High Risk

by Simona Ahrnstedt

  “That’s fine, dear.” Elsa looked as if she wanted to say more, but she held back.

  Well. The interview was over. Grace wanted the story to run over two days. The first article tomorrow, December 26, and the second the day after. Tareq would work on the raw footage, and an editor would polish it up and upload it to the website. Elsa offered the black-and-white photos for no cost, but Ambra insisted on paying her 10,000 kronor. Grace would probably kill her if she found out, but it was still cheap, and it wasn’t like the paper didn’t have the money.

  Everything was done, and she would probably never see Elsa again. That was the strange thing about this job. You met people, listened to their stories, grew close to them, felt moved, and then parted ways for good. Plus, with Elsa, there had been another dimension to it.

  She paused. She wasn’t originally planning to share any personal information with Elsa. But this whole trip was so strange. Elsa’s revelations. Tom Lexington. The Sventins. “I saw them,” she said tentatively.

  Elsa clasped her hands in front of her stomach. “Where?” she asked. It felt good, that she understood.

  “Outside the church.”

  “Ah, of course.” Elsa leaned forward and took Ambra’s hand in hers. It was warm and smooth, like heated tissue paper. “You’re very pale. Was it difficult?”

  “I saw him and Rakel. It was awful. But the worst thing was that they had two children with them. Do you know if they have grandkids?”

  “It’s not impossible. They had a lot of children, if they’re still in the community . . .”

  “Sect. It’s a sect.”

  Elsa nodded. “If their sons are still in the sect, they must be grown men, married, probably with children of their own. That’s what they do, they marry one another and have lots of children.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “How did it feel to see them?”

  “He was so old. Her too.”

  “They ruined so much.”

  “Yes.” Ambra sighed.

  “Would you like something to eat?”

  “I have to go.” It was almost six, and she didn’t want to miss the plane.

  “If you want to talk, I’ll be here the rest of Christmas. Maybe you could come for lunch tomorrow?”

  Ambra really wished she could say yes. “I’m sorry, I’m flying home today.”

  “Another time then,” Elsa said warmly.

  “Yeah,” Ambra replied, though she knew the likelihood was virtually nonexistent.

  * * *

  After saying good-bye to Elsa, Ambra took a cab to the airport. The snow was coming down heavily again, and she clutched the seat the whole way there. By the time she arrived, it was practically a full-blown storm. She paid for the cab with her private Visa card—she didn’t have the energy to worry about receipts and expenses—and opened the door. The departures hall was full of people, and she knew even before she checked the screens that something wasn’t right. The loudspeaker system was booming, people were talking hysterically, exhausted children were crying. She pushed her way over to a screen. The flight to Stockholm was cancelled because of a technical fault.

  “All planes to Stockholm are fully booked over the next few days,” said the harried woman behind the check-in counter.

  “So how am I meant to get home?”

  “We have one seat left, via Oslo.”

  “I’ll take it,” Ambra said. She had to get away. Behind her, she heard someone burst into tears. She turned around. A heavily pregnant woman carrying a small child in her arms was crying dejectedly.

  “Did you want that seat?” Ambra asked after a short, selfish pause.

  The woman blew her nose and nodded.

  “Take it,” Ambra said with a sigh.

  “Thank you.”

  * * *

  After an hour, she had no choice but to accept it: She was stuck in Kiruna. She ended up on a standby list, hailed a cab, and went back to the hotel. She sent Jill a message, looking for sympathy, and received a sad emoji in reply.

  “Do you still have my room?” she asked, and the hotel checked her in. She slumped onto the bed and sent a message to Grace saying she didn’t know when she would be able to leave Kiruna. It was Christmas, and the flights were booked to bursting.

  OK, keep me updated.

  Her fingers drummed her cell phone. What should she do now? Stuck in a town she hated.

  Should she get in touch with Elsa and see whether the invitation to lunch was still open? Ten minutes later, she had been invited over the next day. That was something.

  Ambra lay back down on the bed. Now that she was here, should she do a little digging into the Sventins? She would have to think about it, she decided, studying the room service menu. She put it down. Grabbed her phone and scrolled through her contacts until she found Tareq’s number. She hesitated for a moment, but why not?

  Can I still hang out with you tonight?

  His reply came quickly. Yeah! Cool! We’ll be at the Royal from nine on.

  Ambra opened her computer and got an hour’s work done. Then she applied a little lip gloss, ran her fingers through her curls and spritzed them lightly. She gave herself a stern look in the mirror. She wouldn’t let Kiruna break her. She refused to feel anxious because of this town. She would take control of her feelings and she would have fun.

  “You hear that?” she said to her reflection. “We’re going to have fun.”

  She left her room at nine, went down to reception, and asked for directions to the Royal.

  Chapter 13

  Tom checked out the noisy club and decided that there was probably nowhere he wanted to be less. Someone was singing karaoke on a small stage by one wall. Disco balls turned on the ceiling; their blinking lights bothered him and he looked away. The walls were covered in reindeer antlers, animal skins, and Sami art. The bar had a special on drinks containing vodka, cloudberry, and lingonberry. He used to come here when he was young, but the place had completely changed since.

  “Looks different from how it used to,” he said, watching two flannel-shirt-clad, intertwined men.

  “It’s Christmas, there’s not much choice,” Mattias replied, nodding to the bartender and gesturing that they wanted two beers.

  Tom watched two young men kiss at the bar. Mattias handed him a beer, and they sat down at a table. They had been talking about fishing, old acquaintances—not about work—back home, and somehow Tom had let Mattias talk him into getting out, around other people, for a while. Mattias had that ability. To be convincing.

  “The Christmas Day Gay Bar is meant to be the best place to hang out in the whole of Norrbotten. I read that somewhere,” said Mattias.

  “If you say so,” Tom replied. He didn’t actually care what type of place it was. It was the noise levels and the flashing lights he was struggling with. Ten minutes and then he would leave, he decided, glancing at his watch as someone started trashing a new song over on the stage. The singers finished up and were rewarded with clapping and cheers.

  “You could try looking a little less . . . I don’t know, mercenary-ish,” said Mattias.

  “What are you talking about?”

  Mattias shoveled a handful of nuts into his mouth. “Try to look like other people do, Tom. You’re scaring the locals.”

  “You can always go back to Stockholm if it doesn’t suit you.”

  “Yeah, so you said. Twenty times.”

  “I . . .” Tom began, annoyed, but he trailed off.

  Both he and Mattias were sitting with their backs to the wall. It was an old habit. That way you were guaranteed a good view of everyone else and you couldn’t be attacked from behind. It meant Tom could see right across the club, and his eyes spotted a familiar face. It was dark, but he recognized her immediately.

  Ambra Vinter.

  She was at a table with a group of young men. They were drinking, downing beers, and she laughed and flicked her hair every now and then.

  Shit.

  “Someon
e you know?” Mattias asked, looking over to the table at the same moment Ambra caught sight of Tom across the crowded room. She froze midlaugh, then sat completely still with her hand wrapped around her beer. The flashing lights danced over her face. For a moment Tom thought she would ignore him completely, but then she gave him a quick, cool nod and turned her attention back to her friends. Her dark hair bobbed whenever she and the others laughed.

  “Who’s that?” Mattias asked.

  Tom paused. “A reporter I bumped into.”

  A curious glimmer appeared in Mattias’s eyes. “At the hotel? She’s not the one you made a fool of yourself with?”

  This was the irritating thing about Mattias. He didn’t miss a thing. So damn annoying. Tom shrugged. Mattias’s eyes lingered on Ambra. She had turned so that Tom could see her in profile. She was pretty like that, from the side; she had a straight nose and soft cheeks. She looked angry. Angry and dismissive.

  “Come on, let’s go over and say hi,” said Mattias.

  Don’t think so. But Mattias was already on his feet, making his way over to her. Tom glared after him, but it seemed even more idiotic—if that was possible—to stay at the table by himself, so he reluctantly got up and followed.

  Mattias said something, and everyone at the table, Ambra and the four younger men, turned to look at Tom as he arrived.

  “This is Tom,” said Mattias. “This is Tareq.” He continued the introductions, saying the names of the others, though Tom immediately forgot them. They were young, handsome, and happy, and they made him feel old and cynical. By their age he had long been a hardened soldier.

  “And you know Ambra, of course. Sit.” Mattias himself was already sitting. He gestured to the only free seat, next to Ambra, a narrow space on the end of a pine bench.

  “Hi,” Tom said stiffly.

  Ambra gave him an almost imperceptible nod in reply and then looked away. She shifted as far as she could along the bench and seemed about as comfortable with the situation as he was.

  The four young men, however, greeted them enthusiastically. Their table was covered in beers and glasses and snacks, and it wouldn’t have been much of a stretch to guess that they were drunk.

  “Sit,” Mattias repeated. Tom did as he was told and perched on the end of the bench, next to Ambra. She moved farther away, but no matter what he did he couldn’t avoid a certain level of physical contact. He tried his best to find a position that didn’t involve squashing her or falling off the bench. He pulled at the neck of his shirt.

  “Tom said you’re a journalist, Ambra. You from up here?” Mattias asked.

  Ambra pushed back her dark curls, though they immediately fell loose again, and Tom caught the scent of something through the beer haze. A flower, perhaps. Or maybe a fruit. Something feminine, in any case. He remembered smelling the same thing when they kissed.

  “I’m from Stockholm, just here on a job. Or was. My plane was canceled, so I’m stuck here for at least one more night. You? Do you live in Kiruna?”

  Mattias swigged his beer. He seemed completely at ease. “I’m just visiting.”

  “So what do you do?” Ambra asked after a moment’s silence. Tom tried to move his leg, but doing so just made her tense further.

  Mattias flashed her an open smile, as though he didn’t have a secret in the world. “Me? Nothing special. A little consultation work. Information.”

  A typical standard response for someone who worked in secrets. Vague answers about something so uninteresting it never led to follow-up questions.

  “In which area?” Ambra asked. Tom looked down at his beer, and he was close to smiling. Maybe she was just being polite. Maybe she had caught a hint of something. It served Mattias right. Let him sweat a little.

  “Boring bureaucracy for the most part,” Mattias replied with a nonchalant shrug.

  “Mmm-hmm.” Ambra sounded skeptical. When she lifted her glass, their thighs touched. She had nice thighs, soft and warm.

  Mattias held up his empty glass. “I’m going to the bar,” he said, and he squeezed out and walked away. The table was less cramped now, and Ambra quickly moved along the bench. Tom listened to the others’ conversation. After a while, Tareq got up and disappeared. Ambra’s fingers drummed the table in time with the music. She still hadn’t said a word to Tom. One of the other young men got up and left with another guy. Someone started to sing another terrible karaoke version of a famous song. The noise levels rose, if that was possible. Suddenly Tom and Ambra were alone at the table. She sipped her beer, put down the glass with a gentle thud, and glanced around with a dogged expression on her face.

  “Didn’t mean to chase everyone away,” Tom said, but his joke fell flat.

  A tense silence without any eye contact.

  “Sorry about your flight,” he said after what felt like a never-ending moment.

  “Thanks,” she said.

  More tense silence.

  “About yesterday,” he started, tense and uneasy.

  Ambra made a pained sound. “Please. We really don’t have to talk about it. Can’t we just pretend nothing happened?”

  “Sure,” he replied, half relieved and half . . . something else. Their kiss had been fantastic, after all. Hot. Sexy.

  They sat in silence again.

  Mattias seemed to have vanished. There was no sign of the others either. All Tom wanted was to go home. Back to the silence and the solitude.

  The increasingly loud environment, the noisy people, the temperature, which seemed to have increased by several degrees . . . He started to sweat. Shit, not now. Flickers appeared at the edge of his field of vision. All of a sudden it was as if someone had cranked up the heat and taped shut all of the windows. His internal systems were screaming for him to get up, run from the threat, the anxiety, himself. He clutched his beer glass, stared at the table, tried to breathe calmly. How much time had passed? How strong was it? A five, surely no more? Six? Breathe, Tom. Shit, shit, shit.

  “Hey, are you okay?” Her light touch on his arm almost made him leap up. Ambra’s face looked concerned, her tone much softer than before. But he couldn’t get his breathing under control. He couldn’t sit here and have an attack. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, tried to force his shoulders to relax. Couldn’t speak, not right now. This was the worst part of it, the total lack of control.

  Ambra handed him a bottle of mineral water.

  “Here, drink,” she said.

  He did, and breathed out deeply. Drank again. The flickering faded a little. Definitely a five now. Maybe even a four? He wiped his forehead again. Breathed, jaggedly and heavily.

  “What happened?” she asked after a while. He could feel her trying to meet his eye, but he avoided it. Needed to stabilize first. He breathed in again. Calmly, nicely. Relax the legs. Don’t squeeze the glass until it breaks.

  “Tom?”

  “Nothing. I’m all right now.” Definitely better. He could even talk.

  Ambra’s voice did actually help. It was calming and helped him to focus on something other than his runaway body. He tried to move his fingers, his toes, to force the blood out into them rather than pooling in the bigger muscle groups. A weak four now. The instinct to fight or flee retreated, and he could start to think again. He searched for something to say, something unconnected to what he’d just experienced. It was so damn embarrassing. “Did you see Elsa again?” he asked.

  “Yeah. But are you really okay? You look terrible.”

  He made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “I’m fine.” He forced himself to look at her, to meet her gaze. Those green cat eyes were studying him worriedly. He breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth, and tried to focus on her eyes.

  “Tom . . .”

  He shook his head. “Tell me about Elsa,” he said. He rubbed the back of his neck; it was drenched in sweat, and he drank more water.

  “I liked her a lot, actually.” Ambra smiled tentatively. Her eyes still looked worried, but he could
feel that his pulse was definitely slowing. He clutched the bottle of water, focused on Ambra’s voice, on her eyes, on her throat above the neck of her sweater. She seemed to like those knitted sweaters—this one was dark blue—and they were sexy. Soft and feminine. A nice contrast to her prickly antipathy toward him. His eyes lingered on the curve of her breasts. That helped too.

  “I don’t know any old people, isn’t that weird?” she continued.

  Tom’s eyes quickly moved back to her face. The tightness around his chest had loosened. He was drenched in sweat and thirsty, too, but his body was no longer out of control. “You don’t? No old relatives?” he asked.

  “Not one. My grandparents are all dead, and their parents too.”

  “No others?”

  “Nope, I don’t have a single relative.”

  The words came out so easily, as though it was just an unusual detail she was revealing, a slightly amusing anecdote. But the only people Tom knew without any relatives were the survivors of war.

  “Parents?”

  “Dead. Dad died of heart problems when I was four, and my mom died later that year, just before I turned five.”

  The same neutral tone of voice. As though she was telling someone else’s story.

  “So where did you grow up?” he asked. There had to have been someone. Didn’t she mention a sibling?

  “Social services took care of me. I was a foster kid.”

  Her fingers played with the label on the glass bottle. She had slender fingers. Short nails painted a dark, glossy color he found vaguely erotic. He remembered the way those fingers had clutched his upper arms the night before, how her entire body pressed against his. She didn’t say any more, avoided his eye.

  They had clearly returned to the tension of earlier. He knew he should make his excuses and leave. This was too much. The atmosphere. The attack. But she looked so small. Like she really was as alone as she’d just said. He glanced around the room and then back at her. She was pulling at the sleeves of her sweater, and he wanted to say something that would make her relax, smile. An image of their kiss in the hotel corridor came back to him, an intense memory of her lips against his, the quiet sounds she made.