Authors: Caroline McCall
She had wanted to go to the police about the missing
artifacts, but David thought it might all be a mix-up and he had insisted on
speaking to Raoul first. Dear, gentle David, museum curator for thirty-five
years. He was due to retire in two months’ time and they had killed him. Just
shot him dead in front of her. Tears rolled down her face again.
Stop it,
stop it. Don’t think about that now.
Ingrid took a deep breath before inching slowly into the
passageway. So far so good. If she could get to the stairwell, she could make
her way to the kitchens and the emergency exit there.
“Have you found her yet?” The radio blared to life in the
next storage bay and Ingrid had to bite her lip to stop herself from screaming.
“Not yet. But we have all the exits covered.” The man’s
voice faded as he walked in the opposite direction.
If she couldn’t go down, she would have to go up. It was a
big museum. She knew every inch of it and it would take them a long time to
search two floors of exhibits. All she had to do was find somewhere to hide
until the museum opened up tomorrow morning. Who was she kidding? The telephone
system was disconnected. They were armed, they wanted to kill her and they had
all night to find her. She was toast.
The wonderful thing about nineteenth-century buildings was
the number of staircases. All built to ensure that the common working man
didn’t have any contact with the important gentlemen scholars. Most of them
weren’t on the map—no one wanted the visitors to use them. Ingrid made her way
up the creaky, narrow backstairs to the next floor, Prehistoric and Neanderthal
Man. Her cell phone was in her desk drawer, just one floor away. Then she could
ring for help. She almost began to feel hopeful.
“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. She 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.