Heir in Exile (Royals Book 3) Page 9

  In the middle of debating, she fell asleep.

  What woke her some hours later was a snap of light and the rustle of clothing. Jolting upright, neck stiff from where her head had been leaning against the wall, Chey blinked away confusion. The weak spill of light didn't quite reach the recessed curve she was nestled into, instead illuminating the middle sections of the basement and fading the closer it got to the corners and walls.

  Clarity returned with the uncomfortable realization that someone might bump across her down here. She heard movement again; someone was in the basement with her.

  Biting her tongue, considering pulling the gun in case she needed to defend herself, Chey listened for more clues. Which direction was the person heading? Her way, or over to the firewood pile?

  She hoped the latter. Chey could see the stacked wood from her spot if she leaned forward enough. The heavy thud of boots on concrete came next, marking the person's path through the room. Afraid to breathe, Chey closed her eyes and wished the person away. Let them leave. Make them hurry and go back upstairs.

  Opening her eyes when the rustle of clothing stopped, she tried to gauge where the person was in the basement. Had they seen her shoe? The pad she sat on? Worried she'd been spotted, she leaned forward enough to bring the rest of the woodpile into view.

  What Chey never expected was to be staring at Sander's back. She would have known his physique anywhere. The broad shoulders, narrow hips, warrior-like muscles beneath the lay of his sweatshirt. He wore a beanie over his head, covering his hair.

  Just as she opened her mouth to call out, the man turned his head, bringing his profile into view.

  Sander's name died on her lips. Chey stared in horror at the malformed cheek, eye and half of the forehead that made up the man's face. It wasn't Sander—yet it was. The jaw, the general shape of the face belonged to her fiance. A resemblance so strong that there could be no denying some sort of kinship. Not exact, this wasn't a twin. A brother? Cousin? Something. This man was of Ahtissari blood, Chey would have bet her life on it. Now that she could see pieces of hair sticking out the bottom disappearing under the collar, Chey saw it wasn't golden like Sander's, but black. Ink black. Like Mattias.

  What the hell?

  Too caught up in her shock, Chey didn't think to sit back. She stared, taking note that the man seemed to have decent motor function. It was impossible to tell if there was another sort of disability to go with the malformed face. He gathered an armful of firewood from the stack, muscles flexing under his clothing.

  Again, from the back with his face turned away, Chey would have sworn she was staring at Sander. It was uncanny, the physical resemblance when the stranger's face wasn't in sight.

  After loading up on firewood, the man toted it to one of the other doors and disappeared up a flight of stairs, closing the door behind him.

  Releasing a pent up breath, Chey palmed her forehead. What had just happened? Who was he?

  The wisp of smoke that had been so familiar outside came rushing back, tickling her memory. She needed to remember where she'd seen it before, or why it was so familiar. Then it hit her; the day she'd learned Sander was a Royal, when she'd photographed the family, she had seen a slither of smoke far into the East woods, trailing up past the tree tops. She recalled wondering what else might be in the East woods that made the family put that section off limits to visitors. To anyone.

  Was this building the source of the smoke? Is this where she was now, in the East woods? Suffering disorientation from getting lost, Chey had no idea if this was North, West or East from where she'd started out this afternoon. She suspected this might be yet another Royal family secret, however, and sought to reason through the semantics while also rifling through the bag for her cell phone. Mattias might have texted while she was sleeping.

  No messages. The GPS, as well, was still offline.

  Great.

  The time surprised her a little. 11:42 p.m. She would have thought it was the middle of the night.

  Knowing she would have trouble going back to sleep, Chey considered her options. Should she creep up onto the upper floors and attempt to get pictures of the man? She wanted answers about his identity. Mattias and Sander, if she could get in touch with them, would know immediately. Probably without pictures, too, but she thought it best to provide some on the off chance that they didn't know about his presence either.

  It struck Chey in that moment that perhaps this might be another of the King and Queen's 'aces'. A secret buried and locked away in the East woods, though what it all meant, she couldn't be sure. She assessed the risks of exposing herself on the upper floors and what might happen if she was caught.

  What she should do was stay put, rest and regain her energy for departure the following morning.

  Shucking the strap from the duffel bag, she leaned it against the wall in the shadows, checked for her gun in the pocket of her coat and eased to a stand. Listening for movement, she crept toward the door to the stairwell and opened it.

  The stone staircase wound upward, lit only by a few small lamps attached to the ceiling. Chey ascended before she could talk herself out of it, rising until she reached the landing outside another door that must lead onto the main floor of the building.

  This was crazy. What the hell was she thinking?

  Opening the door, Chey peered along a hallway that radiated warmth and the faint scent of apple pie. Seeing the coast was clear, she left the stairwell and closed the door behind her.

  You're insane. Someone could walk around a corner any second.

  The risk of discovery did not stop her from advancing through the corridor, sneaking on stealthy feet away from the safety of the basement. The tips of her fingers and nose tingled at the temperature change. It felt wonderful to chase some of the chill away, even temporarily.

  Moving down the hall, she assessed the layout as best she could, discerning the front of the building from the back, and where she judged the sound of voices to be. The low drone of conversation floated to her from somewhere on her right.

  Coming up on what appeared to be a library or a parlor of some type, Chey pressed her back against the wall. She still couldn't make out the exact words, but she could make out three distinct voices, all male.

  From the left, behind her down a separate hall, the maudlin song of a violin drew Chey's attention. Backtracking, alert for movement or approaching footsteps, she retreated to the secondary corridor and closed in on the lilting melody. She recalled Sander telling her he played as well. What were the odds that a cousin or relative was adept with the same instrument? She had no doubt that's who the source of the music was.

  Pausing at the archway leading into the room, Chey bolstered her resolve and her nerve. Bringing the phone from her pocket, she poked her head around the corner just enough to get a glimpse of the interior. She prayed the whole time that the occupant didn't notice her.

  The man with a physique so like Sander stood with his back to the doorway. Facing a roaring fireplace, he played the violin with passion and skill, swaying lightly on his feet in time to the tempo. Other musical instruments—a baby grand piano, cello, guitar—sat around what was obviously a music room.

  Right away, Chey lifted the phone and clicked a few photos. She needed to see the man's face, which upped the risk of being spotted, so that Mattias and Sander would understand just how striking the resemblance to Sander was. She glanced up and down the corridor, checking for people, before returning her attention to the violin player.

  He adjusted his stance, half turning his body toward the doorway. Chey clicked off a few more pictures, homing in on the disfigured profile. Firelight traced the strong jaw, a high cheekbone, the prominent nose. It cut more shadows into the sloping parts, making the man seem a little more like a monster than not.

  The music stopped abruptly when the player stilled his arm and snapped a look toward the doorway.

  Chey leaned back with a gasp. Tucking the phone into her pocket, she retreated
from the archway, looking for a place to hide.

  He'd seen her. Or seen movement. Something. He was coming to investigate.

  Ducking into the nearest open door, she flattened herself against the inside wall, thankful that whatever room she'd stepped into was utterly dark.

  A potted plant helped obscure her from sight.

  The shape of the man appeared silhouetted in the doorway, as if he was looking in. Chey held her breath, panic making her heart race.

  Damn. Damn. She shouldn't have been so brazen. What if he discovered her hiding and raised the alarm?

  The silhouette lingered, hovering in the arch. Finally, it retreated, continuing the search in other rooms along the corridor.

  Chey waited until she couldn't hear his footsteps before leaving her hiding place. At the arch, she peered into the hallway. No one in sight. Chey bolted from the room back toward the other hall, pressing against the wall at the corner. The man could be anywhere by now. She hoped he wasn't in the hall when she emerged, which she did a moment later.

  The corridor was empty. Chey glanced behind her, hoping the opposite direction was as well. She saw nothing and no one.

  Running as quietly as she could for the door to the basement, she opened it and rounded onto the landing, easing the door closed in her wake. She winced when it creaked. Hastening down the stairs, stung by the difference in the warmth up there compared to the cold down here, she fled to the shady alcove and plopped down onto the moving blanket.

  With any luck, the man upstairs would get distracted by someone else and forget the flicker of movement he'd seen. She needed to remain indoors until dawn, so her choice of whether to stay in the building or go out into the snow wasn't really a choice at all.

  She had to stay and hope she wasn't discovered if she wanted to live through the night.

  Chapter Ten

  It was still dark when Chey left the security of the basement a handful of hours later. Out in the open, she saw the snow had stopped falling, leaving about a half foot on the ground. Adjusting the strap of the duffel over her chest, she eyed the vacant yard and the cover of trees beyond. She needed to get to the wall and the gate. Anyone looking out the windows on an upper level would be able to see her until she was on the other side of the wall, a place she really wanted to be right then. Just as she stepped for the cover of the trees, she heard the distinct rumble of an engine to her right. It didn't come from the yard, but somewhere around the corner of the building. Maybe there was a garage just out of sight.

  Chey weighed her options. Obviously, someone had started the car. Had they left it idling and went back inside, like many people did when the weather was so frigid? Or were they still sitting within, waiting while the heat blasted through the interior of the vehicle?

  Access to a car, in her estimation, was worth the risk of being spotted. It would only work if the driver had gone back inside, however; Chey wasn't willing to engage in a brawl—which she would probably lose—or a gunfight to have it.

  Changing direction, she crept along the back wall of the building, ducking below dark windows. At the corner, she peered around the side.

  Several bay doors indicated the entire part of the structure here at the end was a garage. One had been rolled up and exhaust puffed out of a tailpipe on the idling vehicle. Creeping forward, cheeks stinging from the cold air, she peered inside the garage.

  A dim light shined down from overhead, glinting off the white paint of a rugged looking SUV. The vehicle didn't look brand new, but neither was it old. The tires appeared suited for bad weather such as this.

  Waiting against the wall, she sought the interior for a driver. The tint on the windows made it hard to tell if anyone was inside or not. Cursing silently, Chey debated giving up on the idea of stealing the vehicle and just going on foot out the same gate she came in.

  Even if she did get the car, an alarm would be raised sooner or later. How far could she get before someone found and stopped her? Then again, she might put a lot more distance between herself and the building before anyone got another car up and running.

  Clenching her teeth, she bolted around the corner, going low along the side of the SUV. She approached the passenger side and tried to use the side mirror to see a driver. All she needed was a glimpse of the seat.

  Empty. The driver's seat was empty.

  Not allowing herself time to second guess, she ran around the front, opened the door and hopped in. The driver was probably inside getting a mug of coffee for the road. Dumping her bag on the passenger seat, she reached for the gears. Putting the vehicle in reverse, she eased out of the garage as quietly and as slowly as she could. In her mind, the less engine revving right now, the better. Rolling forward, she aimed for the front where a driveway had already been cleared. Once she hit pavement, she gave the SUV a little more gas.

  Ahead, the main gate protecting the structure stood open. Chey thanked her lucky stars the driver had done all this beforehand, making her theft a bit easier. Pulling onto the road, she sped up, yelping when the back end fishtailed before the tires caught. Straightening out, hunched over the wheel from tension and stress, she drove away as fast as she dared. No other buildings dotted the slightly hilly terrain to the right. On her left, a broad meadow separated the structure from another length of forest that connected with the rest far back in the distance. It was a remote area, that much was obvious.

  She took the first turn heading South that she came to, checking the rear view mirror often for a tail.

  Someone had to have found the missing car by now.

  Chey hit several lengths of road that had not been cleared, making passage difficult. The SUV handled it well enough as long as she went slow. She took a turn, and another, and another, until she felt marginally better that a tail wouldn't be able to find her. That didn't mean the police wouldn't, should they get a glimpse of her in the distinctive white car.

  She planned to ditch it before too long anyway. All she wanted to do was cut some of the distance to the shore down. Even a semi-busy city would work. Anywhere she could get lost in crowds was good. Checking the built in GPS often, she remained generally on course, taking whatever paths she came to that led her where she needed to go.

  Just as dawn started to break over the horizon, Chey spotted two headlights in the rear view mirror. Cautioning herself against panic, she retained the same speed. It could be anyone on their way into town for work or whatever else. People in this country were used to driving in bad conditions; it didn't stop them from coming and going.

  Not far ahead, she could see the shape of a city looming out of the twilight. She knew she wasn't at the shoreline yet, but this would be a good place to stop and possibly ditch the SUV. As soon as the sun was fully up, she would become a sitting duck. The car behind kept a respectable distance and didn't rush up on her bumper.

  Chey entered the edge of the city as the vehicle veered off another direction at the first light, allowing Chey to breathe easier. Definitely not in pursuit, just a citizen on errands of their own.

  Cruising along the avenue, Chey turned right at the next stop sign, looking for a place to pull in. All in all, the city looked to be smaller than it was large, with a few main streets interconnecting onto less busy thoroughfares.

  Parking in front of a cafe, Chey shut the engine down and took stock of her situation. Most of the businesses on this street looked to be closed. Did she dare stick her head in one anyway, in case her face had been on TV? She didn't trust Aksel not to pull out all the stops to find her.

  Yet she needed access to shelter where she could wait a few hours to see if Mattias contacted her again. She thought about shooting him a text, but decided she shouldn't in case someone had gotten their hands on that particular phone.

  A small restaurant at the very end of the row beckoned. In the window, a green neon sign proclaimed them open.

  Chey disembarked, leaving the keys in the ignition. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, she hit the sidewalk and made f
or the restaurant. If anyone appeared to recognize her, then she would simply flee on foot and find a new hiding place.

  She could do this.

  Entering the restaurant, she found it small, cozy and warm from a fireplace blazing along the back wall. A proprietor called out a greeting, which Chey returned in their native tongue. She'd picked up a few words here or there, enough to converse with the most basic sentiments.

  Sinking into a booth, she rubbed her hands together before removing her gloves. Tucking them away, she ordered coffee and a rather large breakfast, watching for signs of recognition on the waiter's face the whole time. Seeing no spark, or narrowing of the man's eyes, she sat back to wait. In the meantime, she contemplated everything that had happened since leaving the cabin on the run. She debated the odds that Sander had come out on top with Aksel and they didn't look good. Considering no one had contacted her before now only added to the idea that something had gone terribly wrong. Chey debated how to leave the country if Mattias didn't text or call her in the next day or two. She had enough money to pay for rooms until then, and not much more.

  Taking a flight out was asking to get caught by customs. She would have to sneak aboard a boat, maybe, on its way to a port in another country. Even then, if she got caught, how would she explain herself? It might land her in jail no matter what.

  At least the others wouldn't outright kill her, as Aksel would.

  Digging into her breakfast after the waiter dropped it off, Chey ruminated over her options, disappointed with each new idea that arose. They all led back to the same place in the end: she couldn't get out of Latvala without crossing paths with someone who would check her identity, and that was a problem.