The Missing Monarch (11 page)

When Thad ducked
into his father’s room, his mother rose
quickly.

“I’m so glad you came back.” She hugged him tight. “I was
thinking about what you told me, about your son, Peter.”

“Yes?”

“The entire time Corban Lucca held us hostage in Milan, he made
clear the only reason we were still alive was because we were useful to him on
his quest for the crown. But if he has your son—”

Monica stepped into the room, and the queen let the warning in
her message linger in the air, unspoken.

“No answer.” Monica shook her head as she returned his phone to
him.

“I suppose they’re on another line,” Thad observed.

“I don’t think so.” Monica scowled. “It should have continued
to ring, then. They have call waiting. But both of my parents’ cell phones
went
straight to voice mail.”

“Why would they have their phones turned off?” Thad asked. If
they were hoping for news about their grandson, Monica’s parents should have
been waiting for the phone to ring.

Monica hugged herself. “I don’t like it.”

Thad pulled her by the shoulder into his embrace, his mother
tucked under one arm, his wife under the other. The long-numb
parts of his heart
burned with the irony. Their embrace should have been a happy reunion.

Instead, his mind latched on to his mother’s unspoken warning.
Was Corban Lucca even now headed for them, ready to finish the job he’d been
itching to complete since the moment the ambush had struck? Had his father
become more of a liability than an asset?

“Monica, I’d like you
to take my mother down the hall. There’s
a chapel just past the elevators—”

“I’m not leaving your father’s bedside.” The queen shuffled
back to the chair where she’d been keeping silent vigil over her husband.

Thad pulled in a breath and tried to think how to impress upon
his mother the importance of leaving for her own safety—without upsetting her
further.

But the sound of shouting that carried from down the hall told
him that he didn’t have time to argue. He looked outside the door in time to see
some of Petrela’s guards, followed by more men who he didn’t recognize and
behind them all, a very determined-looking General Corban Lucca.

“Stop him!” Kirk’s voice carried above the rustle of men and
boots.

Thad looked down
the other end of the hall, then back to his
mother and Monica.

“Is there another way out?” Monica asked.

“There’s a fire exit at the end of the hallway,” the queen
noted.

But Thad could see that Petrela and Lucca’s men combined
outnumbered the guards posted in the halls. He could see no sign of Petrela, nor
of Kirk or Stasi. But as the newcomers held their guns
on the men stationed
along the corridor, Lucca made his way quickly toward the king’s room.

“There’s no time,” Thad realized. Lucca could be inside the
room in a matter of seconds. And while the men in the hallway were all packing
weapons, Thad realized, too late, that he should have brought a gun. “Hide!”
Thad pulled the privacy curtain closed, obscuring the king’s bed.
Then he
stepped into the hallway to face Lucca.

General Corban Lucca of the Lydian Navy stopped just short of
the doorway, flanked on either side by his men. He wasn’t in uniform, but Thad
quickly noted the bulge under the man’s jacket.

He was packing heat.

So were the guards in the hallway, but Lucca’s men had their
weapons drawn, holding the guards at an impasse.
Thad suddenly felt vulnerable,
unarmed and caught slightly off guard.

Lucca spoke. “I appreciate your willingness to let me visit. I
have been eager to pay my respects to our fallen monarch, but have been unable
to get past the guards without your cooperation.”

Thaddeus chafed at the general’s words. His father wasn’t
fallen—that would imply he’d died. “I’m not allowing
you to visit.” He crossed
his arms over his chest, more than aware that he wasn’t wearing any sort of body
armor. If Lucca decided to pull his weapon, Thad’s only shot at survival would
be to dive out of the way.

And leave a clear path to his father’s bed.

“Step away, boy,” Lucca challenged him.

Thad planted his feet firmly in the doorway. “I’m sorry if you
were
misled by your ease in getting this far. I’m not allowing you through to
see my father.” He cast a furtive glance down the hall, where he spotted Petrela
easing himself past the posted men. What was the general up to? Was he working
with Lucca? Would the two men pounce, overwhelming him the moment Petrela
advanced past the guards?

Or could the general really be trusted?

Lucca followed the dart of his eyes, and smiled when he spotted
Petrela’s advancing figure. He turned his attention back to Thad. “Let me in,
boy, before I have you removed.”

“That won’t be possible.” Thad stood his ground. “You’re the
one who’s going to be removed.”

“Oh?” Lucca chuckled.

Thad felt his heartbeat thudding in his chest. He could hear
rustling
in the room behind him, and was more than aware of the precariousness
of his situation. He wasn’t just guarding his father. He was guarding his mother
and wife, as well. For security reasons, his father had an interior suite—the
room didn’t even have a window. Other than a tiny closet of a bathroom, there
was nothing inside the room but the bed, the medical equipment and a few
chairs.

A few shots could fell them all, and with them the kingdom.

Thad had no choice but to keep Lucca talking—anything to delay
him from drawing his weapon. Perhaps, if he kept him talking long enough,
reinforcements would arrive. “General Corban Lucca, I’m afraid I’m going to have
to have you taken into custody. We have evidence that you’ve been conspiring
with Octavian to overthrow the monarchy. All of Octavian’s conspirators are
guilty of treason.”

Lucca’s laughter drowned out the last of his words. “Are you
threatening me? Do you honestly think you’re going to triumph over
Octavian?
” His obnoxious laughter echoed through the
corridor. “If you want my advice, run away now.” He gestured toward the
emergency exit down
the hall. “If you hurry, I’ll let you escape alive for
now.”

“I won’t leave—” Thad began, but Lucca immediately cut him off,
getting in his face.

“Go back and hide at the edge of the earth. Maybe Octavian will
turn a blind eye to you once he has what he wants.
I’ll
be rewarded handsomely for helping him. But as for your father,
your allegiance is pitifully misplaced.
I have the former king in my pocket.
I’ve controlled him ever since the ambush, and I control him now. He’s not going
to wake up. He’ll die in that bed.”

Lucca took a step forward.

Thad didn’t budge, but shot a quick glance at Petrela, who’d
passed the last of the guards and was now within arm’s reach of them both. What
was he up to?

Returning his attention to
Lucca, he watched as the man pivoted
slightly to one side. His arm flicked back toward the bulge under his
jacket.

At the same moment, Petrela flew into action.

“Get down!” Thad shouted into the room, unsure where his mother
or Monica might be on the other side of the curtain. Thad lunged for Lucca’s
arm, but he already had his hand on the gun.

Lucca swung the
gun high above his head, and Petrela reached
for it, shouting at Thad, “Cover the women! I’d like to take him alive, if I
can!”

With no time to ponder Petrela’s intent, Thad stepped to the
side of the doorway, out of the line of fire if the gun went off. Past the
veiling drape of the curtain, he took in the entire room with one glance. His
father lay still in the
bed, but he couldn’t see Monica or his mother
anywhere.

His heart squeezed. Where had they hidden? It didn’t matter—as
long as they were safe.

Petrela stumbled back into the room, still grappling with Lucca
over the gun. To Thad’s relief, the men in the hallway appeared to be too
confused by the scrabbling generals to act. They’d been given no order, so they
stood still, watching the struggle with wide eyes.

Lucca lunged toward the room, but with the advantage of his
height, Marc Petrela was able to get one hand on the barrel, pointing it toward
the floor. Lucca strained against him, his finger dangerously close to the
trigger as he struggled to point the muzzle toward the king lying helplessly in
the hospital bed.

“Apprehend
him!” Petrela called to the men frozen in the
hallway.

A look of panic hit Lucca’s eyes at the sound of the general’s
shout. Just as Thad realized the man had no intention of being subdued without
getting a shot off, the man’s finger stretched upward, compressing the trigger
in a wild shot, as though he no longer cared where the gun was pointed.

The blast shattered
the silence, and Thad ducked a moment too
late, then staggered back, dazed, looking down at the spreading pool of blood on
the floor.

EIGHT

M
onica crouched beside Queen Elaine in the
tiny bathroom, praying fervently that God would protect them from whatever was
happening on the other side of the door. When a shot rang out, they both started
and looked at each other in terrified fear, listening carefully for some sound
that would indicate what had happened.

With visions of an injured Thad
tearing through her thoughts,
Monica had no choice but to reach for the doorknob. She had to see if he was
okay.

“Is it safe?” the queen whispered, her trembling hand falling
on Monica’s wrist as if to prevent her from opening the door.

“I’m just going to peek,” Monica assured her, the still silence
from the other side providing no answers, making her sick with worry
for Thad’s
welfare. She’d never forgive herself if he died before she got a chance to tell
him how she truly felt about him.

How did she feel about him? She’d thought she was furious with
him and assumed that meant she hated him more than anyone but Octavian himself.
But the thought of him being shot made her realize she was angry with him
because she cared about
him. The depth of her anger was a clue to the depth of
her feelings. If she hadn’t cared about him to begin with, she wouldn’t have
felt so hurt when he left her. If she didn’t have feelings for him still, then
the thought of him being killed wouldn’t have squeezed her heart so
painfully.

Silently she turned the latch and let the door fall open just a
crack.

Through the sliver of light she could see the king lying
peacefully in his bed, apparently undisturbed as machines beeped and ticked in
constant rhythm. The curtain blocked her view of anything beyond, save for a
growing puddle of red that spread across the floor.

The curtain billowed. Someone was moving on the other side.

“Is it safe?” The queen’s fingers gripped her arm.

“Monica?” Thad stepped past the curtain toward the
bathroom.

“Thad!” She dived toward him. “Is it safe?”

“For now. I think.” He stretched his arms out toward her.

“Are you all right? Were you shot?” She fought the urge to
fling herself into his arms, unsure if she was welcome there, but desperate to
hold him. The fear she felt for him rippled through her, and
she reached for
him.

“I’m fine.” He pulled her close.

It wasn’t until Monica got past the privacy curtain that she
saw where the blood had originated.

A man in a jacket and slacks lay slumped on the floor. The
nurses were gathered around him, but one had already shaken her head.

Monica tightened her hold on Thad, soaking up his solid
strength, leaning on
him as she fought to understand what had happened. “Is it
Lucca?”

“It was. He tried to shoot the king.” Thad held her tight.

She clung to him, grateful he was alive, more than aware that
the body on the floor could have easily been his. A sob shuddered through her,
and she whispered, “I’m so glad you’re okay.” She realized she still hadn’t told
him how she felt. But
how did she feel? Exhausted and confused.

Thad smoothed her hair back from her face tenderly. “I’m so
glad you’re okay, too.” He looked down at her with an expression far gentler
than any she’d seen since he’d left her so long ago. But then he blinked and
seemed to pull himself back into the situation.

Thad reached an arm toward his mother. “Lucca is dead,” he said
gently, blocking her from seeing the body on the floor. “He won’t bother you
again.”

The queen shook her head, half trembling as she leaned against
her son for support. “Was anyone else hurt?”

“No.”

“Praise the Lord.” The queen’s voice gathered strength. “It’s
too bad, though, that he won’t be able to answer any of our questions.”

“He answered a few of them
before he went.” Thad nodded. “He
said he’s controlled the king since the ambush, and he controls him still.”

“He controls the king,” Monica murmured, watching in disbelief
as the nurses switched from trying to help Lucca, to checking the king’s vitals,
which were unchanged.

One of the nurses addressed Thad. “Would you like us to have
the general’s body removed?”

“The Sardis police will have to investigate to establish the
cause of death.”

The woman nodded and stepped past them to leave, but Thad
raised a hand, tipping his head thoughtfully at the woman. “Did you just refer
to him as the general?”

“Yes. That’s General Lucca, isn’t it?”

“He’s not in uniform,” Monica murmured, even as Thad affirmed
the woman’s identification.

“How did you know who he was?” Thad asked.

“He’s been pestering the doctor for days now.” Her words
confirmed what Kirk had told them earlier.

“Wanting access to this room?”

The middle-aged nurse shrugged. “You’d have to ask the doctor
about that.” She wavered for a moment, as though torn between leaving and
speaking.

Monica felt a prickle of suspicion. There
was more to Lucca’s
involvement. He’d claimed the king had been under his control the whole time,
hadn’t he? “How do the doctor and the general know each other?”

“I’m not sure,” the nurse admitted, a flicker of relief on her
face, as though she’d wanted to say more, but hadn’t been sure if her input was
welcomed. Now she stepped closer to the three of them, and lowered
her voice.
“The general and the doctor, they were up to something. I can’t say what for
sure, but I’ll tell you this—I’ve worked at this hospital long enough to know
the drugs we usually administer in the case of a coma.” She shook her head.
“These levels are high. Higher than I’ve ever seen.”

Petrela stepped gingerly through the doorway, and the nurse
seemed to decide
she was done talking, at least in their presence. “Would you
like to talk to the doctor?”

Though Monica had initiated the line of questioning, Thad had
taken to it quickly, and nodded. “I’d appreciate that.” He turned to the
general.

“I’ll stay here,” Petrela said, then nodded to him. “Let me
know what you find out.”

Monica squeezed Thad’s hand. Was he really
going to leave
Petrela alone in the room with his parents?

Thad must have recognized her concern, because he bent down and
whispered in her ear, “Petrela shot Lucca. I take that to mean he’s on our
side.” Kirk and Stasi approached from down the hall. “And Kirk can keep an eye
on him. He’s armed.”

“I see.” Monica kept tight hold of Thad’s hand as he trailed
the
nurse out the door. Suspicions thumped with the pulse in her throat. She was
too stunned by the sight of the dead body on the floor to know what to think.
They met Kirk and Stasi midway down the hall, and Thad quickly explained their
mission.

“It sounds as though this doctor may be keeping father in a
medically induced coma. We’re going to look into it. Can you keep an
eye on
Petrela? He shot Lucca, but I’m still not completely convinced we can trust
him.”

Stasi’s face bent with a wry smile. “Murder doesn’t exactly
make him trustworthy—” she looked up at her brother with relief on her face
“—but I am glad to hear that we don’t have to worry about Lucca anymore. When
that shot went off, my heart stopped.”

The nurse hurried on
ahead, and Monica gave Thad’s arm a tug.
Much as she wanted to hear Kirk and Stasi’s take on this latest twist, she knew
they needed to speak to the doctor. And she sensed he wasn’t going to hang
around and wait to speak with them. Especially not if he’d been doing something
they might disapprove of.

Thad broke away from the conversation and plowed past the
guards
beside her. A man in a doctor’s coat stood by the nurses’ station up
ahead, clipboard in hand. He glanced up in their direction, then did a double
take before dropping the clipboard. He reached across the nurses’ station and
appeared to curse under his breath before heading down the hall away from them
at a brisk walk.

“Doctor!” The nurse attempted to wave him down. “We’d
like to
talk to you, Doctor!”

The man glanced back once more before breaking into a run.

As the nurse and Thad sped after him, Monica stopped at the
nurses’ station, which was unoccupied in the wake of the shooting down the hall.
Already policemen in uniform were stepping off the elevator, adding to the
confusion. As Thad had said, the Sardis police would need to
investigate Lucca’s
death. But added to the many guards already filling the hallway, it made for a
very crowded scene.

The clipboard sat where the doctor had dropped it, and Monica
picked it up, flipping quickly through the pages, scanning them for names.

There was only one name on the pages, and it in no way
resembled the king’s name. But then, Monica realized, the
doctor wouldn’t have
left behind incriminating evidence if he’d already had it in his hands. No, he’d
looked across the nurses’ station before making his retreat.

Monica looked in the direction that doctor had glanced, and saw
several more clipboards protruding sideways from a small alcove under the
countertop. Since no one else seemed to be paying her any attention, she
quickly
stepped through the nurses’ station and flipped through the files on the
clipboards.

Lydia, Philip.

Tucking the relevant clipboard under her arm, she headed back
to find Kirk and Stasi to ask to borrow a phone. She had to get in touch with
her father. The fact that both her parents had turned off their phones worried
her. Had Octavian gone after them,
as well? She prayed they were safe. More than
that, she prayed there was some innocent explanation for their lifeless phones,
and that she could talk to them after all. Her father might not be familiar with
medical practice in Lydia, but he’d spent the past thirty years working as a
doctor, mostly in the Intensive Care Unit.

He’d be able to tell if Philip’s medication
levels were
off.

* * *

Thad raked his hand back through his hair as he made his
way back to his father’s hospital room. The doctor had evaded him—he’d swiped a
card at a restricted doorway and slipped through before they could catch up to
him. The nurse didn’t have access to that area of the hospital, so Thad had to
give up the chase.

Nor did the nurse seem
to know enough about his father’s
medical situation to supply concrete direction.

“I don’t know what it does,” she admitted when he questioned
her about his father’s medication, “but we usually do two bags in the IV drip
every twenty-four hours. Your father has been getting six bags. I thought it
seemed funny, but what do I know? I’m just the nurse.”

Thad thanked
her for her help, then spotted his mother, still
lingering in the hallway. She reached for him as he approached, and he pulled
her into his arms.

“They’re still investigating in there,” she explained. After
another moment’s silence, she added, “Monica’s trying to get in touch with her
father, but she can’t get ahold of him. She wants to run your father’s
medication
schedule by him. She checked with another nurse, and the levels were
all wrong. We can only assume it was due to Lucca’s influence. But maybe, if we
can get the medicine levels fixed...” Her voice drifted off.

“What are you saying?” Thad didn’t want to let his hopes rise
too high, but his mother’s words sounded promising.

“If they can cut back the medication levels without
shocking
your father’s system, and if the high levels haven’t already done too much
damage, and if his body is otherwise recovering from being shot—” faint hope
filled her features “—there’s a chance he might wake up.”

While Thad absorbed the possible prognosis, one of the officers
approached him and took his statement about the events that had led to Lucca’s
death.
Much as Thad would have liked to stay out of the investigation—to stay
out of the spotlight entirely—Lucca had robbed him of that option. Because he’d
been closest to the generals the moment the gun had gone off, he was a witness
to Lucca’s death. He couldn’t hide any longer.

The officers, at least, absorbed the revelation of his identity
with discretion. He’d no more
than finished talking with them, however, when
Monica darted into the room, grabbing his arm. “Isabelle just called your
sister. The paparazzi are headed to the hospital.” She glanced back at Queen
Elaine, who had taken up her post at the king’s bedside. “Are there stairs this
way?”

“Fire stairs. They lead to the parking garage.” The queen gave
them a conspiratorial
look. “If the media arrive, I can hold them off,” she
promised, rising from her chair and following them into the hall.

Monica guided Thad around the corner, and they followed the
fire exit signs.

“How did Isabelle know to warn us?”

“She’s on her way to see your father right now. She recognized
some of the members of the media. It’s impossible to say whether someone
tipped
them off that you’re here, or if they’re just following the scent of blood. But
if they see you, that bit of stubble and the belief that you’re dead might not
fool them.” They reached the bottom of the stairs, and Thad hesitated, wondering
where they should go.

“This way.” Monica waved a set of keys. “Kirk gave me his car
keys. He said they’d catch a ride back
with Isabelle, or someone.” She depressed
a button on the key fob, and parking lights flashed them a greeting.

“I can drive,” Thad offered.

“Sorry.” Monica cut him off from the driver’s seat. “You’ve got
to keep your head down.”

While Monica backed the subcompact from the parking space, Thad
obediently scooted into the backseat and sank down low, praying the nuisance
reporters wouldn’t slow them down too much. But at the same time, he almost
smiled as he whispered to Monica, “We got away from Petrela.”

She glanced back at him in the rearview mirror. “Are you going
to try to go after the scepter?”