guilty of treason.”

  Lucca’s laughter drowned out the last of his words. “Are you threatening me? Do you honestly think you’re going to triumph over Octavian?” His obnoxious laughter echoed through the corridor. “If you want my advice, run away now.” He gestured toward the emergency exit down the hall. “If you hurry, I’ll let you escape alive for now.”

  “I won’t leave—” Thad began, but Lucca immediately cut him off, getting in his face.

  “Go back and hide at the edge of the earth. Maybe Octavian will turn a blind eye to you once he has what he wants. I’ll be rewarded handsomely for helping him. But as for your father, your allegiance is pitifully misplaced. I have the former king in my pocket. I’ve controlled him ever since the ambush, and I control him now. He’s not going to wake up. He’ll die in that bed.”

  Lucca took a step forward.

  Thad didn’t budge, but shot a quick glance at Petrela, who’d passed the last of the guards and was now within arm’s reach of them both. What was he up to?

  Returning his attention to Lucca, he watched as the man pivoted slightly to one side. His arm flicked back toward the bulge under his jacket.

  At the same moment, Petrela flew into action.

  “Get down!” Thad shouted into the room, unsure where his mother or Monica might be on the other side of the curtain. Thad lunged for Lucca’s arm, but he already had his hand on the gun.

  Lucca swung the gun high above his head, and Petrela reached for it, shouting at Thad, “Cover the women! I’d like to take him alive, if I can!”

  With no time to ponder Petrela’s intent, Thad stepped to the side of the doorway, out of the line of fire if the gun went off. Past the veiling drape of the curtain, he took in the entire room with one glance. His father lay still in the bed, but he couldn’t see Monica or his mother anywhere.

  His heart squeezed. Where had they hidden? It didn’t matter—as long as they were safe.

  Petrela stumbled back into the room, still grappling with Lucca over the gun. To Thad’s relief, the men in the hallway appeared to be too confused by the scrabbling generals to act. They’d been given no order, so they stood still, watching the struggle with wide eyes.

  Lucca lunged toward the room, but with the advantage of his height, Marc Petrela was able to get one hand on the b
arrel, pointing it toward the floor. Lucca strained against him, his finger dangerously close to the trigger as he struggled to point the muzzle toward the king lying helplessly in the hospital bed.

  “Apprehend him!” Petrela called to the men frozen in the hallway.

  A look of panic hit Lucca’s eyes at the sound of the general’s shout. Just as Thad realized the man had no intention of being subdued without getting a shot off, the man’s finger stretched upward, compressing the trigger in a wild shot, as though he no longer cared where the gun was pointed.

  The blast shattered the silence, and Thad ducked a moment too late, then staggered back, dazed, looking down at the spreading pool of blood on the floor.

  EIGHT

  Monica crouched beside Queen Elaine in the tiny bathroom, praying fervently that God would protect them from whatever was happening on the other side of the door. When a shot rang out, they both started and looked at each other in terrified fear, listening carefully for some sound that would indicate what had happened.

  With visions of an injured Thad tearing through her thoughts, Monica had no choice but to reach for the doorknob. She had to see if he was okay.

  “Is it safe?” the queen whispered, her trembling hand falling on Monica’s wrist as if to prevent her from opening the door.

  “I’m just going to peek,” Monica assured her, the still silence from the other side providing no answers, making her sick with worry for Thad’s welfare. She’d never forgive herself if he died before she got a chance to tell him how she truly felt about him.

  How did she feel about him? She’d thought she was furious with him and assumed that meant she hated him more than anyone but Octavian himself. But the thought of him being shot made her realize she was angry with him because she cared about him. The depth of her anger was a clue to the depth of her feelings. If she hadn’t cared about him to begin with, she wouldn’t have felt so hurt when he left her. If she didn’t have feelings for him still, then the thought of him being killed wouldn’t have squeezed her heart so painfully.

  Silently she turned the latch and let the door fall open just a crack.

  Through the sliver of light she could see the king lying peacefully in his bed, apparently undisturbed as machines beeped and ticked in constant rhythm. The curtain blocked her view of anything beyond, save for a growing puddle of red that spread across the floor.

  The curtain billowed. Someone was moving on the other side.

  “Is it safe?” The queen’s fingers gripped her arm.

  “Monica?” Thad stepped past the curtain toward the bathroom.

  “Thad!” She dived toward him. “Is it safe?”

  “For now. I think.” He stretched his arms out toward her.

  “Are you all right? Were you shot?” She fought the urge to fling herself into his arms, unsure if she was welcome there, but desperate to hold him. The fear she felt for him rippled through her, and she reached for him.

  “I’m fine.” He pulled her close.

  It wasn’t until Monica got past the privacy curtain that she saw where the blood had originated.

  A man in a jacket and slacks lay slumped on the floor. The nurses were gathered around him, but one had already shaken her head.

  Monica tightened her hold on Thad, soaking up his solid strength, leaning on him as she fought to understand what had happened. “Is it Lucca?”

  “It was. He tried to shoot the king.” Thad held her tight.

  She clung to him, grateful he was alive, more than aware that the body on the floor could have easily been his. A sob shuddered through her, and she whispered, “I’m so glad you’re okay.” She realized she still hadn’t told him how she felt. But how did she feel? Exhausted and confused.

  Thad smoothed her hair back from her face tenderly. “I’m so glad you’re okay, too.” He looked down at her with an expression far gentler than any she’d seen since he’d left her so long ago. But then he blinked and seemed to pull himself back into the situation.

  Thad reached an arm toward his mother. “Lucca is dead,” he said gently, blocking her from seeing the body on the floor. “He won’t bother you again.”

  The queen shook her head, half trembling as she leaned against her son for support. “Was anyone else hurt?”

  “No.”

  “Praise the Lord.” The queen’s voice gathered strength. “It’s too bad, though, that he won’t be able to answer any of our questions.”

  “He answered a few of them before he went.” Thad nodded. “He said he’s controlled the king since the ambush, and he controls him still.”

  “He controls the king,” Monica murmured, watching in disbelief as the nurses switched from trying to help Lucca, to checking the king’s vitals, which were unchanged.

  One of the nurses addressed Thad. “Would you like us to have the general’s body removed?”

  “The Sardis police will have to investigate to establish the cause of death.”

  The woman nodded and stepped past them to leave, but Thad raised a hand, tipping his head thoughtfully at the woman. “Did you just refer to him as the general?”

  “Yes. That’s General Lucca, isn’t it?”

  “He’s not in uniform,” Monica murmured, even as Thad affirmed the woman’s identification.

  “How did you know who he was?” Thad asked.

  “He’s been pestering the doctor for days now.” Her words confirmed what Kirk had told them earlier.

  “Wanting access to this room?”

  The middle-aged nurse shrugged. “You’d have to ask the doctor about that.” She wavered for a moment, as though torn between leaving and speaking.

  Monica felt a prickle of suspicion. There was more to Lucca’s involvement. He’d claimed the king had been under his control the whole time, hadn’t he? “How do the doctor and the general know each other?”

  “I’m not sure,” the nurse admitted, a flicker of relief on her face, as though she’d wanted to say more, but hadn’t been sure if her input was welcomed. Now she stepped closer to the three of them, and lowered her voice. “The general and the doctor, they were up to something. I can’t say what for sure, but I’ll tell you this—I’ve worked at this hospital long enough to know the drugs we usually administer in the case of a coma.” She shook her head. “These levels are high. Higher than I’ve ever seen.”

  Petrela stepped gingerly through the doorway, and the nurse seemed to decide she was done talking, at least in their presence. “Would you like to talk to the doctor?”

  Though Monica had initiated the line of questioning, Thad had taken to it quickly, and nodded. “I’d appreciate that.” He turned to the general.

  “I’ll stay here,” Petrela said, then nodded to him. “Let me know what you find out.”

  Monica squeezed Thad’s hand. Was he really going to leave Petrela alone in the room with his parents?

  Thad must have recognized her concern, because he bent down and whispered in her ear, “Petrela shot Lucca. I take that to mean he’s on our side.” Kirk and Stasi approached from down the hall. “And Kirk can keep an eye on him. He’s armed.”

  “I see.” Monica kept tight hold of Thad’s hand as he trailed the nurse out the door. Suspicions thumped with the pulse in her throat. She was too stunned by the sight of the dead body on the floor to know what to think. They met Kirk and Stasi midway down the hall, and Thad quickly explained their mission.

  “It sounds as though this doctor may be kee
ping father in a medically induced coma. We’re going to look into it. Can you keep an eye on Petrela? He shot Lucca, but I’m still not completely convinced we can trust him.”

  Stasi’s face bent with a wry smile. “Murder doesn’t exactly make him trustworthy—” she looked up at her brother with relief on her face “—but I am glad to hear that we don’t have to worry about Lucca anymore. When that shot went off, my heart stopped.”

  The nurse hurried on ahead, and Monica gave Thad’s arm a tug. Much as she wanted to hear Kirk and Stasi’s take on this latest twist, she knew they needed to speak to the doctor. And she sensed he wasn’t going to hang around and wait to speak with them. Especially not if he’d been doing something they might disapprove of.

  Thad broke away from the conversation and plowed past the guards beside her. A man in a doctor’s coat stood by the nurses’ station up ahead, clipboard in hand. He glanced up in their direction, then did a double take before dropping the clipboard. He reached across the nurses’ station and appeared to curse under his breath before heading down the hall away from them at a brisk walk.

  “Doctor!” The nurse attempted to wave him down. “We’d like to talk to you, Doctor!”

  The man glanced back once more before breaking into a run.

  As the nurse and Thad sped after him, Monica stopped at the nurses’ station, which was unoccupied in the wake of the shooting down the hall. Already policemen in uniform were stepping off the elevator, adding to the confusion. As Thad had said, the Sardis police would need to investigate Lucca’s death. But added to the many guards already filling the hallway, it made for a very crowded scene.

  The clipboard sat where the doctor had dropped it, and Monica picked it up, flipping quickly through the pages, scanning them for names.

  There was only one name on the pages, and it in no way resembled the king’s name. But then, Monica realized, the doctor wouldn’t have left behind incriminating evidence if he’d already had it in his hands. No, he’d looked across the nurses’ station before making his retreat.