by PJ Friel
The same couldn’t be said for Mordechai Hinterland. A few years back, a business rival of his had turned up dead. In pieces. No evidence. No witnesses. No charges.
Groaning, I buried my face into my hands. The lingering shock that Trygg would actually do something like this screwed with my head, too. I’d actually started to like him. The man from last night didn’t seem like a murderer. And god, that kiss. The way it made me feel…but I knew better than to go by feelings.
Feelings got you hurt, could even get you killed, when Outlanders were involved. I’d have to be a special kind of stupid to risk that, which actually made my decision easy. I needed to keep my friend safe.
What David didn’t know wouldn’t land him in the bottom of a lake. I could make it look good by talking to Gideon’s mother—another flipping Outlander, apparently—and asking the kid’s friends a few questions, then I’d convince David I couldn’t find any leads and he needed to move on.
Simple.
Burger, bun, done. Everyone was safe.
Right.
I banged my head against my desk as my conscience screamed at me. I wasn’t sure how to live with a lie this big. Plus, the thought of allowing Gideon’s murder to go unavenged made my skin crawl.
No. We all needed closure. I’d just have to find a way to provide it without exposing David to my screwed-up reality.
The front door opened and I sat up and sucked in a sharp breath, nearly choking to death on my own spit. Speak of the Outlander and he shall appear. Walking into my detective agency like he owned it was Trygg Mackenzie, ravisher of mouths.
Murderer. Don’t forget murderer.
I stood up as he stopped in the tiny waiting area.
How dare he show his face here.
“Mr. Mackenzie.”
He arched a brow, probably at my icy tone, and came to stand in the doorway of my office. “I thought after last night we were on a first name basis, Ms. Ullman. Did my heroic rescuing of your poor beleaguered feet not guarantee that small reward?”
My face flamed and I ducked my head, wishing for the first time ever that I had long hair. I kept it short to prevent anyone from being able to grab it during a struggle, but right now it would be nice to have some locks to hide behind, because my eyes were stabbing him in the face.
I sneered at him. “Beleaguered? Who says that?”
“I do.” He sauntered over and leaned his hip against my desk. “How are those cute little toes, by the way?”
“My toes are fine, thanks.” I moved away from my chair, so it wouldn’t trip me up when I lunged for his throat. “Why are you here?”
Had he come to see if I’d connected the dots and knew that Gideon was one of the men who had attempted to rob Mordechai? Or was he going to make sure that I never did?
Too late.
He was dressed casually, in a t-shirt and jeans, and from his position I could tell that he wasn’t armed. Not that it mattered. I didn’t need to be armed to kill someone and I doubt he did either.
“I came to apologize for bailing on you last night. I was needed back at work.”
I picked up a paperweight from my desk and casually rolled it from one hand to the other. “And you couldn’t have spared a moment to say goodbye?”
If he made a move on me and I’d bash his beautiful skull in.
Beautiful?
“I tried to get your attention, but you were engrossed in the investigation. Didn’t want to interrupt. How about I give you a foot massage as an apology?”
I gripped the paperweight tighter. “Like I said, my feet are fine.”
He seemed awfully determined to get his hands on me.
“Well, that’s a shame.” He gave a disappointed sigh. Or was he just irritated that I wasn’t going to make it easy for him to snap my neck.
Too bad, pal.
“You’d rather I was in pain?”
A wounded look crossed his face. “I’d rather you didn’t feel threatened by me.”
Brakes screeching, wheels locking, my brain went into full-on vapor lock. I cocked my head and pasted an innocent smile on my lips. “What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean.” He made a gimme motion with his fingers. “The paperweight, please.”
My pulse hammered and I clutched the paperweight until he motioned again. Fine. It wasn’t like I didn’t have other weapons in this room. I dropped the hefty glass ball into his hand.
“An innocent enough looking office supply, but if you hit someone with it, it would hurt like hell. Might even crack their head open. It’s smart to keep something like this close.”
That he realized what I was doing should have made me even more nervous. Instead, it gave me a rush. No one had ever noticed that my decorating themes veered towards self-defense. That he did meant he was more than just muscle. It turned him into a worthy opponent.
And I was going to take his head off.
“I call it guerilla décor,” I said, motioning to the heavy glass in his hand.
His throaty chuckle drew my gaze to his lips. “Tell me.”
I pointed at the plants on the window sill. “Heavy pottery makes an excellent weapon.”
He nodded. “No matter where it hits, it hurts.”
“Exactly. The decorative plaque with the baseball bat and balls.” I nodded at the wall to the right. “I signed all of them. They’re worthless.”
“And virtually invisible as a weapon because of the pretty display. Anything else?”
I shrugged at him. “Maybe.”
Like I was going to tell him about the straight wooden coat hooks on the wall behind me that were actually daggers. They were my ace in the hole when he came at me.
“Will you show me someday?” he asked.
What a loaded question. It implied a future for us, a future in which I trusted him. I let the question go without an answer, because he wouldn’t like what I had to say. He handed the paperweight back to me and I dropped it onto my desk with a thud.
“Please?” His puppy dog look begged me to give him whatever he asked.
Time to stop playing games with him and find out what he wanted.
“So, what brings you here today?”
“You.” He sprawled into one of the chairs in front of my desk, completely relaxed.
A chill went up my spine. I forced myself not to look over my shoulder at the daggers. “What about me?”
“I thought you might be hungry.”
“Hungry?”
Oh, my god. The man had reduced my conversational skills to a game of Pete and repeat.
“Yep. I’m starving and I thought if I’m starving, you might be as well.” He leaned forward and rested his forearms on my desk. “I know a great place for lunch. Exclusive. Very private.”
His plain black t-shirt stretched over his chest and hugged his huge biceps. He could crush my head with his bare hands at this exclusive, very private place.
Suddenly, a dagger didn’t seem like enough weaponry. I needed my gun.
He cleared his throat and I tore my gaze up to his face. The predatory look in his eyes was impossible to miss. Guess I had my answer regarding why he was here.
“Are you starving, Bryn?”
Bloodthirsty was more accurate.
I flashed my teeth at him. “I’d love to go somewhere private. I just need to lock the back door.”
And get my gun out of my safe.
Rising slowly from the chair, he stalked around my desk and held out his hand. I did the only thing I could. I gripped his fingers, my gaze never leaving his.
If he was going to hit me, I’d see the change in his eyes first, but that wouldn’t happen here. He’d wait to have me on his own turf. My only chance of making it out of this alive was to end things before that. Once my gun was in hand, the only smart thing to do was shoot to kill.
His other hand rose and I forced myself not to flinch when he cupped my cheek. That weird feeling of safety washed over me and I barely stopped myself f
rom nuzzling his palm.
“What’s wrong? You’re trembling.”
Oh, god. Was I really going to do this?
Premeditated murder. I was actually contemplating premeditated murder.
I blinked at Trygg.
Bile rose in my throat. I jerked away from him. I couldn’t become judge, jury, and executioner. I wasn’t like him. “Actually, you can take your hunger and leave, Mr. Mackenzie. And don’t ever come back.”
The smile dropped off his face. “What just happened here?”
“Nothing happened and nothing is going to happen. Get out.”
“It’s just lunch.”
I put my chair between us. “I’m not an idiot. I know why you’re here.”
He shoved the chair under my desk and advanced on me. This time, I held my ground. I was close enough to snatch one of the daggers if I needed it, but if I was going to sink a blade into a man’s belly, I needed proven righteousness on my side.
Trygg wanted to play hardball? We’d play. I required evidence that he killed Gideon and he was about to tell me exactly where to find it.
“Tell me why I’m here, Bryn.” His gaze dropped to my lips as his thumb traced the bottom one.
Step into my parlor, Mr. Mackenzie.
I parted my lips, let his thumb slide inside.
He ducked his head to my ear. “That mouth.” His exhaled breath made me shiver.
Adrenaline. Nothing more.
I held firm. This would be the last time I saw Trygg Mackenzie.
I gripped his wrist and pulled his thumb from my mouth. “Tell me, Trygg,” I whispered. “What did you remember when you saw Gideon Shelton’s body last night?”
Then I unleashed my power and dove headlong into his memories.
CHAPTER 15
TRYGG
I opened my mouth to tell Bryn where she could shove her question, but suddenly I wasn’t in her office anymore.
I stood in front of the cottage I lived in with my wife Caitlin, holding my dying stepson in my arms. The gore of battle soaked my clothes, but it was guilt that tarnished my soul.
The door flew open and Caitlin filled the opening, fists pressed to her mouth and stomach, holding in her pain and her screams, as her entire body shook.
“Go inside, love. He lives, but not for long. Let him see home before he leaves us,” I said, my voice hoarse with pain. I was so exhausted I could barely stand.
Caitlin’s hand left her mouth and pressed against Aidan’s cheek. The boy whimpered and Caitlin echoed him, tears falling down her cheeks.
“How could you let this happen, Trygg? You promised me that you’d keep him safe!”
Her screaming accusations reverberated around the room that blinked back into existence around me. I staggered towards the door, the scent of blood cloying. My gaze darted around and landed on the floor. Nothing made sense. Why was there carpet under my feet instead of dirt and stone?
“What the fuck is happening?” I mumbled.
I looked up and a woman stared at me with horror-filled eyes. Caitlin? I shook my head, trying to clear it. No, that wasn’t her name. What was it?.
“What...what is...what is your name?” I stammered.
“Oh my god. I’m so sorry,” the blonde whimpered , backing away.
I lurched forward and grabbed her and the cabin surrounded me once more.
“Let me see! Let me see your wounds, Trygg!” Caitlin said, her voice urgent.
Warmth filled me at the touch of her hands on my body. When she ripped my shirt open and ran her fingers over my chest, I groaned. Caitlin was finally coming to her senses and realizing that I too might be wounded and need her. And I did need her. I needed her comfort, needed to hear her tell me that she forgave me for letting our son die. I gently captured her hands in mine and pulled her against me.
“Don’t worry, my Cait. I’m fine. I’m not wounded.”
Wrenching back, she spat in my face. “I knew it! Coward! You brought Aidan home with his guts spilling from his stomach, yet you don’t have a scratch? Did you even fight, Trygg? Or did you hide like the spineless bastard I now know you to be?”
I wiped her spittle from my face, but I couldn’t wipe away what she felt towards me. It emanated off her in black roiling waves that dashed me against the wall of disgust she’d built around her. No matter how much I wanted to defend myself, I couldn’t. I’d broken my promise to her. All I could do was try to calm her down and beg her forgiveness.
“Don’t say words that can’t be unspoken. Please.”
“Bastard!” she hissed at me. “You were nothing more than a roof over our head. I never loved you and I won’t spend another minute with you.”
The door slammed behind her.
I recoiled, a sudden pain shooting up my hip finally pulling me out of the memory, allowing me to shake off the sights and sounds that had trapped me in the agony of my past. My lungs were bellows that were aged and cracked, working double-time, but unable to draw in enough air to function. My hands clenched, suddenly empty, desperately seeking…her. The woman who had just torn me apart with a single touch.
Bryn rushed across the room and closed her office door. Then she was on the move again, hands reaching for me and tears streaming down her face as she rounded the desk. “Oh, god. That’s not what I expected. I didn’t know...I thought that...”
“Don’t touch me.” I snarled at her and put the desk back between us. A single caress would shatter me.
“I won’t.” She flinched and dropped her hand to her side. “I promise.”
My chest ached and my throat closed tight with sobs that I refused to release. Not in front of this woman. She’d forced me to give her my memories, but I wouldn’t give her my pain. That was mine to bear and mine to share with whomever I chose and I did not choose her. The innocent girl I’d saved nineteen years ago had turned into a monster. She had a soul as dark as the shadows where her Svartalf ancestors skulked.
I wish I’d left her to them all those years ago.
“How the hell did you do that to me?” I asked through gritted teeth.
My nerves still jangled and the shallow breaths I sucked in did nothing to calm me. That my berserker hadn’t appeared and ripped her to shreds was a miracle. Hell, I wanted to choke her to death myself for making me live through that moment again.
Why had she done it?
The memory she’d dragged out of me was over three hundred years in the past—the spring of 1691 in Galway. My fifteen-year-old stepson Aidan and I had answered the call to restore King James II of England to his throne. In the Battle of Aughrim, on the bloody goddamn hill of Killcommadan, Aidan took a bayonet to the gut. He didn’t die that day. Would have been kinder if he had. Instead, he clung to life while I carried him home to his mother.
I’d promised Caitlin that I’d keep him safe and she’d believed me.
I’d failed them both that day and this woman had made me relive that. I could kill her for taking me back there, make her hurt as much as I had then, and still did.
I wanted an explanation, but her silence actually helped me pull it back together, gave me something to focus my anger on, because she should be talking, not sitting there staring at me with fucking pity in her eyes.
“I asked how you fucking did that to me!” My voice boomed, filling the office.
Instead of answering me or cowering from my fury, a calm settled over her, like she’d flipped a switch. Her eyes went completely dead. Her muscles loosened and she stepped back with her left foot, watching me with wary eyes and clenched fists.
Oh, fuck no. That’s not happening.
“Are you kidding me?” I shook my head. “So, mentally raping me wasn’t enough for you. Now, you’re going to try to beat the shit out of me, too?”
She gasped, a horrified look on her face, but I didn’t give a flying fuck. I wanted answers and I wasn’t going to play games with her anymore, nor was I going to underestimate her again. I wanted the truth, even if I had to cho
ke it out of her.
She unclenched her fists. “No, I don’t want to hit you. I never meant for that to happen. I thought you…”
It hit me then, what she thought.
“You thought I killed that boy.”
Her face flushed and she looked away.
I couldn’t believe the duplicity. I’d saved her life and this was how she repaid me.
“I told you last night that I never found them! Why would you do this? You owe me an explanation.”
I advanced on her and she scurried backwards, grabbed one of the coat hooks from the wall and pulled, revealing a dagger.
Her eyes were glassy with tears, but her raised chin told me that she’d stab me if I came at her again. “I don’t owe you anything. Get out of here, Trygg, and don’t ever come back.”
The Monster stirred inside me. The violence was an aphrodisiac for the thing, but it took one look at Bryn and turned its back. If I threw down against her, I was on my own.
The disloyalty stunned me.
I don’t even know why.
The bastard has never been on my side.
I wanted to restrain her and force her to answer my questions, but I didn’t have the strength to fight her and the Monster, as well as myself. As angry as I was, I’d promised her nineteen years ago that nothing would ever hurt her again as long as I was around.
I never gave my word lightly.
I turned my back on her and quietly left, determined to never see her face again.
Except in my nightmares.
# # #
The drive back to the Theater was a blur. If I’d ended up with a convoy of cops behind me, I wouldn’t have been surprised. Speeding? Sure. Reckless Op? Without a doubt. I glanced over at my SUV as the elevator in the parking garage closed. No dents or bloodstains. At least I didn’t run over anyone.
Thirty seconds later, the doors opened up on the second floor and my least favorite person greeted me. DG.
What Norn did I piss off today and how do I atone?