“That’s great,” said Ellinor.
“He invited me to a party. A wedding party for Alexander and Isobel.”
“Sounds fun. When is it?”
“A week this Friday. At the Gardens of Rosendal.”
“Sounds perfect. Are you going to go?”
“Maybe, yeah, probably,” he surprised himself by replying. And without thinking, he suddenly asked: “Want to come with me?”
“It would be great to see them all again,” she said with a slight longing in her voice. Ellinor always did love a grand occasion; she was a social marvel. “But I can’t. It wouldn’t be a good idea, for many reasons.”
“I understand.” He did. And the strange thing was that Ellinor’s name hadn’t even been the one to first pop up when David suggested bringing someone, it was Ambra’s. Asking Ellinor was nothing but a reflex. “Keep sending me pictures of Freja,” he said.
“She’s fine. Take care.”
* * *
At ten-thirty the next morning, Tom left his apartment and walked the six or so kilometers to the Armed Forces headquarters on Lidingövägen. It was freezing cold, and there was snow on the ground, but a faint sun was illuminating the sky, and it felt good to get some exercise after spending the whole of the previous day in the car.
After a careful inspection of his ID card and being checked off an approved visitors list, Tom was allowed through the gates by a guard, then waited for Mattias in the entrance lobby. It was lunchtime, and there were people everywhere. Service men and women in blueish-gray uniforms, young soldiers in camouflage, intelligence staff in suits. There were considerably more women now than just ten years ago, a sign that even the military adapted to reality and admitted people based on competence rather than sex. Tom leaned back and allowed himself to blend into the background, made himself gray and ordinary, entertained himself by studying the people passing by. There were quite a few people in civvies, teachers, researchers, students, and then the odd man or woman who was meant to look like a civilian but whom Tom had no trouble recognizing as part of the intelligence service.
Mattias came down a staircase and walked straight toward Tom with his hand outstretched. “Sorry you had to wait. Are you in a hurry?”
“Not really.”
“I’d like you to meet someone before we go get lunch.”
Tom followed Mattias past another security check and into his office. A young woman turned around in the visitor’s seat and studied them with a steady gaze.
“Tom, this is Filippa.” Tom shook her hand. She was young, under twenty-five, with an ordinary, almost anonymous appearance.
“Filippa’s a computer expert,” Mattias explained once they sat down. “And a hacker. She can hack any laptop, iPad, or phone.” Mattias seemed pleased. Filippa looked like a teenager, not some kind of superstar, but Mattias was good at recruiting people.
* * *
“Have you changed your mind?” Mattias asked once they said good-bye to Filippa and sat down at a table in a restaurant.
“I said yes to lunch, but otherwise nothing has changed,” Tom said. He spoke firmly, but the strange thing was that he was no longer so sure. It had been a long time since he’d last set foot inside the Armed Forces building. He hadn’t expected it to feel so much . . . like home. But feeling at home wasn’t the same as wanting to come back.
“It was worth a try. What do you think of Filippa?”
“Is she as good as you say?”
“Better. She started out as an amateur hacker, but now she has a degree in computer science. Everyone’s been trying to get her. But I got lucky. Turns out she’s a patriot. What do you think?”
“She seems good, gives off a good impression. I think you should offer her the position, if you’re asking for my advice.”
“Tom, I could really use you here. We’ll be doing some very important work, and you would be able to do what you do best.”
“Kill people?”
Mattias scoffed. “Assess threats, analyze, lead people. You’re starting to get too old for killing people.”
“I have a few years left, surely.”
“I wish I could make you change your mind. Is it because of me?”
“The fact you betrayed me in front of all my bosses? Yeah, I guess I’m a little petty about that kind of thing.”
“I did it for our sake. For the special forces.”
“I think you did it for yourself, for the sake of your career.”
“Maybe. But no matter what motivated me, this is about you. Can you get over your grudge and be professional for the sake of your country?”
“I already have a job,” Tom pointed out.
“I won’t stop bringing this up.”
Tom sighed. Mattias was stubborn. He had betrayed his best friend. He was difficult. He kept repeating all this to himself. But somehow he couldn’t manage to work up his usual anger.
* * *
On the way home, Tom passed the Aftonbladet offices. He slowed down outside the enormous building, watched people coming and going, checked out the guards in reception. Their security was a joke. Newspaper offices were a strategic terror target, but he would probably be able to take the building with just a handful of men in less than fifteen minutes.
While he stood there staring at the building, Ambra suddenly appeared in the doorway. She caught sight of him and paused.
“Hi,” he said with a grin. It felt too damn good to see her again.
She pulled on her gloves and shook her head. “The strange thing isn’t even that you’re here. It’s that I’m not surprised. You have a tendency to just turn up.”
“I’m in Stockholm,” he stated the obvious.
“I can see that. But what are you doing here? Are you meeting someone from the paper?”
“Nah, I was just passing by,” he lied easily. In truth, he had headed straight for the place. “I just wanted to check everything was okay.”
“I’m on the way out,” she said.
“A job?”
She nodded. “But why . . .”
She was interrupted by a man with a huge camera hanging over his shoulder. “Ambra, we need to go!”
“That’s my photographer,” she explained, hanging her press ID around her neck.
“Take care,” he said.
She raised one of those black eyebrows of hers. Against her pale skin, they looked like dark brushstrokes. “I usually do.”
Yes, he was convinced of that. He took a step toward her. “When do you get off?”
“No idea. It depends.” The photographer made an urgent sound. “Sorry, I need to run.”
“Can we meet again? Do you want to?”
“Do you?” Her green eyes studied him, unblinking.
“Yes,” he said. If he took a deep breath, he could make out her scent.
The photographer waited, stamping his feet. Tom ignored him. “Where are you going?” he asked.
She straightened her hat. “Suspected suicide in Djursholm. I really need to go.” She pursed her lips and then said, “Five. I finish at five, latest five-thirty.”
“Fine, so should we meet then? Eat together?”
“Yeah. Should I make a reservation?”
He might be rusty, but things weren’t so bad that he couldn’t manage to organize a date. “Nope, I’ll arrange everything,” he said. And he leaned in and gave her a spontaneous kiss on the cheek. He just couldn’t let her leave without touching her first. “See you at five-thirty,” he murmured into her ear.
Chapter 41
Ambra watched the ambulance drive away from Djursholm, the most fashionable Swedish suburb; its lights weren’t flashing. The police were still interviewing the neighbors. She had a few good quotes, and the photographer had photos from virtually every angle. They were done here, she decided.
This was a routine job that they never would have been sent to cover if it hadn’t happened in an upper-class suburb and if the deceased hadn’t been an important business leader.
They were more newsworthy than ordinary people. The police officer she spoke to, a woman who had a good relationship with Ambra, told her it was probably just a perfectly ordinary heart attack.
She traipsed back to the car, allowing the photographer to drive, then stared out the window as they left Djursholm and pulled onto the E18 highway. She scrolled through the pictures she’d taken with her phone, listened to the photographer talk to the pictures editor. They passed Haga Norra. The Crown Princess lived in the castle there with her young family, in the middle of the huge, well-protected park, close to the waters of Brunnsviken. Djursholm, which they’d just left behind, was full of enormous villas and palace-like houses; it was home to Sweden’s richest people. Jill included. But about twelve miles to the west, there were huge tower blocks where social problems and an appalling lack of services were the depressing order of the day.
She stared out toward the buildings. How different people’s lots in life could be, and it was all so random. They turned off toward the city. They would soon be back in the office, and then she wouldn’t have time to think about Tom, so she gave herself a few minutes here in the car, in between jobs. It was crazy that he’d just turned up like that. She grinned the rest of the way to the office.
She managed to finish all of her tasks, articles, and introductions by the end of the workday. No excessively dramatic events happened in Stockholm or anywhere else that day, so she said a few quick words to the nightshift and made it down to the exit by five-thirty. Tom was waiting outside as promised. No messages saying he would be late. No cancellations or last-minute changes of plan. If Tom said he would turn up, he did. He was wearing one of those super-advanced but understated ski jackets, a sober gray scarf, leather gloves, and sturdy boots. No hat covering his black hair, but he was holding a mysterious black bag in one hand.
He greeted her with a wide smile, and it was as though that smile of his had a direct connection to her erogenous zones. Her entire body trembled, and she hid the embarrassing fact that she was blushing by fiddling with her scarf and gloves.
“Can you handle a walk down to Kungsträdgården?” he asked, but then he glanced at her thin boots and shook his head. “We’ll take a cab.” He waved one over, opened the door, and slipped in after her. Ambra sank contentedly into the backseat. She wasn’t used to being fussed over like this.
“How are you? No problems after you got so cold in Kiruna?”
“Nope, nothing. Where are we going?”
“You’ll see.”
“Macho,” she mumbled, but it was a halfhearted protest.
The car was comfortable, Tom smelled great, and she would get to do something other than watch TV and eat leftovers after work. Plus, she would be doing it with one of the most attractive men she’d ever met. Somehow, Tom seemed a little more handsome every time she saw him. She glanced down toward the seat, where their legs were almost touching.
“How was work?” he asked.
“Pretty quiet, actually. It’s unusual. But that can change in an instant. What did you do today? Are you working again?”
“I had lunch with Mattias, sorted out some paperwork, and then invited a beautiful woman out on a date.”
It was on the cheesier side, so she rolled her eyes and tried not to let his response affect her. Jesus, he was practically irresistible when he was like this.
The cab dropped them off on Hamngatan. It was snowing, huge soft flakes swirling down, and the whole scene was ridiculously romantic. The store windows were slowly starting to fill up with spring collections, but there were still Christmas lights in the trees and on the buildings, twinkling away in the frostbitten night. There was a scent of mulled wine and roasted almonds in the air, and she could hear music from somewhere.
They walked toward Kungsträdgården, passing small stalls selling knickknacks and souvenirs alongside the empty fountain. There was another stall selling Norrland specialties, and Ambra paused. She looked around and sniffed the air. “Where is that smell coming from?”
Tom pointed toward a food truck. “You like waffles?”
“Are you kidding me? I love waffles,” she said honestly, her mouth watering. The smell was incredible. “You want some? Or do you want to eat real food?” he asked.
“Waffles,” she replied firmly. He ordered for both of them.
“Which jelly?” he asked as the waffle iron hissed and steamed as the batter cooked.
Ambra read the menu: raspberry, blackberry, strawberry. “All of them. And cream. And sugar.” She smiled happily at him.
Tom pulled out a sheepskin fur from his bag, spread it out onto a rickety park bench, and went to fetch their paper plates. They sat there, beneath the glittering strings of lights, eating steaming-hot waffles with extra everything. Tom bought two more and wolfed down whatever she couldn’t manage.
After they finished, Tom got up and threw away the napkins and plates. Ambra rubbed her hands together. It was cold, but she didn’t want their date to be over yet. Maybe they could grab a coffee or a drink somewhere? Not that she knew anywhere nearby. She glanced around, but all she could see were the stalls and the tourists. She shouldn’t have suggested waffles. She was stuffed already.
“Come on, frozen lady, you’re shivering,” he said. Ambra was hunched down in her scarf. They passed a stall selling purses, key rings, and accessories. Tom paused. “Choose one,” he said, pointing to the hats.
“I don’t need one, I’m fine,” she protested.
“You’re freezing.”
Ambra was about to refuse, because there were limits to how fun it was to be bossed about, even if Tom was right and she was freezing. But right then, she caught sight of a pair of white, fluffy, sheepskin earmuffs. Just like the pair she’d seen in Kiruna. She pointed. “I want those. But I’ll buy them myself.” She reached for her wallet.
“Put that away,” Tom said. He grabbed the earmuffs, paid, and placed them on her head.
They were wonderfully warm, and when his gloved hand grazed her cheek, she smiled at the considerate gesture.
“Come on. I thought we could go for a skate.” He nodded to the artificial ice rink in the middle of the park. That was where the music was coming from.
“Ha ha,” she laughed, assuming he was joking. But Tom held up his bag and opened it. Beneath the sheepskin, she spotted a pair of hockey skates.
Ambra shook her head, suddenly serious. This wasn’t fun at all. “I don’t want to,” she said.
“But it’s so much fun.”
“I can’t. I’ve never done it.”
“Never?”
On every school trip, she would have to sit to one side because she didn’t have any skates. No one had ever thought it was worth the effort to teach her, to treat her to even a secondhand pair of skates, and so she never learned. Now it was too late. “I can’t,” she repeated, giving him an angry look. This wasn’t funny anymore. She hated being made aware of things she couldn’t do.
“Ambra. I can teach you.”
“No.”
He looked frustrated. “But why?”
“I’ll fall, cut myself to pieces.” And everyone will laugh.
“What if I promise that you won’t fall?”
She just wanted him to stop talking about it.
“I’m steady as a rock. I won’t let you fall even once. Give it ten minutes, and if you still hate it, then of course we can stop, but I suggested it because I thought you’d like it.”
“If I knock myself out, you won’t think it’s so fun,” she said.
“You won’t,” he said confidently.
“That’s ridiculous, you can’t promise that.”
“True. But I can promise I’ll do everything in my power to keep you safe. I’m very good at that kind of thing.”
She really didn’t want to, but eventually she chose a pair of rental skates in the right size. They were pretty nice, she had to admit. All white with a thin fur edge at the top. She sat down on a bench, took off her own shoes, laced up
the skates, and then tried to get up. She immediately wobbled, her arms spinning, her heart in her throat. But Tom, who was ready way before her, was there.
“Wobble as much as you like, I’ve got you,” he said calmly.
She hated ice skating more than anything else on earth, she decided. And Tom was in second place.
“Try it. Wobble, hold on to me.”
She clung to him as tightly as she could, just waiting for them to go crashing down. She was so angry she had tears in her eyes. But Tom wasn’t lying. No matter how much she teetered or slipped, he never lost his balance, never lost hold of her. And he didn’t laugh. That was the most important thing. He didn’t laugh at her.
“It’s so hard,” she muttered, her heart beating wildly, trying to make her way across the slippery ice. The skates slipped from beneath her, but he held on. Maybe she wouldn’t fall flat after all. She managed to coordinate her feet and skate forward thirty centimeters. She puffed out and relaxed slightly.
“It’s a good idea to breathe,” he said.
She didn’t reply. But the worst of her fears started to abate, and every time she managed to glide forward, her self-confidence grew slightly. She relaxed a little more. Suddenly, she could hear the music again. Before, she was so afraid that all she could hear was the rushing in her ears, but now she could hear it. And she saw the twinkling lights hanging all around them. If she ignored the fact that she was probably the worst skater on the entire rink, then it wasn’t a completely awful experience. And it did actually give her the opportunity to more or less plaster herself to Tom and his magnificent body, which, she had to confess, wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Tom moved confidently over the ice, as if he were born on skates. When she managed to glance around without falling flat or waving her arms as if she was doing jumping jacks, she realized that although there were plenty of good skaters—including a crowd of children all skating at least a hundred times better than she was—actually no one was staring at her or laughing.
“Better?” Tom asked.
“A little,” she reluctantly admitted.
“It’s been ten minutes. Want to stop?”
High Risk Page 36
