by Donna Fasano
Okay. Maybe it would take more than once. He hadn’t been with a woman for a couple of years, after all.
He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling heat rise from his collar.
Unbidden, an image came to him of how it would be after they made love. He'd be wrapped in her arms, their bodies glistening and hearts pounding, surrounded by an aura of tenderness and satisfaction. They would gaze lovingly at each other, and—
He popped his eyes open in panic, suddenly shaken to the bone. He was not imagining the act itself, the hot frenzied sex, their sweating bodies joined in a desperate search for pleasure and physical release. Instead, his mind was seeing the warm aftermath, filled with emotions and contentment, two people having given their souls to each other and become as one.
Helvetes djävlar. Oh, hells no. No fucking way.
That was not going to happen.
Not a chance he would let himself become emotionally involved with this woman.
With any woman.
That she was causing such cravings within him was dangerous. She was dangerous.
This whole damned situation was dangerous.
She was soft. She wasn't from up here, from the far north. She wasn't even from Sweden, for fuck sake!
He had to get hold of himself. He could not even think about starting a relationship that would only end in a heart-wrenching breakup. He couldn't take it. Not a second time.
With an iron will, he commanded his body to stop its fevered aching, and mercilessly shut down the longing in his heart.
Because a bad ending was inevitable. He knew that.
No matter how loudly his hormones protested.
Chapter 10
To Joanne, it seemed like an eternity came and went as Leif towered over her, hovering on the brink of a kiss. She could feel his ragged breath on her eyelids, could taste his dusky scent through parted lips.
Then, like a flipped switch, his expression changed from heated arousal to a chilly blank.
He dropped her arm. "You'll be okay. Just stay out of the river and you'll be safe.”
There wasn’t a doubt in her mind they were no longer talking about tourists drowning.
She stepped back, tearing herself from the virile, masculine aura that held her with such power. She felt brutally disappointed, and yet endlessly grateful.
Saved from her own folly.
"Don't worry," she managed to choke out. "I have no intention of getting in over my head."
She turned away and started walking briskly back toward her rental car.
It didn’t take him more than three long strides to catch up.
"I checked on my parents' schedule," he said evenly, as if the last few minutes had never happened. "They'll be back the day before Midsummer.”
She forcibly dragged her mind back to the reason she was here.
"I'm afraid that’ll probably be too late to help me. I’m only here for a week, so I have to start looking for my grandfather’s remains right away." She clamped down on her frustration, both physical and mental, and gathered her wits. She recalled her conversation that morning with Leif’s cousin. "Vanja mentioned an Eva Lundqvist who might know something. I guess I'll talk to her and hope she remembers the incident.”
Leif gave a nod. "Good idea. If a plane went down around here, I'm certain she will have heard about it."
They reached Joanne’s car, and she clutched the keys in her hand. "I hope so. I’m determined not to let my grandmother down."
He took them from her, unlocked the driver’s side door, and opened it for her. “Bringing your grandfather home means a lot to her. To both of you.” His expression was rife with understanding.
“Yes.” Joanne blinked against a sudden tightness in her throat. “Yes, it would.”
Leif hesitated while she pulled herself together, then he said, "I have the day off tomorrow. Why don't we go and see Eva together?”
"Really?" After a jolt of surprise, Joanne’s hopes soared. She was thankful for the moral support he was offering...not to mention his language skills. Who knew if Eva Lundqvist even spoke English? At least, that’s what she told herself... "Oh, Leif, it would be such a help if you could come with me.”
He handed her the car keys. "Not so sure about that, but I’m happy to come along. Your story's got me curious.”
“Thanks.” He didn’t exactly look overjoyed by the prospect, but she wasn’t about to question his motives for wanting to go with her.
Because then she’d have to question her own motives for wanting him along.
One week, she reminded herself. One week, and she’d be gone.
Chapter 11
Back at the hotel, Joanne glanced at her watch. There were still several hours until dinnertime, and she didn't want to waste them. She decided to check out the old cemetery in Lower Karesuomi, as Vanja had suggested.
The road from the hotel wound down a gentle slope of glacial moraine until it reached the small village. The church wasn't hard to find. It was an old, weathered, unornamented stone structure with a tall wooden steeple. It looked as if it could have been standing there since the Viking Age...if the Vikings had been Christian. On a picturesque rise verlooking the river, the cemetery sat behind the church, surrounded by a wrought iron fence, the grave markers interspersed with colorful flowering shrubs.
It really was a breathtakingly beautiful setting. If her grandfather was buried here, she would have a hard time taking him away from this tranquil resting place.
As she wandered among the old headstones, a breeze bent the branches of small, ancient trees and whispered through the tall grass. She made her way between the long rows of stone markers, searching each one for the name Robert Grant.
Rounding the last row, she stopped to rest on a stone bench that had been worn smooth with use, admiring a particularly pretty granite headstone. The top of it was sculpted with two intertwined doves, clearly depicting the emotions of the grave’s occupants for one another. She felt a twinge of longing. How in love the husband and wife must have been to select such a poignant memorial.
Sighing, she rose and turned. But her sigh instantly shifted to a terrified gasp. A man was standing right behind her—a tall man with wild gray hair, dressed completely in black.
She leapt backward, nearly tumbling over the grave marker. Had the Saab creeps returned?
The man reached out and grabbed her arm. "Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you,” he said in passable English. “I'm not a ghost. Honest." An apologetic smile jumped to his face.
Words failed her. She gaped. No, not a ghost. And, thank God, not one of the creeps, either, she saw with a closer look.
Unless he was reinforcements...
"I'm Torsten Sigurdsson," said the man in black. "The minister.”
She exhaled, relief flooding over her. Of course. "Reverend Sigurdsson, I’m so glad to meet you." She extended her hand and introduced herself. At his curious expression, she gestured to the headstones. "I'm looking for my grandfather.”
"Ah." He pointed a forefinger heavenward. "There's a much easier way. Come with me.”
A few minutes later, Reverend Sigurdsson gave a final tap on the keys of his office computer, and scrolled down a list of names. "I’m sorry, he's not here." He tipped his squeaky chair back as far as it would go, and peered at Joanne over his delightfully old-fashioned horn-rimmed glasses. "The next question is, is he supposed to be here?”
Joanne laughed. The reverend might be a bit strange, but he was charming and had a great sense of humor. "I don't think you've lost one of your tenants, if that's what you're worried about.” She pushed out a breath. “To be honest, I don't know where he's supposed to be. That's what I'm here in Sweden to find out.”
The Reverend squeaked forward with a gleam of anticipation in his eyes. "Ja-ha, a mystery. Toppen! I do love a good puzzle. Tell me all about it.”
Joanne's words echoed softly through the hush of the rectory as she told him the story.
When she was done, the
Reverend leaned his steepled hands against his chin. "It seems to me this shouldn't be too difficult. If Robert Grant is buried in Sweden, there will certainly be a record of it. The Swedish civil bureaucracy is nothing if not meticulous." He pursed his lips. "And if he's buried in Finland, I have friends across the river I'm sure will track down the information for us.”
Hope surged through her. “That’s great!”
“What about this Russian defector he picked up? Is his grave site known? We could start there.”
She shook her head. One of the documents in the files was a report on what had happened to him. “Unfortunately, not an option. He was an important defector, so the CIA wanted to keep his death a secret, for leverage I suppose. His remains couldn’t go back to the Soviet Union, and the U.S. didn’t want them, so the body was donated to science here in Sweden.”
“Interesting. But you’re right. Not terribly helpful.”
"How long do you think it will take you to find out anything?" she asked.
"Oh, I should have some answers by tomorrow afternoon.”
“So soon?” She couldn't believe her luck. "That's awesome!”
Reverend Sigurdsson patted his computer monitor and smiled. "The wonders of modern technology." Then he added with a grin, "And the advantage of having a completely uneventful parish.”
Chapter 12
"A bullet?”
Leif looked incredulously at Bo, the young garage mechanic who had changed the tire on Joanne's rental car earlier that morning. Bo had called Leif, suspecting his odd discovery might be important. He’d been right.
But Leif still couldn’t believe it. "You've got to be kidding."
Bo nodded toward the tire. "See for yourself.”
Sure enough, cradled in the curve of Joanne's flat, discarded tire was a spent, slightly grooved bullet. From some kind of hunting rifle, judging by the caliber.
A goddamn bullet!
"And you’re absolutely positive there's no mistake? This was what caused the blowout?”
Bo nodded his head grimly. "Looks like someone deliberately shot out the tire. It was pure luck the car didn’t swerve out of control and kill the driver.”
Leif didn’t even want to think about the implications of that.
But he had think about it, and quickly. And decide what to do about it.
"Thanks, Bo. Do me a favor and put the whole thing under lock and key? I’ll need to report this, and the police will want to collect it all as evidence. And please, keep it confidential for now, okay?”
“Sure thing, Leif.”
Leif strode to the Landcruiser, his mind spinning. Who could have done this? The two Eastern Europeans in the black Saab?
More important, why had someone done it?
It was one thing to threaten a lone woman on a deserted road...but if Bo was right about the tire-shooting being deliberate, this incident went beyond even that sick scenario. There were all sorts of possible explanations. Each one more sinister than the last.
Had the shooter been aiming at the tire...or at Joanne herself?
Leif didn't know what the hell was going on, but he damn well intended to find out.
Beginning with those two men.
He'd have to call his good friend Pelle Nilsson, a chief inspector with the National Police in the state capital of Kiruna. Pelle should be able to get a bead on who those two shady characters were. With any luck, the Saab’s license plate could be traced via the traffic cams that dotted the highways and main intersections, and the men’s identities obtained from the DMV or a car rental agreement.
It was a place to start, anyway.
~*~
Because cell phone reception was chronically unreliable in this part of the country, Leif quickly drove back to the Customs hut to make his calls from a land line. After he hung up the phone with Eva Lundqvist, arranging a time for him and Joanne to chat with her tomorrow, he punched in the number for police headquarters in Kiruna.
"Chief Inspector Nilsson.”
"Pelle, I've got a problem." Leif skipped the preliminaries, unnecessary between lifelong friends, and ran the situation with Joanne by him. “Can you send someone from CSI to collect the evidence?”
“Sure. I can have someone up there by tomorrow.”
“Will you need her to give a statement?”
Pelle considered. “Not yet. Let’s do a little investigating first. Bloody hell, Leif, what is that woman up to that's making someone take pot-shots at her?”
Leif leaned back in his swivel chair. "Looking for her grandfather's remains in a sixty-year-old plane crash isn't exactly the usual tourist activity, but it's hard to imagine anyone shooting her over it.”
They both contemplated possibilities. Pelle said, “Could she be involved in some kind of smuggling and the grandfather thing just be a cover? Karesuomi is right on the border...”
Leif propped his scruffy boots on a corner of his desk. "I suppose it's possible. But she doesn't strike me as the smuggling type. Her search seems legit. She’s got government files, and everything. Or so she claims.”
"What about industrial espionage? You've still got the Mercedes Benz techs up there road-testing their new prototype, don't you?”
"Sure. They're here every summer.”
"And didn’t you say she’s from Detroit?”
Leif thought about it for a moment. "Yeah, but she hasn't said a word about cars, or asked any suspicious questions. No mention of seeing the Mercedes prototype—and it's not like it’s hard to miss, driving around looking like a big gray whale. It must cruise through the village three or four times a day.”
Pelle gave a non-committal grunt.
"Besides, if she was up to something nefarious, I'd know it. You can read that pretty face of hers like a damn book.”
There was a meaningful pause as Pelle digested that little tidbit.
Oops.
"I see.”
Leif cleared his throat. "Anyway. Can you light a fire under Traffic and Motor Vehicles about the Saab?”
"Sure. I'll get the plate number and track down all the info I can find on those two bastards. Shooting at a tourist warrants a full investigation." Pelle made approving noises. "It'll make a nice change from DUIs and reindeer rustling.”
Leif chuckled. "Ah, the glamour of being a chief inspector.” He sobered. “I suppose I'll have to inform the local constabulary.”
"Niall Södergren?" Pelle snorted derisively. "The man’s incompetent. Besides, if I had my sights on a cute tourist lady, I wouldn't let Niall get within ten kilometers of her.”
Leif was silent for a moment, not knowing which remark to address first. Despite Niall’s somewhat casual attitude toward his job, and his tendency to use his uniform to all and sundry advantage—especially with women—Leif liked the middle-aged cop. After all, the guy wasn’t entirely to blame. Niall had come by his bad attitude honestly, following in his asshole father’s footsteps. Leif figured one should be tolerant.
Pelle didn't.
It was an old argument. Leif decided to skip it this time and address the more pressing issue. "I don't have my sights on any tourist lady, cute or otherwise.”
"Uh-huh.”
Leif felt his jaw tighten. "You know how I feel about women.”
"Yep.”
"Joanne Fager is not from up here. She knows nothing about what it's like to live north of the Arctic Circle.”
"Uh-huh.”
"I have no interest in her, or any other woman. You know that.”
"Yep.”
"Well, then,” Leif said, glad to have that cleared up.
"Okay, so she's got her sights on you.”
Leif groaned through gritted teeth.
"Dude. Just play along. Who knows? You might even enjoy yourself.”
"Good-bye, Pelle”
Leif pressed the bridge of his nose between two fingers as he barely resisted slamming the phone down. Pelle meant well. He knew that. But his friend’s uncanny ability to sense things that
even Leif didn't see was damned annoying.
Scowling, he picked up the phone again for one last call—to the Swedish State Department in Stockholm. He had an idea.
He wanted to be assigned to help Joanne in an official capacity. Accompanying her on her search, it would be a lot easier to figure out if there was something suspicious going on along his border. If he could interest the State Department sufficiently in her mission to find her grandfather’s remains, he just might get the nod.
In which case, it would be much easier to keep an eye on her, too.
Just to keep her safe.
Nothing else.
Definitely not for any other, more personal, reasons.
Chapter 13
As soon as he walked into the Hjortron's lobby that evening, Leif spotted Joanne curled up on a cozy easy chair in a corner of the sitting room, her nose buried in the evening paper. Tentatively, he steered his feet in her direction. He really should tell her about the bullet in her tire. Warn her to stay alert. He still wasn’t even close to being convinced she was in any danger, that it wasn’t just some random kid trying out a new hunting rifle, or something equally innocuous. Even so, she really should be informed.
But looking at her, so pretty and sweet, all those unwanted, inappropriate feelings he had every time he looked at her surged up again and he lost his nerve. Joanne Fager was a temptation he needed to resist.
At the last minute he veered off and headed for Vanja's office instead.
She looked up in surprise as he plunked down in her visitor's chair. "Why, hello, cousin. What's up?" Her face didn't crack. "Or was that poor phrasing?”
He made a face at her. "You're a riot, Vanja." He leaned his head against the high back of the chair.
She typed few more words on her computer’s keyboard. "Is there a purpose to this visit, or are you just dropping by to shoot the breeze?”
"Nope. Just in the neighborhood. Thought I might mooch a cup of coffee.”
