Free Royal Elite: Leander by Danielle Bourdon Page B

the cover of any magazine. While she couldn't account for Nathaniel's smarts—she didn't even know what he did for a living—he seemed the polar opposite of Leander. Quieter, less outgoing, prone to seriousness.
    In the next breath, she chided herself for making assumptions. People were often not what they appeared on the outside, or on the first meeting. Maybe Nathaniel was more like Leander than she knew.
    Picking up her phone from the table top, she checked for messages. Even though it hadn't chimed or beeped at her, she checked anyway. Every hour that went by, Wynn grew a little more nervous. It was another hour closer to the day Leander would no longer be alive.
    “Excuse me, Miss. Would you like a refill on your coffee?” Red mouthed with short brown hair, the waitress cocked her head expectantly, a stainless steel pot dangling over the table. Over Wynn's forgotten, cold mug.
    “Oh, yes. Thank you.” Wynn turned the phone off and gave the waitress what she hoped passed for a polite smile.
    “Did you wanna look at the lunch menu yet? Or--”
    “Not yet, no thank you. I'm waiting on someone, I hope that's okay.” Wynn felt like she needed to explain her somewhat extended stay in the cafe. Many tourists came and went; few lingered longer than a half hour.
    “Wait as long as you want, sweetheart.” The waitress winked, flirting, then sashayed off to make the same offer to another patron at the long bar.
    Wynn's bangs ruffled when she exhaled. Her knee twitched and jiggled.
    The very last thing she needed was more caffeine.
    Wynn picked up the mug anyway.
     
    . . .
     
    A bicycle pulling a short cart full of cabbage nearly ran Leander over. In the nick of time, reflexes honed to a fine point with the surge of adrenaline, Leander twisted out of the way. The biker called back a scathing stream of Turkish and kept going, losing only one cabbage along the way. Five boys with dusty feet, sticks in their hands, dropped their toys and rushed to claim the downed vegetable.
    At the curb, Leander brought Chey and her escorts into his sights. She was pretty much in the same spot, hand still shielding her eyes while she scanned the streets and sidewalks. What the hell was she doing?
    Waiting for a break in traffic, Leander wandered across, resisting the urge to hurry. The sun beat mercilessly down, forcing heat up from the asphalt that he felt through the soles of his boots.
    “Leander!” Chey suddenly spotted him and broke from the circle of guards.
    Leander hissed a curse beneath his breath. It was impossible for those holding Kristo to hear Chey this far away, but he cringed inside nevertheless.
    Coming up fast, straight on, Leander gently but firmly grasped her elbow and guided her back the way he'd come.
    “Don't talk, just walk. Not too fast, act like everything's normal. Whatever you're here for, wait until later to explain.” It took a great amount of effort not to break into a run with the queen of Latvala. “And call off your guards before they give us away,” he said, voice dipping close to a growl. He could see their shadows, hurrying behind like ducks in a row, when he cut a look down and back.
    The damn guards were going to blow the whole thing.
    “Stay back,” Chey said over her shoulder.
    Leander glanced again in time to see the line of men falter at first, then fall back. Nothing conspicuous about that at all, no sir. He muffled his curses as he escorted Chey into the alley, anxious to get her into Sander's care.
    And as if thought made the man appear, Sander turned the corner of the alley at the other end, decked out in his black clothing though he'd lost the vest and the obvious weapons. Leander knew Sander wouldn't leave the hotel without some kind of lethal protection, especially without backup.
    This was a terrible situation. The king and queen of Latvala in an alley in Ankara, with only him as protection.
    Leander hustled Chey along once they'd dipped into shadow, and passed her off to Sander