“Ms. Sorenson.” The public address system buzzed to life and Raoul’s slightly nasal voice came over the sound system. “We know that you are here, Ms. Sorenson. Why don’t you come out now and make this less unpleasant?”
Yeah right. Why don’t I just stand up and let you shoot me? Ingrid crawled behind the Giant Red Elk exhibit. Her knees were aching and her heart was thumping like a drum. The door creaked open. Oh god. Oh god. Ingrid stayed very still. Whoever was in the room was moving quietly. A floorboard groaned and she pressed herself flat against the floor. Please don’t see me. Please don’t let him see me. She shut her eyes tight and held her breath. After what seemed like an age, the door at the other end of the exhibit room opened and closed again. Ingrid let out a ragged breath. She couldn’t stay here. She rose to her knees and crawled toward the door.
Running up the main staircase was one of the most nerve-racking things she had ever done. Clutching her high heels in one hand, she opened the door to the corridor leading to her office, tiptoeing silently along the darkened passage. Her office door had been forced open and the contents of her desk lay scattered on the floor. Ingrid stifled a yelp as she stepped on something jagged. She reached down to her foot. What used to be her cell phone was smashed to smithereens. They knew. They had known all along. A large hand snaked over her face, covering her mouth.
“Three men in this building want to kill you. I am not one of them.”
Ingrid struggled against him, but his other arm whipped around her waist, lifting her off her feet, pinning her against his chest. She could feel his breath against her ear. This man was much bigger and taller than the others. Maybe he wasn’t one of them.
“We need to get to the roof. Can you do that?”
When Ingrid nodded, he let her slide to the ground and removed his hand from her mouth. She turned slowly in his arms and raised her head. He was very tall and very blond—pure viking—apart from his dark eyes. He wasn’t one of Raoul’s men, or at least not one who she had seen before, but could she trust him?
The light came on the corridor outside and she flinched.
“Oh, Ingrid.” Raoul’s singsong voice mocked her as he approached.
Strom gazed down at her frightened face. The photograph that Leona had shown him didn’t do Ingrid justice. Her large blue-gray eyes were the color of the sea in winter. She would have caught his attention no matter what century he saw her, but knowing that she would be his provoked a fiercely protective urge that surprised him. His arms tightened around her. She didn’t know it yet, but she belonged to him, and while he was alive, no one would harm her. Ingrid was trembling in his arms and she would be no match for Raoul’s superior speed. He would have to carry her, if she would let him. Strom lifted her until their faces were level.
“Ingrid, put your arms around my neck,” he whispered. His hands slid under her thighs and he wrapped her legs around his waist. “I want you to close your eyes and hold on to me. No matter what happens, you mustn’t let go. Can you do that?”
Ingrid nodded. She was way too scared to do anything else. Strom bent his head and brushed his lips gently against hers. He heard her swift, indrawn breath and he grinned. That would distract her for a while, but first he had to deal with Raoul.
He commed Jake and Pete silently, The subject is secured. I need a show, now would be good.
Strom heard Pete’s voice over the com. Coming up, Boss.
Downstairs, the giant red elk started to sway on his stand, gently at first, and then more violently until it escaped the confines of its metal supports. The broad, antlered head tilted forward, tumbling into a glass display case, shattering it into a thousand pieces. The resounding crash echoed around the building. Outside in the corridor, Raoul turned on his heels and sped toward the sound.
Strom moved swiftly down the passageway, taking a sharp right into a service corridor. He took the stairs two at a time and then sped along a narrow space until he reached a wooden door. It was locked. Strom kicked the door open and ran up another staircase. He could feel Ingrid trembling against his chest.
“Hush,” he murmured as he reached the exit. “Nearly there.” Pressing the metal bar down hard, he stepped onto the roof.
The wind raced around the copper dome of the museum and Ingrid struggled against him. Downstairs, he could hear the low thrum of laser fire as Jake and Pete battled Raoul and the other Cyraelian terrorists. On the street outside, a blue and white car with a flashing light parked at the entrance. Ingrid waved in their direction, calling them. This was not good. None of them could be found here. Strom pressed his fingers against her carotid artery and sent her spinning into unconsciousness.
He commed the others. Get the fuck out of there.
Then, picking up Ingrid’s unconscious body, he took a running leap off the roof.
Chapter Two
Her bed was lumpy. Ingrid rolled over and clutched her pillow. It was unyielding too and it seemed to have grown buttons since last night. Her eyelids flicked open. She was lying on a park bench, with her head resting against the hard muscled chest of the man who had just saved her life.
“Hi.” Dark sherry-colored eyes looked down at her.
She remembered being on the roof of the museum and after that, nothing. “How did we…?” She struggled to sit up.
“Shhh.”
“But the police and the—”
“Shhh.”
Ingrid could feel her temper rising. “Stop shhhing me.”
His mouth curved into a smile. “Feisty little thing, aren’t you?”
Ingrid elbowed him as she struggled to right herself. Somewhere along the way she had lost her precious Prada kitten heels and her stockings were ripped to shreds. She stood up to her full height, wincing as her right foot touched the ground. Ouch! Part of her cell phone was still embedded in it.
“I demand that you take me home this instant.”
Tall, blond and viking grinned back at her. “I thought you’d never ask.”
A low whistle came from the other side of the hedge. “Over here,” Strom hissed.
He picked Ingrid up as if she was as light as a feather and marched through the shrubbery until they reached the park railings. “Here, catch.”
Before she had time to squeal, Ingrid was flying through the air over the railings, only to be deftly caught by another pair of strong arms on the pavement outside.
Wicked green eyes smiled down at her. “Hi, I’m Jake.”
This one was tall, dark and very handsome. This evening was turning into a regular GQ beauty pageant.
“Transport status?” Strom growled.
Jake looked over his shoulder. “Pete is acquiring some now.”
As if on cue, a dark-green Mercedes pulled to a screeching halt beside them. “Who ordered a cab?”
Ingrid took a deep breath. She had been shot at, terrorized, jumped from the roof of the museum and now she was travelling at speed in a stolen car with three men she didn’t know. “Would someone like to tell me what’s going on?”
“Ah, it’s awake.”
“Shut up, Pete,” the other two roared in unison.
The driver didn’t seem a bit perturbed. He continued to fiddle with the Sat Nav, muttering something under his breath about antiques. “Would one of you like to give me a destination?”
“He wants your address,” Jake hinted.
Ingrid rattled it off automatically.
The car pulled up outside her apartment block and she reached for the door handle. She sighed with relief to find it unlocked and she struggled out of the car, groaning when her right foot touched the pavement. The car sped away, leaving her alone with the viking. What on earth was she going to do with him? He had rescued her from Raoul, so he didn’t want to kill her, but what did he want with her? As if sensing her uncertainty, he offered her his arm.
“Shall we?”
Ingrid clutched his arm as she limped into the marble-floored lobby, trying to ignore the stares of the concierge. Sh
e caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror beside the elevator. Oh great, the only guy she had brought home in months and she looked as if she’d been dragged through a hedge backward.
“I’m afraid the elevator is out of order, Ms. Sorenson,” the concierge called.
Ingrid gave vent to her full repertoire of invective as she headed for the stairs. The viking seemed to find it incredibly amusing. “I don’t know why you find it so funny,” she snarled. “I live on the top floor.”
“I could always carry you,” he offered with a sly grin.
Ingrid glared at him. “I assure you, that won’t be necessary. There will be no more lifting, carrying or throwing me around tonight.”
He almost looked disappointed.
By the time she reached the third floor, she was regretting her churlish refusal. Her foot was throbbing like mad and she was sure that he was staring at her butt all the way up the stairs. She rounded on him suddenly, testing her theory. He didn’t even have the grace to blush.
“Foot hurting?” he asked.
“Yes,” she grumbled. There was no sense in lying and she didn’t know how she was going to climb another flight of stairs.
Before she knew it, she was slung over his shoulder and he was running up the stairs. Through the metal rails, she could see the tiled basement floor far below them. She shut her eyes tight. Oh damn, I hate heights.
She was locked out. Shit, shit, shit. How could she have been so stupid? Her handbag and keys were on the floor of her office and Finn, her roommate, wouldn’t be home from the theater ‘til after midnight. If he was coming home at all. The viking prowled the fifth-floor lobby until he found what he was looking for. High above the door was a small ledge with a very dusty key. He scowled disapprovingly at her.
“Your security measures leave a lot to be desired.”
“Don’t look at me. The only way I could reach that nook is with a ladder.”
It must have been Finn. She was going to kill him when he got home. Ingrid turned the key and opened the door to the penthouse—her father’s legacy to her. He had adored the view of the river and the huge high-ceilinged rooms that could house the vast collection of artifacts he had picked up over his lifetime. The place was like a museum and that was where most of it was going to end up someday, whenever she had time to sort it out.
“Make yourself at home. I’ll be back in a minute.”
Strom looked around him appreciatively. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the apartment he could see the city laid out before him, the streetlights sparkled like jewels. Thick rugs lay on polished wooden floors and the leather seating was low and comfortable. He spotted a fireplace against one wall, with the fire already laid. A real fire, Strom couldn’t believe it. How utterly primitive, and yet strangely welcoming.
He ignored the door with the light under it and moved slowly down the corridor, opening and closing doors as he went. Strom gave a low whistle. A bathroom with water, instead of the sonic shower stalls he was used to back home. A large bathtub lay against one wall. He was definitely getting into that before he left.
Strom could hear Ingrid’s voice at the end of the corridor, saying something about food. He gave what he hoped was an agreeable response and continued his investigation of her apartment. The next door led into a large bedroom and he guessed by the images on the wall that this was her room. Picking up a cut-glass bottle from a small table, he pressed it against his face. It was perfume, citrus, with a hint of jasmine. A narrow storeroom contained clothing and dozens of pairs of shoes. Did she wear all of them? Strom’s mouth curved up in a smile when his fingers touched one pale-blue garment which was indecently sheer. He would very much like to see her wearing this. Her voice called again and he left the bedroom reluctantly.
Ingrid sat near the fire, wearing a voluminous woolen dressing gown. She had disposed of her torn stockings and her long legs stretched in front of her. Her hair had escaped its binding and dark curls hung down her back, almost to her waist. Strom resisted a sudden urge to pick her up and bury his face in them.
Ingrid had laid some food on a low table near the fire, and he realized that he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten for five hundred years, give or take a decade.
“I’m sorry I haven’t had time to shop. It’s just smoked salmon and rye bread and some cheeses. Oh and I found some Akevitt.”
Strom sniffed the narrow glass of yellow-tinged liquor, inhaling the scent of caraway seeds. It reminded him of his grandfather. He raised his glass to her and downed the shot it in a single gulp, sighing with pleasure as the alcoholic heat rushed through him.
“Thank you for your hospitality.”
“You’re welcome. Now perhaps you might like to tell me your name.”
A slow red tide crept up his neck. Damn. He had kidnapped her from her office, had dragged her into a stolen car and had leered at her extremely attractive butt up six flights of stairs, but somehow he had forgotten to introduce himself. He stood up quickly.
“My apologies, I am Captain Strom Hallstrom, at your service.”
It was her first opportunity to have a good look at him. He had the most amazing face, with strong chiseled features and a full lower lip. Ingrid stared at the mouth that had kissed her so tenderly earlier. Strom’s eyes caught hers, and she blushed. He knew exactly what she was thinking. His eyes raked over her long slim legs and he flashed an amused grin when she caught him looking. Ingrid tried to tuck her legs under her and gave a yelp of pain.
“Let me see it.”
Ingrid stretched her foot toward him and Strom muttered under his breath when he saw the puncture wound. “Stay there.”
He was turning alpha male again. Strom disappeared in the direction of the kitchen and returned with a bowl of warm water and her first-aid kit. Warm fingers lifted her foot onto his lap.
“This is going to hurt a little.” He produced a pair of tweezers and used them to remove a small, jagged object from her foot. Ouch that hurt. Ingrid closed her eyes and heard the clink of something metallic drop into the saucer. With deft fingers he strapped up her foot and replaced it on the couch.
“The other one.”
That was a command, rather than a request, and Ingrid found herself stretching her leg toward him. He wiped some dried blood away from the underside of her foot and then his ministrations turned to her bruised knees. For such a big man, he was surprisingly gentle. He massaged the tender skin in slow circles with a cooling salve before planting a featherlight kiss on one knee.
Maybe it was the kiss, or perhaps it was the sight of the blood-tinged water, but the earlier events of the evening suddenly hit her like a hammer and Ingrid started to cry. Tears streamed down her face and she couldn’t seem to stop them. David, Raoul and the others clamored inside her head for attention and all she could think about was David lying on the basement floor. It was all her fault he was there.
“Ingrid. It’s just shock, Ingrid.” Strom’s voice seemed to come from far away. Then he pulled her into his arms and she clung to him. He stroked her back, murmuring softly to her as she cried.
She kissed him first, a pleading demand for comfort, some way of feeling normal again. He pulled away, momentarily surprised by her reaction, and then Strom’s index finger brushed her lower lip gently and she closed her eyes. His mouth touched hers, tasting her, and then began a slow, sensual exploration. She kissed him back hungrily. Her palms stroked his broad chest, sliding along his neck, and she fingered through the strands of his hair. She couldn’t seem to get close enough to him.
With a reluctant groan, the viking broke the kiss and eased her down onto a pile of cushions, before taking her mouth again. Sliding her hands along his muscled back, her fingers inched their way beneath his shirt and she stroked the warm skin beneath. His mouth left hers, trailing hot kisses along her neck and shoulder. Desire unfurled inside her. This was madness, she knew him only a few hours, but she was hungry for him.
Adrenaline sex, he’d experienced it a few times
after battle. Strom groaned as her hands became more eager. His fingers reached for the belt on her robe and he hesitated. Much as he wanted her, he couldn’t let this happen. Ingrid would hate him in the morning. He couldn’t let her get under his skin like this. She was still in far too much danger. Strom pressed a gentle kiss against her lips, and held her until her breathing slowed and she was calm again.
“Ingrid, we really need to talk.”
“Of course,” she murmured with an embarrassed flush, as she untangled herself from his arms. What on earth was she doing? She had witnessed a murder and now she was kissing a stranger as if it was going out of fashion. Okay, Sorrenson, get a grip. This guy may have saved your life but you know absolutely nothing about him. And what was he doing in the museum at night anyway?
“What were you doing in my office?”
“I was waiting for you, Ingrid.”
This was getting way too weird. Strom’s expression was serious, but how had he known where to find her, unless he was one of them. Ingrid moved to the edge of the couch.
“Strom, thank you for tonight, but it’s getting late and I’m really tired. So if you don’t mind…”
He didn’t move. Her heart sank. This was turning into scary movie night. The one where the too-stupid-to-live heroine brings the killer home with her. She was off the couch in a flash, hobbling toward the kitchen. She eyed Finn’s prized Sabatier knives on the worktop, and reaching for the knife block, she selected the largest one she could find.
“Ingrid, put it down. You might hurt yourself.”
Strom’s voice startled her and the knife fell from her hand, skidding across the tiled floor. She inched her way along the kitchen cupboards toward the hall.
TimeSlip Page 2
