Heir in Exile (15 page)

Chey scowled at Sander's expression. “I'm capable.”

“No.”

“You can't just tell me
no
and think--”

“Yes I can. I just did. Mattias, she is not allowed anywhere near that place,” Sander said.

“I'll make sure she doesn't go back,” Mattias said in his calm, reassuring tone.

Chey's jaw went slack. She glanced from Mattias to the screen, then leaned forward to glare right into the web camera. That way, Sander got the full effect of her discontent.

“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.

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.