“Don't leave the plane. I mean it. Both of you. I promised Sander you'd stay put here, where you're safer. We should only be gone an hour or so,” Leander said.
“We're not going anywhere. Just hurry up.” Wynn, anxious about Leander going off without her, blew two kisses in a row. She hated how it felt like goodbye, even if he continued to tell her it was only for 'an hour or so'.
Leander 'caught' her kisses with a wink and stuffed them into the front pocket on his shirt. Then he mouthed, I'll see you soon. Sliding into the backseat after Nathaniel, Leander closed the door behind them but immediately met Wynn's eyes through the window.
Wynn waved and sent up a small prayer for his safety. That nothing would prevent Leander from receiving the antidote he so badly needed.
“He'll be fine. Nathaniel seems to know this Trent Young well, and now that he's got access, he'll get Leander what he needs,” Chey said, lifting a hand in a more formal wave as the sedan pulled away from the jet.
“I hope so. I can't help but think I'm sending him off to his death or something.” The thought sent a chill through Wynn. Despite the high-eighties temperature and the heat bleeding up off the tarmac, she hugged her arms around her middle, watching until the sedan swerved out of sight. Somewhere beyond the terminal, the streets would convey the duo to the complex and, once done, back here again.
“Come on. Let's keep our word at least. We can grab something to eat and drink while we wait.” Chey tugged on Wynn's elbow.
Turning back inside as the co-pilot folded up the staircase and locked the door, Wynn settled next to Chey in the kitchenette and began pulling things from the small fridge for a late lunch. Although a stewardess was ever present to get the girls whatever they wanted, Wynn and Chey often preferred to get their own drinks and food. They weren't helpless and in truth, Wynn needed to keep her mind and hands occupied.
“I saw you having what appeared to be a pretty serious conversation with Nathaniel while I was on the phone,” Chey said, glancing over.
“Yes. I wanted to try and find out why he and Leander couldn't bridge some of the gaps between them.” Wynn quirked her lips. She skimmed peanut butter across a slice of bread, then cut up a banana in fourths, and from there into halves. She placed a few pieces into the fold of the bread and popped another banana piece into her mouth. Peanut butter and banana sandwiches were one of her favorites.
“No good?” Chey asked, referring to the conversation instead of the food.
“Not really.” Wynn covered the jar of peanut butter, threw the banana peel away, and added exactly ten grapes to her plate. “I guess I think everyone should have the kind of relationship with their parents that you and I have—had.” Wynn adjusted at the last second and sent Chey an apologetic look. Chey's parents were no longer living, but Chey's relationship with them while alive was on par with Wynn's. Secure, loving, healthy.
“It's okay. You know I don't mind talking about mom and dad.” Chey smiled a small but sincere smile and walked her own plate—a salad and fruit—to one of the plush sofa sectionals.
Wynn sank down beside Chey, tucking one leg beneath her. Regardless of the opulence of the jet and the fact that Chey was queen of a nation, it sometimes felt like they were back in high school while they sat and chatted like this. Casual, comfortable, at ease in each other's presence.
“Anyway, I guess things just don't work out for some people. I'm not sure why I feel like I have to keep trying, but I do. I asked him if Leander had invited him to the wedding and he said no. I can't help it...I feel bad about that,” Wynn admitted.
“What about his mother? I haven't heard much about her in all this.”
“I only know that she left a long time ago because, like Leander, she couldn't handle what Nathaniel is involved in. I don't even know if he has contact with her or sees her or if they're estranged or what.” Wynn had a bite of her sandwich.
“I guess it's up to Leander to introduce you to her, if they are still in touch, and if not, then you'll have to be happy knowing this is what Leander wants. If it's too much for him, then it is.” Chey glanced at Wynn, then stabbed a bit of salad with her fork.
“Well. What Nathaniel does is a bit much for me, too. I tried to test the waters of retirement but he didn't seem keen on it. I even brought up grandkids. Judging by the look on his face, I think he'll regret not being a part of their lives.”
“That's his choice, I guess. It's too bad for your kids, whenever you have them, and then again, maybe it's for the best. It might be harder if he was the type to only come and go rarely, leaving the kids confused about why they don't see him that much.”
“Maybe.” Wynn grew silent and thoughtful.
“Honestly, I thought you'd be a lot more upset with him because of what happened to Leander. Accident or not.”
“I am. Was. I don't know.” Wynn tossed down the other half of her uneaten sandwich. “I just saw how lonely he seemed sitting across from me on the plane and it gets to me. I'm a sucker or something. Don't get me wrong—if something bad did happen to Leander, I'd be furious with him. I am, to a degree. Yet I believe him when he said he didn't mean to, that he loves Leander and that it was a terrible accident. Even Leander believes it was an accident. So then I tell myself that we all make them, and that Nathaniel's not perfect. That I should be a bigger person and get past it, because he is Leander's father. He'll be the grandfather to our kids someday. And what if Leander mended the proverbial fences and they grew close? I wouldn't want to be harboring bad feelings.”
“I can see that. We'll see how it works out when they get back.” Chey stabbed another bite from her salad. After a moment, she said, “I have a few things to discuss with Sander myself. And I still can't help but wonder if the other women know about their activities.”
“I've only met Alannah in passing, so I don't know. Considering how she and Mattias met, I'm thinking she knows something is going on.” Wynn had contemplated the women and what they knew, too. “Ahsan and Chayton, I don't know about their significant others, either. I only know Chayton actually did marry Kate.”
“I thought about inviting them all to Kallaster after you mentioned contacting them for a little meeting, but on the other hand, it's not really my place--”
“Our place. I was considering calling them, too,” Wynn interjected.
“Our place to tell the women what's going on. We don't even know the whole of it yet. I'd feel terrible if it caused a rift or a break up between some of them.” Chey finished all but a few bites of salad and set the plate aside to start on the fruit. She pricked a cube of watermelon with her fork and ate it.
“Yeah, I would, too.” Wynn picked at the grapes and finally chose one to slide between her teeth. It popped with a gush of sweet fluid across her tongue. “The best thing to do, I guess, is deal with this in our own way. I know what you're going to say to Sander, and it's probably close to the same thing I'm going to tell Leander.”
“We got into a little bit of that discussion on the phone while you were talking to Nathaniel,” Chey admitted. “It's not like he doesn't know he's not supposed to be putting his life in jeopardy like this. Especially with Mattias, the heir to the throne, also putting his on the line at the same time. I mean—if anything happened, god forbid, that leaves the youngest brother, Gunnar, in charge of the kingdom until Elias is old enough to take over.”
“I think Gunnar's still five or so years away from being ready to take lead of Latvala. Then again, it's hard to tell them not to intervene on Kristo's behalf. It says a lot about their moral character that they're willing to face whatever it takes to help them.” Wynn waffled about her feelings over the 'missions', safety and security of the men involved on Kristo's rescue. One minute she wanted to demand Leander stop for good, forever, and a second later, she partly understood his desire to intercede.
“It's hard, but Sander has to stop. If the wrong faction got wind of him being out there in some building with such minimal protection...” Chey sh
uddered.
“True. Leander isn't king, and that makes a difference.” Wynn gathered their spent bowls and plates and walked them back to the kitchenette. “At the end of it all, though, now that I know what I know, I'll never sleep if he gets called away in the middle of the night, or if he's gone for days on end with no contact.”
Chey made a disturbed noise and tucked her hands between her thighs, legs curled beneath her on the sofa. “Terrible. Yes. I couldn't take it, either. It's bad enough when I know Sander's visiting a territory that's not really safe or where there's tension between the leaders.”
Wynn went to the far side of the plane, digging a knee into one of the chairs while her fingers curled over the back. She peered out a small oval window, checking the tarmac for signs of the sedan. “Exactly.”
“They're not due back for at least a half an hour,” Chey pointed out.
“I know. I'll feel better when he's back, though.” Wynn's anxiety was starting to peak again.
“Why don't you come over here and we'll talk about the wedding. And the honeymoon.”
Wynn glanced back at Chey. Their eyes met and the contact lingered until Chey snorted and got up from the sofa. Crossing the plane, Chey kneeled in the chair next to Wynn, taking up a familiar posture, and stared out the window with her.
Appeased to have two sets of eyes on the ground instead of one, refusing to feel girlish and ridiculous at their positions, Wynn reached over to squeeze Chey's arm before resting her hand on the chair again.
It helped to have someone who understood her at her side.
. . .
The complex was a lot like Leander expected it to be: white, sterile and unwelcoming. Highly polished, the floors threw back their reflections as an assistant guided them through locked doors accessible by palm prints and number codes, down a maze of hallways, past windows with laboratories and scientists working endlessly on one thing or another, to a large circular room. In the center of this room was another, closed circular room made of windows. It took no genius to see this enclosed area was where the more dangerous or specialized viruses or antidotes were contained. Red and yellow hazard stickers decorated the sliding doors and more were centered on the gray floor they stood on.
“Ah, an old ghost come back to haunt us.” A tall, military looking man stepped from a far door and angled their way. Despite his impressive build, he wore a white lab coat and wire rimmed glasses, a clipboard tucked up under his arm. The buzz cut of his light brown hair enhanced the man's angular features.
“Trent Young, good to see you again.” Nathaniel met Trent halfway, shook his hand, then swept a gesture toward Leander. “This is my son, Leander.”
Leander clasped a hand that felt putty soft yet gripped with the strength of a python. “Mister Young.”
“Trent, please. This is the first time I've had the pleasure, Leander. Although your dad talked about you a lot back in the day.” Trent smiled, then slipped the clipboard from under his arm. “And he's gotten the attention of some higher ups that are frankly surprising. It's not every day we get a call from a supervisor demanding we let an old hand in.”
“That's Leander's doing. I tried to work my way in, but didn't get past Eddie at the front desk,” Nathaniel said.
“So I see.” Trent's brows bounced with intrigue and surprise. “Well, we know what you're here for, so let me get you what you need, and we'll take it into that room over there.” Trent used a pen to indicate a glass encased side room to the left of the inner, circular room.
“All right. We'll meet you there.” Nathaniel stepped away, hands rubbing over and over each other. His head was on a swivel, gaze taking in the other laboratories and enclosed rooms within view.
Leander followed, taking note of his father's preoccupation. Taking note, too, of the slight shake in Nathaniel's fingers. Like an addict ready for another hit. He tried not to be dismayed by the clear indication that Nathaniel was in his element, and desperate to get his hands on any new technology or sit in on fascinating lectures about fresh discoveries in his field.
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.
Chapter Fourteen
“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.
Royal Elite: Leander Page 12