In a Fix

by Linda Grimes

  profound and immediate. I didn’t even half-mind seeing my skimpy figure in the mirror. It felt right.

  What I did mind was putting the clean robe onto my less than fresh body. The gleaming white porcelain of the tub was

  irresistible. I twisted the hot-water faucet, and poked my head out the door while the water warmed. “I’m going to take a quick

  bath. Anything you have to tel me that can’t wait ten minutes?”

  “Nope. Indulge yourself—go for fifteen. You hungry? I’l order room service.”

  My stomach growled. “Ravenous. Order a lot.”

  The hot water felt too good for a purely hygienic dip (besides, there were bubbles) so the fifteen minutes stretched to twenty.

  Maybe half an hour. Long enough to get pruney, anyway. I heard the door to the room open and close a few times, and picked

  up on some muffled voices, which I tuned out. Bily could handle the waitstaff without my input.

  When I came out, I found a spread fit for a queen. The smal table was laden. Excess side dishes, left on trays, overflowed onto

  the bed. A stand held an ice bucket with a bottle of champagne and two glasses, each containing a single raspberry. Next to the

  glasses was a note in Bily’s careless scrawl.

  Taking care of a few details. Back soon to

  pop a cork and celebrate your escape.

  “Geez,” I said to the empty room. “I said order a lot, not the whole menu.”

  Oh, wel. Bily was nothing if not extravagant in his gestures. The assortment of breads, fruits, cheeses, pickled herring, smoked

  salmon, thin-sliced roast beef, ham, hard-boiled eggs, caviar, and—praise God—pastries was not out of character for him.

  I sampled smal pinches of everything, trying to be polite and wait until he was back to share the meal with him. He’d better

  hurry, though, because I didn’t know how long I could hold out.

  A few minutes and one dry piece of hard bread later, I was pacing when my eyes fel on the champagne glasses. They were the

  short, saucer kind, not flutes. Maybe it was just my whirling mind looking for a distraction, but the raspberries made the stemware

  look like nothing so much as inverted boobs. I popped one of the berries into my mouth and considered the glass thoughtfuly. I’d

  read somewhere that the champagne saucer was supposedly modeled on the perfect breast of one of Napoleon’s mistresses. I

  wonder …

  What the heck, why not? I was alone. I was curious.

  I was bored.

  So I opened my robe and tried one on for size. Hallelujah! It fit. I even overflowed a tiny bit. Not bad, I thought. Not bad at

  al. Inordinately pleased, I ate the berry from the second glass, and poured my other boob into it. Holding the glasses in place, I

  looked down at myself, thinking it was maybe not so horrible to be less endowed than Mina Worthington. At least I shouldn’t sag

  much by the time I was sixty or seventy.

  A throat cleared, loudly. And it wasn’t mine. Shit!

  My eyes flew up to meet Bily’s. He was standing across the room, staring in shocked fascination, dimples bracketing a wide

  grin. Damn. I hadn’t even heard the door squeak.

  “You win. Your raspberries are better,” he said, eyes aglow.

  I whipped myself around, removed the glasses, and resecured my robe. Not looking at him, I stumbled through an explanation

  of Napoleon and his mistress, which sounded totaly stupid when I heard it out loud, so I quickly changed the subject to the

  humongous amount of food he’d ordered.

  The teasing glint lingered in his eyes, but he folowed my conversational detour wilingly enough. “I wasn’t sure what you were

  in the mood for. But don’t worry. It’s on Mark.”

  “Do you always abuse your per diem when you do a job for him?”

  “Pretty much. He’s used to it.” He plucked a raspberry from the dish of fruit and held it between his lips for a second before he

  sucked it into his mouth. I blushed and gave him a dirty look. He laughed, picked up another and threw it at me.

  I dodged it. “You’re never going to let me forget this, are you?”

  “Not if we live to be a hundred.” He held out a chair for me, like the gentleman he wasn’t.

  I lifted my chin and sat, refusing to look at him. Standing behind me, he leaned down and said, “Come on, cuz. Lighten up. You

  have nothing to be embarrassed about.”

  I ignored him and reached for the gooiest, sweetest-smeling confection on the table. “I’m not listening to you.”

  “So I’ve seen your raspberries. Who cares? What’s a little fruit between friends?”

  I pressed my lips together, trying to look mad, but gave up when he started juggling berries from the bowl. He was pretty good.

  “Okay,” I said. “I can see where it might be a little bit funny from your point of view. But can we please drop it now?”

  He caught three berries with his mouth, in rapid succession, and slid into the chair across from me. “Sure. But I reserve the right

  to bring it up randomly in the future.”

  “Hmph. I expect no better of you. Only”—I chewed the corner of my lip—“not in front of anyone, okay?”

  He leaned back and cocked his head. “Of course not. It’s more fun torturing you privately.” But his eyes softened.

  I relaxed and bit into my pastry. “My sweet Lord,” I mumbled around a glob of creamy heaven. “What is this? It makes getting

  kidnapped totaly worth it.”

  “That, I believe, is caled a ‘semla.’ It’s made with marzipan.” He poured each of us a glass of champagne while I stuffed my

  mouth.

  “To staying alive,” he said after I swalowed. We clinked glasses and sipped.

  I made short work of the rest of the semla, and went for something with a hard chocolate shel on top next. “Oooh, this is even

  better!”

  “Yeah, yeah. The Swedes know their sweets. Now, here, try this. You need to eat something healthy.” He handed me a piece

  of hard bread topped with sliced hard-boiled egg and caviar.

  I looked at it skepticaly. “I dunnoh…”

  “Come on, cuz. If you don’t want eggs, try some roast beef or cheese. You can’t live on carbs alone.”

  “Bet I could,” I said. But I took the sandwich anyway, and even enjoyed it. The salty burst from the caviar was just the thing to

  top off al the sugar. “How can you eat so fast without spiling a crumb?” My own lap was littered with bits of bread crust, stray

  crumbles of cheese, and smears of fruity pastry filing.

  “Efficiency,” he said, wiping his mouth with a napkin that was stil as clean as when he started, except for a bit of whipped

  cream he’d wiped off my chin.

  I leaned back in my chair and groaned. “I ate too much.”

  He eyed the shambles in front of me. “You think?”

  “Yeah, and I’d do it again.” I tossed my wel-adorned napkin at him, stretched my arms high over my head, and sighed. “You

  know what would make the evening complete?”

  He grinned devilishly. “Raspberries for dessert?”

  “Ha-ha. Aren’t you funny. Guess again.”

  “A foot massage folowed by eight solid hours of sleep?”

  “Mmm … you read my mind.”

  “Sorry. Al you’re going to get is a few hours of shut-eye, sans massage. I’m going out for a bit. I’l try to contact Mark from a

  public phone somewhere—they can’t have al of them tapped.”

  I pushed myself away from the table. “I’l come with you. Mark might have questions for me.”

  “Nothing that can’t wait a while. You need to rest.”

  “No. Trey’s stil in danger. Somebody tried to shoot me—no teling what they’l try to do t
o him. And speaking of the shooting,

  the police wil probably want to talk to me.”

  “Mina has already given al the information required to the nice officer in the lobby.”

  “So that’s where you went. God, you’re handy.” I smiled gratefuly. I hadn’t realy wanted to face an interview with the local

  constabulary.

  “You’re welcome. But while I may seem omnipotent, I’m not actualy God.”

  I tried to give him an ego-withering look, but wound up laughing instead. “Go away.”

  “I wil. After you’re al tucked in.”

  I glanced at the bed, stil covered with trays of partialy eaten food. Al of a sudden I was too tired to move myself, much less

  al the debris, and maybe a tad queasy. “No, I’l just rest here for a second, and then we can go together.”

  He shook his head and snorted, then cleared the bed for me.

  “I said I was coming with you.”

  “Just lay down for an hour first—we can wait that long.” He would’ve carried me to the bed if I’d let him. As it was, he held on

  to my upper arm until I was ensconced up to my chin in the soft linens.

  “Don’t you leave without me,” I mumbled as my eyes shut. If he answered, I didn’t hear it.

  Chapter 18

  It was a tug-of-war, and I was puling for al I was worth. My fingers ached with the effort of holding on, but it was no good. I

  was losing.

  “Come on, Ciel. It’s time to wake up. Don’t make me get the ice.”

  Damn. I let go of the covers—unwilingly—and pried one eye open. Squinted up at Bily. Oh, yeah. I was no longer Mina. I

  was me. And Bily was himself, too. Black jeans, black T-shirt, black eyelashes surrounding his inky blue eyes. Why did he

  always have to flaunt his eyelashes at me?

  “Go away. You said I had an hour.” I reached behind me for the pilow and puled it over my head.

  “That was six hours ago. Sorry, but that’s al you get. We realy have to move now.”

  I pushed the pilow down to my waist. “I was out that long? Ugh. It feels like minutes.”

  “Yeah, wel, exhaustion wil do that to you. Not to mention the residual effects of whatever little drug cocktail the Vikings gave

  you.” He snagged my arm and puled me to a sitting position. “Up you go. Time to get dressed.” He reached for the belt of the

  robe I was stil mostly wearing and started to undo it.

  I slapped his hand away. “Hey, naked under there! Please.”

  “Okay, here’s the deal. Your clothes are on the bed beside you. I’l turn my back while you change. If you don’t accomplish

  that in two minutes, I’m doing it for you, modesty be damned. Starting … now.”

  Yawning, I contemplated my situation. I was normaly a fast dresser. Two minutes meant I could technicaly sneak in another

  forty-five seconds of sleep.

  “One minute, thirty seconds left.”

  Crap. Somebody was speeding up time. It wasn’t fair. Stil sitting, I dropped the robe from my shoulders and reached for the

  bra and panties Bily had provided, wondering briefly where they had come from but not awake enough to be overly curious. I

  was too used to him just happening to have whatever was needed at any given time. He’d always had a knack for procurement.

  The bra went on first—a lacy little pink number with good support. Not that my boobs needed a lot of support, except for

  maybe the moral variety. Stil, this scrap of skimpiness actualy made me look like a girl. I should let Bily do al my lingerie

  shopping. “Hey, how’d you know my bra size?”

  “I took a champagne glass with me. One minute.”

  Oh yeah. Right. No comment.

  Next, I slipped into the panties, which matched the bra in both laciness and skimpiness, with both legs at once, roling

  backward to bring them over my hips. Same routine with the jeans, which were too long—I was used to that with jeans—but fit

  wel enough otherwise. I automaticaly double-folded the leg bottoms into neat cuffs, and then went for the zipper.

  “Forty-five seconds.”

  “Button fly? You got me button fly? Hey, I should get extra time for that!”

  “Thirty.”

  I fumbled with the fastenings, my fingers tripping over themselves. “No freaking fair,” I mumbled.

  “Ten.”

  I skipped the top two brass irritants and grabbed the shirt. Thank goodness it was a pulover—

  “Five.”

  —a forest-green, scoop-neck tee. I hauled it over my head and yanked it down over my boobs.

  “Four-three-two-one,” Bily finished rapidly. “Ready or not…”

  He turned back to me with a devilish glint while I tried to shove my arms through the sleeves. “Not bad,” he said. “I didn’t see

  a thing. But you’re backward.”

  “Aargh.” I puled the sleeves back off, reached under the shirt from below, and twisted it around, al the while retaining

  coverage. “Three questions. A, what’s the sudden rush? B, where are we going? And C, why didn’t you wake me sooner?”

  “Taking those in reverse order, C, I tried to wake you an hour ago. You assured me—with wide-open eyes and utter sincerity

  —that you were conscious and capable, so I left to arrange transportation. B, you’l see when we get there. And A, the police

  were caled away to referee a jousting dispute, leaving the hotel unguarded. I’d like to be gone before the Vikings send

  reinforcements.”

  I finaly finished buttoning my jeans. “Oh. Wel, C, sorry. You know I can’t be trusted where sleep is concerned.” I paused to

  glare at him. “B, I don’t like surprises. And A, give me some shoes so we can get the hel out of here already.”

  He had already checked out as whoever he’d checked in as, which was anybody’s guess, so as soon as my shoes were tied I

  grabbed the smaler of two backpacks that Bily had dropped on the bed. We left through an inconspicuous back exit, and

  mingled with the hordes of festival revelers cluttering the cobbled road. Jostled by the foot traffic, we passed stal after stal of

  crafts, clothing, and food.

  The smel of roasting meat wafting through the air made my mouth water. After the spread I’d plowed through back at the hotel

  I thought I’d never want to eat again, but apparently my stomach disagreed. It cried out for a turkey leg and a tankard of ale, but

  Bily refused to be sidetracked by my need for sustenance. At the first corner he took the lead and steered us upstream against an

  onrush of medievaly clad incomers to the city.

  “I’m feeling a little underdressed,” I remarked, loudly enough for Bily to hear over the clamor.

  “Don’t worry, we won’t be here long. There’s the way out. Step lively, cuz.” We approached one of the gates in the wal.

  As luck would have it—my luck, anyway—coming through the gate, dressed authenticaly as Viking warriors, were Nils, Per,

  and the Indian. Shit. Granted, Nonto didn’t look as much like a real Viking as the other two, but he was no more out of place than

  the Japanese shutterbugs crowned with horned helmets who had come in ahead of him. Per had one hel of a bump on his

  forehead, and two black eyes blossoming beneath it. Mina probably wasn’t his favorite person in the world at the moment. I dug

  in my heels and puled Bily back to me.

  “What?” he said, clearly annoyed to be stopped.

  “There,” I whispered urgently, jerking my head toward the trio. “That’s them.”

  Bily turned boldly toward them and stared. “That’s who?”

  Nils and Per were scanning the street, looking for something or (gulp) someone. Per’s eyes passed over me without wavering,

  but something about me gave
Nils pause.

  I stepped behind Bily, instinctively trying to hide. “Them,” I said. “The ones who kidnapped me. No, don’t look.”

  He dragged me out to his side, slung an arm over my shoulders, and bent down to kiss my cheek. While he was eye level, he

  whispered, “Relax. You’re not Mina anymore. They can’t possibly recognize you.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I shrugged. “Reflex. Guess I’m a little jumpy.”

  He straightened and went back to openly watching my kidnappers. Each of them carried an animal skin bundle. They were too

  careful with them, not alowing them to bump anyone, which seemed a little odd. I wondered what was so special about—

  Crap.

  I remembered the snatches of conversation I’d overheard on the plane. “They’re going to bomb the town.”

  “What are you talking about? Why would they do that?”

  “I don’t know, but I heard them talking about it on the plane, and they definitely said something about a bomb. I’m sure of it.”

  “And you’re just now teling me this? Jesus, Ciel!”

  “Wel, I didn’t think of it before, what with escaping and running for my life and al. Sue me.”

  “You could’ve said something back at the hotel. I would’ve hauled your ass away from this island as soon as I found you.”

  “That’s your fault—you got me distracted with al that food, and then I was too sleepy to think straight, and—”

  “Al right, al right. Calm down. And come on.”

  I puled him to a stop. “Wait! They’re headed into the town center—we have to folow them, see what they’re up to—”

  “I’l get back after them once you’re safely out of here.”

  “That might be too late. I told you, they might have a frickin’ bomb. We have to stop them.”

  “And how do you propose we do that? There are three of them and only two”—he looked down at me—“one and a half of

  us.”

  “I don’t know! But we have to at least see where they’re going. Come on.” I took off, puling Bily behind me.

  The Vikings turned a corner a block ahead of us, disappearing down a narrow roadway lined with houses covered in climbing

  roses. When I rounded the bend, I stopped short, and Bily plowed into the back of me. The Vikings had come to a halt and were