In a Fix (21 page)

His eyes narrowed and he quirked his mouth in disbelief.

“No, really. It looks so much more authentic than the other Vikings I’ve seen around here. Is that hand-woven cloth? I was going to ask you where you found it, so I could get one for a friend. He’d look really cool in something like that.”

“I don’t think so. Try again, Miss Halligan.”

He knew who I was? Shit.
Not
good.

“Wh-who?” I stammered. “I think you must’ve mistaken me for somebody else.”

“You are Ciel Halligan, the ‘facilitator’—whatever that is—Mina Worthington visited in Washington, D.C., three weeks ago.”

I didn’t bother with denials. “You seem to know a lot about me.”

“A bit. You look quite nice in jogging shorts when you walk in the park near your home, for instance. Though you really should try actually jogging. You might like it.”

Crap. He’d been watching me? For how long?

“I also know you’re working for Miss Worthington. In what capacity are you employed, may I ask?”

I lifted my chin. “You may ask anything you like. Doesn’t mean I’ll answer.”

His grip tightened. “You would be wise to tell me what you know of Miss Worthington’s whereabouts, at the very least. Then perhaps you may continue your holiday unencumbered.”

“Unencumbered by what?” I said, sounding cockier than I felt.

“By me.”

Gulp. Okaaaay. Thinking fast, I smiled in what I hoped was a flirtatious manner. “I don’t find you cumbersome at all,” I purred. Or meant to purr. Maybe I squeaked. The whole femme fatale thing was a lot easier when I was covered by Mina’s aura.

He laughed at me. I didn’t know if I should be relieved or offended.

“If you say so. But your boyfriend might not feel the same. Shall we find out?”

I cleared my throat. “Oh, you mean that guy I was with? He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just someone I met at the hotel. You know how it is—pay a little attention to someone and they think they own you. Thank goodness I finally shook him. Whew!” I wiped imaginary sweat from my brow.

“It did not look as if you were anxious to rid yourself of him a few minutes ago.”

“What can I say? I was trying to let him down gently. A kiss for the road. Pucker up and sayonara.” I shrugged, but suspected my blush was leaking despite my effort to adapt it away.

“I see,” he said, his amusement plain. “Well then, since you do not find my company cumbersome, you may come along with me.”

“Gosh, that’s kind of you, but I have some friends I have to meet. Maybe another time.”

I tried to disengage my arm from his grip. He wasn’t cooperating.

“I think they will have to wait for you. Unless, of course, you wish to take me to Miss Worthington now?”

“Not possible, I’m afraid.”

“Then you will have to endure my company for a little longer.” He lifted one corner of his mouth in a fetching half-smile.

“What if I scream?” I inquired matter-of-factly, willing to reconsider the option now that I had the breath to back it up.

He tilted his head to one side, considering. “A small scream would likely go unnoticed. Go ahead, if it will make you feel better. But if you become too loud I shall have to take measures to mitigate the noise.”

“My, don’t you have just the best command of the English language,” I said drily.

“Thank you. Now, shall I block my ears or not?” His eyes crinkled at the corners, and try as I would, I couldn’t dislike him entirely. Of course, I hear a lot of women just loved Ted Bundy, too.

I released a long-suffering sigh. “Oh, don’t bother. I’ll come along with you quietly. Heck, who knows when I’ll get another chance to see Visby on the arm of such a realistic barbarian.”

He loosened his grip, sliding his hand down far enough to grasp mine. “Good, then. Come along.”

Like I had a choice.

We stopped at the far end of a particularly narrow road. The house on the corner was small, sided with dark, wooden planks, and separated from the bricked lane by a narrow stone stoop. The door—a lighter wood—was surrounded by the ubiquitous roses, these a buttery yellow. They set off the heather green doorjamb beautifully. Very picturesque, if you had time to appreciate that sort of thing, which I really didn’t, but wished desperately I did.

Nils knocked on the door with a heavy hand. After a moment it was opened a few inches, and half a face appeared. The milky-blue, rabbit-lashed eye squinted suspiciously at me, and a muffled voice asked something in Swedish. Nils responded, and the door swung open far enough to allow us to enter.

The room was clogged with large men. They weren’t all blond—there was plenty of brown hair, lots of red, and even some black. Relatives of Nonto, maybe? What they all had in common was their period clothing—to a man, they wore Viking regalia, and wore it well.

Being eye to sternum with so many hulking examples of masculinity left me a little breathless, and I don’t mean in the good way. More like the impending panic attack way. Feeling suddenly too tiny, I eased myself backward until my pack bumped up against Nils’s chest. He pushed me toward the center of the room. The men stepped aside and formed a circle around us. There was a short silence, followed by a burst of Swedish, each Viking making an attempt to shoehorn in his own question or comment.

Nils gave them a minute to get it out of their systems, said something loud and terse, and they all shut up. He continued speaking, explaining how and why he happened to have me, I supposed. They must have bought it because they dispersed, heading off to various parts of the house. Those who stayed kept wary eyes on me while they went back to what they’d been doing before we got there: stuffing lightweight plastic bags with colorful pieces of paper, and sealing them.

I stared for a minute, waiting for the lightbulb over my head to switch on. A feeble flicker was the best it would do. “Flyers? You’re advertising?”

“It is one aspect to our campaign, yes,” he said.

I picked up one of the leaflets and studied it. A half-naked, excessively well-built blond barbarian was flanked by shapely, adoring young women, each holding a rugged-looking bottle up against his chest. I don’t read Swedish, but it didn’t require a lot of translation.

“You’re selling men’s shampoo?” I didn’t even try to mask the incredulity in my voice.

Nils flushed. “That’s not shampoo. It’s body wash.”

“Oh. Well, that makes all the difference. Selling shampoo might not necessitate kidnapping, but
body wash
, now that’s something else entirely.”

I guess sarcasm sounds the same in any language, because Nils snatched the paper away from me and threw it back onto the pile I’d plucked it from, to the snickering delight of his comrades in arms. He quieted them with a grim look, took me by the elbow and hustled me toward the stairs, which were narrow enough that he had to walk behind me on the way up. The top floor was even more cramped than the bottom. There were only two doorways off the dimly lit hall; Nils directed me toward the one on the right. The room was cozy, its scant space filled with rustic antiques. The centerpiece was an old iron bed. Great.
Déjà vu
.

“Huh. Got your handcuffs handy?”

He looked at me sharply. “So, you have spoken with Mina. Quite recently.”

Oops. “Um…” I searched my brain for plausible deniability. When I couldn’t find any, I shrugged.

“You are a puzzle, Miss Halligan. I had thought to leave you here while I took care of some business, but I now believe I must take you with me after all. Perhaps you will do the smart thing and guide me to Miss Worthington.”

“I already told you—not possible.”

“That is a shame.” He sounded genuinely regretful, which made my stomach twist.

“Look, there really has been some sort of misunderstanding. Sure, I know Mina, but—”

“Let me have your pack.”

“Huh?”

“Your knapsack.” He didn’t wait for it, but slipped it off my shoulders.

I let go of it reluctantly. Heck, I didn’t even know what was in it, other than the cell phone that was my only connection to Billy, but giving it up gave me a pang, like losing a security blanket.

Nils unzipped it and dumped the contents onto the bed. Along with the phone, there were toiletries, a few changes of underwear, an extra pair of jeans, a sweater, and Mina’s medieval maiden outfit.

Crap. Guess Billy thought I’d like a souvenir.

Okay. Stay calm
. I could brazen this out. It wasn’t like there weren’t dozens of costumes just like it all over Visby. Nils couldn’t know for sure it wasn’t mine, so I kept my face bland.

“What?” I said. “Can’t I have a costume?”

He didn’t say anything. He merely picked up the linen dress, shook it out, and held it up against me. It was a good four or five inches too long. “Maybe,” he said. “But not this one. Now, where is Mina?”

“Look, Nils, I’m not taking you to Mina. Face it.”

“We shall see.” He tossed the dress back on the bed, took my phone, and scrolled through the contacts list. He seemed satisfied with what he saw there, and punched the call button.

He paused, waiting for the connection to go through, staring at me the whole time. When he finally spoke, my stomach fell.

“Miss Worthington? How nice to hear your voice again—our recent time together was cut far too short. However, I have had the good fortune to meet a friend of yours. Ciel Halligan. Here, I’ll put her on.”

Chapter 20

“Mina, this is Ciel. I’m okay. You got that? I’m—”

Nils pulled the phone away from my ear. “You see, Mina, what I tell you is true. I’m sure you’d like to see your friend again, but maybe I’m wrong. You don’t seem to want to see your boyfriend again very badly, after all.”

He paused, listening to whatever Billy was making up on the spur of the moment. Trust Billy to be prepared for any contingency—Mina was obviously one of the contacts Billy had listed, so it was “Mina” who answered.

“So you say … yes, I understand about panic … no, Ciel is fine—for the moment—but I believe she would rather continue her vacation without me. Once you’re safely back with me, I will let her go.”

I grabbed for the phone. Nils was faster than me, and held it out of my reach. So I yelled. “No, don’t do it—I’m fine! He won’t hurt me. Really, I’m—”

Nils swept my legs out from under me with his foot, pushed me face-first onto the bed, and held me there with one knee. “—
oof
, fine, I swear, don’t listen to—” A resounding smack on my backside interrupted my desperate reassurances. “OUCH!”

Before I could yell anything else, Nils stuffed part of the quilt into my mouth and held it there while he went on talking. I
mmphphed
helplessly against his protected fingers.

“Really, Mina, I think it would be best for all concerned—certainly for Trey and Ciel—if we arranged a meeting. Yes? Very good. The Maiden’s Tower in thirty minutes. Outside the wall. Any vendor will be able to direct you there. Oh, and if I notice a police presence, or anything out of the ordinary—and I must warn you, I have a good eye for such things—your friend Ciel will be staying with me, and it will be a long time before you see her or Trey again.”

He hung up and released me. I spit out the quilt, balled up my fist, and slugged his jaw.

I’d never seen anyone look quite so shocked. “Ow! What did you do that for?”

“You hit me first, you fucking prick!”

He sighed, scrubbing at his face, as if he could rub the pain away. “It was necessary to convince Mina to come.”

“It
hurt
!” I didn’t know why I should be so surprised, but I was. Viking or not, deep down I hadn’t believed he’d hurt
me
.

“It wasn’t so bad. I didn’t hit you hard, only enough to make some noise. You didn’t leave me a choice.”

I sat up, arranging myself into a more dignified position. “She won’t come, you know. She’s smarter than that,” I said huffily.

“She will come,” he responded, way too confident, and dialed a number. He spoke rapidly in Swedish. I heard Per’s name; the rest was gibberish. Crap. If there was anybody I didn’t want to see again, it was that asshole.

“Listen, Nils, can’t we talk this over? Whatever you’re involved with, it isn’t worth the kind of trouble you’ll be in once the police find out about this. It’s not too late—”

“You are wrong. It is much too late.” He reached for Mina’s costume and held it out to me. “Here. Put this on.”

I refused to take it. “Oh, no way, buster. Uh-uh. I am not putting that on—” I stopped myself before I said “again.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Forget it.”

His face was an implacable mask. I hate to resort to whining, but I’m not above it when the situation warrants. “Come on, it’s way too long for me. I’d trip all over myself in it.”

He reached beneath his tunic and retrieved a large knife. It had a carved wooden handle and a lethal-looking blade. My mouth went dry, and I was beginning to regret hitting him. Just how pissed off was he? “Whoa, now, big guy. Let’s not be hasty—” I backed away.

He looked from me to the knife, and back to me. “You really think I would use a knife on a woman?” There was genuine shock in his voice.

“Well, you did hit me,” I said, thinking it wasn’t such an unreasonable assumption.

He emitted a short, disgusted sound, and neatly sliced the bottom six inches off both the dress and tunic. Returning his knife to its sheath, he said, “I don’t have to use a knife to make you put on the dress.” He stabbed the words into me with eyes sharper than his blade. I think he was kind of miffed that I’d even entertained the notion.

I snatched up the dress and tunic, pissed as hell myself, mainly because he was right. In my current form I was no match for him, and it wasn’t like I could switch auras in front of a nonadaptor. Jutting out my chin and flashing him the evil eye, I said, with as much authority as I could gather, “No, but you do have to leave the room. I won’t change in front of you.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but after studying my face he said, “Fine. Just so you know, that window is stuck shut and I have men posted in the back garden.”