§ § § -- September 30, 2004

"They're at the pineapple plantation?" Leslie cried, stunned. "We'll get down there right away!" She hung up and turned to Roarke. "Maureen called from her friend's place at the plantation—her friend's little girl found a shoe that was the source of those prints at the hospital and in our flower bed. When they took the shoe back, the guy who answered the door had Teppo's facial features. Father, we have to hurry!"

Roarke alerted the island police before hastening out the door with Leslie, who took the wheel. Once on the Ring Road and past town, she floored the accelerator, pushing the jeep up to eighty-five and beyond. "You'd better be extremely careful, Leslie," Roarke warned her over the rush of the wind through the vehicle's interior.

"I have to be," she retorted, never taking her eyes from the road. "I could be the only chance Christian and my children have." Roarke settled back in silent approval, keeping an eye on her, proud of her for maintaining a fierce control.

At this speed they reached the pineapple plantation in a little more than fifteen minutes. Out front they saw Maureen and a pretty native islander, who held a baby and had a little girl by her side. Maureen waved her arms frantically and ran to the jeep as Leslie hit the brakes. "It's a second-floor apartment," she said breathlessly. "We came out here to wait for you once we started hearing someone moaning really loudly in there. It was spooking Arielle." She made quick introductions, and Roarke and Leslie both nodded at Pualani before rushing inside and up the stairs, with Maureen on their heels.

Emerging into the hall, they heard the noise Maureen had mentioned—a voice wailing and groaning, sounding tortured. "That's Christian!" Leslie shrieked and fled down the hall; Maureen dodged around Roarke and managed to get out ahead of her friend, grabbing the knob of the door in question. She rattled it, but it was locked.

"Damn," Maureen snapped, disgusted. "Those sleazebags. What in hell could they have done to him, anyway?"

The sounds Christian was making inside the apartment scared Leslie so much that her tears were already flowing, but she struggled to speak clearly. "They might have given him something," she said thickly. "I spoke with the sheriff earlier today and asked him what was stolen from the hospital, and he said they took morphine and something called atropine. He didn't know what it was, so I called Fernando's office. He said it's used on patients before they're given anesthesia for surgery, and he told me a severe overdose can be fatal."

Roarke caught up with them. "One moment," he said, "while I unlock the door." Maureen and Leslie stood back, and he narrowed his dark eyes, concentrating carefully on the knob. The women heard a distinct click after a few seconds. Leslie threw the door open and they rushed inside, where they saw Christian lying on the floor, his whole body writhing back and forth in slow motion, with one knee drawn up and a hand over his eyes, panting heavily and straining his vocal cords as if trying to form words.

"Christian, it's me!" Leslie cried and knelt beside him, shaking him. "Stop, please, it's just me!" But she had no effect on him, and Roarke had to reach down and pull her to her feet to restrain her.

"He can't control himself, Leslie—I believe you're right about their having administered a drug," he said, hugging her briefly when she broke down into panicky sobs. "Wait here a moment and I might be able to bring him around enough for him to walk unassisted." He knelt in Leslie's place beside the delirious prince and laid a hand over Christian's forehead, frowning in alarm when he registered how hot and dry the skin was. Closing his eyes, he concentrated carefully, but after only a few seconds had to pull back.

"What's wrong, Mr. Roarke?" Maureen asked.

"The drug is too strong," Roarke said grimly, rising to his feet. "I can sense what's happening within Christian's mind—he seems to be hallucinating about something—but I can't break through to his conscious, lucid self. All we can do is get him to the hospital as quickly as possible and hope that they can give him whatever antidote applies to this drug."

"Leslie, you and I could try carrying him," Maureen offered. "You get his hands and I'll grab his ankles…" Before she could go on, they heard voices in the hallway, and seconds later two policemen appeared. Roarke explained their need, and both men nodded, easily lifting Christian off the floor between them and carrying him out of the building with Roarke, Leslie and Maureen following.

"Father?" Leslie began. "What about the triplets? Christian was the only one—"

Roarke raised a hand. "Just get him to the hospital, Leslie," he said. "Make all the haste you safely can, and I'll have these men notify the rest of the force so that you are not stopped on your way. These officers will put out the word to detain anyone trying to board the charter with infants; then they will investigate here, and I'll ride back with them." Leslie nodded; the policemen secured Christian in the passenger seat of the jeep, strapping him in with the seatbelt fastened as tightly as they could pull it, and Leslie threw up a giant foggy dust cloud on her way out. As soon as she got off the rutted dirt track and onto pavement, she sent the jeep roaring forward. Christian's eerie moans stoked her panic, and at one point she glanced down at the speedometer to find she had topped a hundred miles an hour. She never once let up on the gas pedal for fear of losing Christian. To avoid having to slow for pedestrians and bicyclists in town, she took the shortcut along the Old Swamp Road, which ran down the middle of the island, and then raced east once more along the southern section of the Ring Road, trying now to push the vehicle even harder—for when she slowed to make the turn from the Old Swamp Road onto the Ring Road, she noticed the absence of Christian's moans and risked a look at him, long enough to see that he'd fallen unconscious.

She didn't know how she managed to get to the hospital without giving in to tears, but she did; she sailed into the parking lot leaning on the horn. After a minute or so several medicos rushed out with a stretcher. As they began unstrapping Christian, Leslie asked, "How did you know we'd need a stretcher?"

"The police notified us you were on your way with Prince Christian, Miss Leslie," said one of the orderlies. "You think he's been poisoned?"

"Yes," she said, shaking. "I don't want to leave him—please, let me go in with him—"

"You'd better park the jeep first, Miss Leslie," the orderly advised her, barely looking up long enough to meet her panicked stare while helping to secure Christian onto the stretcher. "We'll need to get Prince Christian stabilized first, make sure he has a fighting chance to survive this, and then maybe you can go in and sit with him. But right now we can't have any non-essential personnel in the way."

"I can tell you what he was probably injected with," Leslie persisted frantically. "I'm sure you know what was stolen from the storage rooms the other day. That's what you're likely to find in his system."

The orderlies glanced briefly at one another; the first one said, "We'll mention it, Miss Leslie. You'd better park and come inside to wait." They bore Christian off at a run, and Leslie swung the jeep into the first open parking spot, killed the engine and raced into the hospital just in time to see Christian's stretcher disappear through the doors out of the waiting room. Stymied and sick with fright, she fell into a chair, hunched over, hid her face in her hands and gave in at last to her terror and sense of helplessness.

She was still sobbing softly into her hands when another hand settled between her shoulder blades. Lifting her face, Leslie registered Roarke sitting beside her. "There's been no word?" he asked gently.

"No," she choked, coughing a few times and gulping back a sob or two. "I don't even know how long I've been here."

Roarke smiled gently. "Then perhaps this will help to raise your spirits," he offered. "On my way back to this end of the island with the police, we received word that the Komainens had been detained at the plane dock with the triplets. The attendants and several locals who were making an off-island trip made certain none of them escaped, and the police were able to take the Komainens into custody. They are caring for the triplets, and all three of the babies appear to be unharmed and in good health."

"Oh…that's…" Leslie could get no more than those two words out of her mouth before she broke down again, this time with relief. Roarke hugged her close and patted her back till she could get herself together enough to control her tears once more.

She was beginning to calm down a bit when he saw a doctor emerge from the interior of the hospital and approach them. Gently he nudged his daughter, and they both stood up when she saw who it was. "What can you tell us, doctor?" Roarke asked.

The doctor sighed. "We can't say with any certainty whether Prince Christian will pull through," he said. "One of our orderlies told us Miss Leslie had mentioned her suspicion that the stolen drugs had been used to poison him, and when we analyzed a sample of his blood we found she was right. Unfortunately, whoever injected him gave him a combination of atropine and morphine; that's why he fell into a coma more quickly than he would have on pure atropine. We've administered Naloxone for the morphine and have him on oxygen to help his labored respiration." He saw Leslie's pale face and enormous eyes. "Once the Naloxone takes care of the morphine—which should be in a few hours at most—we can tackle the atropine. There's a drug we can use to help counteract it, but we don't want to risk it reacting unfavorably with the Naloxone. And I can tell you this for certain: if Prince Christian is still with us at this time tomorrow, then his chances are very good."

Leslie stood for a moment taking this in, focusing on the doctor's final sentence, even sparing a few seconds to weigh the worthiness of asking Roarke for a glimpse into the future before dismissing the thought. She wasn't sure she wanted to know. Finally she came up with a question that she thought would sound reasonably intelligent: "How is he now? Is he still unconscious?"

"Yes, because of the morphine," the doctor said. "But that may change when it's out of his system. What was his condition when you found him, Mr. Roarke?"

"I believe he was hallucinating," Roarke said. "He was feverish and covering his eyes."

The doctor nodded. "Fever is one of the symptoms of atropine poisoning, and he was covering his eyes because the pupils were highly dilated and fixed that way. Once he's out of his coma, the hallucinations may return, and there could be other symptoms as well. As I said, if he survives twenty-four hours, he has a high chance of recovery."

"So you're telling me there's no point in my staying with him, then?" Leslie asked.

"You can go in and see him, Miss Leslie," the doctor said, "but I'd advise staying only a few minutes. Once he's out of his coma, he won't know you anyway, and seeing him would only scare you. My suggestion is to get whatever sleep you can tonight—Mr. Roarke, you may want to assist her with that—and then give us a call tomorrow morning for an update."

"We'll do that, then, doctor," Roarke agreed. "Thank you. Leslie, why don't you go and see Christian for a few minutes. I'll wait here, and then we'll go to the police station. The triplets are there, and they'll need you more than Christian does at the moment."

"Yes, the triplets," Leslie said, blinking. "Okay…I'll be back out in a little bit, Father." She followed the doctor down the hall and gave him a small, grateful smile when he stepped aside to let her into the darkened room where they had put Christian.

She drifted to his bedside and stared at him. He lay still and quiet, eyes closed, with an oxygen mask over his face. His breathing was slow and a bit labored, and his glossy dark hair was lank. Leslie reached over and lifted his hand, then gasped softly to herself; his skin seemed to be burning under her fingertips. Her sore, swollen eyes filled with tears all over again and she murmured helplessly, "Oh, my love, what have they done to you?"

For a moment Leslie sat there clinging to Christian's hand, feeling the heat radiating from him, and then spoke anyway, even though she knew he wouldn't hear. She hoped fervently that she'd have to repeat herself later. "Christian, my love, Father told me the triplets are fine. The Komainens didn't harm them in any way. But I'll tell you something—I'm going to find out just why they took you and our babies, and when you come back to us, I'll tell you what they said. You've got to come back, Christian. We all need you. I can't lose you—it'd be a blow I don't think I could recover from." She tipped aside and planted a kiss on his forehead. "I love you, Christian. I love you so much. Please come back." Her throat closed up and she shut her eyes a moment, till she managed to get herself under control; then she focused on him again, taking in his face. "You can beat this, my darling, I know you can. I want them to tell me tomorrow that you're okay, that you thwarted those monsters…"

"Miss Leslie? I'm afraid that's all the time we can give you," a nurse said from the doorway. Leslie looked around and sighed quietly in resignation.

"Fight it, my love," she said softly, squeezing Christian's hand, then reluctantly letting go and moving slowly for the door. The nurse smiled sympathetically and handed her a clear plastic bag containing garments, along with Christian's Rolex and wedding ring.

"These are the clothes Prince Christian was wearing when you brought him in," she said. "Be optimistic and think in terms of bringing him a fresh outfit when he's ready to go home. His health is good and that's in his favor."

"What kind of odds are there that he'll get through those first twenty-four hours?" Leslie asked, almost afraid to hear the response.

The nurse pulled Christian's door shut and gently ushered her down the hallway. "It really depends on the individual," she said. "Like I said, his health is good, and that should count for something. We'll do everything we can for him."

Leslie subsided finally, realizing that there was just no more she could do, and joined Roarke in the waiting room. "Let's go get the triplets, Father."

Roarke smiled and nodded. "An excellent idea. I expect they will be glad to see you."

"Only if they're hungry," Leslie said with a half-grin.

Her father laughed, guiding her out the door. "They may be only four months old, my child, but they know you and their father by now," he assured her. "I'm certain that when you walk in and they see you, you'll be greeted with some very wide smiles."

Less than ten minutes later they parked in front of the police station; Roarke opened the door and let Leslie in ahead of him. Instantly they heard the wailing of three babies, and Leslie gasped again. Their entrance caught the attention of Mei-Lian Ching, the receptionist, who beamed when she saw who had come in. "Don't worry, Miss Leslie, the babies are just fine," she said. "They'll want diaper changes and undoubtedly something to eat, but other than that they're in perfect shape." She grinned. "Not to mention adorable."

That finally made Leslie laugh a little. "So then they're just uncomfortable?"

"And probably missing their mommy," Mei-Lian said with a cheerful nod. "I'll have the guys bring them out. They've all been charmed to death—and two of them were confirmed bachelors up to this point. Those babies may have made a couple of converts." On Roarke's and Leslie's laughter, she got up and stuck her head in a back door, and a moment later out came three policemen, each one toting a crying triplet.

"I need to hold all three," Leslie blurted, her tears coming back as if someone had flipped a switch. "I have to."

Roarke smiled and shook his head indulgently. "Sit here, Leslie," he said, pushing her gently into a chair. Mei-Lian dug a key out of her desk drawer, unlocked the door of the cell adjacent to the front room and swiped a pillow off one of the bunks, placing this over Leslie's lap. Then while Leslie held onto the pillow, the three policemen settled their little charges side by side onto it. As soon as the last triplet was there, she wrapped her arms around them, pillow and all, and closed her eyes, nuzzling their heads in turn, her tears wetting their hair. The policemen stood by watching with slight smiles; Mei-Lian's eyes were moist too, and Roarke glanced at them in quick succession before sitting beside Leslie and reaching out to smooth the hair on each baby's head for a moment. He let Leslie have her reunion with her children for a minute or so, then prompted quietly, "I think it's time you brought the children back to the main house with me, so that they can be fed and changed and given baths. They may be essentially unharmed, but I detect certain signs that tell me all three babies will be far happier with a little care from you."

"Other than the crying?" Mei-Lian said teasingly as Leslie looked up.

"And the smell?" one of the cops added, making everyone burst out laughing. With a broad grin, he said, "I was just teasing, Miss Leslie, but they can definitely use a diaper change, like Mr. Roarke said. We've got their kidnappers in the maximum-security cell in the back room, and there's a twenty-four-hour guard on the younger brother—he turns out to have quite a criminal record back in Finland, and one of his specialties is picking locks. It seems they've been busy since you came back home all those years ago, Miss Leslie."

"Sounds like it to me too," Leslie agreed, her voice a little thick yet. "I want answers from them, but tomorrow's soon enough for that. My babies come first."

"How about Prince Christian?" Mei-Lian asked.

Leslie swallowed back a surge of fear. "He's still with us for now. The doctor told us if he survives twenty-four hours, he has a good shot at recovering. But nobody knows if he'll make it." She drew in a breath. "I'm definitely planning to press charges against them. They spent long enough intimidating me. It's time I fought back."