Heir in Exile (Royals Book 3) Page 11

  “I've been in that basement and up and down those back stairs. Not just that, but along two main corridors of the bottom floor. I know best how to get in and how to get out without raising the alarm,” she countered, struggling to keep the edge of anger out of her words.

  “No.” Sander sat back in his chair like the King he was supposed to become, and crossed his arms over his chest.

  Chey got her face out of the web camera and sank back into her chair. Scowling. When she glanced at Mattias, he had one hand over his mouth in the way people did when they were trying to control either laughter or a smile.

  “It's not funny, Mattias. Don't egg him on.”

  “I'm not laughing.” Mattias flashed his palms in the traditional sign of surrender.

  Chey could tell by the look the brothers exchanged that they both wouldn't listen to a word she said in defense of her ability to get the sample.

  Flat out angry, she got up from the chair and left the room, banging the door to the office closed in her wake.

  . . .

  Sander watched as Chey swirled out of Mattias's office and regretted her fury, but not his decision to deny her. All he needed was to be this far away and not be able to help should she fall into the wrong hands at the wrong time. Sending her on DNA collecting missions was not high on his list of risks to take at the moment.

  “She's right though, Mattias. If we could get a sample, we would have irrefutable proof that this man is her son and that they've kept him hidden away all these years. Just the threat of exposure to the world should make the King and Queen back off from these ideas of exile and control,” Sander said.

  “What if it backfires, and they embrace it? Attempt to come at it from the angle of compassion?” Mattias asked.

  “I don't think there is anything about their duplicity in replacing one damaged Heir for another, then lying about it all this time, that will go over well with the public. That's the kind of uproar Aksel won't want to deal with. He knows it will damage his credibility with the people and I think he'll back down,” Sander replied.

  Mattias's expression waned thoughtful. “Latvala is not a country rocked by many scandals. We saw the affect of the Valentina situation recently, which spread as fast as wildfire. This would strike closer to the hearts of the citizens and I fear one traumatic event after another could put the Ahtissari rule into question.”

  “It would only do so if the news actually went public. We'll be using the threat instead of the reality against Aksel and Helina, and I still believe they will back off rather than press the issue for exactly the reason you just stated. Aksel might be taking more risks than he can handle, but I do not think for a second he would put the entire throne and our bloodline at stake.” Sander laced his hands behind his head, plotting his next move.

  “You could be right. Perhaps it is the way we present it to them, with all our ducks in a row and no other secrets they can use to retaliate.”

  “They've got more secrets than Valentina's got lying hairs in her head,” Sander said, muttering. “Trying to outguess whether they've got something else up their sleeve is impossible until we're on the back side of this thing. We'll take precautions either way, brother.”

  “Good.” Mattias paused as if contemplating something else. He said, “You want me to arrange for a sample to be collected from Helina, then?”

  “Yes. Do what you need to. The sooner we make that connection, the better,” Sander said.

  “What about the man? I'm still thinking over ways to get in there without alerting the security.”

  “Leave that to me.”

  “You're half a world away,” Mattias pointed out.

  “I have those loyal to me, you know that. They will get the job done in my place.”

  “I suspect they will,” Mattias finally said. “What of Chey?”

  “Just keep her out of Aksel's hands. I don't trust that he won't move against her if he can find her.”

  “Done. When will we be in contact again?”

  “Soon. I'll get my hands on a phone they can't trace. Good luck with the sample,” Sander said.

  “You as well. Call me with an update.” Mattias clicked out of the video chat.

  Sander tapped a button, shutting down the application. He closed the laptop and leaned back in his chair, turning his mind to the task of DNA extraction.

  Later, there would be time to soothe Chey's ruffled feathers.

  Chapter Twelve

  While Mattias and Sander patted each other on the back and basked in their male superiority, Chey marched through the large house in search of another computer. Muttering about stubborn fiances the entire way, she came across a pretty library with bookshelves lining the walls and high beams that criss-crossed over the ceiling.

  On the heavy mahogany desk, a laptop sat waiting for use.

  “Perfect.” Stalking over, she sank down into the chair and opened the computer. She didn't especially care that she hadn't asked permission or that she might be using Mattias's private laptop for her research.

  In less than five minutes she got it fired up and hooked into a search engine, and from there it was a matter of seconds before results started popping up left and right.

  “Oh look here. You can use hair samples—but I would need to get the root along with the hair shaft. So it won't be as easy as gathering hair off a brush or something.” Undaunted by the extra step she would need to take, Chey scrolled down to the other options.

  “Saliva. I hadn't thought of that.” She frowned, thinking over the problems she might encounter collecting it. That meant getting inside someone's mouth and that wasn't appealing in the least. She imagined sneaking into the strange man's room with a cotton swab, peeling back his lip, and running the swab along the underside while he was asleep.

  After which he would probably wake up, furious, and pound her into the ground with his fist.

  “The hair sample would be easier. That's just tweezers and a pluck. Still risky, but less invasive, I think, than trying the swab.” She perused the rest of the article after glancing at the library doors. No one lurked out in the hallway.

  “Okay, not just one hair, either, but at least five or six samples are recommended in case the root isn't attached to the first one. About sixty-or-so-percent success rate matching DNA that way. Not a fantastic percentage. The saliva is higher.” Chey considered it. Blood was out of the question. Or was it? Was there a huge difference between a pluck and a needle prick? She might be able to pierce a calloused toe or finger or some other less sensitive spot whereas no matter where she plucked six hairs, the recipient of her torture would feel it. If she plucked five or six hairs at the same time, they would definitely notice.

  Either way, she had the information she needed. In less than fifteen minutes, too. Chey closed out the search engine, shut down the laptop, and vacated the library.

  No one had seen her come or go.

  She stopped by the kitchen, empty of people now that dinner was past, and collected a sealable baggie. Retreating to the bedroom she'd chosen as 'hers' upstairs, she raided the bathroom connected to it for cotton swabs, tweezers, a bandage with gauze in case she got overzealous with her pricking (or in case she suffered an unexpected bloody nose), and a needle she liberated from a small sewing kit.

  What she needed now was something small and lightweight to carry all the collection items in. She rooted through a few cupboards and found nothing suitable.

  In the bedroom, she searched the nightstands. Nothing there, either.

  Crouching in front of the dresser, she went through every drawer. In the bottom one, behind a few generic sweaters and folded knit scarves, she found a black fanny pack. Chey arched a brow, brought it up to eye level, and cringed at the bright yellow happy face plastered on the front beneath the zipper.

  “These things went out of style in the eighties,” she said, muttering under her breath. It would keep her hands free, however, and wouldn't burden her if she needed to move fast.
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  Three minutes later, she had everything stored inside the compartment. Chey wrapped the pack around her waist to test the clasp, and found she had to let out an inch in the strap to make it fit. More walks and salads were in order, apparently.

  Taking the pack off, she stuffed it into the top drawer of the dresser until she was ready to use it. Decorative letterhead and pen in the nightstand that she'd seen while searching for the pack drew her attention next. Removing both from the nightstand, she flopped onto the bed and by the single light of the bedside lamp, spilled her thoughts over the paper.

  I know what you're thinking. DON'T DO IT! But I'm going to. I'm going in. It shouldn't be too hard to infiltrate the building now that I've already been inside. Here are the problems I see that might arise: 1. Someone found the busted basement door and boarded it shut good enough to prevent a zombie invasion. 2. Someone boarded the door -and- posted a sentinel outside in the yard. 3. They added attack dogs to monitor the perimeter. 4. Someone welded the outer gate closed. 5. Man Who Might Be Sander's Brother is a light sleeper and takes offense to someone plucking/sticking/pricking him for his DNA. 6. Man Who Might Be Sander's Brother is faster than I am. 7. Said Man has no compunction about squashing fleeing woman like a noisome fly. 8. Everyone in the house exists in a high state of paranoia and moved MWMBSB to another location, making breaking and entering irrelevant. 9. Someone installed security cameras, saving me from the problem of the welded gate, attack dogs, the sentinel and boarded door when a sniper picks me off from a high tower. 10. I never find the building to begin with, because I didn't stop to take directions when I escaped the first time, and wind up stranded in the hinterlands with no gas, food or water.

  In all seriousness, most of these scenarios could be plausible since my last visit, sans sarcasm. I should probably take a few extra things, like a screwdriver, flashlight and something sharp enough to defend myself if necessary.

  I'm annoyed that Sander wouldn't even listen to reason. He just said 'No', as if he thinks that word has ever meant anything to me in my life. No in Chey's world often means Yes. He hasn't learned that about me yet, I guess. But he will. It makes sense to send in someone who knows the layout at least a little. Doesn't it? I can be quiet when I need to be. I've navigated the house in the shadows and won't need a flashlight—at least on the bottom floor—to guide me. That counts for something.

  Besides all that, I want to help. I want to see Sander reinstalled as heir and one day take the throne. I owe Aksel a bit of payback and this would be a great way to do that.

  Yes, I realize returning to the building is dangerous. I know I need to be cautious. A part of me thrives at the adrenaline I'm feeling though. Maybe this kind of lifestyle really is up my alley. The intrigue, mystery, adventure. Because it -has- been an adventure. Two months ago I would have hotly denied I wanted any part of all this.

  Now, all I can think about is how I'm going to steal (borrow) the SUV in the garage and get the DNA sample.

  Sander, if things go bad and they find this note after the fact—don't be mad I went. I have to go my own way sometimes. Trust I took every precaution I could and remember that I love you.

  A series of knocks at the bedroom door startled Chey into dropping the pen. Scrambling, she stuffed the paper into the nightstand drawer, picked up the pen off the floor, and set it on top. Thinking it had to be Mattias, she crossed to the door and swung it open.

  Mattias leaned against the frame, one knee bent in casual repose.

  “What?” Chey asked. She hoped she hadn't left anything telling visible in the room behind her.

  “I wanted to check on you, make sure you weren't seething after the conversation with Sander. He's only doing what the thinks is best for you.”

  Chey arched a brow. Her skin prickled with mild irritation. “Firstly, I'm not a child. Secondly, he should have at least listened to what I had to say. I'm perfectly capable of deciding what's best for me all by myself.”

  “That may be the case, but he can't deal with the rest of this and worry you're out getting yourself in trouble at the same time. You know?” Mattias scrutinized her face.

  “He doesn't need to worry. I'm just going to go to bed and see if there are new developments in the morning.” She exhaled as if put upon. It wasn't far from the truth. A small part of her hated lying to Mattias, though, and she struggled not to let her deception show in her eyes. Mattias had been good to her through everything. He might construe this as an abuse of trust and never confide in her again.

  Mattias tongued the edge of his teeth while he regarded her. He glanced at his watch, then straightened out of his lean. “Very well. Get some decent rest. I'll see you in the morning.”

  Chey detected a hint of wariness in his tone. Thankful he didn't press the issue, she inclined her head. “You too. See you in the morning.”

  Closing the door when he departed, Chey leaned against it. With any luck, she would have the DNA in tow come daybreak.

  . . .

  At exactly eleven o'clock, Chey stuck her head into the hallway. Small lights attached to the walls provided dim illumination. Seeing no one, she exited her room, the fanny pack in place beneath a new coat she'd found in the closet. Designed for winter weather, the thick, heavy jacket was just what she needed for the trip. Heading downstairs, she made the main level and paused aside the banister, listening for voices or movement.

  She knew there were several guards and a few other staff members on the premises. What Chey didn't know, was if there was an alarm system that might flash bright red lights and scream warnings if she tried to leave the house. Peering toward the front door did her no good. Two potted plants with broad fronds blocked part of each wall where an alarm system might be mounted.

  Veering away from the foyer, she aimed for the dining room and kitchen where she thought doors to the garage might be located. The garage was on this side of the house, so it made sense access should be here, too.

  She found what she was looking for in an extra room off the kitchen. One whole side was shelves, the other contained a small sink, a few cupboards and a door. Next to the door was a row of pegs from which several keys dangled. Choosing a ring with a definite logo on the chain, she exited into the cold garage and closed the door behind her.

  So far, so good. No alarms went off.

  Matching the logo to the vehicle, she approached with a glance at the three other cars parked on either side. All three were SUV types made for questionable weather, and none appeared to have blinking lights of alarm systems on the dash.

  Using the key, she let herself inside the one she would be using. This is where the whole plan got tricky. She needed to get the garage door up and the engine started without alerting the entire house. At least until she was on the road and able to put some distance between herself and the rest.

  Pressing the button on the remote hanging off the visor, she jammed the key into the ignition as the bay door rolled up. In reality, Chey knew it wasn't as loud as it seemed. Cringing at the rumble, she started the engine and began backing out immediately. Slowly, so she didn't clip the garage door on the way.

  Once more, she expected sirens and flashing lights.

  Nothing.

  Just the growl of the engine and the garage door easing to a stop.

  Chey backed all the way to the gate, using the second remote on the visor to open it. Whipping onto the street, relieved to see it plowed of snow, she threw the SUV into gear and glanced at the house.

  A light inside the foyer snapped on, visible through the front windows of the manor.

  “Crap.” She picked up speed, turning on the headlights, determined to get lost before they could find her. Engaging the GPS, she drove away from Mattias's holding using every short cut and side street she could. Generally, she went in the same direction as the town where Mattias picked her up to begin with.

  That was her starting point. It was where she knew she needed to get her bearings and begin backtracking toward her destination
.

  To her great relief, Chey saw no flash of pursuing headlights in the rear view mirror. It appeared as if her break was a success.

  . . .

  She made good time on the sparsely traveled roads, checking the onboard GPS every now and then. Darkness made defining her bearings harder, but not impossible. Certain houses with many windows—or a few—along with odd shaped Inns and other businesses helped guide her where she needed to go.

  When she drove into the small town where Mattias found her at the restaurant, the real hunt began. One road at a time, Chey backtracked through the countryside, taking it slow. This was where her attention to detail would really matter most. The moon cast its pale glow over the scenery, highlighting peaked roofs, broad meadows and a glimpse of a snaking river that Chey didn't remember seeing on her first pass.

  Strange.

  Had she already taken a wrong turn? Or had she not been paying close enough attention at the particular moment she'd passed it? She decided she'd missed the river in favor of three houses that she did remember on the opposite side of the road. All three had tiny blue lights rimming the eaves, as if the owners lived in perpetual Christmasland, refusing to take them down no matter what season it was.

  She was on the right track so far.

  Forty minutes later, Chey brought the SUV to a halt in the middle of the road. Forest stretched to the right, a pasture to the left. Nothing for the last ten minutes had looked familiar. If she was honest, nothing had looked familiar for the last fifteen.

  An offshoot road intersecting with this one some miles back had caused Chey a bit of heartache. She didn't recall coming in from that direction. Yet this didn't feel right, either, and she decided to rely on instinct instead of sight. Turning around, she headed back to that smaller road. Once she was on it, she started scanning the roadsides for a landmark. Anything would do. There were no houses out here, which was both a blessing and a curse; it told her she was in the right area, at least, because Sander's brother—if that's truly who the man was—lived in the middle of nowhere.