Free Royal Elite: Leander by Danielle Bourdon Page A

on the damn sidewalk with four guards, about a block down. Did you tell her we were here?” Even as he asked it, Leander knew better. Sander might not go on every mission with the rest of the Elite, but he was highly trained and excellently skilled. He wouldn't make that kind of grave mistake. Not unless it was a part of the grand plan, which Leander would have been told about.
    “Of course not. And if I go outside like this, it'll set off Kristo's guards.” Sander's jaw flexed.
    “All right, I just got information—what's wrong?” Mattias arrived looking distracted by his call, which promptly changed to concern once he saw Sander's face.
    “Chey's here. About a block down on the sidewalk, with four guards,” Sander said, filling Mattias in.
    “Why is she here?” Mattias asked.
    “We don't know yet, and we're dressed for combat, so we can't just go waltzing out there in front of everyone. I brought a change of clothes, but--”
    Sander cut Leander off. “Do it. Go change right now, and get over there as fast as you can. Mattias, stay down here and guard the doors.”
    No one asked questions. Leander darted for the stairs and pounded up each flight, Sander right behind him. Time was of critical essence. Should Chey decide to wander toward Kristo's building, all bets and plans for the day were off. They would switch to a recovery mission—for Chey.
    Going in low, Leander made his way to his pack, setting the binoculars on the floor. Crouching, he divested himself of belts and holsters and weapons so he could get his vest and shirt off.
    “Keep the pants, Leander, we'll have to risk it. There's no time. Just change the shirt,” Sander said, coming in low and hugging the wall. He circled around to Ahsan's left side and eased to a stand.
    “She's still in the same spot she was when Leander left,” Ahsan said, looking through a pair of binoculars. “It seems as if they're lost or looking for something.”
    Sander brought up his own pair of binoculars and sighted in. “My god. What is she thinking.”
    Pulling a gray tee shirt on, Leander stuffed a gun into the back waistband of his pants and added another two magazines to a front thigh pocket. He couldn't go out there unarmed.
    Leaving Ahsan and Sander to track Chey, Leander slithered out of the room and bound down the stairs. Pushing open the main level door, he stepped outside. Once in the sun, his entire demeanor changed. Gone was the skulking and sneaking. He walked like he had a right to be there, as normal and unobtrusive as anyone else. Shoulders square, chin level to the ground, he set a brisk but not frantic pace behind the buildings, using the cover to keep hidden until he absolutely had to get in the open. Cutting through an alley a block down, judging that to be roughly where he'd seen Chey last, Leander prepared himself for action.
    If all went well, he would have an unharmed Chey in his possession within minutes.
     
    . . .
     
    Wynn curled up in a booth in the Redwood Cafe, a quaint coffee shop catering mostly to tourists. Unable to do anything but wait for Chey's call—and fret over Leander—she sought refuge out of the sun in a place she wouldn't lose her signal. The cafe itself, constructed of redwood (already fallen trees, the cafe management made sure to note) with a metal roof and tables covered with beige linen, was busy with an influx of tourists. Wynn engaged in harmless people watching, one knee jiggling restlessly under the drape of the tablecloth. She couldn't sit still, couldn't stop herself from relentlessly going over her conversation with Nathaniel.
    The man wasn't what she'd pictured whenever she'd thought about Leander's father. For one reason or another, she thought of a cunning, sharp looking man better suited to the cover of a GQ magazine than what she'd found at the house deep in the redwoods. Leander was cut from that cloth, of the cunning kind, with stealth and intelligence in spades. He was also handsome enough to grace