King and Kingdom (20 page)

Sander tightened his elbow to trap Chey's hand against him, and started moving for the doors. The guards walked at his flank, a little closer than they had going in.

Chey wanted to ask what it all meant. That Sander's visit to America just got cut short was obvious, but that didn't explain what happened next. It didn't explain what kind of accident the King had been in, nor what was expected of Sander if his father was still alive but in a vegetative state. Now wasn't the time or the place to have that discussion.

On the drive back to her apartment, Sander spoke on his phone to several people, voice terse, his native language rolling smooth from his tongue.

Chey hated that she couldn't understand a word. She couldn't tell if he was talking to Mattias or some other head of state. Once, the guard in the front seat twisted a confused look back at Sander, who ignored him in favor of another call. The guard eyed Sander as if he'd just lost his mind.

Chey's curiosity churned into overdrive. She conjured all kinds of scenarios, from the dramatic to the not-so-dramatic, and everything in between. A short time later, the SUV pulled into Chey's apartment complex and parked near the foot of the stairs. Engine idling, it was clear the driver meant to wait right there until the Prince was done. Still on the phone, Sander helped Chey down from the vehicle and followed her up to her apartment.

Once inside, with two guards standing on the landing outside, Chey gave her curiosity free rein. “Sander, what's going on? Who were you talking to?”

He ended the call and pushed the phone into his pocket while he started gathering his things from her apartment. What fit into the duffel bag he crammed in without folding.

“I don't have a lot of time. As you heard, I have to leave for Latvala immediately. So far, I can't get any straight answers about how bad it is, so I'll have to call you after I arrive and find out firsthand. I'm sorry my visit got cut short.” He yanked the zipper closed after removing the hat and stuffing it atop everything else.

“Will you be taking over if he's incapacitated? What does that mean for you and your duties? I don't mean to be insensitive about the King, but I'm more interested in what's happening with you,” she said, shooting for honesty. The King had considered having her murdered. Chey didn't have a lot of sympathy for him.

“It's not like he has inspired trust and love with you, hm?” Sander said, correctly guessing what was on Chey's mind. He paused with her near the door and cupped her jaw in his hand. “Right now, I don't know what it all means. I wish I had more to give you. It's possible I'll get there and he'll recover and things will be fine. It's also possible I'll have to fill in as his proxy for a while, which will definitely increase my duties and what the council expects from me. These are just guesses though.”

Chey stared up into his eyes, resting her hands on his hips. “Please don't wait too long to call me and let me know, okay? I have no other way of contacting you.”

“I know, and I'm sorry about that, too. I can't give you my new number because they're probably watching who's calling me. It pisses me off, but there isn't much I can do about it other than call you from an undisclosed line. That's what I'll do, but it still doesn't leave you a way to get in touch with me. If I can set it up on the trip home, I'll try and get a separate email account so that we can write back and forth until I figure out what's going on. All right? I need a little time to work all this out.”

“Something is better than nothing. I'll take the email account whenever you can get it. I--” Chey paused when one of the guards knocked three times on the door, indicating it was time to go. Sander pulled her against him and kissed her like there wouldn't be a tomorrow, all searching tongue and sizzling heat. She arched into him, wrapping her arms around his neck, desperate to make these final seconds last.

It was over too soon. He broke away with clear reluctance and stared down into her eyes. “I'll get in touch as soon as I can. Take care of yourself, Chey.”

“I will. You too. Be careful.” Releasing her hold around his neck, she slid her palms down the breadth of his chest. How she hated to let go.

He unlocked her door and stepped out onto the landing. After a lingering look, he followed the guards down the stairs to the waiting car, got in, and was gone.

Chey stepped out after them, leaning against the rail while the men filed into the vehicle and drove away. It was one of the harder things she'd ever had to do, knowing that she now had no way of getting in touch with Sander again.

Retreating inside her apartment, she threw the bolts and leaned her spine against the door. Pressing the heels of her hands against her eyelids, she exhaled a long breath and prepared herself for a long wait.

Chapter Fourteen

Chey stared at her bedroom ceiling, one arm flung across her forehead. It was the wee hours of the ninth day after Sander left, and still no word. No text, no phone call, not even an email update. Nothing. She didn't know whether to be worried or annoyed, and settled for a little of both.

Any information she'd been able to pull up on the computer about Aksel's health was vague and largely unhelpful. Certainly there was no mention of an accident, nor that Sander had replaced his father as King. In fact, there was a distinct lack of stories barring human interest pieces that had nothing to do with Royalty. She decided it was probably a planned blackout, so the news didn't circulate among the elite of the world until the Latvala Royals were ready.

Glancing at her window, she stared at the milky stream of moonlight falling in through the panes. It reminded her of how she'd sat at the side of the bed that night and studied Sander's shape among the sheets. How the same moonlight bathed the contours and illuminated muscle. She wondered what he was doing, and whether he was thinking of her, too.

A hard series of knocks at her door startled Chey into an upright position. Clutching the covers against her body, eyes wide, she listened for sounds of the knob jostling. Panicked that someone might be trying to break in, she reached for her cell phone on the nightstand. Minutes crept by. She heard no more knocks, no knob being twisted with someone's intent to come in.

Had it been someone at the wrong door? Once, and only once, a stranger had tried to walk in after confusing her apartment with someone else's.

Sliding out of bed, she put her feet on the floor, phone in hand, and inched toward the doorway. Peering around into the living room, she saw nothing out of place. Glancing at the door itself, she saw the corner of what looked to be a manila envelope poking through the crack. The weathering on the frame of the door wasn't so great that a sliver of paper couldn't be pushed through.

Wary, she tiptoed to the door and eased the envelope out of the crack. Looking through the peephole, she saw no one on her landing. No body, no silhouette. Drawing back, she took the envelope into her bedroom and snapped on a small Tiffany lamp. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she turned the envelope over. On the front, someone had written her name in slanting script. It was a bold stroke, with black ink.

Opening the latch, she held her breath and fished around inside. What she pulled out was a thin stack of money and a folded piece of paper. Setting the money aside, she opened the note and read.

Under intense pressure. Cannot contact you any other way than this. Be prepared for bad news in the coming week. This is to see you through while I contend with the K.

Chey read it three times. It had to be Sander, although he hadn't so much as signed his initial to the paper.
K
stood for King, unless she missed her guess. Uncomfortable with the idea that bad news was coming, she set the note aside and picked up the bundle of money. Five thousand dollars in one hundred dollar bills was the sum of his gift.

Unsure how she felt about accepting it, she nevertheless understood his intent. It came across as charming and caring instead of overbearing and domineering. He knew she was out of a job, and perhaps whatever bad news was on the horizon would affect her ability to find one.

What the hell was going on? Frustrated at being kept in the dark, Chey tucked the money back into the envelope and brought the paper he'd written on to her nose.

It smelled like him. The scent was subtle, but definable.

Had he left one of his trusted men behind in the United States to do his bidding while he was half a world away? That was the only scenario that seemed plausible. He wouldn't risk sending cash, plus the note, to just any delivery service.

Rubbing her head, Chey slid the note in with the money and placed the envelope inside her nightstand. Turning out the light, she flopped back against the bed and pulled the covers to her chin.

At least she didn't have to worry about keeping the power on or buying food.

Small comfort.

. . .

Five days after the arrival of the envelope, Chey returned from a trip to the grocery store and let herself into the apartment. Everything she'd needed fit into one bag that she carried into the kitchen. Putting away fruit, lettuce for salad and fresh chicken, she was just about to make herself a cup of tea when her doorbell rang.

Leaving the kitchen, she walked back to the door and peered through the peephole. It was just before noon, which told her it was either a salesman, the mailman or another mysterious delivery.

It was neither.

Chey opened the door with a smile for Wynn and stood aside to let her enter. “It's been a week since I've seen you, what's up?”

“I know, that's what I told myself this morning when I went to work.” Wynn paused to hug Chey on her way inside. She worked for her father in his law offices, and pretty much set whatever hours she wanted to. If she needed half the day off, she took it.

“It's good to see you. I just got home like ten minutes ago.” Chey glanced along the landing and out to the parking lot, but didn't see anything familiar or suspicious. Closing the door, she engaged the bolt and followed Wynn into the living room.

“I know. I was out in the parking lot, waiting. Except I got a call from mom and you know how that goes. Tough to get her off the phone.” Wynn dropped her purse on the floor, smoothed a palm down the hip of her black slacks, then peeled out of the crocheted sweater of ash gray and draped it over the back of the couch.

“I didn't see your car.” Chey kicked her shoes off, walked to the kitchen to shut the light off, then headed back into the living room. She felt bad that she'd not told Wynn about Sander at the Halloween party or the ensuing note. Sander wanted her to keep a low profile, however, so she adhered to his wish.

“That's because mine's in the shop. I have Dad's today.” Wynn sat on the edge of the sofa and removed her sunglasses. Setting those aside, she glanced at Chey again in a way that indicated she was searching for something.

“What?” Chey glanced down at herself while at the same time running a palm over her hair. The ponytail swayed past her nape, free of twigs or other unexpected debris. The jeans she wore with a sweater in autumn colors, nothing special or notable, lacked stains, rips or bugs that might be causing Wynn to watch her so curiously.

“I take it you haven't been on the internet yet today,” Wynn said.

Right away, Chey knew this was the 'something bad' Sander had cautioned her about. Wynn would have blurted whatever news it was otherwise without hesitation. She reminded herself that Wynn didn't know about Sander's visit and pretended that she knew nothing about what was to come. Which wasn't all a lie; Chey didn't have specific details, only a generic warning.

“No, I haven't,” Chey said. “Why?”

Wynn rubbed her hands together. “I stumbled across it by accident myself. I figured you might need a shoulder to cry on or something.”

“Wynn, what is it?” Chey braced herself. Scared senseless that Wynn would tell her Sander had been the one in an 'accident', she hugged her arms around her middle.

“The article was dated several days ago, but it announced that the Heir to Latvala's wedding was going to be streamed live on the internet. Like...tomorrow. I think it's happening tomorrow.” Wynn winced.

Chey sat forward, shocked. “
What?”

“I know babe, I really do. It's a good thing you've cut all contact with him, right? I mean, obviously he was lying to you when he said he wasn't going to marry that Princess.”

Feeling like her head was going to start spinning around Exorcist style, Chey buried her forehead into her palms. This couldn't be happening. Sander, marrying Valentina. Why hadn't he told her? He must have known when he'd spent the night in her bed.

“It must have been a mistake, Wynn. An old article from--”

“No, it was recent. Published a few days ago. I'm sure of it,” Wynn said. “That whole thing is a mess. It's probably better that you're not involved anymore.”

Chey surged up off the couch. “But I am involved! He was here, Wynn. That man I was dancing with half the night at the Halloween party? That was Sander. He spent time here with me, spent the night after flying to Sacramento and back. We went to
Milford's,
went to the flea market. We had
plans.”