Royal Elite: Leander Read online

  Dressed in jeans and a loose button down that concealed his knife sheath, Leander wandered into the kitchen for the second time. He ate a banana, a piece of toast and several bites of cantaloupe Wynn left on a plate.

  “Did you call?” Leander asked.

  Wynn popped a strawberry past her teeth and turned around, coffee mug in hand. “Not yet.”

  He gave her a mock exasperated look.

  “Well!” Her cheek bulged with the fruit that she spoke around. “I had to get us something to eat.”

  “I appreciate you setting me something out, but I'm capable of grabbing breakfast on my own, you know.”

  After wiping her hands on a napkin, Wynn slid her feet into two inch platform shoes, adjusted the leggings beneath her modest plaid pencil skirt, then brushed her fingers up the buttons of her collared shirt, checking to make sure she was in order. The curls had been washed out with the shower and the sleek, shiny bob was back.

  “I know, I know. I'll call her right now.” Wynn spun away to the table—which was suspiciously clear of wedding paraphernalia now—and picked up her phone.

  Before she could even turn the thing on, a knock came at the front door.

  Leander frowned and pushed off the counter. “Who is that?”

  “I don't know.” Wynn paused with her finger over the screen and followed Leander into the hall.

  Wary and alert due to the fact that Mattias, Sander or any of his other friends always came in the back, Leander swung the door open. Mattias, dark haired and dark eyed like Wynn, stood there with his hands in his pants pockets. Right away, Leander noticed two things: Mattias wasn't dressed in a fine, expensive suit with his hair groomed and face shaved clean of whiskers but all black clothing of the sort they always wore on missions for the Royal Elite. Mattias also held his gaze in that way the men in the group did when they had something serious to communicate. Often, just a look and a lot of silence spoke better than words ever could.

  “Can I speak to you for a moment?” Mattias said without preamble. He did pause to break eye contact with Leander and cordially smile at Wynn. “Good morning. My apologies for the intrusion.”

  Wynn, standing at Leander's flank, returned the prince's smile. “Morning, Mattias. It's no trouble at all.”

  “I'll be right back.” Leander twisted to brush a kiss on Wynn's cheek, then stepped onto the porch, pulling the door almost shut. A three inch gap remained. Outside with Mattias, Leander squinted at the glare of the sun while his eyes adjusted to the lighting change. He knew something big was coming, a mission of all things, because Mattias wouldn't be here at this hour, with no warning, wearing those clothes.

  “We have a situation. Kristo has been...detained.”

  Leander contained his surprise. “By who?”

  “We don't know. All we know right now is that Kristo was en route home and someone, a group of someones, intervened. They're holding him for two million dollars ransom.”

  Leander whistled long and low. Kristo, heir to the throne of Weithan Isle, was a man Leander had never met personally. He'd seen the prince many a time at social gatherings, but hadn't ever engaged him in one on one conversation. “They're not messing around. Is Kristo's father going to pay it?”

  “Apparently, the King has told those in his inner circle that he doesn't have the money.” Mattias's closed expression gave nothing away.

  “I'm not sure I believe that. Or, at least, that he can't get his hands on the money. Sell off a few valuables or some of the gold we all know he's probably got locked away in his dungeons. Hell, why doesn't he offer to just trade the gold for Kristo for that matter?”

  “I haven't spoken to the king, so I don't personally know what's going on with his financial troubles. I just know that Kristo is being held against his will, and we should probably step in.”

  “How long do you think the extraction will take? Do you know where he is?” Leander calculated travel times and the probabilities of whether he'd make it back for his wedding—or not. Wynn would kill him.

  “I wish I could say for sure. It depends how long it takes us to get going, and whether we have any trouble when we get there. Maybe two days, possibly three. And yes, we know the general vicinity of where they're holding him. We intercepted one of the calls and traced it back an hour ago,” Mattias said. Then, he added, “I know it's pushing close to the wedding. We'll be back in time.”

  “All right.” Leander wouldn't turn it down. None of the members of the Royal Elite, a group of men involved in a secretive sect that stepped in when this kind of thing happened to one of their own, would turn their back on someone in need. They helped each other out of big and small scrapes alike. This particular scenario could go either way.

  “Excellent. The plane is fueled and ready to go. The faster you can gather your stash of clothes and weapons, the better. Meet us at the helipad for transfer in fifteen minutes.”

  “Us?” Leander arched a brow.

  “Sander is coming.”

  “...is that wise?”

  “He knows Kristo better than anyone else in our group, and his presence might come in handy, depending on what we find.” Mattias's expression never changed. If he was wary to have the king of Latvala engage in a mission as complicated as this could become, he didn't show it.

  “If something happens to Sander, and something happens to you, that leaves the Kingdom of Latvala in Gunnar's hands.” Gunner, the youngest of the Ahtissari brothers, wasn't prepared to take the throne. Leander didn't need to be told that the Kingdom might suffer if someone as inexperienced as Gunnar had to take over before he was through training and being groomed for that kind of scenario.

  “Yes. I won't allow anything to happen to Sander, however.” Mattias smiled a wry smile, then turned from the door. “Fifteen minutes.”

  “I'll be there.” Leander regarded Mattias's back as the prince navigated the front pathways and manicured hedges of the cottage. Once Mattias was out of sight, Leander re-entered the house.

  Now came the hard part. Telling Wynn the bad news.

  . . .

  Shell shocked at the overheard conversation, Wynn barely pulled back from the crack of the door in time. Leaning back, she put her phone up in front of her face as Leander stepped inside, pretending to be fixated on the screen. Knowing she wasn't supposed to overhear what she'd just heard made it difficult for Wynn to keep her emotions off her face.

  Missions. Detained heirs to the throne. And conversation topics that led Wynn to believe the men were involved in something she didn't think she would like. This went far beyond 'helping and protecting' Mattias. It didn't even involve the prince beyond the fact that he—and Sander, for the love of everything—were also going along.

  “What did Mattias want?” Wynn asked. She hated pretending like she hadn't heard anything. Hated playing dumb. Yet she wanted to see if Leander would tell her openly about this mysterious venture. It was important to her that it was his decision to fill her on in this part of his life. A part she'd had to turn a blind eye to for all its secrecy.

  And Chey was going to flip out at the news Sander was going on some dangerous mission.

  “He needs me. Unfortunately, I'm not going to be able to make it today. I am sorry, Wynn.” Leander bent to press a warm kiss against her cheek.

  “Needs you for what? He knows the wedding is days away.” Wynn couldn't bust Leander for his answer—it was an accurate answer, just not the whole answer.

  “Yes, he does. He's the best man, after all. Maybe three days. Hopefully two if we can get there quickly. I have to go. I'll call you if I can, and I will be back before we say I Do. Okay?” He held her shoulders in his hands, staring at her eyes.

  Wynn fidgeted with her phone. She hated that he was going off into unknown danger and wanted to beg him to stay. “Okay.”

  He quirked his lips at her subdued reply, squeezed her arms gently, and released. Then he stepped past, picking up the pace down the hall.

  Wynn turned to watch
him disappear into the hall that led to the basement door. She didn't like the basement and wouldn't go down there, so if he had weapons or changes of clothing stashed, she didn't know about it. The distant thud of a lock assured her he was gone.

  Alarmed at what she'd overheard, Wynn speed dialed Chey's number.

  She didn't care who liked it and who didn't; the queen of Latvala needed to know what was going on.

  Chapter Three

  “I'm telling you, Chey. What I overheard—it's serious.” Wynn pushed her sunglasses atop her head to meet Chey eye to eye. “What's more? They're leaving in fifteen minutes. Meeting at the helipad. And Sander's going with them.”

  Chey, a disturbed, concerned look on her face, said, “I have no idea why they'd be going to extract Kristo, instead of going straight to Weithan Isle to help the king. In fact, I don't know why Sander isn't offering phone or monetary support only.”

  Wynn knew what was under Chey's skin. Once upon a time, Sander had pretended to marry Valentina, Kristo's sister, in a fake ceremony that had torn Chey apart inside. Chey and Sander had only been dating at the time, and Wynn thought her best friend would have scars from that trauma forever. Sander visiting Weithan Isle without Chey in attendance would likely put Chey on edge.

  Wynn couldn't blame her.

  “I don't either. Sander hasn't ever talked about anything like this, has he? I mean, I know Mattias, Leander and Sander are trained in combat and that Sander and Mattias have spent time in the military. Protecting Latvala is one thing—going into uncertain danger is another.” Wynn didn't understand. She couldn't wrap her mind around the complexity of it.

  “He goes down to the hinterlands when there is trouble there, and of course he was in charge of getting the country back under control after Paavo tried to overthrow him, but running off somewhere else in the world to save a prince from kidnappers? No. He's never said anything about that. Sander isn't supposed to jeopardize his life because of his position. We all know it.” Chey brushed a stray lock of dark hair from her shoulder. Today, the jeans had been replaced by light gray linen slacks and a pale peach silk top, modest and suited for Chey's position in the castle.

  “I asked Leander, too, when he came back in the house. He sidestepped the truth. He didn't lie, exactly, but he didn't admit what they were going to do. I could have really used him here right now, you know? I feel sorry for the prince, but I'd think Weithan Isle would have their own men to extract him.”

  “Let's go find Sander. If they're leaving that soon, he'll be looking for me, too.”

  “Good idea.” Wynn fell into step beside Chey. They were ensconced in a downstairs parlor in Kallaster castle, the main seat of the king and queen. The castle, medieval down to its bones, was a monolith of stone and heavy wood beams that had, once upon a time, been the lookout for incoming raiders from the sea. Positioned on a small island not far from the coast of Latvala, the castle had endless corridors, hidden niches, stairways and myriad rooms ranging from master suites to private sitting rooms. Wynn had loved living here, and if it hadn't been for Leander's propensity for privacy and her love of the 'cottage', Wynn would have happily lived in Kallaster for the rest of her life.

  Shoes ringing on the stone floors, she paced Chey through the lower level to the foyer, where they came upon Sander shrugging on a dark vest over equally dark clothing. The king of Latvala, broad and tall with shoulder length blonde hair, sometimes rakish and other times serious and sober, could be mistaken for nothing less than the ruler of his domain. Sander exuded authority and confidence in spades.

  And he was wearing clothing much like Mattias, Wynn noted, which gave credence to the idea that the men were embarking on some mysterious, dangerous mission.

  “There you are. I've had people searching upstairs for you,” Sander said when he caught sight of Chey. “Hello, Wynn.”

  “Hi Sander,” Wynn said, coming to a stop a few feet away.

  Chey advanced and curled her arms around Sander's neck, dusting a kiss to his cheek. Stepping back, she said, “Where are you going?”

  Sander swept Chey into a one armed, hard hug. Releasing her, he rested one hand possessively on her hip. “I have something to do for the next couple of days. Mattias needs my help.”

  “Where are you going?” Chey asked with a frown. She laid one hand over the front of the vest covering Sander's chest. It was the type of vest with several pockets built into the material to hold items of import.

  “Out of the country. Listen, I don't have time to go into great detail, but we'll be back for the wedding, okay?” He kissed her brow, squeezed her hip, and released her.

  “But Sander...”

  “Chey, I'm already running a few minutes behind. I'll call you if I can.” He winked, ticked his whiskered chin up in a gesture of farewell for Wynn, and cut away for the entrance. Two guards opened a pair of heavy double doors for their king.

  Chey, mouth slightly agape with indignation, suddenly stalked forward in her husband's wake.

  “Oh boy,” Wynn whispered to herself. She followed Chey through the doors and down the stone stairs. A Jeep waited at the bottom, driver already behind the wheel, presumably to transfer Sander to the helipad. Sunshine gleamed off the vehicle's windshield. Wynn pushed her sunglasses back into place, desperate to block the glare.

  “Sander, a word please?” Chey asked as she reached the bottom stair.

  Ever chivalrous, Sander paused just before climbing in and turned back to meet Chey's eyes. “Yes, sweetheart?”

  “Are you about to do something dangerous? We have two kids both under the age of three. If you're going to put yourself in harm's way, I think I should know.”

  Wynn watched from the proverbial sidelines. The mild confrontation proved to Wynn that nothing much had changed with Chey's temper, yet everything had changed in how her friend handled her ire. This Chey was more controlled than years previous, more aware that guards and other castle staff were coming and going, privy to any discord. Chey the young adult might have raised her voice and set forth unreasonable demands; Queen Chey kept her voice low and spoke in reasonable tones. Impressed, Wynn watched on.

  Sander cupped Chey's cheek, tilted in to kiss her lips, then pressed a whisper there. “There could be danger, and there could not be. So long as cooler heads prevail, everything will be fine. And you know how cool headed Mattias can be.”

  “So you won't tell me exactly where you're going?” she asked, appearing mollified to some degree by his calm reply.

  Wynn wanted to play devil's advocate and tell Chey to demand every detail, or else. It was both their men on the line and who knew how many others.

  “I can't. It'll compromise things. You understand, yes?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Chey said after a pointed hesitation.

  Sander kissed her again then climbed into the Jeep. Moments later the vehicle sped away through the large courtyard, heading for the gate.

  “He did pretty much what Leander did. Avoided the real detail,” Wynn said, looking away from the Jeep after it disappeared from view.

  Chey glanced at Wynn, then cocked her head to the steps, clearly indicating she wanted Wynn to follow her inside.

  Arching her brows, Wynn fell into step at Chey's flank.

  Maybe the queen had other ideas after all.

  . . .

  The coast of Pallan Island fell away as the helicopter whirled toward the mainland. Blue and sparkling, the Baltic sea stretched into the distance out one window and toward the shore of Latvala from another. Leander, headphones in place to block the loud chop of the blades, stared at the mainland while his thoughts vaulted ahead to the situation they were about to face. It was the unknown he liked to prepare for, to mentally sharpen his mind for any event.

  Sander sat to his right, with Mattias in a seat across, facing him. No one attempted conversation. There would be time enough for that once they reached the private plane.

  It took less than an hour to land at the royal airstrip, switch co
nveyances, and get back in the air. In the lush confines of the jet, with its new dove-gray, white and silver interior, the men gathered around a polished table in a separate conference area to go over their plans.

  “All right. We're headed to Turkey. Kristo's jet landed there to refuel in the middle of the night and was quietly overtaken by hostile forces. It was a quick, dirty event and as far as I know, Kristo wasn't too badly hurt during the brief exchange of power,” Mattias said. He had no notebook, no phone out with notes typed in.

  Reciting from memory only made it safer for all involved and Leander expected no less. He, too, had learned to expand his ability to memorize the most important details of any mission.

  “How did you find out that they took the jet in the middle of the night?” Leander asked, confident that one of their inside men had taken a back route into the airport security cameras and pulled up video. Being able to access video equipment any time anywhere was a huge advantage in this business.

  “One of our guys invited himself into the security system. So we have a few details of the raid. Five armed men stormed the plane, and several more—we're not sure of the exact count, since they didn't get out of the cars—waited in escape vehicles. Two black SUVs sped away from the scene and the following morning, Kristo's father, King Augustin, got a call,” Mattias continued.

  Leander listened, one elbow resting on the table. He slouched in his leather chair, taking a more lackadaisical posture than the king and prince sitting across from him. “So we know there will be at least seven waiting where ever they're holding Kristo. More if the cars had passengers while the raid was going on. I think we can count on at least five more at the holding place, too, which makes twelve. Sounds like a pretty big operation. What group might be up for this kind of venture?”

  “I don't know. But the security cameras caught a few relatively clear pictures of the raider's faces and it's a mixed bunch. One of the men, an Otto Fink, has an address in Ankara that matches a license plate from one of the escape cars. It's our best bet. That's where we'll start first,” Mattias said.