by Donna Fasano
Fascinated, Vanja leaned in. "What did it say?”
Joanne remembered how difficult it had been for her grandmother to read the file when they’d finally received it. How she’d cried over that memo for hours. Joanne had read it so many times she had it memorized.
"It said, ‘On October 15, 1956, pilot Robert Grant’s twin-engine plane dropped off radar while returning from the Soviet Kola Peninsula. His mission, to pick up a KGB defector, had been successful. The plane was over the northern Swedo-Finnish border, close to the village of Karesuomi, when it went down. Neither man survived.’”
Vanja shook her head. "So sad.”
Joanne slowly stirred her coffee. "Ever since, I've been thinking about coming here to find him. I want to take his remains home. It would mean so much to my grandmother.”
“She must have loved him very much, if she’s still grieving after all this time.”
“Yes. She did. Life wasn’t easy for her after he died. She was pregnant, you see. People talked…” Joanne grimaced. “But despite that, she’s never forgotten him.” Much to the chagrin of Joanne’s mother.
“Then you simply must find him.” Vanja reached for another pastry as she beetled her brow in thought. "I've never heard of any old plane wrecks lying about the countryside, or even about a crash during that time. But I guess you could try the obvious and check out the cemetery first. The old one by the church in the Lower Village.”
Joanne perked up. "That's a great idea. It would be wonderful if it turned out to be that easy.”
Vanja tore off a corner of pastry and gestured with it. "In case that doesn't work out, I can think of two people who might be able to help. One is Eva Lundqvist, a retired lady who lives just outside the village. She knows everyone within five hundred kilometers, and she loves to reminisce.”
Joanne was elated. Maybe she really could find him! "Who's the other person?”
Vanja smiled ironically. "Well, as a matter of fact, it's Leif's father, my Uncle Harry.”
Joanne heard a deep, by now familiar voice behind her. "What about my father?”
A trickle of those unwelcome sensations jumped in her stomach when she turned and saw Leif. His hair was tousled about his handsome face as he leaned over and braced his hands on the chair next to hers. He was wearing rough navy blue uniform pants that hugged his long legs. A white cotton shirt pinned with a silver badge stretched over shoulders and biceps muscular enough to wrestle a polar bear and win.
Good lord. It should be illegal for Customs officers to look this good.
Vanja told him, "Joanne was hoping Uncle Harry could help her locate her grandfather.”
"Your grandfather? Where is he?" Leif lifted a chair and spun it around, then straddled it. "You didn't mention you had family here.”
As she listened to his wonderfully melodious voice, a thin ribbon of heat stole through her body. Just the strong coffee, she told herself as she briefly explained about Robert Grant and her intent to find his crash site and remains.
"What was he doing way up here?" Leif reached over and ran a cheese slicer over a brick of fragrant white cheese. "Wouldn’t it have been easier to get a Soviet defector out through Berlin, or somewhere less remote than Kola?" He folded the paper-thin slice and popped it into his mouth, chewing lazily. After swallowing, his tongue moistened his lower lip.
She dragged her gaze away. "Um, no clue."
She tried to ignore the tantalizing scent of his aftershave, and forced herself not to think of him leaning over a sink, slapping it on his newly shaven cheeks, with only a towel wrapped around his naked hips.
“But he crashed around here?”
She nodded, fanning herself lightly with the breakfast menu card. "Nobody knows exactly where, but I hope to find out, and bring him home.”
Leif followed her card-fanning with a curious expression. “Vanja’s right. My dad knows a lot about local history. During WWII, his father was in intelligence and the underground, helping the Allies, and I’ve always suspected my dad continued the family tradition. My guess is he moonlighted for the security service for most of his career. If anyone can help you, he can.”
"That's really terrific." Realizing what she was doing, she snapped the menu back into its holder. "When do you think I might be able to talk to him?”
"Ah," Leif said, nodding thanks to Gunilla who had brought him coffee with a flirtatious wink. "Unfortunately, my parents are away at the moment."
Well, didn’t that just figure. The deflating news temporarily distracted her from being distracted by Leif. "When will they be back?" She prayed it wasn't after her short vacation was over.
"Midsummer, I think. They've been traveling in China for a few weeks." He rolled his eyes eloquently. "Birdwatching. I have their travel itinerary at home. I'll tell you what." He glanced at his watch. "I have to get to work now, but I can drop by their house on the way and check.”
He stood, drained his coffee, and flipped the chair back around. "If you want to drive over to the hut later this morning I can let you know the exact date they’ll be back.”
With that, he was gone.
Joanne frowned. She hated how he got her all worked up and then just disappeared. It was like being doused with cold water after a warm, sensual sauna.
On the other hand, a cold shower might be just what she needed. Good grief, the man had her insides doing somersaults.
She really did have to get a serious grip. Think about her grandfather instead.
"The hut?" she hastened to ask when she caught Vanja regarding her with amusement.
"The Customs hut." The other woman turned and watched with a smile as Leif sauntered out the door. "The river is Sweden’s border with Finland. The hut is in the middle of the bridge." Vanja turned back and assumed a businesslike air. "Now, tell me. What are your plans for the day?”
Chapter 7
The village of Karesuomi was arranged along the main road—a few stores, the post office, and a gas station clustered around one cross street. A handful of stately old homes, painted in traditional white or blood red, held court between the many contemporary dwellings designed more with practicality in mind.
A large river wended its way just beyond the line of structures. On its far bank lay Finland. A bridge spanned the river, on which a small structure had been built between the two lanes of the road. Joanne peered at it through the window of her newly repaired rental car.
That must be the place. The Customs hut.
It was a couple of hours after breakfast, so she expected Leif would be there, hard at work doing whatever chiefs of Customs did.
She drew up her courage, got out, and walked to the hut. A young man with curly blond hair stood leisurely in the doorway. Another young man with dark hair was inside, leaning back in a comfortable-looking chair.
Leif was, naturally, nowhere to be seen.
She returned the blond’s smile of welcome. "Hi. I'm here to see Leif Adel.”
The man's eyes took on a glint of curiosity, and he said in accented English, "He's not here at the moment.”
Her smile withered. "He's not?”
"He went over to the Midsummer Festival site."
"Checking for contraband materials, no doubt," said the dark-haired man from inside. They both snickered with amusement.
Joanne frowned in annoyance. "He asked me to drop by this morning.”
The blond man's brows shot to his scalp. "Really?”
She pursed her lips warily, reacting to the surprise in his voice. "Yes, we have...business together.”
The young man’s scrutiny was thorough, assessing, and not at all unfavorable. His grin slowly returned. "Is that so?”
She shifted uncomfortably. What the hell was wrong with this guy? "Yes. Where can I—”
"What kind of business?” the blond man interrupted. “I don't recall the boss mentioning any visiting American Customs people." He leaned a shoulder against the door jamb and cocked his head expectantly. The man inside tilted
back in his chair, catching her in his sights through the open door.
“I…” She folded her arms against her middle and took a small step back. "It's personal.”
A look of astonishment passed over the man’s face, but it was quickly replaced with what could only be described as glee. He curled his body backward around the door frame and called to the other man, "Hey, Håkan, this lady has personal business with the boss. Did he mention anything about it to you?”
The dark-haired man—Håkan—jumped up, and his equally astonished face popped out from the door of the hut. "No, Ingvar, he didn't." He gave her the once over, twice. "And it’s not like the boss to conduct personal business at the hut.”
The blond—Ingvar—sniffed. "It’s not like him to conduct personal business anywhere." His eyes met hers, narrowing with doubt. "Are you sure it's Leif Adel you're looking for?” He seemed nothing less than stunned that a woman would be looking for Customs Chief Adel.
Surely, it couldn't be that unusual.
Although, what was that Vanja had said about Leif avoiding women since his divorce...? Still, this was different. She wasn’t after him, she was after the information he’d promised her.
She tapped her foot impatiently. "Yes, I'm sure. Where can I find this festival site you talked about?”
Håkan sidled out of the hut and leaned his back against the wall. He looked at her reverently, and jerked his thumb the opposite dierction from the village. "It's just a few kilometers down the road. On the left. Can't miss it." He stuffed his hands in his pockets.
Håkan and Ingvar turned to each other, grinning like hyenas.
Håkan licked a finger and touched it to Ingvar's arm, imitating the sound of water sizzling on a grill. "Oooh, baby.”
Joanne glanced nervously from one to the other. Obviously lunatics. That was the only explanation for their weird behavior.
"Thanks." She turned and started back to her car.
Ingvar called after her, "Say, what's your name? So we can tell the boss you stopped by.”
She called back over her shoulder. “Joanne Fager.”
As she walked away, she heard Ingvar clap his friend on the shoulder. "Håkan, ol' pal, I think things around here just got a whole lot more interesting.”
Chapter 8
Joanne dismissed the incident at the hut with a shake of her head, and turned the car in the direction they’d given her for the Midsummer Festival site.
She easily found the picturesque grounds. The acre or so of lush wildflower meadowland lay just in from the road, bordered by green woods and, at the far side, the river. There were workers everywhere. Saws and hammers were flying as carpenters built a dance floor, a stage, booths, and a covered area with tables and chairs. In the middle of everything stood a half-decorated maypole. Somewhere, a radio was playing.
She approached a group of burly workers. "I'm looking for Customs Chief Adel. Is he here?”
They all glanced up at her in unison. Her nerve started to falter as their grins grew larger.
Lord, it was déjà vu all over again.
"Why you want Leif when so many other very handsome man here?" called one particularly massive specimen.
She forced a strained smile. "No, I really need Leif."
Immediately, she regretted her poor choice of words when the group erupted into gales of laughter. "Lucky Leif! She need him bad!”
She felt a light touch on her shoulder and she jumped.
"In that case, let me take you away from all these barbarians." Leif's voice was music to her ears. To her relief, he took her arm and pulled her away.
"You change your mind, we are here," one of the group shouted after them with a laugh.
"Don't count on it," Leif called back at them good-naturedly. "The lady obviously has excellent taste.”
After a few steps he let go of her arm. Even so, the air between them thrummed with awareness as they walked, especially when he moved closer. Her body tingled in anticipation of a brush from his hand, or his thigh. It felt...almost electric.
She was so tempted to explore these unfamiliar, exciting feelings.
But that would be crazy. She was leaving in a week.
Besides, he wasn’t interested. Both he and Vanja had made that clear.
"Don't mind them," Leif said, jamming his hands in his pockets as they strolled toward the river. "They really are good guys. They're just getting into the Midsummer spirit.”
She darted him a quick glance. "And what, exactly, is the Midsummer spirit?”
His eyes sparkled disconcertingly as he met her gaze. "Romance.”
She’d had to ask.
She chuckled nervously. "So much for the famous Swedish reserve I’m always hearing about."
"That's southern Swedes," Leif replied with a smile. "Up here, we have way too much rowdy Finnish blood in us to be shy about such things. Besides, there are too many cold, dark days and nights this far north not to take full advantage of the few warm, bright ones we can enjoy." He winked.
"No kidding they’re bright," she murmured dizzily, her insides spinning from the sensual punch that wink had packed. "I spent two hours last night tossing and turning, trying to get to sleep, before I found the roll-down blackout shade.”
His laugh echoed softly against the trees and boulders surrounding the path. "It’s true, the midnight sun can be blinding for someone who’s not used to it.”
She took in his handsome profile silhouetted against the lush, green forest, and wondered what it might be like to toss and turn with him during the long summer nights...
His gaze lingered caressingly on her face, as if reading her thoughts. Warmth crept over her cheeks and collarbone. Flustered, she looked away.
After a moment, he bent to pick a yellow wildflower growing next to the path.
"Tell me about the Midsummer Festival," she said, desperate to change the direction of her thoughts.
He turned back to her, his face unreadable. "Well, it's celebrated on the twenty-second of June all over Scandinavia." He twirled the flower between his fingers. "That's the longest day of the year. There's dancing and eating and drinking—the usual holiday stuff.”
"Sounds fun.” It did sound fun. It hadn’t been deliberate, but she was really glad her visit coincided with the holiday.
"Midsummer is really special to us.” He shrugged. “As I said, our winters are so dark and dreary, you can imagine how much we love having the sun up day and night for this short time.”
“I’ll bet.”
She strolled up to the wide, green river, and he followed. The placid waters flowed slowly past the stretch of sandy beach where they stopped. The air smelled of fertile earth and sun-warmed water.
He peered at the flower he held, then, for a brief moment he studied the buttonholes running down the front of her dress. A prick of disappointment sifted through her when he abruptly turned away.
She skimmed her gaze over the lazy surface of the river. "What a lovely spot. The wildflowers, the river—it's all so perfect. So peaceful and inviting.”
Leif threw her a dark, brooding look. "It seems calm, but that's deceptive. Under the surface the current is powerful. It’s more treacherous than you think.”
She was taken aback. "How could anything so beautiful be treacherous?”
He took a step toward the water. "Several years ago, two lovers were swimming off this very beach. They ventured out too far, and were swept away and drowned.”
"That's terrible." She frowned, and suddenly had a niggling feeling this conversation held some hidden meaning she wasn’t aware of.
"North of the Arctic Circle, things are wild and unpredictable," he said, regarding her closely, his eyes glittering darkly. "You'd do well to keep that in mind." With that, he flung the yellow flower he was holding into the river.
"I…" Watching the fragile blossom be swept downstream, she was suddenly filled with unease. A chill shivered down her spine. “I will.”
He stepped toward her, hi
s threatening expression shifting to concern, the moodiness of the moment before gone as quickly as it had appeared. "What's wrong?" He laid his hand lightly on her arm. "You're trembling.”
She shook off the weird feeling. "Nothing. Just being silly." She grimaced. "Those poor people.”
He stepped even closer. So close, she could feel the powerful pull of his body—strong, irresistible, like a magnet of flesh and blood. She tilted her face up and his ice-blue eyes drilled down into hers. Her pulse raced.
And for one horrible, unbearable, wonderful moment she thought he would cross the three million miles between them and press his lips to hers.
Chapter 9
Leif barely caught himself in time.
He’d been within a millimeter of kissing Joanne Fager.
Helvete. Bloody hell. What the devil was happening to him? He stared at her, horrified.
Earlier, when he ‘d found her surrounded by those men teasing her in a blatantly sexual way, he had wanted to charge in swinging. It wasn’t as if he had never been jealous before—quite the opposite. He tended to get possessive when he felt his territory threatened. But feeling jealous over a woman...it had been a long time.
A very long time.
This was insane. He'd known Joanne Fager less than twenty-four hours, for chrissake. His body’s reaction to her was only a bad case of his hormones rousing from their lengthy hibernation. Like an awakening grizzly, they were proving to be short-tempered and voraciously hungry.
For her.
He took a deep, calming breath.
He just needed to release this physical need. This enormous, throbbing, physical need. Then he’d be able to think straight again...without visions of bare skin and full-body kisses intruding on his thoughts.
If only he could take her somewhere and get her naked. Just once.
He stole a look at her soft, pleasing curves.
