by Donna Fasano
Frantically, she patted herself down. But all she had was her rucksack and its meager supplies.
She glanced at the nearby bush, then back at the backpack, then desperately back at the bush.
Maybe...
She grasped the straps firmly, and slung it toward the stubby bush. It took three tries, but at last it caught solidly around the base of the slender trunk.
Inch by tortuous inch, she hauled herself up, fervently praying the whole time the stem wouldn’t snap.
By the time she had dragged herself out, clinging to the bush like a limpet, she was covered in muck and her hands and knees were raw.
But thank God. She was alive.
Probably not for long, though. When Leif found out about this, he’d no doubt kill her himself. Or lock her in her hotel room and throw away the key.
She started shaking, tears of relief trickling down her muddy face.
She should have listened to him. Or at least brought someone along who knew about bogs. And quicksand.
Quicksand. Holy hell. She didn’t even want to think about what could have happened.
What almost did happen.
Murderous secret agents were looking less frightening by the minute.
Exhausted and trembling from the adrenaline crash, she collapsed against a large rock to calm down. After crying a little, sending up a profound prayer of thanks, and downing her two candy bars and a whole bottle of water, she had recovered somewhat.
That was when a surge of anger pushed out her residual fear. With a curse, she swiped up the map and glared at it. Of all the stupid practical jokes. She could have died!
Shuddering out a final sob, she tossed a couple of loose rocks down into the quicksand and watched them sink, her mind spinning.
She hated to admit it, but Leif might be right. Troubling things had been happening to her ever since coming to Karesuomi. Incidents where she could have ended up badly hurt. Or worse.
A lot worse.
Could someone actually want to harm her?
She still didn’t believe it was secret agents or spies. But was there really someone out there deliberately causing these accidents?
But why?
The only people who had been the least bit unfriendly since she’d arrived in Sweden were those two creeps in the Saab—the ones Leif had said were Hungarian secret police. But why on earth would they be trying to kill her? The whole idea was completely insane. She’d never had anything to do with Hungary, or anyone from Hungary.
It made no sense whatsoever.
Could it be a case of mistaken identity? Maybe they thought she was someone else?
Suddenly, she heard footsteps. Right behind her.
She leapt to her feet, terror instantly rocketing through her.
Omigod. Had they come to finish the job?
Chapter 33
Joanne whirled, ready to fight for her life.
And found herself staring down—way down—at two small, round faces with big smiles, curious dark eyes, and mops of coal black hair.
She blinked. And choked out a strangled laugh.
Saved!
By two pint-sized kids.
After a brief conversation consisting mostly of sign language and a lot of pointing, her small, sure-footed guides cheerfully led her across the bog, easily avoiding the treacherous soft patches and hidden hazards with as much confidence as two little rabbits. When they finally reached the road, Joanne did a quick map check, then steered them to her waiting car.
To her surprise, a police cruiser was parked a few yards away. Boot prints led off in the direction they'd just come from.
Strange...
How had they missed seeing the policeman?
And who had sent him?
Vanja must have read her note, gotten worried, and called the police to come out to make sure she got back safely. Although Joanne cringed at having caused her friend to worry, her heart also swelled a little. It was really nice of Vanja to be so concerned about her.
The mud on her clothes had dried by now, so she brushed off the worst and opened the car door for her two small rescuers. They directed her to the Midsummer Festival site, where they hopped out. After taking a couple of selfies with them against the bustling backdrop, she gave them each a big hug, and watched them scamper off.
The kids zeroed in on a man wielding a hammer at one of the booths, and ran toward him with open arms. He caught them up, and a moment later they were pointing at her and waving. She smiled and waved back, then headed back to her car.
All she wanted now was a long, hot shower.
Just as she was about to pull onto the main road, a Customs Landcruiser came barreling toward the village. Her heart leapt.
Leif!
She beeped her horn at him, slid out of the car, and waved him down.
He squinted at her through the windshield as he slowed going past. Her smile faltered at the hard, grim expression on his face. He looked furious.
As soon as he saw her, though, the fierce anxiety dissolved into relief.
Brakes squealed as he burned a U-turn, sending the man in the passenger seat sprawling.
The Landcruiser slammed to a halt and Leif bolted out. He stalked up to her. "What the hell did you think you were doing?”
Apparently, the relief had only been temporary. He was back to being furious.
“I, um—”
He grasped her by the arms and scowled down at her, his jaw clenching at the sight of her mud-caked clothes and scratched, bruised skin. He reached out and ran a hand over her zombie hair, testing the thick, stringy strands with his fingers. "Jesus. You look like fucking hell,” he gritted out.
Ho-boy.
She gave him her sweetest smile. “So nice of you to notice.” She swept her gaze pointedly over his tense body, pausing at the dark circles under his eyes, the rumpled T-shirt straining over his broad chest, and the torn, dirty jeans he had on. "You're looking awfully good, too, this morning.”
His shoulders bunched. "Don't change the subject.”
Okay, so humor wasn’t going to work.
He stepped back and stood with feet braced and his fists balled at his hips. She could practically see steam pouring from his ears. "I was out doing the job I was trained to do. You, on the other hand, were off taking a stroll through one of the worst quagmires in Sweden.”
Yep. He was angry, all right.
When she tried to explain, telling him about the map, he got even angrier.
His eyes narrowed and he spoke very, very quietly. That's when she got really worried.
"Why didn't you wait for me?”
She looked down at the ground, drawing circles in the dirt with her mud-caked shoe. She felt like a scolded child. Not that she didn’t deserve it. "I know I took a chance, but you weren't going to be back from your stakeout for absolute ever. I couldn't sit around all day doing nothing.”
She risked a glance up at him. He just glared back.
She wrapped her arms around herself in a defensive hug. "Leif, I only have five days left and I still haven't made any real progress in finding out what happened to my grandfather." She swallowed. "I thought if I could just locate the plane, we'd be that much closer to finding his grave. I was trying to help, honest. I didn’t think—” Misery sifted through her. “I guess I just didn’t think.”
At last, there was a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. "I get how you must be feeling frustrated.” Concern filled his expression. "But running off and getting stuck in quicksand is not the way to move things along.”
"I didn't get stuck,” she countered. “Well. Not for long, anyway." She swiped at a splotch of mud on her sleeve. "I've done a lot of hiking, and I'm pretty good with a map.” She lifted her chin. “Besides, I had somebody with me.”
His stance went rigid. "Who? Niall?”
She frowned. “Who?”
“Niall. The village constable. Vanja sent him out to look for you after she read your note.”
She n
odded. "Yes, a police car was parked by my rental car, but we never saw him.”
"So, who were you with?” Leif demanded.
She opened her mouth to answer, but realized she’d never asked. "Well, I don't exactly know their names, but they were—”
His eyes flared. "Wait. You went out on the moors with someone you didn't even know?" He was plainly horrified.
"I didn't really go with them, I met them when I was already out there. They were—”
"What?" Leif looked at her incredulously. "Didn't it seem odd—even to you—that first an anonymous note led you on a wild goose chase straight into quicksand, and then someone suddenly showed up to help?" Leif slapped his hand over his forehead. "I think I need to sit down.”
"No, you don’t understand. They were just kids.”
Again, he just stared at her.
"Sami kids. And they knew where they were going. It was okay." Then it struck her what he had said. “So...what? You don’t think the quicksand was an accident?”
"No, I don’t.”
Her heart stalled. True, she’d had the very same thought.
But somehow, it was a whole lot worse knowing Leif agreed.
Chapter 34
Joanne’s two small rescuers bounded up to them before she had a chance to question Leif further. The kids were followed at a more sedate pace by the man they’d run over to earlier, who’d been hammering at a booth. She assumed he was their father. The little boy was a dead ringer.
The dad looked like was in his thirties, a handsome man with distinctive features. He wore a low-waisted jacket that flared out below the hips, cobalt blue breeches, and pointy-toed Lapp boots—the traditional garb of the Sami people, which, she’d learned, was fairly unusual in this day and age. He looked quite regal, despite spoiling the effect somewhat by topping it off with a well-used baseball cap.
Leif and the man greeted each other warmly, obviously good friends. Leif introduced him to her as Jarmo, then the two men lapsed into a conversation in Finnish.
When Leif casually slipped an arm around her shoulders, she barely resisted the urge to lean against him. She turned slightly and fussed dried mud from her clothes, catching the eye of the little girl, who was hanging onto Jarmo's jacket. They grinned and made funny faces at each other when the two men weren't looking.
Leif's tone was mildly teasing as he spoke. She was glad she couldn’t understand the language. She was pretty sure their conversation was about her and what she’d been doing out there traipsing around in the quicksand. But after a few minutes, the exchange became more rapid-fire and Leif's eyes mirrored a new excitement.
When Jarmo finally bid them good-bye, Joanne couldn’t wait to hear what Leif had learned. It must be something good, judging by the way he swung her around and practically carried her to the car.
She laughed when he finally set her down. "So what did he say? I'm dying, here.”
"Oh, nothing much." Leif grinned. "Only that he knows where the plane is."
She gaped, shock spinning through her. "Are you serious?”
“Yep.”
She jumped into his arms with unbridled joy and hugged him tight. "Oh, my God, that’s great!" She grabbed his hand and dragged him toward her car. "Come on, let's go look!”
"Slow down a bit, there!" he said on a laugh, tugging her back to him. "Jarmo said he'd meet us when he gets off work this afternoon and show us the exact location." He smoothed a muddy lock of hair behind her ear. "I guess your misadventure on the moors paid off, after all.”
She gave him a big smile. “See? Not such a bad idea.”
“No. It was a terrible idea. You just got lucky,” he muttered, putting an arm around her as they walked to her car.
Speaking of lucky... She felt like she was walking on clouds. Not just because of the amazing news about the plane, but because this was the second time Leif had put his arm around her within a few minutes.
It felt so good, so right. Like they fit together perfectly.
Which made her start to second-guess her decision to turn him down for anything more...
Her pulse kicked up.
Did she dare change her mind? Risk her heart on a brief affair that was doomed from the start?
Or would she regret it for the rest of her life if she didn’t...?
She screwed up her courage, and when they reached the car, she turned to him. After a slight hesitation, she said, “It’s almost lunchtime. Want to join me at the hotel? I’d just need to take a shower first...”
His hand was still resting on her shoulder, his thumb caressing her neck. He puffed out a breath. “Yeah, I need one, too. And I could definitely use a bed.”
He was obviously dead-tired because she saw the second he belatedly realized what he’d said, and how it might be interpreted. His eyes went to hers and caught.
Instantly, her body reacted to the pull of electricity that arced between them.
She nibbled her lip, her pulse thrumming. And took the leap. “That could be arranged...”
He looked at her searchingly for an endless, heart-stopping moment. Then he said, “You know you’re killing me, right?”
Warmth flooded her cheeks. Oh, God. He was turning her down.
“Hasse’s waiting in the Landcruiser,” he explained, his face a portrait of regret. “We have to file a report about last night before I can go off duty.”
She wanted to disappear. Where was a patch of quicksand when you needed it? “I understand.”
Not.
He pushed out a breath. “Aside from the fact that I’d probably fall asleep at the most inappropriate moment and shame myself.”
She reluctantly smiled. “Wouldn’t want that.”
He smiled back. Sort of. “No.”
Then he bent down and kissed her. Muddy face, and all.
It wasn’t a long kiss, or a sexy kiss, but it was a warm, emotional, promise-filled kiss that made her toes curl and her heart flutter with longing.
“Later,” he whispered. And that one low-spoken word made her insides shiver clear to her toes.
Because this time, he really meant it.
She nodded, not trusting her voice.
"I'll pick you up at the hotel at three.”
Chapter 35
Leif walked into the hut to see a suspiciously industrious-looking pair of assistants. They were both shuffling papers to save their lives, their faces studiously straight as they exchanged greetings with him.
However, there was a hint of anticipation in Ingvar's voice when he said, "That report you requested is on your desk, boss.”
Håkan tapped his pencil on the desk. "You might find it interesting.”
Leif forced himself to set aside thoughts of Joanne and focus on work. Ah, yes. The report on Bill McAndrew he’d requested at the pub last night.
His two junior officers’ eyes were glued to him as he strolled over to his desk. “Tough break about Eriksson,” said Ingvar.
“Yeah.” Leif dropped into his chair and turned his gaze briefly out the window at the river. He and Hasse had been set up. He’d suspected it last night, but this morning he was certain. The fact that Joanne had been lured out into a bog filled with quicksand was proof enough for him.
“Kinda spoiled your plans with that American cutie,” Håkan ventured.
Leif glanced back at them. “Hmm? Oh. Yeah. Well.” Not really. He casually lifted a shoulder, hiding a smile as thoughts of his last encounter with her swept through him. Just a short postponement. Until he could get his damn report written.
And take a nap so he wouldn’t pass out on his feet.
Or anywhere else.
"You going to the dance tonight, boss?" Ingvar innocently asked.
"Wouldn't miss it," Leif murmured, then leaned forward and turned his attention to the paper in his hand. "Now, what have you found out about our Mr. McAndrew?”
His brows furrowed as he read, disbelief shimmering through him. Vad i helvete...
"Are you sure
about this information?" He drilled Håkan and Ingvar with a look.
"No mistake," Ingvar assured him. "We got it straight from State Department. Bill McAndrew works for the CIA.”
Leif sat back, his mind dizzy with this newest twist. Vad fan... First the Hungarian secret police invaded his village, and now the CIA? If he’d had any lingering doubts about it all being a coincidence, they were now officially scuttled and sunk.
And any question that Joanne—and her grandfather—were at the center of the mystery had also vanished.
Jesus. For all this to be happening sixty years later, Robert Grant’s last mission must have involved something a hell of a lot bigger than just picking up some random Russian defector.
He needed to find out exactly what that was.
Quickly.
But first, he had to get Joanne to back off her search.
Before she met a similar fate, and end up like her grandfather.
Dead, and buried in an unknown grave.
Chapter 36
"CIA? Well, that's an interesting development," Pelle said, ever the master of understatement, after Leif had told him about the latest development.
He was calling Pelle from the Landcruiser on his way home after dashing off the Eriksson report. He was desperate for a few hours’ sleep.
"I suppose I shouldn’t have been so surprised,” Leif said, “in light of recent events around here.”
“It makes you wonder...” Pelle muttered. “What the devil are all these cloak-and-dagger types after?”
“Besides taking Joanne out of the picture, you mean?”
Pelle grunted. “You think this McAndrew dude is a bad guy? That CIA wants her neutralized, too?”
Leif cringed. Neutralized. The very word made the hair stand on end. "God knows. But I’m not taking any chances.”
Somehow, Pelle always instinctively understood what Leif was going through, both in his work and in his personal life. His friend had been lucky in his marriage, but Leif knew he easily saw beyond the cold, distant state Leif had sunk into at the breakup of his own.
