In a Fix (14 page)

We plowed through the back door into the kitchen. I shoved Mina toward Hilda. “Get her to the attic. And call an ambulance for Pete. Quick!” Though, honestly, I didn’t see how he could still be alive, not shot at that range. But I couldn’t think about that now.

Hilda was a gem. She didn’t question me further, just grabbed the confused Mina and pulled her down the hall toward the smallest bedroom. The attic stairs were accessible through the closet there.

As soon as they were out of sight, I dropped Maria’s aura and called up Mina’s. Except for the clothes, I was identical to her current appearance, and I was banking on the Vikings not having gotten a good look at which of us was wearing what when we took off from the gazebo. Once they saw Mina heading away from the cabin they’d be unlikely to stick around to make a thorough search for anyone else.

I went back out the same door I’d just entered. They were closing in fast. After making sure they got a good look at my new face, I took off toward the trees, reaching for the gun now flopping around in the much looser belly holster, praying I could switch off the safety while on the move. If luck was on my side, I’d make it to the woods before I had to shoot them. Maybe Mark could have the bodies taken care of quickly, so we wouldn’t have to traumatize Mina and Hilda any more than necessary. I just hoped I could bring myself to pull the trigger when the time came.

An image of Pete—good-hearted, reliable, friendly Pete—hitting the dock after the Viking shot him reran itself in my head. I decided pulling the trigger wouldn’t be a problem.

Didn’t matter. Luck was not on my side. I was sacked like a rookie quarterback before I got the gun disentangled from the holster. I grunted and tried to kick my legs, but they were plastered to the ground by two hundred–odd pounds of Scandinavian he-flesh, his head planted on my posterior.

When you can’t fight, holler long and loud. That, I decided, was my brand-new philosophy. “Who the HELL are you? What’s going ON here? Do you have any idea how much TROUBLE you’re going to be in when the police get here?”

I was flipped over onto my back. The second Viking—the one who wasn’t still wrapped around my legs—clapped a hand over my mouth.

“I suggest you remain quiet.” Yep. Accent.

“Mmmphh,” I continued, to no effect. So I squeezed my tongue out between my teeth and tickled his palm with it (bleah—engine oil), which startled him into easing the pressure just enough for me to bite him. Hard.

“Ouch!” He jerked his hand away. “You bitch. Don’t you know the human mouth has more germs than a toilet seat? You could give me an infection.”

I pushed up to a sitting position, spitting to rid myself of the rusty taste of his blood. “So sorry. What was I thinking?” Then I gulped in a huge breath and roared, “ HE-E-E-LP!”

The hand came back, harder. This time he knelt behind me, and clamped my nostrils shut with his other hand. Oh, shit—I couldn’t breathe. The son of a bitch was going to suffocate me.

Chapter 13

I woke up in a small, dark, musty-smelling place. I was tied up and gagged, and had one hell of a headache. The gun was gone. No surprise there. Near as I could tell, I was still Mina. An aura tends to hold through sleep, unconsciousness, or whatever, until an adaptor makes a conscious decision to drop it. I wiggled my shoulders back and forth as much as possible, gauging the boobage. Yep, plenty there. Definitely still Mina.

On the plus side, I wasn’t dead. Unless God had a really warped sense of humor.

I was lying on something soft—some sort of fur, judging by the ticklish feeling on the back of my neck. That might account for the aroma, too. Were the Vikings smuggling bearskins? Or maybe it was beaver skins. I wrinkled my nose. Whatever they were, they didn’t seem to be overly processed.

There was a humming noise in the background. Sounded like an engine of some sort. Had the Vikings taken me back to their boat? But it didn’t really feel like we were on the water.

A sudden dip in the floor beneath me, followed fast by a rise, jostled me over onto my side. Turbulence. Shit. I was on a plane. Tied up, gagged, stuffed in a small compartment, and on a fucking airplane. I tried really hard not to think about my claustrophobia. Fat lot of good that did me.

I sucked in air through my nose at an increasing pace, the musky fur adding to my sudden queasiness. Crap. It would not be a good idea to vomit with a gag in my mouth, so I pushed myself over onto my back, trying to get my nose as far away from the skins as possible. To stave off panic, I closed my eyes and searched my brain for images of wide-open places. Cloud-filled skies, fields of spring flowers, rolling plains—
No!
Cut that last one. It made me think of rolling
planes
, and only made the turbulence harder to take.

Better just to try and figure out the situation. Okay, I’d been unconscious. How long had I been out? Where on the plane was I? And most important, how much longer would I be stuck here?

I didn’t have much time to ponder it. The door opened and a big silhouette took its place. I squinted and squeaked, trying to push myself back against the wall. I couldn’t tell if it was one of the Vikings who had grabbed me or not—all I could see was golden halo atop a linebacker body.

“You are awake.”

Bright guy.

“If you promise not to make any noise, I will let you out. Do you promise?” His voice was deep, a little singsongy. Sounded Viking to me, but I knew better than to trust my opinion on accents.

I nodded. “Mmm-hmm.” What the hell did he expect me to do? Shake my head and go back to sleep?

He removed my gag first, probably testing to see if I’d keep my word. I remained silent, except for gulping in air, so he untied my hands and legs. I stretched as much as space allowed and rubbed my arms, trying to restore circulation. He helped me to a sitting position. My head swam and the world got all black around the edges. I must’ve been drugged up pretty good.

“Take it easy. You will be better soon.”

“I’m all right. Just give me a second.” My voice was raspy, my mouth dry and nasty-tasting.

He waited patiently. Once I was seeing clearly again, I could tell he was the tackler. Not in nearly as much of a hurry now as he was the last time I saw him.

“What’s this about?” I asked. “If you’re holding me for ransom—”

“I told you to be quiet.”

“But—”

He reached for the gag. I shut up.

“Come with me,” he said.

My legs were wobbly, so I didn’t mind him holding on to my shoulders as we walked down the aisle as much as I might have otherwise. He stayed close behind me, bending his head to avoid bumping it on the ceiling. It was a small cabin—well, compared to a commercial jet, anyway—maybe a Gulfstream, maybe a Lear. I’d flown on corporate jets before, during other jobs, but not so often that I could tell them apart. I was never crazy about spending time in the air, but those rides had been a hell of lot more fun than this one.

We approached the Viking I’d bitten. I felt a tiny burst of pleasure at the sight of his bandaged hand, and hoped his worst fears of infection came true. He was sitting on the sofa that stretched along one side of the cabin, talking with a man who didn’t look remotely like a Viking. More like an Indian, the Native American kind.

In fact, he looked a whole lot like Jay Silverheels, the guy who played Tonto on
The Lone Ranger
, my favorite TV western. I had such a crush on him when I was a kid—he was way cooler than the masked man. My dad had recorded the whole series, and I used to make Billy watch the shows with me over and over, even though he teased me relentlessly about my crush on Mr. Silverheels. Just thinking about Tonto made me smile at the black-haired Viking. “Hey, you kind of remind me…”

The words died in my mouth when I saw the look in his eyes. Uh-oh. Guess he wasn’t a fan of westerns. O-kaaay.
Not
Tonto. The un-Tonto it is.
Nonto
.

I sat where the big guy behind me told me to, across from the others. “As long as you are quiet, you may stay out here in the cabin. If you make trouble, you will be given another injection and put back into the luggage compartment.”

I gave him the double thumbs-up, not risking a single word.

“Would you like something to eat or drink?”

Okay, so maybe he wasn’t entirely bad. “Some water would be good,” I said, voice still scratchy. “Pellegrino, if you have it,” I added. “I don’t really like Perrier.” What the hell. As long as I was Mina, I might as well stay in character.

Nonto was studying me, his face motionless. I had a strong urge to stick my tongue out at him, but I resisted.

“Watch out for her,” the other Viking said. “She bites.”

“Only when I’m being kidnapped,” I said, plastering a big, phony smile on Mina’s face. “By the way, where are we going?”

He flexed his bandaged hand into a fist. “Perhaps we should take you to a veterinarian and make sure you don’t have rabies,” he said. All right, he was going to be Nasty Viking. From the looks of him, he’d enjoy the role. Nonto still hadn’t said anything.

Slightly Nicer Viking returned with the Pellegrino, the bottle still unopened, and a commercially wrapped sandwich. Maybe it was his way of showing me the food and water weren’t drugged.
Geez, Ciel. Get a grip. Why would they need to drug your food and water when they have shots they can give you, you idiot?
Okay, so I wanted to believe somebody here was halfway decent. What was so wrong with that?
Damn
.
This is probably how Stockholm syndrome starts
, I thought as I sipped the water.

“We are taking you to your boyfriend,” Nice Viking said after he sat in front of me. His seat faced mine.

“Nils!” Nasty Viking cut him off.

“You have Trey, too?” I piped up. “Where is he? Is he all right?” Now I really was concerned. If they had the real Trey, why were they still after the fake Trey?

“He is healthy. You will see him soon.”

“Nils.” There was a warning in Nasty Viking’s voice.

“You worry too much, Per. There can be no harm in telling her. If she knows she is going to see him, perhaps she will be a better passenger.”

I wondered briefly why Nasty Viking was named for a fruit, but decided it didn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things. Probably meant something else in Swedish, anyway.

“Where is he?” I repeated, pressing my advantage with Nils. (That name I recognized, thanks to Bruce Springsteen’s E Street Band.) “Why did you take him? And me? Does this have something to do with his import business?” I scooted forward in my seat, trying to react how Mina would under the circumstances. “Oh, my God—is he smuggling? He can’t be. He would never do anything like that. He’s—”

“
Håll käfton!
” Per said.

I looked at him blankly. Hole shefton? What the hell did that mean?

“He wants you to be quiet. It means ‘hold your jaw,’” Nils explained.

Well, how rude. I looked down Mina’s perfect nose at Per. “Didn’t your mommy teach you any manners?” I said.

He reached across the aisle and grabbed my arm, half-pulling me out of my seat, scaring the bejeezus out of me. Talk about overreacting. His grip would leave a bruise for sure, if I let it show. Which I wouldn’t. I didn’t let myself wince either—no way would I give this creep the satisfaction. “Oooh, tough guy,” I said. “You’re not half the man my Trey is!” (I know! But it just slipped out. When I’m scared, I bluster. It might be stupid, but it’s better than pissing yourself.)

He squeezed my arm harder, twisting it until I was afraid it might break. “You overstep yourself, Miss Worthington. A lady should know better. But perhaps you’re not so much of a lady. Perhaps you would like proof I am more of a man than your Trey could ever be. Is that why you taunt me?”

Uh-oh. The gleam in his eye pegged him as a certified resident of Crazy Town. I tried to pull away. Saw that Nonto behind him appeared to be enjoying the show. Yikes. Guess I should have gone with pissing myself.

“Per. That’s enough.” Nils had risen. He took Per by the wrist, his knuckles whitening with the pressure he applied. “Remember the plan.”

Per glared at Nils and let loose a string of Swedish I couldn’t begin to decipher. Nils listened patiently, but didn’t loosen his hold until Per let go of me. “I will sit with her.”

“Fine. We will move up front,” Per said. He headed for a seat as far away from me as he could get, and Nonto followed him without adding anything to the conversation. What was he, mute?

Shaky, I leaned back in my seat. Almost made a comment about Mr. Loony Tunes, but decided not to press my luck. Instead I said, “If you could just tell me
why
—”

“I am afraid I cannot tell you any more than I already have.”

“But—”

He shook his head, a single time. A definitive no. I sighed. “Can you at least tell me if Trey and I are going to come out of this alive?” I said, a little wistfully. I really was curious about that. When I die, I think I’d rather do it as myself.

“If you do as you’re told.”

“Well, color me obedient,” I said, and tried to twist my mouth into something resembling a cooperative smile. “But I think it’s only fair to warn you, there are some pretty powerful people who won’t be happy to find out I’m not where I should be. They’ll be coming after you.”

“Let’s not dwell on unpleasant business for now. Surely there are nicer things we can discuss.”

Okay, so much for threats on my part. “The weather, maybe?” I suggested. “I do hope I’m appropriately dressed for…?” I raised my brows.

“Don’t worry about your clothing. We will supply you with something suitable before we arrive at our destination.”

Per called out from the front, interrupting us.

Nils stood. “You will excuse me?” he said.

“Of course,” I said, nodding graciously, like I had a choice. Since we were being so polite and all.

Mostly just to keep myself occupied, I opened the sandwich and bit into it (turkey, a little dry, but tasty enough on an empty stomach), all the while straining to hear what they were discussing. Unfortunately, the exchange between Nils and Per was in Swedish. They switched to English when they addressed Nonto, but they also lowered their voices even more. All the words blurred together until one jumped out at me with frightening clarity: “… bomb…”