Stockholm was full of women with similar hopes and values. Busy, sophisticated women who enjoyed an easygoing existence, interesting conversations, and mutually beneficial sex. Maybe the odd weekend in Paris or an expensive ski trip. Then he would end things before anyone had time to get hurt and before he was asked any questions he had no desire to answer. It was neat, practical, enough. Words he somehow couldn’t get to make sense when it came to Jill Lopez.
He really should drop all thoughts of her. Just last week, he met a nice academic, a researcher in molecular medicine, at dinner at a colleague’s place. He should ask her out rather than spend his time pining for an ultraglamorous superstar diva.
Mattias tried to drum up some sort of enthusiasm for calling the researcher but found himself getting caught up in Jill’s Instagram account again.
He went into the kitchen and opened a bottle of 2001 Château Moulin de Lagnet, which he’d bought in France. He let it breathe while he took out a wineglass. Then he took the lid from a container of meat stew he had cooked and frozen, tipped it into a pot, and put it on a low heat. He poured a little wine and tasted it. When the food was ready, he took his plate and glass into the living room and turned on the late news. Ordinarily, he didn’t have trouble concentrating, but now he just sat there playing with his phone while the stew cooled on the table.
Eventually, he decided to throw dignity to the wind and write her a message, kept it neutral but friendly: Hope everything’s good with you.
If she still didn’t reply, he would stop bothering her, he decided, would accept that it was over before it even began. Maybe he’d call the researcher after all. He sighed.
Her reply arrived just before the weather report: Been better.
Mattias frowned. What did that mean?
Did something happen?
He waited while the little bubble containing three dots worked away. It took a while. Like she was writing a long answer. Or like she was trying to decide what to say. Eventually, she replied: The police are coming.
Mattias turned off the TV and dialed her number. Jill answered immediately. Something contracted in his chest when he heard her deep, husky voice.
“Hey, what’s going on?” he asked.
He heard her take a deep breath. “Nothing serious. I’m okay.” She sounded calm and slightly dismissive, but he noticed something else in her voice, something shaken.
“Tell me.”
“Uh.”
Mattias said nothing. Silence and patience were an interrogation leader’s best weapons.
“When I got home today there was someone outside my door. I got scared.”
“Are you hurt?” He didn’t mean to sound so sharp, but he couldn’t hide his worry. Jill didn’t sound at all like herself. She sounded small and scared.
“No. He disappeared.”
“Do you know who he was?”
“No, but he had a knife, so I called the police. They’re on the way now. Unless they deprioritize me. God, I just want to go to bed.”
“Jill, do you have anyone with you?” He was processing her words. A knife-wielding man. Shit.
“What do you mean?”
“Did you lock all the doors? Are you alone? You shouldn’t be alone. Could you call your sister?” He glanced around, as though there might be something in his apartment that could help.
“I’m alone. I don’t want to call Ambra.”
She hadn’t called anyone, it struck him, only the police, and she regretted that already. Jill wasn’t the type of person to ask for help.
“You want me to come over?” he asked, his wallet and keys already in his hand.
“You don’t have to,” she replied, but her voice trembled and he went out into the hall. Jill was in shock, even if she didn’t realize it herself. She needed someone there. Not just the police.
“I’m coming over,” he said, had already convinced himself there was no other option. Jill needed someone, and he was more than happy to be that person.
Ten minutes later, he was on the way to Djursholm. The cab pulled up outside a huge white villa. There was a wall surrounding the property, and a gate opened silently as the car approached. Mattias paid, climbed out, and waited until the cab left and the gate swung shut behind him. Christ. He knew Jill was wealthy and that she lived at one of the most expensive addresses in Djursholm, the most expensive suburb in all of Sweden, but he still hadn’t been expecting this.
“Impressive,” he mumbled to himself as he walked the last few meters to the house. The building seemed to be on its own peninsula, surrounded by water. A substantial wall looped around the garden, and he had already noticed several cameras. Jill should be safe here, but it was never possible to protect yourself completely. Not from crazy people. He swore, hurried over to the house, wanted to make sure Jill was fine with his own eyes.
There was a patrol car parked outside, and when he rang the bell it was a police officer who opened the door.
Jill was in the living room. She looked small and fragile next to the two broad-shouldered, oversized officers. Her arms were wrapped around herself.
He gave her a quick hug, and though she didn’t quite hug him back, she didn’t fight it either. “Are you okay?” he asked, stepping back and giving her a once-over. Physically, she seemed unharmed.
Jill nodded, but her face was pale and tense.
“And who are you?” one of the officers asked. Mattias didn’t like the way his eyes wandered over to Jill, an irritated look, as if he was questioning the necessity of being there.
“Mattias. A friend. What do you know? Have you made an arrest?”
The police officer shook his head. “There’s no one here. We didn’t see anyone.” They glanced at one another. They didn’t quite roll their eyes, but it wasn’t far off.
“This Instagram thing you do—you’ve never thought about not uploading so many pictures?” one of the officers said. He had bright red hair and was standing with his thumbs hooked into his belt, looking Jill up and down.
“What do you mean by that?” Mattias asked coolly.
“Just some advice.”
“It’s not against the law to upload pictures to social media. What is against the law is threatening someone. Ms. Lopez says there was someone here, so maybe we should try to focus on the right things?”
The redheaded officer puffed himself up. He looked as if he lived at the gym, a typical young guy who liked to show off whenever he could. Mattias estimated he could take him in three seconds. He was tempted, was so angry that his field of vision became blurred. The police didn’t seem to be taking anything Jill said seriously, just staring at her breasts and hinting that she had herself to blame.
“We have no evidence. You’ll have to come down to the station if anything else happens,” the other officer said.
Jill sighed once they left. “I’ve been through that before. They never do anything. I don’t even know why I called. I was just so scared.”
“I can understand that.” He wanted to go out and hunt for evidence, identify the perpetrator, make sure no one scared her again.
“They’ll drop the investigation,” she said. “Waste of taxpayers’ money. You want a drink? I need one.”
* * *
Jill went out into the kitchen. She was happy Mattias was there, even though she still didn’t quite know why. When she opened the cupboard door, she noticed her hands were shaking.
But Mattias came up behind her, placed a hand on her shoulder, gave off an air of security. “If you tell me what you want, I can make it,” he said quietly.
The cupboard was full of bottles. She didn’t even know what she wanted.
“There are glasses here,” she said, lacking the energy to make up her mind. She was shaken, would never have expected that of herself. Mattias took out a bottle of red wine and two huge glasses. He poured some and handed her the glass.
“Tell me what happened,” he said.
Jill sipped the wine. She had no idea where
the bottle was from, but it was perfect, easy to drink, unpretentious. “I got home after working all day and I saw something move. At first I thought it was just a bush or a branch, but then he stepped forward. He had a knife. I think anyway.” She suddenly felt unsure, like maybe she had made the whole thing up. She shouldn’t have called the police; it didn’t achieve anything.
“I’ll probably end up in the news now. The police will sell me to some tabloid for a thousand kronor,” she said, taking a sip of her wine. She was skeptical of everything. Of herself. Of men. Of Mattias. Plus, it was late. She was completely exhausted and didn’t have the energy to be sexy and seductive, to play Jill Lopez. She wanted to try to unwind. Watch trash TV. Eat something forbidden, full of fast carbs, like toast or Maryland cookies, the kind of thing she kept secret from her personal trainer. “I’m tired. I think I’m going to take out my lenses and wash my face,” she said, hoping Mattias would get the hint.
“Go for it. Is it okay if I sit down in the living room for now?”
She didn’t have the energy to care. She was too tired, too fragile, and headed to her dressing room. Once there, she hesitated for a moment but then pulled on her favorite sweatpants: faded gray shorts that made her ass look big but were also the most comfortable thing she owned. She pulled her hair up into a ponytail and took out her lenses. Without them, she was almost blind, and so she put on her glasses, though they were hideous. Then she pulled on a soft T-shirt, not bothering with a bra, let her breasts hang however they wanted. Mattias would have to cope with the sight of her drooping boobs. If he didn’t like them, it was just as well she got it over and done with now, before she did something stupid like fall for him. He confused her. No one had ever done this before—stood up for her, unconditionally. No man anyway. Not without being a paid employee.
Mattias was waiting for her by the bookcase. He was looking at her CDs, pulled out a thin case.
“That’s from an acoustic show I did in Malmö. It’s not on Spotify.”
“Can we listen?”
She put it into the CD player—Bang & Olufsen’s most expensive stereo unit—and the sound of her voice filled the room.
Mattias handed her the glass and they sat down on the couch, listening.
“Did you write this too?” he asked.
She nodded.
“You’re really gifted.”
She didn’t reply this time. Was she? Gifted? She took a sip of her wine.
“Sorry that I left you at the hotel the other night,” he said.
“Don’t worry. It was just unexpected,” she said quietly. Though she was a little annoyed. Felt like she had been dismissed by a man she was starting to like. She wasn’t so good at feeling like that, she realized, took it very personally. So when he wrote to her afterward, she wanted to punish him, make him feel as bad as she had. But it was good to have him here now. And she forgave him immediately.
“I’m not really in control of that, but I’m still sorry,” he said.
“Are you ever going to tell me what you do?” she asked, even though she suspected it was top secret.
“I work for the Intelligence and Security Service,” he said. He was silent for a moment, but then he added: “That’s almost the entire truth.”
Jill left it at that, suspecting it was more than he usually said. She was sitting cross-legged and her shorts rode up slightly, so she pulled them back self-consciously.
His index finger stroked the edge of the fabric, and it almost felt like he was drawing a short, hot line across her skin.
“I’m glad you came over,” she said, her eyes following the movement of his finger. The touch sent small shockwaves up her legs, into her thighs, stomach. She swallowed. Drank more wine. Then she pulled at her shorts again, feeling a little uncomfortable.
“Sorry,” he said.
“Don’t worry. I’m just sensitive.”
“I understand. I think. What are we talking about?”
She pulled her leg in close. “My cellulite.”
His fingers followed the movement. “What’s that? These? These tiny dimples? I think they’re completely charming.”
“You’re insane. No one likes cellulite. And no one says charming.”
Mattias moved his large palm onto her thigh and stroked it lovingly. He had insanely sensual hands—big, strong, and rough. She was perfectly still, felt his touch right between her thighs. He really was sexy. And the way he handled those cocky police officers. He was on her side, she could feel it. It was a good feeling. Having Mattias Ceder in her corner.
“I do. Especially yours. It’s beautiful.”
It was a stupid compliment, but Jill felt a small lump in her throat. “It’s hereditary, did you know that?”
His hand moved gently over her skin. Maybe he wasn’t even aware of the way he affected her. “I like to think I got it from my biological mother.” It was dumb, but the cellulite made her feel closer to the woman who gave her life and whose name she didn’t even know.
“Do you think about her often?”
“No,” she lied. The minute she’d turned eighteen, she’d changed her name to Lopez to honor her origins. And because she didn’t want anything from her adoptive Swedish parents.
They looked at each other. She knew he wouldn’t do any more unless she took the initiative. And though she was attracted to him, she didn’t have the energy right now. She hadn’t waxed in a while, and she was tired and needed a shower. She just wanted to sit there, looking into his warm eyes and feeling safe, secure.
“Can you stay awhile?” she asked.
“I’ll stay as long as you want,” he said simply, and she knew he meant it. He might be a secret agent or master spy or whatever it was he did, but he wasn’t lying about that. No one had ever cared about her like this. The record label fawned on her, her assistants fawned on her, and Ambra cared, in her own way. But this everyday care, concern without any ulterior motive, it was foreign to her. Maybe it was just that she had never allowed it before. Because it could be dangerous to give in to, dangerous to get used to.
“Do you have any idea who he was?” Mattias asked.
“No. There are so many crazy people out there.”
“Do you think it was one of the people who harass you online?”
“Don’t know.” She really had no idea, doubted she would ever find out. Men had been threatening her since she was sixteen. Not a single one had ever been charged. It was as if it wasn’t even considered a crime.
She sipped her wine and moved closer to him. He put an arm around her. It was a considerate gesture, not erotic. Jill leaned her head against his shoulder, heard her own voice fill the room. It was restful, sitting there like this. She closed her eyes. Didn’t care about her cellulite, glasses, or sex appeal. She was just Jill.
Chapter 47
“What are you doing?” Mattias asked.
Tom studied his face in the mirror, turned, and tried not to drop his cell phone into the sink. “Shaving.”
“You getting rid of the beard?”
“Yeah, I’m going to a party.” Tom dragged the razor across his cheek, cutting a path through the foam. He shook it off over the sink and repeated the process.
“So you’re still in Stockholm?”
Tom didn’t reply. He was fairly sure Mattias knew exactly where he was. Mattias wasn’t the type of man to sit around waiting for information. He got hold of it himself.
“Did you go into work yet?” Mattias asked.
Tom lifted his chin to start on his throat. “Yeah.”
He had been in to the office that week. It went unexpectedly well. The majority of his team was ex-military, plus a few former police officers, and they acted like it was no big deal when he showed up, which felt good. Maybe he would be able to go back after all.
“I hired Filippa,” said Mattias.
“The hacker?”
“Yeah. Plus a cryptologist I interviewed this week. Competent and smart, a real asset. It’s going to be
a great team, maybe the best I’ve ever formed. But I want you too. We need your skills. I need them.”
But Tom’s mind was made up. He didn’t want anything to do with Mattias or the Armed Forces. They would have to find his skills somewhere else. He pulled the razor across his skin again, didn’t say anything.
Mattias, who always did have an unnatural ability to know precisely what Tom was thinking, said, “Tom, how many times do I have to apologize? Can’t you get over what happened? We’re soldiers; sometimes we just have to accept what happened.”
Tom swore. “I’m getting shaving foam all over the phone.”
“Is Ambra going to the party?” Mattias asked.
“Bye.” Tom put down the phone, finished shaving, and rinsed his face. He checked that he hadn’t missed anything, patted aftershave onto his skin, and thoughtfully studied his reflection.
He had said he would go. But if he didn’t have plans to meet Ambra at the party tonight, he would have been tempted to cancel. It was a long time since he’d last had a real anxiety attack, but seeing so many people, exposing himself to popping corks and bright camera flashes, was that really so smart? He didn’t want to embarrass himself, particularly not in front of David Hammar or Alexander De la Grip. Oddly enough, he wasn’t all that worried about embarrassing himself in front of Ambra. She had witnessed his panic attacks before, and he wasn’t worried about what she would think of him. But the others . . .
He combed gel through his hair and started to get dressed. It was a long time since he’d last worn a suit, but it was a festive occasion and he wasn’t completely without vanity. He cut off the price tags, then put on his watch and a new pair of cufflinks, black obsidian. He wanted to look good tonight. For Ambra’s sake.
It was cold today in Stockholm, colder than Kiruna, ironically enough. The thermometer was approaching four below zero, and it was windy, so he pulled on a thick coat over his suit and picked up the handmade shoes he had bought; he could take off his boots when he got there. He took the enormous gift beneath one arm, grabbed his cell phone and wallet, and left the apartment. He glanced at his watch in the elevator. He would be early. Good. He hated being late.
High Risk Page 41