Royal Elite: Leander (16 page)

In the sterile room, which was no bigger than a ten by ten foot square, Leander pocketed his hands and stared at the ceiling rather than his pacing father. From the corner of his eye, he tracked Nathaniel while the man explored a thin white counter and the contents of a single drawer beneath. Gloves, cotton swabs and cotton balls along with other sterile items had already been provided.

“There must be five new wings of laboratories since I was here last,” Nathaniel said, speaking so low that Leander almost didn't hear him.

“I'm sure. Probably more. And who knows what they've added underground.” Leander wasn't fool enough to believe the exclusive complex kept
everything
above ground. Surely there were freezers and cryogenics and who knew what else beneath their feet. Tunnels and tunnels full of old and new infections, diseases, cures and antidotes.

Nathaniel snapped a look at Leander. “I know you don't understand, I don't ever expect you to understand, Leander.”

Lifting a hand in a stop motion, Leander put a halt to what could only become a failed conversation. They'd had too many already. “Let's just get this over with, so you can get back to your life, and I can get back to mine.”

Trent, back from the secure, circular room, entered the clear glass cubicle and swooshed the door closed behind him. He set his clipboard on a thin white table lining one glass wall, then propped up a clear vial with yellow tinted fluid inside. From a skinny drawer beneath the counter, he withdrew several pre-wrapped syringes.

“All right. One dose of the antidote. You understand that I have to witness the injection,” Trent said.

“Sure, yes.” Nathaniel drew on a pair of sterile gloves from a box on the counter, opened a syringe package, and inserted the needle into the top of the vial, piercing the thick center sponge. The barrel filled with the yellowish fluid. All of it.

Leander pushed up the sleeve of his tee shirt to expose his shoulder while his father examined the antidote fluid against the overhead lights. Nathaniel's hands still trembled, eyes sharp and assessing. Then he faced Leander, swabbed a cleansing square of antiseptic over the skin, and pinched an inch of muscle below the shoulder. He stuck in the needle, depressing the plunger at a steady rate.

“All right, my boy. This should do the trick.” Nathaniel withdrew the needle and rubbed the spot over with another square antiseptic swatch he liberated from a clean package.

“How will we know for sure?” Leander asked.

“You won't die tomorrow,” Nathaniel said, then added, “That was abrupt, I'm sorry. If you begin to feel ill tomorrow afternoon, and it worsens by evening, then we'll know something's wrong. I'm sure everything will be fine now.”

Leander flipped down the sleeve. “I'm sure it will. Thanks, Trent, for seeing us.”

“Absolutely happy to help out. Nathaniel, it's too bad you're working on your own out there. You'd be amazed at the things we're working with here.” Trent smiled a smile fit for a toothpaste ad and extended the clipboard. “Signatures, times and dates, please.”

Nathaniel made a low sound in the back of his throat, a sound of temptation and want, signed his name and the other details, then handed the clipboard to Leander.

In less than two minutes, the paperwork was signed and the event was over. Just like that, Leander thought, the danger was past. After a round of goodbyes and gracious displays of gratitude, Leander accompanied his father back through the maze of tunnels to the waiting area, where the assistant showed them to the front doors once more.

Stepping into the waiting, waning sunlight had never felt so good. Leander drew in a refreshing breath, glad to fill his lungs with air that didn't taste tainted and clinical.

Nathaniel glanced back with longing in his eyes, then patted Leander on the back. “Give Sander my thanks for coming to our aid.”

“I already did. I guess we'll fly you back to the airstrip, then we'll be heading on to Latvala.” Leander got into the waiting sedan and settled into the seat next to his father.

Nathaniel stared out the window at the complex, hands rubbing over and over together in his lap. “Yes, yes, that's for the best.” Tearing his gaze from the building as the sedan drove away, Nathaniel exhaled a shuddery breath.

Leander stared straight ahead, thinking that the more things changed, the more they really did stay the same.

“Something's wrong.”

“Nothing's wrong. I know it feels like longer, but it's only been two hours.”

“They should have been back by now.” Wynn's sense of reasoning and self-consolation shivered on the edge of collapse. Staring out the little window, arms folded along the back of the seat, she watched the tarmac in vain.

No car, no Leander, no Nathaniel with a cure.

“They'll be here. You know how this stuff is. A lot of protocol and formality. Nathaniel might have even gotten into dialogue with an old co-worker while Leander's anxiously waiting to get back.” Chey paused, then said, “I really do feel like it's going to be—look, the car!”

Wynn, lulled by Chey's voice, perked at the mention of the sedan. Sunlight flashing off the windshield, the car finished its turn around the terminal building and sped toward the plane.

“It's them! Chey, they're back!” Wynn leaned over to snatch Chey into a tight hug. Trepidation lingered, and until she knew for sure that the antidote had been administered and Leander would live, the sense of foreboding remained. Besides that, having Leander
here
was the next best thing.

Laughing quietly, Chey returned the warm hug. “Told you.”

The co-pilot lowered the stairway as the sedan came to a stop on the tarmac.

Wynn stood at the top step, shielding her eyes from the sun. Sinking steadily toward the horizon, most of the available daylight was now a muddy orange, soon to be cast with a haze of pewter as twilight crawled across the landscape.

Leander exited the sedan at the same time as his father. Wynn, unable to tell by their neutral expressions whether the antidote had been administered successfully, nevertheless trotted carefully down the stairs, using one hand to hold the rail.

Glancing up, Leander's whole demeanor changed. A smile crossed his face and he winked, two signs Wynn took to mean everything would be fine. She threw herself into his arms, using the last stair as a launching point. “You're back.”

Leander caught her with ease, laughing up into her face. Arms around her middle, he twirled her in a slow circle and kissed her soundly. “I'm back.”

“So? Don't keep me waiting. Did you get the antidote? Will it work?” Wynn peppered Leander's face with more kisses, the final one landing once more on his mouth.

“Yes, we got the antidote, and yes, it'll work. The crisis is over.”

“Thank god.” Wynn pressed her cheek against Leander's. She caught sight of Nathaniel watching them from near the rear of the sedan. Wynn's lips curled into a semblance of a smile, and she had to ask herself how she would have received the man if things had gone differently. Nathaniel's expression looked trite and momentarily focused on Leander's happiness.

That was all Wynn could ask for besides a healthy husband-to-be. Sliding down Leander's body, her feet met the ground. Reluctantly, she unwound her arms from Leander's neck and rested her palms on his chest.

“We going back to Arcata airport?” she asked.

“Yes. Then we're heading to Latvala.” Leander glanced at his father, then up to Chey. With an arm around Wynn, he escorted her up the staircase and into the jet.

“Welcome back. Glad everything went well,” Chey said.

Leander slanted Chey a boyish kind of smile, one that usually melted Wynn's heart. “Thanks. Sander really stepped up.”

“He does what he can, just like you.” Chey touched Leander on the back of the shoulder, then followed the pair inside.

Nathaniel ascended the ramp last and took a seat near a window. His hands began their traditional rubbing, his gaze going distant on the scenery.

Wynn took note of the rise of Nathaniel's old habit, then helped herself to Leander's lap when he sank down onto one of the sofas. “Now then. I want to hear
everything.
Don't leave out any details.”

Leander laughed, arms draped loosely around Wynn's hips. “I think it began on a stormy night, when all the lights were out. My mom had her first cramp around ten or so, and labor progressed--”

Wynn pinched Leander's chest, laughing along with Chey, who had taken a seat adjacent to theirs for take-off. Wynn said, “I didn't mean
that
far back. Jump ahead a few years, you know, to the complex we just left.”

“Oh, oh,” Leander played it off, eyes lidded, a smug grin on his mouth. “Well. The real story starts when I had to pry my fiance off my chest so I could
get
to the complex in the first place...”

. . .

Instead of feeling threatened by the towering redwoods hulking around the homestead, swathed in darkness, Leander considered the trees to be sentinels, on the lookout for danger. In his younger years, he'd given the most impressive specimens names, sure they'd been put there to protect him. In his later years, the sense of protection and longevity lingered. While the women waited in the car, he scanned the grounds around his childhood home. Hands on his hips, he pulled in a slow breath filled with scents of redwood bark, forest flora and a sweeter tang of moss. Familiar scents, ones that brought rushes of memory to the fore. It was the same no matter how frequently or infrequently he visited.

Finally, his attention landed on Nathaniel, who also scanned the area while he fished keys from his pocket. With just a porch light shining and a few stray landscape lights flickering in the shrubs, Leander had a hard time deciphering what his father was thinking.

Missing the complex and Trent Young's offer, probably.

“I guess this is it,” Nathaniel said, looking back at Leander. The keys rattled in his hand.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Leander, never good at goodbyes, was especially poor at this one. He sliced his hands into his pockets and shrugged his shoulders toward his ears, a gesture that was not dismissive but rather uncertain.

“I'm very glad I got to meet Wynn, and that she interceded on your behalf. You really should return phone calls sometimes.”

“I'll think about it,” Leander retorted, then realized when his father's gaze met the ground that his reply was too harsh for the situation. He didn't know whether he was glad that Nathaniel met Wynn or not, or whether Wynn's life would be enriched in any way by having met his dad. Nevertheless, he said, “I'm sure Wynn won't forget meeting you.”

Everything kept coming out biting and trite. Leander chewed on the inside of his lower lip. He could just make out the wry expression crossing his father's face from the short distance that separated them.

“I'm sure she won't. Anyway, good luck in a few days and with your future. If you experience any strange symptoms, get in touch with me immediately.” Nathaniel lifted a hand, turned toward the drive, and headed for the house.

“You too, and I will.” Leander opened his mouth to say more, to say
something
that would leave them on better terms than this. Their terms had never been better than this, however, except when he'd been much smaller, too young to know what his father did out in the bunker like buildings in the back.

Splitting off, he walked toward the waiting rental car, the scissoring shadows of his legs cutting through the headlight beams when someone inside turned them on. Lifting a hand to block some of the glare, he angled to the driver's side and slid into the seat. He stabbed a mock scowl at Wynn in the rearview mirror, knowing well who'd jumped the proverbial gun and fiddled with the headlamps. A moment later, Wynn wrapped her arms around his neck from behind and pressed three kisses just below his ear.

“How'd it go?” Wynn whispered.

“It went.” Leander wasn't sure what else to say.

“That's informative.”

“It ended like it always does—well. We weren't shouting at each other, I guess that's progress.” Leander skimmed a look to Chey, also in the back seat next to Wynn. She had her head tilted back, eyes closed. Not asleep, but apparently resting.

Starting the engine, Leander turned the car around, anxious to get out of surveillance range.

Anxious, too, to put some distance between himself and the house.

. . .

Wynn's sense of peace lasted exactly two-hours and thirty-eight minutes, right up until Leander informed her of the 'new' plans. Hands on her hips, voice low to keep from waking Chey asleep in the bedroom, Wynn glared at Leander as if that along with her virulent protests would change his mind. The hum of the jet helped, she hoped, to keep the argument from reaching others on the plane.

“For the third time, Leander,
no.
I hardly ever outright say that to you, because it feels disrespectful to a man more than capable of making his own choices. But I'm saying it now, and I mean it.
No.”

Sprawled negligently in one of the luxurious chairs, elbow draped over the arm rest, Leander studied her in silence for several seconds. Then he said, “It's disrespectful, yes, and you also don't say it because you know I'll do what I need to no matter what. And I
need
to be there. Either we divert the flight from Latvala to Serbia, or I'll have to spend all that extra time flying out again after I've seen you home. We're in the air. It's faster just to drop me off and get you two back to the castle. I'll make sure the others get out of Serbia safely and we'll all be home tomorrow. The wedding is still three days away, plenty of time.”

It galled Wynn to know he was right. Leander was not the type of man one kept on a leash. Any kind of leash, long or short. He came and went at his whim, never asking permission and also not informing her of the whole truth when he
did
leave. At least not until now.

“I understand you want to make sure they're safe. But Sander and Mattias and Ahsan are capable men. They'll figure it out. I mean, other than making sure there aren't any more surprises on Ahsan's jet, and dropping Kristo at Weithan Isle, there's nothing left to do but come home anyway.”