Sander didn't look away from Paavo's face, even when Paavo diverted to snarl at the guard. His temper had the better of him. He resisted the urge to smack Paavo's head repeatedly against the cold stone floor. The more he heard from the guard, the more livid he became.
“What else? Leander asked the guard.
“The summarized version is that Paavo planned to take over Imatra so he would have a standing army. Once he had control, he meant to go to war with Latvala. He couldn't gather enough support from the citizens who had joined his cause back when Paavo tried to kill Sander, so he needed to commandeer an army of his own. Except Konstantine went to Sander for help, which wasn't in the plans. Paavo had his men plant the bombs both as payback, to disorient and to distract Sander and Thane, as well as throw Konstantine into a fit. He'd planned to kill Konstantine the whole time, no matter what happened. It served to throw more doubt about who was really behind the attacks.”
Sander stared into Paavo's eyes as the disgusting details came forth. The amount of planning, blackmail and threats that must have occurred to make it all happen was nothing short of staggering. While Paavo had been begging to be executed or transferred to another country, he'd been plotting scenes of destruction. Planning a coup, an assassination—or two. Sander had no doubt that the death or freedom he'd denied his brother had only driven Paavo further to act.
“Where is Chey?” Sander asked in a quiet voice. The fake Russian guard, a prison guard in reality, turned his head the other way. Refusing to meet anyone's eyes.
Sander caught the action in periphery and gripped Paavo's shirt tighter in both hands. The silence in the room from all the people involved in Paavo's scheme made Sander's blood run cold. It was as if no one wanted to admit what happened to the queen.
Mattias placed a booted foot near the injured guard's gunshot wound, threatening to create a lot more pain. “What happened to Chey?” he repeated, putting the slightest pressure just below the bandage.
The guard gasped and jerked a look at Leander, then Mattias, then Sander. He said, “She's dead. He shot her before we left the prison.”
*
Sander, gripped in a sudden, intense rage, pulled back a fist and smashed it into Paavo's jaw. He released the shirt with his other hand and let that fist fly, too, his knuckles connecting with Paavo's jaw, his cheek. Blood erupted from Paavo's nose. Hands gripped Sander's arms and pulled him back, pulled him off, and he didn't realize he was shouting obscenities until his voice went hoarse.
Mattias stepped straight into Sander's line of sight, blocking his view of Paavo, one hand flat against Sander's chest. Three men, including Leander, held Sander back from the fallen Ahtissari prince.
“Look at me. Sander, focus. Look at me,” Mattias said in a matter-of-fact voice. “Don't give him what he wants. You'll regret it for the rest of your life.”
Breathing hard, fighting off bloodlust, Sander met Mattias's eyes. “I wasn't going to kill him. Only make him wish he was dead. He'll still wish that when I'm done with him.”
“Good, good. Let's get you out of here. Leander can interrogate later. You know how good he is at that.” Mattias led the way out of the room.
Sander shook off the hands that held him, sending one dark glare back to Paavo. He stepped into the hall, hands balled into fists, heart hammering in his chest. Grief threatened to consume him. He barked orders as he headed for the back exit of the castle, needing, wanting, the fresh bite of the chilly air. “Get a helicopter here. Now.”
“We've got a military chopper in a clearing a quarter mile out,” a guard said, somewhere behind Sander.
“Then lead the way. Run.”
The guard broke into a run toward the woods, holding a rifle crosswise against his body. Sander kicked into a run as well, along with Mattias and Leander and two more guards who followed close at their heels. The sweet scent of pine and the green smell of forest foliage lingered on a gentle breeze that blew through the drooping boughs. Sander fought to maintain control of himself as he ran, his knees shivering once or twice like they might give out. He had to get to Chey. Had to find her. The thought of her lying dead in the prison all this time was unthinkable.
The thought of her dead at all devastated him.
Flanked by his brother and Leander, Sander stared at nothing inside the helicopter as it lifted off and veered through the night toward the prison. He prayed for a miracle, for the guard to be wrong, for the bullet—or bullets—to have somehow missed. Maybe he would find that she'd escaped, as she was so good at doing, and on the run back to Kalev.
She couldn't be gone.
On the flight over, Mattias and Leander texted instruction to various advisors and other people of import. Plans were set in motion to find every member of Paavo's little organization and arrest them all. Interrogations would take place, with the bulk being done by Leander later, after they found Chey. Gunnar sent a message stating he was in the air with Sander's children and that Ahsan was expecting their arrival within hours.
Sander didn't want to think about having to call his kids back to tell them their mother was dead. He didn't know how he would explain, or how he would comfort them in their grief. Erick was too little to understand.
He drew in several ragged breaths and looked at the floor between his feet. He felt the light weight of Mattias's hand on his shoulder but didn't trust himself to look up. Not yet.
The second the chopper touched down, Sander jumped to the ground, weapon in hand, going in low behind Mattias. He'd ordered the helicopter to get them as close as possible. Whatever men remained of Paavo's group might not realize it wasn't Paavo returning, but the king. On the flight over, Leander had gained the numbers to the keypad on an employee gate and that was the route they took to breach the prison's perimeter. In stealth mode, the group passed one security gate after another, until they got into the building proper. Sander and Mattias both knew the general layout, having each visited the compound several times in the last few years. A guard dressed as a Russian soldier stepped out from a room into the hallway ahead of them, gun raised.
Leander took him out, the shot echoing through the corridors. Systematically, they went hall by hall, clearing rooms of hiding guards. When they rounded into the corridor containing offices and prison visitation rooms, Sander saw several dead bodies on the ground. Scattered, some wearing uniforms, others in suits. He froze, looking for feminine limbs among the more bulky, masculine shapes. The seconds stretched into agonizing eternities. Dread became a heavy weight in his chest, his throat. He didn't remember walking forward, moving through the paces as if in a dream. Blood pooled on the floor, more spattered the wall in flecks and spray patterns. The staring eyes of the dead haunted him, made his steps hesitant. He couldn't imagine looking into Chey's dead eyes. Couldn't see her stare into the veil of beyond, sightless, the vibrant lust for life snuffed out like a candle. It was too much, he couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't react. He glanced past the open door of the room next to the array of bodies, and saw what he didn't want to see.
Chey on the floor. Unmoving. As still as the men at his feet. Half on her back, half on her side, a puddle of blood seeping from beneath a shoulder. He glimpsed the pale underside of her chin, the equally pale slant of her cheeks. His breath hitched.
She was dead, and his life would never be the same again.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Oh God,” Mattias said, his voice just a whisper at Sander's shoulder.
Only two or three seconds had passed since Sander laid eyes on his wife, though he felt lifetimes pass under his skin, through his memories, weighing him down until his limbs felt sluggish and his breathing stuttered past his lips.
Leander bumped into him on the other side, then pushed further into the room, a chant of, “No, no, no,” on his lips. He sank to his knees next to Chey while shoving his gun into the shoulder holster.
Sander suddenly surged forward, sliding the gun to the blood stained table before falling into a crouch nea
r Chey. Leander turned her over until she was flat on her back and pushed strands of dark hair away from her face.
“Chey!” Sander's grief switched to denial. He refused to accept that she could be gone. His mind raced with determination, his thoughts consumed with medical scenarios. If she's only been dead a little while, we can bring her back. We can do CPR and she'll come around. We just need to get her breathing, need to get her heart started.
Leander pressed two fingers against the pulse in Chey's throat. “...she's alive. I can feel a pulse—it's faint—but it's there. She's alive.”
Sander, just about to start CPR, snapped a look at Leander. “Are you sure? She looks--”
“I know,” Leander said, apparently commiserating with the fact that Chey had looked dead. Did look dead. With her pale skin and stillness. “She's barely hanging on. We need to evacuate her to a hospital. Right now.”
“I'm on with our private doctors right now. They're expecting her,” Mattias said from the doorway. He had his phone to his ear, speaking quickly to someone on the other line.
Sander chided himself for not thinking to check her pulse in the seconds when he'd dropped to his knees. He blamed his inability to think straight on shock. Not about to waste any more time, he gathered Chey in his arms and pressed to a stand.
Leander retrieved his gun and followed him to the door.
Mattias took the lead out of the prison, weapon up and ready. They had encountered everyone left alive; if there were other officers or more of Paavo's guards, they were in hiding.
“Stay with me,” Sander whispered to Chey. “The kids need you. I need you. Please, please don't leave me.” She felt so limp in his arms. He feared she might stop breathing any second, and dipped his head down to listen as he stepped over bodies, his pace quick in Mattias's wake. Once they were outside in the chilly night, he navigated the gate system with Leander and Mattias's help, cursing silently at the delay every time Leander had to punch in numbers.
Then they were running across the open space to the helicopter, Sander doing his best not to jostle his wife. He stepped up into the craft and cradled Chey across his lap, her blood smearing his shirt, his pants, his arms.
Mattias made a quick phone call as everyone strapped in. He directed military captains to the prison to lock it down and take back control from any lingering combatants. It needed to be done sooner than later.
Leander sat next to Sander, feeling for Chey's pulse every few minutes as the chopper got in the air.
Staring down at Chey's face, her lashes dusky crescents on alabaster cheeks, Sander willed her to live. He also apologized profusely, in silence, for letting her down. He'd missed critical clues somewhere, should have known his brother was ultimately behind the attacks. If he would have sent her and the children off sooner, this wouldn't have happened.
He recognized his stages of grief even as he passed through them. Caught between regret and apology, Sander promised that if she would just pull through, if she would live, that he would do everything different. He would protect her better, be more aware of the dangers living this life entailed. After the devastation last time, he'd gone to extreme lengths to protect his family, but it just wasn't enough.
Maybe, he admitted to himself, it would never be enough.
He smoothed his fingers through her hair at the temple, then leaned down to press his lips against her forehead. Her skin felt cooler than normal. It sent a fresh spike of fear through him and he checked her pulse.
So very faint.
“Stay with me,” he repeated. “We're almost there. The doctors will have you fixed up in no time. Do you hear me? Just a few more minutes, Chey. Hang in there.”
Sander kissed her brow again, and again. He smoothed the back of his knuckles across her cheekbone, scared out of his mind that this would be the last time he got to show her affection. Got to hold her while she still breathed.
The chopper touched down on the rooftop of Kalev hospital some time later, an agonizing amount of time as far as Sander was concerned. He climbed down and laid Chey on a waiting gurney, the wind from the helicopter blades blowing his hair every which way. The doctors and nurses hustled the gurney away from the helipad toward the rooftop elevator, their scrubs rustling, surgical gowns flapping against their legs.
It was a race against time, and time was not on their side.
*
Sander's final glimpse of Chey was one of orderly chaos and sweet poignancy. While doctors and nurses scrambled to save her, Chey lay passive and helpless, her face nearly cherubic with youth and innocence. Sander watched the gurney disappear through swinging doors, the doctors promising to update him as soon as possible.
He slid his hands in his pockets, staring but not seeing, all the adrenaline in his system evaporating in an instant. His shoulders sagged and his spine felt heavy. He knew he had things to do, that he should get on the phone with advisors and councilmen and military commanders.
Sander couldn't bring himself to move, not one inch, much less concentrate on business.
Mattias and Leander stood next to him, glancing at the door and then his face. Sander knew it, could see their concern in periphery, but didn't acknowledge their silent questions.
No, he wasn't all right. No, he didn't want to sit down. No, he didn't want a drink. He wanted—he wanted happiness back. He wanted to see Chey trot down the long stairs at Kallaster castle, energetic and lively, with the girlish smile she reserved just for him. He wanted to play with his children in the sand, with the sun shining down, while Chey heckled him from the sidelines. Long dates, slow nights of passion, adventures to other countries, kicking back on the balcony. There was so much left to do.
Seven years was not long enough with the love of his life.
He needed forever.
*
Over the next three hours, the hospital filled with friends and family. Sander wouldn't leave those closest to Chey, who loved her as much as he did, in the dark about the seriousness of her condition. He refused to move too far away from the doors they'd wheeled Chey through, pacing near the wall as other doctors and nurses came and went. The friends and family who came to see him, to give him words of hope and optimism, understood his desire to remain separate from the growing legion of visitors in the special waiting area set aside for royalty. He needed to be alone, to pace and figure out his emotions.
Sander wanted to be the first to learn whether Chey lived or died.
There were tears and flowers, prayers and vigils, and the occasional presence of Mattias and Leander. They flitted in and out of his periphery like ghosts, checking on him, bringing him water. With security at an all time high around the hospital, Mattias and Leander were afforded the time to be near Sander. To be near family and friends.
Leander's wife, Wynn, was inconsolable. Chey's best friend since childhood, the two girls were all but inseparable. Wynn took the news harder than anyone but Sander.
Mattias handed his cell phone off to Sander at one point, and said, “I've been on the line with Gunnar. They're on the way back. Elias wants to talk to you.”
Bracing himself, Sander put the phone to his ear. He knew Gunnar hadn't told the kids what was going on, only that they needed to get back to Latvala. There wasn't any need to scare the kids when they were still hours away from landing.
“Papa! We're not going to get to see Uncle Ahsan after all,” Elias said.
It almost broke Sander to hear his son's voice. He swallowed several times. “I know, I'm sorry, son. Soon though. We'll...we'll all go for a visit. How's that?”
“All right! Me and Em and Erick and you and mom can all ride horses in the desert!”
Sander leaned his back against a wall and tipped a look at the ceiling. He could feel Mattias's searching stare. It took great effort to smooth the tremble from his voice. He said, “Yes, we can. I'm sure Uncle Ahsan won't mind. Listen Elias, I have to go. We'll see you in a few hours.”
“Dad?”
“Yes?”
>
“Are you okay?”
Sander's chest seized. He breathed through the next few seconds. Leave it to his astute son to pick up on the fact that he didn't sound like himself, no matter how hard he was trying to be 'normal'. Kids knew. They always knew.
“Yeah. I'm all right. There's a lot going on right now, son. That's all. I love you.”
“Love you, papa!”
Sander ended the call and handed the phone back to Mattias. “Just hold all calls for now.”
“Do you need anything else?” Mattias asked, sliding the phone into his pocket.
“Not right now, thanks.” If he was honest, just having his brother at his side was a balm against the storm of his emotions. It seemed Mattias knew, because he leaned against the wall, too, falling into silence. Waiting, simply being a companion in a time of trouble.
When the surgery doors opened and the doctors strode through, Sander straightened, darting looks between their neutral faces, desperate to know the news. And yet deathly afraid they would shake their heads, negating all his hopes and dreams.
“It was close,” one doctor said, snagging the cap off his head. He had silver at the temples of his blonde hair and a golden complexion that suggested he had recently returned from a long vacation in sunnier climes.
“She lost a lot of blood,” the second doctor added. He was darker, with hazel eyes that met Sander's in a forthright manner. “But she pulled through the surgery and we're expecting a full recovery. She'll need to remain here for another several days until she's out of danger.”
“Thank God,” Sander whispered. His relief was temporarily overwhelming. “Thank you. When can I see her?” He shook each of the doctor's hands.
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