The Wrath of the King (20 page)

“It's the best shot from what's left in this area,” Gunnar said, shifting his gun across his lap. The rain fell harder, tinging off the roof like bullets.

“I agree. I don't see anything else in the general vicinity that looks remotely viable that we haven't already checked. You ready?” Sander asked, flipping the GPS off. He glanced out the windshield, unable to see much through the trees. He knew the
house was there, but this one lacked visibility from the road itself.

“Let's go,” Gunnar said.

Sander put the Hummer in gear and bore down on the residence, taking the driveway at a high rate of speed. By the time he stomped the gas, sending the back end sliding through a puddle of mud, the front door had opened and a man stepped onto the porch. Even from that vantage, Sander could see a gun in the farmer's hands.

“Watch the weapon,” Sander said, disembarking with the engine still running. He flashed his empty hands and called out with the intent of stopping the tenant from blowing one of their heads off. “Sir! We're here on official business. I'm King Sander Ah--” He got no further. The farmer set his gun down and made frantic gestures.

“Your Majesty! Come in, come in out of the rain!”

Sander, flanked by an armed Gunnar, approached and took the steps to the porch at a jog. He reached out to clasp the farmer's hand in a shake, taking a personable stance now that he suspected the man was loyal to him rather than Paavo. Before he could speak, the farmer burst out with a torrent of information.

“I had to send her away. My wife has been listening to the news, to--”

“Send who away?” Sander said, cutting the farmer off. He stared at the man's face, anxious to know if Chey had been here.

“Your wife, your Majesty. She was here not a half hour ago. I'm sorry we didn't keep her sheltered,” he said with an irate glance toward the door of the homestead.

Sander took a step closer, regaining the man's attention. “Tell me where she went and how she left your house.”

The farmer twisted his hands nervously together. “I gave her the keys to my truck, your Majesty. Told her to head West, then North, because I hadn't seen troops along that route for days.”

“And she left a half hour ago?”

“Give or take, your Majesty.”

“Thank you. If anyone shows up and asks, you didn't see us this evening,” Sander said. He backtracked to the stairs, loping down to the ground.

“Yes, your Majesty!” the farmer called out.

Sander swung into the Hummer, waiting for Gunnar to do the same. The second his brother's door was closed, Sander put the vehicle in gear and tore down the drive.

“A half hour. West, then North. Get on the GPS and see how far you think she's gone in this weather and how many turn offs there are between us,” Sander said to Gunnar.

“I'm on it.” He had the device in his hands, his weapon angled across his lap.

The screen cast a soft glow inside the cabin as roads began to show up, snaking toward and away from their location. Sander glanced across once, then concentrated on the roads as Gunnar began mapping out possibilities.

Sander hoped for the best. He drove like a man possessed, taking corners too tight and straightaways too fast. All he could think about was reaching her. He hadn't taken the time to inquire after her health, or if she'd suffered any kind of injury. He figured the farmer would have told him if Chey had been bloodied or wounded.

“Sander, don't get us killed. We're close. We'll catch up with her soon,” Gunnar said when the Hummer roared around a corner.

“There's no time to waste, Gunnar. She could run across a road block anywhere. Just because the farmer hasn't seen one in a few days doesn't mean they didn't erect a check-point between now and then.” A muscle flexed in Sander's jaw. His vision swam in and out of focus, made worse by the flash of windshield wipers and relentless rain.

He didn't care. He would drive until he passed out if he had to. They were too close now, so close he could almost smell the sweet scent of her skin. It tickled his senses, a remnant of memory he latched onto with fierce determination.

Three turns later, the wash of red tail lights a half mile ahead spurred him to greater speed.

. . .

Just how far North was she supposed to go? At some point, she figured she might run into a roadblock or a mass of troops. Chey turned the wipers up another notch as the rain came down harder, working the problem of direction and distance out loud.

“So I've gone probably fifteen or twenty miles. Where does that put me?” She guessed the range she'd come so far in the rain. It wasn't very far. In her mind, she tried to map out the terrain opposed to Paavo's castle and what troops she'd seen from the air. It was confusing, especially since she needed most of her concentration for driving. Thunder boomed through the night, startling her to a slower speed.

“I guess I'll wait until the next big intersection and head toward the shore from there. I'm sure there will be a lot more troops that way, though, because they'll be guarding roads to the bigger cities.” Which left Chey the option of finding a smaller town and someone with a phone.

In the rearview mirror, headlights flashed bright. She glanced up, momentarily blinded. Squinting against the glare, she gripped the steering wheel and took the upcoming bend at a mediocre twenty miles an hour. The sound of a horn made Chey twitch in surprise, but she couldn't glance in the mirror until she was on the straightaway after the bend. The last thing she needed to do was end up in a ditch.

It wasn't until she'd finished taking the corner that alarm sent a buzz through her system. What if that was Paavo in the vehicle behind her? Had he figured out where she'd gone and gotten directions from the farmer's wife? That thought urged her to speed up and glance in the rear view more often.

The vehicle was closing in fast. Too fast.

Panicking, Chey floored it. The old truck surged with a grind of the engine, the sound of someone laying on a horn making Chey's scalp tingle. It was so urgent, persistent. Warning her they were coming, or hoping she would stop out of curiosity.

Hell with that.

They'd have to run her off the road first.

Much to her surprise, the vehicle pulled up alongside the old truck, pacing her while honking the horn repeatedly. They wanted her to stop, sure enough. With all the rain on the windows, she couldn't see much, and didn't bother to look. She gave the truck more gas, leaning forward in the seat like that might help her see better.

The vehicle paced her, easily keeping up. Then it surged forward and nudged closer.

Gasping, Chey veered the truck to avoid impact on the front fender. They really were trying to run her off the road! It hadn't been a hard motion, but it still freaked her out. She understood the intent was to force her to slow down. It worked, too. There was nowhere to go but the soft shoulder, and, fearing a spin-out, she chose to back off the gas as the looming, black truck nudged toward her again. Chey stomped the brakes that time, steering through a rough fish-tail. The truck screeched to a halt. She jammed the gear into reverse, intending to back up and either go around or ram the damn thing if she had to.

Shocked to see a military man running at the truck, she reached over to punch the locks down, missing twice for the panic setting in. He was going to beat her to the door.

Then it was open and she took a swing toward the adversary. He caught her wrist with too much ease.

“Chey!”

Her strength waned and her eyes opened wider. It couldn't be.

“Sander?” But it was. Sander stood there in full military regalia, drenched to the bone, holding her wrist in a gentle but firm grip. He pulled her to him at the same time she all but flew out of the truck into his arms. Right away she was struck by his familiar scent, the heat of his skin. Chey wanted to melt and cry at the same time.

“Are you all right? I'm sorry about the truck, but I had to slow you down,” he rumbled near her ear. He leaned back to claim her mouth in a bold kiss, giving her no time to answer.

Once she caught her breath, she said, “I thought you were them. I thought they found the farmhouse and the wife told them where to go. I'm fine, Sander, I'm fine.”

Sander swung her up into his arms, carrying her like she weighed nothing to the Hummer. “It was us. We got a call from Hanna, of all people, and she set us on the right path. You did good.”

Chey held on tight, careless of the rain. She knew Sander must be fighting through pain and his wounds, but was so glad to see him. “I managed to get one call out. Are you all right? When did you wake up? I was so scared they got to you in the hospital.”

Sander walked her to the back passenger door and set her on the seat. Gunnar had thoughtfully opened the door and was already in the driver's seat, prepared to take over.

“I woke up to find my sister and Krislin defending me in the hospital room. We got out of there as fast as we could. Went to a safe house in the city where I started to make plans to get you out of Paavo's holding.”

Chey refused to let go of Sander, holding onto him as they embarked and Gunnar got the Hummer in gear. Behind, the truck sat an angle in the road, the headlights shining twin beams into the rain.

“They took me right out of your room. Paavo really made a concerted effort to overthrow you, Sander, and I thought for sure he meant to do you in.” She pressed smaller kisses along his jaw, feeling his hand on her belly while he assured himself she was intact and wound free.

“Yeah, I found that out during briefing. All this time, he's been planning a coup. I should have seen it coming after the Bashir fiasco. He gave in too easy, and that was my first clue.”

“He's your brother. You couldn't have known he would pursue it like this. None of
us did. I'm so glad you got out before they hurt you,” she whispered. Chey tucked her face into the crook of Sander's throat, relieve in a hundred different ways to be reunited with him.

“Natalia and Krislin really stepped up. I owe them,” Sander said. “I guess they would have finished what they started with the attack on the caravan.”

Chey shuddered to hear it. To think Paavo would go as far as murder to take over the country. But wasn't that the way of greedy, power hungry people? Willing to stop at nothing to get what they wanted? Paavo had decided Latvala was his after the former King deigned to sit Paavo on the throne instead of other, legitimate heirs. That power went to Paavo's head, made him desperate and dangerous.

“You helped Natalia out of a bad situation and she knows it. I hope she'll keep on this road, a less nasty, more mature one that will enrich her life instead of alienating her from everyone she secretly holds dear. Krislin was invaluable to me, too. She stayed behind to let me snitch a little rest while I watched over you.” Chey would be forever indebted to Krislin for it.

“Either way, we have you back, and that's what matters. How is the baby? Are you in pain anywhere?” he asked, glancing ahead through the windshield then down to Chey.

“Fine, I think. I had to walk several miles or so to get to that farmhouse, which wasn't pleasant considering it was through the forest, in the dark, and I kept tripping over things. But I made it and I'm not in labor, so I can't complain.” The cramps and aches had stopped, much to Chey's relief.

Sander muttered a slew of curses under his breath. “I'm going to kill him for putting you through this.”

She slanted a look up his cheek to his eyes. Sander sounded serious. She'd heard him make threats like this before, usually in passing and never literal. He'd told her in the past he wasn't that kind of man. She believed him. This, like the other times,
was a figure of speech. If anyone asked her, however, she wouldn't be able to correctly identify what punishment Paavo should suffer for his actions. He'd tried to kill Sander,
had
killed some of the men in the caravan and who knew how many others. Those, along with treason, were serious crimes.

“Right now, I just want to get somewhere safe and find Wynn. I have no idea where she is, but I'm afraid she may be in danger as well.”

“We'll figure it out the second we reach my holding.”

“Which one is that? Have I been there before, and how do you know it's safe?” Chey asked, wary to go somewhere new and different unless she was sure they could trust the people who might be guarding it.

“A less well known holding about an hour and a half from here. The helicopter can't fly in these conditions so we'll have to drive. I know it's safe because I personally selected the people who are there waiting,” he replied. Sander kissed the top of her head, squeezing her shoulders with the arm looped around them.

“You're sure you can trust them?”

“Yes. Absolutely sure.”

“Sander, Leander just texted me. He's got Wynn and they're on their way to your holding. I told them that's the location where we're all meeting up,” Gunnar reported from the front seat.

“Oh, I'm so glad to hear she's safe,” Chey said, wilting against Sander.

“Excellent. We'll take stock once we get everyone in the same house. Krislin and
Natalia should already be there when we arrive.”

“Do you think we'll run into any troops along the way?” Chey asked when the thought occurred. She chastised herself for becoming too complacent too quickly.

“I don't know, Chey. Maybe. We'll deal with it if we do though,” Sander said. He tilted his head back against the seat, one arm still around Chey's shoulders.

“All right. Do you need anything for pain? New bandages? You look so tired, Sander,” she said, concern for his welfare surfacing once more.

“I'm fine. Resting my head in case we have to combat our way through a check-point.”

“Are you dizzy?”

“A little bit. Nothing detrimental.”

“You wouldn't tell me if it was really bad, would you?” she asked, suspicious he was in more pain than he let on. After all this time, Chey had learned the hard way that Sander was capable of withstanding quite a bit of damage to his person.

“No.” He smiled a broad smile without opening his eyes.

“That right there tells me all I need to know,” Chey said, running the back of her fingers over his cheek, heedless of the grease.