The Near & Far Series

by Serena Clarke

“Yes.”

  Was that it? She stifled a sigh. “It’s really cold out here. Can I come in?”

  He stood back so that she could pass, then closed the door.

  She hesitated on the woven rug in the entrance, unsure whether to go and sit down. It hadn’t exactly been a fulsome welcome. She wasn’t waiting for gushing apologies, but it seemed reasonable to expect some recognition that she wasn’t guilty after all. Especially when they’d gone from wild lusty nights to cold hard zilch, in one brutal step.

  “So…it wasn’t me who poisoned the wolves.”

  “No.” He hadn’t moved from his spot by the door.

  Jesus, he was killing her. Didn’t that count for anything? She dug her fingernails into her palms, fighting the swirl of feelings that threatened to well up—most of all, frustration.

  “So there’s no need to lock me out. I didn’t do it. I told you I didn’t.”

  Instead of the smile or even the embrace she’d hoped for, his face darkened further.

  “There was something else you didn’t tell me.”

  Oh, no.

  No.

  Instantly, she knew what he meant. She was busted, exposed for the fake she really was.

  Except one thing was not fake—her feelings for him. They were new and raw, not yet ready for the harsh reality of this situation, but they were real. At the hardness in his eyes, her hopes tumbled like a demolition site under a wrecking ball.

  “Who told you?”

  “You’ll think this is funny,” he said, in a tone completely devoid of humour. “Fredrik told me.”

  Oh, perfect. Of course it would be him. She didn’t bother asking how Fredrik knew—the damage was already done.

  “I went to see him after Malin talked to me,” Jakob continued. “He says he didn’t do it either.”

  “He would say that. You didn’t believe me when I denied it.”

  “I don’t believe anything Fredrik says—unless it’s on Google too. Vertex PR has some interesting clients.”

  Shit. Despite Alcina removing her from the website, apparently there was something left linking her to Vertex. When Claire wanted to disappear, she could wipe herself from the internet, but Zoe was still trackable. Great. How the hell would she talk her way out of this? If ever she needed spin, it was now.

  “This looks bad, I know. But I can explain, honestly. And the wolves—Malin wouldn’t blame her own brother for nothing. I would never, ever harm them. Can’t you give me credit for that, at least?”

  He shook his head, apparently already at zero tolerance. “Why are you here expecting me to apologise, when everything you did was a lie?”

  “Not everything,” she said. But he had a point. “I mean, I’m sorry. I really am. I didn’t come here expecting to…” She stopped. There was nothing to gain now by confessing her feelings—but nothing left to lose either.

  “Expecting to what?” he asked. “Use my own research against me?”

  “No.” She might as well say it. It was too late now anyway. “To fall for you.”

  He laughed, a hard sound that petrified the edges of her heart.

  “You can stop playing the game now. And you didn’t have to sleep with me for that information. All the volunteers can see it.”

  “It’s not a game,” she said. “Couldn’t you tell, all those nights? It was the real me.”

  But he opened the door, put one hand behind her back, and gently, firmly, stepped her out to the porch.

  Why wouldn’t he just listen? Stubborn-arsed Swede. Why had she jumped into bed with him practically the moment she arrived? Now she was sorry they’d done all those things. All those irresistible, addictive, insanely hot things…

  She twisted away from his hand. “I didn’t force you to sleep with me! I’m sure the other volunteers made it just as easy as I did.”

  He shook his head. “There weren’t any others.”

  It sounded so much like the truth that she wished they could go back to that first porch kiss, when she’d still had a chance to tell the truth and set them on a different course.

  “It was just a job,” she said, giving it one last desperate try as he closed the door. “I was just doing my job.”

  “Maybe it’s just a job for you,” he said. And the door clicked shut.

  Twenty-Nine

  She stomped back to her cabin, trying to maintain her anger, because if she didn’t have that to hold on to, an avalanche of shame and disappointment would overwhelm her. Unfortunately the snow was too deep for proper stomping, and her black-tempered forward momentum made her top half go faster than her feet could keep up with. Twice she face-planted into the snow, cursed, and got back up again. She didn’t look back.

  Inside, she dragged off her boots and threw herself on the sofa. How could he have thought she was sleeping with him to get information? Didn’t he see that she’d let him in, trusted him with her heart as well as her body? The swirl in her head was matched by the churning in her guts. And now he knew the truth about her lie. He had every right to be angry about that, but maybe he’d let her explain once he’d calmed down…although he seemed perfectly, horribly calm already. And even if she got the chance, how would she explain? It was what it was, damn it. She was what she was.

  What she wasn’t was a wolf killer. Like Fredrik.

  She had a few things to say to him.

  And hey, no time like the present, when she was aflame with indignant rage. Anyway, it had better be now, because once Greta and Bengt knew the truth about her job too—her heart clenched at the thought—she would definitely have to leave. She hated that she’d been deceiving them all along. Kind, quirky Greta, and funny, practical Bengt—they’d become like family so quickly. She shoved the thought out of her mind, and pulled her boots back on.

  In Greta’s guesthouse office, she grabbed the car key. She’d face her truth with the Nilssons soon enough. But first…Fredrik.

  * * *

  Once again, the Defrost Digital reception area was empty. Zoe hesitated, looking at the bell. With all the real action happening online, she supposed there was no need for an actual person sitting at a desk, way up in the wilds of northern Sweden. Which was pretty convenient—no one to talk her way past. She went behind the desk, and reached for the door. It was unlocked.

  Inside, she paused. Every desk in the big open-plan area was empty. She looked at her watch—lunch time. Had they really all gone out and left the place wide open? Between the frosted windows, the walls were covered from floor to ceiling with illustrations, posters, and photos, evidence of years of creativity and fandom. She walked slowly between the desks, looking for Fredrik’s. Most of them held two big screens, as well as various other devices and gadgets, alongside headphones, empty energy drink cans, and figurines (apart from Star Wars and Minecraft characters, she didn’t recognise any of them). Under one desk, a tiny dog raised its head as she passed, making her jump. She held her breath, but it just yawned and went back to sleep.

  Finally, at the back of the room, she came to two walled offices. Was one of these Fredrik’s? Choosing the one on the right, she tentatively pushed the door open—and just about had a heart attack. Alvar was sitting at the desk, headphones on, working at his computer. He stood up when he saw her, his chair shooting backwards, but the headphone cord jolted him back to the desk. He pulled the headphones off and came towards her, obviously ready to escort her out.

  “Zoe.” His voice was faux-welcoming, with a guarded edge. “What are you doing here?”

  “I’m looking for Fredrik.”

  “He’s not here. I’m so sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry. “Let me show you out.”

  But she’d seen something pinned to the wall, amongst all the drawings and designs and certificates and awards. One tiny, familiar illustration.

  Nova No-Show.

  As he reached for her, she planted one hand on each side of the door frame. “Wait.”

  It came out with such authority and determination, surprising even
her, that he stopped.

  “You did know Claire.”

  He made a sound somewhere between a bluster and a pfft. “We’ve already had this conversation.”

  “We have. But you didn’t tell the truth.” Pot calling, but hey.

  “I don’t have to—” he started.

  But she elbowed past him and pulled Nova from her spot on the wall. Holding it up, she thought she saw him waver for the briefest moment. Then he smiled.

  “I told you a lot of people want to work here,” he said, as though explaining to a child. “They send me all kinds of things. Some of them end up on the wall.” He waved around the office, the walls barely visible under everything stuck on them.

  She narrowed her eyes. Nothing got her as riled as being talked down to.

  “Listen, there’s a reason why I need to find Claire. Her mother is sick.”

  At this, some of the condescension seemed to drain out of him. “Her mother?”

  He looked at Nova, then back at Zoe. Something had changed in his face. For the first time, she felt like she was seeing something closer to the real Alvar. Suddenly she made the connection. Claire’s mother. Jakob’s mother. Did he have a heart in that peacock-puffed chest after all?

  “She’s really sick. And I want them to have the chance to see each other before…before it’s too late.”

  He rubbed his chin. “Well…”

  “How terrible,” interrupted a voice from the doorway. “I really hope you find her. What a shame we can’t help you.”

  Fredrik.

  “I don’t want your help,” she told him. “Right now, I want your lying head on a silver platter.”

  He laughed heartily.

  “What spirit. And what a fucking nerve, from a liar like you.”

  “From one liar to another,” she snapped at him. “I know it was you who poisoned the wolves.”

  His lip curled. “I don’t know why you’ve chosen me to blame, out of everyone in Lillavik.”

  “I didn’t choose you. Malin—” She stopped.

  “Malin told you?” He laughed. “She’s always been crazy. What do you think all her appointments are for? And why do you think her husband never comes home?”

  She flinched on Malin’s behalf. And here she’d been thinking how sweet their sibling teasing was.

  “Come on, think about it,” he said. “Why would I be bothered about the wolves? They’re nothing to do with me.”

  “They’re nothing to do with you, but they’re everything to do with Jakob. And I was something to Jakob.” The past tense was gave her a stab of regret and loss.

  “So what?” His arctic blue eyes were icicle-cold. “Plenty of women have been something to Jakob, just like his dirty old man here.”

  With that one sentence, he struck at all three of them: Zoe, Jakob, and Alvar. Fighting the urge to lunge at him and punch his stupid, perfect, high-cheekboned face, she looked to see what Alvar would do. No matter how much she resented The Shark, she would never speak to her boss like that.

  But Alvar did nothing.

  “You can leave us now,” Fredrik told him, and to Zoe’s surprise, he did.

  Fredrik kicked the door shut behind him.

  “Sit down,” he said.

  She sat.

  “We have some choices to make,” he said, leaning on the desk in front of her like an FBI interrogator. “I’ll keep it simple. Here are the facts. I have no motive for killing wolves. You do. And everything started when you arrived.”

  “Jakob doesn’t believe your denial.” Never mind that he didn’t seem to believe hers either.

  He shrugged. “Who would the authorities believe?”

  She shifted in the seat. He was right—not that she’d let him see that. “Knowing some big English words doesn’t make you right.”

  He smiled. She smiled back.

  “You’re very confident,” she said. “But you obviously know your way around the Nilssons’ place on skis. And we heard your truck in the driveway, the night before the second wolf got sick. Jakob knew it was you.”

  The confidence slipped slightly, but he regrouped. “That wasn’t me.”

  “Sure,” she said. “It was that other guy in Lillavik with a GMC.”

  “It must be. I was away in Stockholm with Alvar.”

  She snorted. “Oh, come on. I saw you that morning—you and Malin were going skiing.”

  “We left that afternoon.” His smile was back. “You can ask Alvar.”

  “Fine. I will.”

  She stood up and made for the door, and was surprised (and relieved) when he let her go past into the open-plan area. There was no sign of Alvar there, or in the other separate office. She went down a hallway and looked in a lunch room and a meeting room, but found nothing.

  Fredrik was leaning against a desk, toying with a Darth Vader figurine as he watched her search. “Don’t bother. Alvar can’t tell you anything you want to know anyway.”

  If only a lightsaber was within reach. She made do with a burning stare. “Screw you.”

  He laughed. “Maybe one day. The offer still stands.”

  Behind her, she heard the door open, and turned around. The staff were coming back from lunch. She bit down on the reply she wanted to fire back at him, and left.

  * * *

  Outside, she stood for a minute by the car, letting the freezing air cleanse her lungs and her mind. God, he was beyond creepy. He deserved everything he was going to get—if she could figure out how, before she left.

  Her phone rang, and she pulled it out and looked at the screen. Paul.

  “Hi,” she said. “Is everything all right?”

  His voice came from a long distance, not just in miles. “She’s had another one.”

  “Oh, no. Oh, God.” She stood in the car park, the grey sky pressing down above, and felt the weight of the news settle on her heart. “How is she?”

  “Not great. Lost all the progress she’d made, and gone backwards even more.”

  “Oh hell. I’m so sorry.”

  “That’s okay,” he said, even though it wasn’t.

  “Did you hear anything from Claire?”

  There was a silence on the line, then he sighed. “Yes.”

  “So you’ve talked to her?”

  “Yes. She got your message. She said that…” He cleared his throat. “That they didn’t speak before, so there’s not much point in coming now she can’t speak at all.”

  At that moment, she understood that the Claire she’d known was no more. Or maybe that Claire had never been a real person at all, just the idealised version of Zoe’s lonely teenage longing for a sister, and a friend. But then…things went both ways. There’d been years’ worth of chances for Sarah to reach out to her daughter. The longer they’d each left it, the harder their hearts must have become. And there was Paul stuck in the middle, a nice man, but hapless, somehow not equipped to stand up to his wife, even for her own good. For the good of them all.

  There were so many things she wanted to say, none of them helpful at this point.

  “I don’t know what to say,” she managed. “That’s just…”

  His laugh was hollow. “I know. Now I’ll let you get on with things there.”

  “Okay. I’ll come and see you as soon as I get back.”

  She didn’t tell him that her work had met a sudden end, and she’d be home sooner than planned. Need-to-know basis, for now.

  “Lots of love,” she said as usual, but this time the phrase couldn’t say enough.

  “Right back,” he said, and her heart broke at the simple words. She was the only one he had to say them to.

  There in the snowy car park, an idea crystallised in her mind. Claire’s mother. Jakob’s mother. Back in the office, she had definitely seen something in Alvar’s eyes. Everything else might be a mess, but before she made her ignominious exit, maybe there was one last thing she could do.

  Thirty

  She went up the driveway between towering trees, bare
and frozen now, but still impressive. Alvar’s house, Hofsvik, was like a scaled-down stately home sitting on the rise ahead—dusky pale gold, with beautifully symmetrical rows of windows, a high peaked roof, and a small tower at each end. It was elegant, historic, and just grand enough—evidence of the small fortune Alvar had made with Defrost Digital.

  She followed the circular driveway around, past neatly clipped, snow-dusted shrubbery and double-sided stone front steps, and parked facing back down the driveway. Her arrival had set dogs to barking inside, and when she reached the top of the steps she could hear them scrabbling and leaping on the other side of the enormous front door. She took hold of the knocker—the same double D as the company logo—and rapped firmly.

  Alvar opened the door, and two leggy hounds shot out and milled around her, yelping and snuffling. In contrast to their enthusiasm, Alvar looked less than pleased to see her.

  “What do you want?”

  She didn’t bother with any niceties either. “Can I come in?”

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s freezing, and your dogs are going to eat me.”

  He sighed and called them off, and they went back in, all drool and waggy tails.

  “Come,” he said, jerking his head towards the inside, and it took her a second to realise that he was talking to her now. Nice.

  She followed him through the airy entranceway, where a tall antique clock stood next to an armoire of palest dove grey. The dogs jostled her as they went down a wide, white hallway, and she peeked into the rooms they passed. Everything was exquisitely decorated in that traditional clean, whitewashed Swedish style—but it felt impersonal. There were no family photos, no cheerful muddle of daily living, nothing that said anything about the person who lived here.

  Then they turned left into a living room, and Alvar went to sit in an armchair with wide rolled arms by the fireplace. It looked like his regular spot—there was a footstool in front, and dog beds close by. The coffee table alongside was scattered with newspapers and magazines, and a laptop sat open next to an iPad. It was an oasis of real life in the cold perfection of the big house. He picked up a half-empty glass of something golden, and emptied it in one go.