by RJ Griffith
Amy’s spirits sank even further. She only had one credit card, and she couldn’t call her mother. Mom wouldn’t understand, and Amy would have to endure the usual, ”you’re too impulsive and don’t think things through” speech she had been hearing all her life.
Amy squinted at the glowing red numbers on her clock. Five in the morning is not my earliest convenience. “I will be down when I’ve had a chance to wake up.” She plopped the receiver into its cradle and crawled back into bed. No matter how much she tossed and turned, she couldn’t fall back to sleep. This is that Archer guy’s fault. If he hadn’t stopped me, I could’ve introduced myself and…what if she had succeeded last night?
Would he have recognized her?
Would the photograph have been enough proof?
3
Amy leaned across the counter and pointed to the monitor. “I think if you re-type the card number it’ll go through.”
“The card won’t work, miss. It’s flagged. Perhaps there is someone in the states you can contact for an alternative payment method.” The woman’s frown deepened.
“You have to understand. I can’t call my mom to unfreeze the card because she doesn’t know I’m here.” Amy crossed her arms.
“Miss, if you have run away—”
“I’m twenty-four. I’m not running away,” Amy said through gritted teeth. She flattened her palms against the marble counter and narrowed her eyes. “I reserved this room for a week. I paid for it in advance.”
The woman adjusted her glasses. “Actually, miss, you gave us a credit card, and your assets are apparently frozen. That means we received no money and you have no room. If you would like to remove your belongings on your own, I would suggest you do it now before we do it for you.”
It was too late for tears. Amy whirled around, stalked back to the elevator and attempted to make her five-foot, one-inch frame appear imposing. She pressed the button on the elevator and rode it back to her level.
“Frozen account, ha!” Amy threw her purple pajama pants into her bag. “If Archer the behemoth hadn’t screwed everything up last night, I wouldn’t be in this fix.” She scooped the rest of her clothes off the floor and shoved them into her bag along with her toothbrush and the complimentary shampoo. Amy wrestled with the zipper, only getting it half way before the yarn of her sweater snagged in the pull. She tugged, but it only made the snag bigger.
“Dear God, why…” Amy stopped herself. She didn’t believe in Him anymore. She paced around the room, fiddling with her phone and thinking of Miranda. The security card fluttered to the floor. Amy picked it up and scrutinized the writing. The company name, Archipelago Industries, was familiar in some way. The cursive letters were scrawled across a tall glass building less than a mile down the road. Amy slung her half-zipped bag over one shoulder and headed for the front doors.
The fall chill blew against her thin sweatshirt and nipped the tips of her ears. She sucked in a deep breath of air, bracing and sweet. I could get used to living here. Almost everyone speaks English and the city is so clean.
The weather in Stockholm seemed to match Seattle, and in many ways the city had similar features. The biggest difference between the two had to be the clean lines of architecture against the skyline and the lack of dilapidated buildings crumbling into the pavement. What little research she had done before leaving Seattle had concentrated on familiarizing herself with a map of Stockholm, but several different articles had bragged about the cleanliness and low crime rate. At least the rain held off. In Seattle, when fall came, the rain blew sideways. Even her expensive raingear couldn’t keep out the precipitation.
A great, glass box towered against the skyline. The broad scrawl of Archipelago Industries adorned the door.
Amy followed the flow of people past the frosted doors twice before gathering the nerve to step inside. A sweeping glass desk encompassed the entryway, restricting admittance to all but employees. It matched so much of the city, smooth lines with bright white walls.
Amy approached the counter and addressed the woman there. “Excuse me. I need to find a man who works here. His name is Archer Stock. I came across something that needs to be returned to him.”
“Mr. Stock is not in right now. You can leave whatever it is at the desk, and we can place it in his box.” A kind smile crossed her face.
If she sees that Archer doesn’t have his security badge, he could get fired. I don’t want to get him into a fix. “I’ll take it by his apartment. Thank you.” Amy turned back toward the entry doors, paused, and then turned back. “Could you tell me his address?”
The woman scrutinized Amy’s attire once more. “Sure, let me write down his new address for you, as he moved about a month ago.” The woman jotted down directions. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“No thanks, this is what I needed.” Amy glanced at the directions. She stuffed the paper into her pocket, gave the woman a smile, and headed out the glass doors.
According to the paper, Archer lived a few blocks away.
She hoisted her bag higher and ignored the twinge of pain pulling across her shoulder blade. The chilly air snatched at what heat she had gained inside.
Light struck the buildings, creating division of dark in the alleys. She recalled an artist’s trick her mother taught her. “Imagine the world in shadow and light; the shadow runs from the light, Amy.”
“Why?”
“Because the light destroys the darkness. Do you ever notice how the light pushes the darkness back, like light spilling out from under a closed door? I think God gave us light to show us how much we need Him, to realize the shadows in ourselves.”
Amy squirmed. Her mother loved God and trusted Him, but Amy couldn’t ever comprehend why God let bad things happen to people like her mother…and like her.
Archer Stock’s name appeared fifth on the list of tenants. Amy held her breath and pressed the buzzer. No one answered. She exhaled a cloudy breath and pressed the button again.
The man next to her uttered something in Swedish.
“I only speak English,” Amy said, giving the man an apologetic shrug and half smile.
He stood tall and had a head of thick brown hair peeking from under his stocking cap.
Amy let her gaze linger on him a little longer.
“I said I saw Archer get into a cab early this morning. He hasn’t been back since.”
“Great,” She muttered. A thought crossed her mind. “Could you let me into the building? He left something with me the other night, and I need to get it back to him as soon as possible.”
“He’s my neighbor. If you left it with me, I could give it to him when he comes back, or you could put it in his box.” The man took a step closer.
“It’s a bit more sensitive than that.” Amy scuffed her feet on the ground and leaned toward the man, ignoring the chill sinking into her bones. “It’s his security badge. I wouldn’t feel OK unless I put it in his hands.”
An odd smile tugged at his lips.
Amy glanced away before he noticed her staring at his mouth.
“Oh. That does sound serious,” he said in a smooth voice.
Amy frowned. “It is serious. I need to return it to him, personally.”
He crossed his arms. “I think it’s fine to let you in, since you know Archer. I have a key to his apartment. Sometimes I take care of his cat.”
“Oh, you take care of his cat?” At her mother’s house, nine cats left no piece of furniture unscathed. She glanced at her attire, grateful she hadn’t chosen anything white. “Thanks so much. I’m sure Archer will appreciate it too.” She followed him into the elevator.
“So you and Archer are pretty close?” He reached over and pressed the button to his floor.
“Um…” Amy didn’t want to lie. “I haven’t known him very long. This is the first time I’ve come to his apartment. Spending time with Archer is uplifting.” Amy smirked at her wordplay.
“Well, that makes sense. I would ha
ve noticed someone as pretty as you coming around.”
“Oh, um, thanks. So you take care of his cat when he’s away? That’s really nice.” She followed him to a cream-colored door.
He shoved the key into place. It didn’t seem to fit right, but the man wiggled it and the door unlocked and swung open.
Amy expected a few balls of fur to roll out the door when it opened, but the apartment gleamed. She turned back to the man and stuck out her hand. “Thanks…um, what’s your name?”
“Niklas.” He gave her hand a firm shake, holding it longer than necessary. He gave her a broad smile that exposed the intricate design etched into his front tooth.
“My name’s Amy Bath.”
“Well, Amy, if you ever have a few minutes, maybe we can go get fika or something.” He released her hand.
“Huh? Fika?” She forced her gaze toward the tidy apartment. It reminded her of a display from the Swedish furniture store by the airport in Seattle.
“It’s our version of teatime, but with coffee.”
“Perhaps. Thanks again for your help, Niklas.” She pulled the door shut, shook her shoes off, and dropped her bag against a cabinet. Heat radiated from the blond wood flooring. Amy ventured further into the room. Afternoon light streamed through the windows with a view of the bay. The picturesque scene shouted beauty, the splash of color and light bouncing against the rocking water made Amy’s heart ache. This view would cost a fortune in Seattle.
A big, black book sat in the middle of a coffee table perfectly centered on the impeccably clean glass. Warmth crept back into her fingers and toes as she shed her sweatshirt onto the velvet couch. The gritty smell of cold coffee clung to the air. Amy ventured toward the kitchen and flipped on the light. White cupboards and cream-colored flooring complimented the eggshell paint on the wall. The messiest thing in the entire place was the half-empty coffee pot on the counter and a book left against the coffee table
“No man could be this clean. How could anyone move in, unpack, and find a place for everything?” She moved the copper tea kettle onto the stove, turned the burner on, and rummaged through the cupboards in search of tea. One cupboard held no-nonsense breakfast cereal, another general spices. She found the coffee mugs above the coffee pot. Each one matched the other except for a floral teacup shoved to the back. She pulled the teacup down. The tea nestled next to the bag of coffee in the drawer under the coffee pot.
This guy had efficiency down to a science.
Amy dropped the tea bag into her cup as the pot began to whistle. She poured the steaming liquid into the mug and dunked the bag of ”Christmas dreams” until the water turned an amber-brown.
The garbage can couldn’t be found in the usual places, so Amy set the tea bag against the counter next to the sink. I’ll probably have another cup later anyway.
Cinnamon, peppermint, and ginger wafted from the cup. Amy took a tentative sip. A prickle rose at the base of her neck. She turned, heart thumping, to face the front room. “Hello?” she squeaked. “Are you home, Archer?”
A pair of almond eyes glowed from behind a large potted plant. “Kitty?”
The creature howled and leapt toward Amy, claws and teeth bared.
Amy jumped to the side sending the boiling liquid into the air and onto her shirtsleeve. The rest splashed across the floor. Amy let out a piercing cry.
A Siamese streak of brown retreated toward the bedroom.
Pain chewed at Amy’s arm. She dashed to the kitchen sink, turned on the tap, and unsnapped the silver charm bracelet. Grabbing the door handle, she opened the freezer to search for ice. The searing fire returned, and she thrust her arm in the flowing water. A bag of berries toppled out of the open freezer and hit the white tile flooring.
She pushed at the bag with her foot, but berries burst out and rolled across the floor. She snatched a few up with her good hand and fought back a wave of dizziness. A big blister surfaced on her forearm. She had to find some pain medication before she passed out. All the drawers within her reach came up empty. Amy dashed to the bathroom. Consciousness faded in and out.
A deep, throaty growl resonated from behind the shower curtain.
“Listen buddy, I’m not moving again, so you’ll have to deal with it.”
Another loud yowl came from the cat.
Amy stretched out her leg to flick on the light. A crimson smear streaked across the light switch. “Oh, my goodness!” Her arm shook as she opened the cabinet. A bottle of nighttime pain reliever stood on the shelf. The maximum dose the instructions allowed would dull the throbbing in her arm.
The cat had given up growling, but it still paced around the tub.
Within a few minutes, her arm stung but the pain didn’t overwhelm. She sat down on the bath mat and inspected her foot. No cuts anywhere. “Here, kitty. Are you hurt?” Amy stood and pulled back the shower curtain.
The tan and cream Siamese puffed up twice its size and spat at her.
Amy tumbled from the room, slammed the door shut, and slumped down onto an overstuffed chair.
Archer could show up any time now.
She should get the berry mess cleaned up. The plush throw slid from the back of the chair around her shoulders. Her head drooped back against the chair. She’d rest for a few minutes. Maybe I should get Niklas from next door to help me with the cat. Maybe…
4
Archer slid the gun from his holster and cracked open the door. The piece of paper he’d wedged between the doorjamb lay on the floor. Since the attempt on his life six months ago, he had been overly cautious. He slid through the door and scanned the darkened room. A bag of something and a pair of children’s shoes sat at the door. Not mine. He crept toward the light in the kitchen, quiet as a cat. Small, bloody footprints exited the kitchen. All the drawers were pulled out, thawed berries oozed juice onto the floor, and a tea bag leached brown liquid. “What on earth…” He lifted a silver charm bracelet from the counter. He’d seen this bracelet before.
Gun in a ready position, he reached for the light switch. An unfamiliar sweatshirt was thrown on his velvet couch. Archer scanned the room for his cat. “Tolstoy,” he whispered.
Loud meows hailed from the bathroom.
Archer turned toward the bathroom and stopped.
A slim leg stuck out from under a heap of blanket. A blanket usually folded neatly at the back of his favorite chair. “Get up!” Archer pushed the leg with his foot, gun trained on the now moving lump.
“Can’t you see I’m sleeping?” A lock of long blonde hair appeared from beneath the blanket.
“How in the world…it can’t be…” Archer used his free hand to yank the blanket back, revealing the squinting intruder.
“Oh, you’re home,” she said through a yawn.
“The question is, what are you doing here?” I shouldn’t have let her go without getting a background check. Archer searched his memory for her name. Andy?
“What time is it?” she asked.
“I said, what are you doing in my apartment?” He used his interrogator voice.
She flinched.
There’s no way this girl is the one trying to kill me. Although she did break into my apartment. Who is she…Alicia?
“I came to give you something.” She stretched, but stopped short and cradled her arm. A large blister stood out on the forearm.
“What happened to you?”
“If you’ll put your gun away and give my bracelet back, I’ll tell you.” She cocked a thin blonde eyebrow.
Archer was surprised to find it still in his grasp. Something about this woman threw him off kilter. He holstered the gun. “I’m all ears,” he said, placing her bracelet in her palm.
“Well, the whole story is way too long. I’ll give you the abridged version. First I flew over here on a…” She paused.
Abigail? Abby? Why can’t I remember her name?
“I came over here to meet Mr. Lundahl. You interrupted me and hauled me off, even though I posed no actual threat.”
When he had been a part of a fighter’s circuit, the tiny ones tended to be more lethal. Then again, she had the air of a lost child, not a killer.
“When I got back to the hotel, I found your security badge in my handbag. I figured you would want it back.”
“And?”
She studied the burn on her arm. “And my credit card kind of got frozen, and the hotel kicked me out.”
“Is that why you broke into my house?”
“Hey, I didn’t break in. Your neighbor let me in— the one who takes care of your cat.” She stood and put her hands on her hips.
He remembered her name now. Amy Bath. She had spat it at him during the gala at the art gallery as if he should know. Archer snorted. “Miss Bath, this time I know you’re lying. Mrs. Eberline is on vacation until the day after tomorrow. She couldn’t have let you in.”
“It must have been her son. His name…um…Niklas, that’s it. He told me when he let me into your apartment”
“She doesn’t have a son named Niklas. Stop lying.” She had none of the typical signs of deception—blinking, fidgeting, and long pauses. Detecting deception and threats made him more aware. This girl wasn’t like the usual suspects.
“I’m not lying.” She crossed her arms and winced. “He let me in downstairs, walked me to your door, and unlocked it. He even knew you had a cat, which in my opinion is impossible to guess, because other than the screeching banshee in the bathroom, there isn’t a speck of cat hair in sight.”
“Tolstoy isn’t much of a shedder.” Archer paced toward the kitchen and back again. “Can you describe him?”
“Yes. Brown legs, tan fur, menacing eyes…”
“The man, not my cat.” Archer’s patience slipped. This could be the lead he needed.
Amy hid a smirk behind her hand.
“Niklas stood tall, had brown shaggy hair, um…light-colored eyes, and he was kind of cute, probably ten years older than me.” She shrugged her shoulders.
“By ‘stood tall’ do you mean six feet or more?”