Read Online The Second Lie (Immortal Vikings Book 2) by Anna Richland - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Anna Richland
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reputation.
“What’s that? A numbers crossword?” Wend was reading the puzzle upside down.
Fear that he’d read the message tightened her butt cheeks on the metal chair, but she fought to seem unconcerned by Wend’s question.
“Keeps the brain young.” Stig looked at Wend. “Might not be too late for
you.
”
“Funny.” Skafe’s low, uninflected voice made the hair stand up on her neck. “Ha. Fucking. Ha.”
Stig ignored him in order to fiddle with his cuff links, sleek silver-colored squares with a diamond on one side and a black stone on the other. When he held them out to her, his French cuffs dangled like dirty, tattered surrender flags. “Could you put these in your handbag?”
Her fingers brushed his palm as she picked up the masculine jewelry. For an instant he curled his fingers back and squeezed hers, and the contact infused her with as much strength as the sandwich had. Maybe they would escape.
The confidence was, like hope, a crest quickly undercut by aches and exhaustion. Above the far left platform, an ornate black-and-white wall clock ticked to 4:40. Her brain took several beats to calculate that almost five a.m. in London was almost nine p.m. the night before in California. She gave up without determining how many hours had passed since she’d left her apartment with a carry-on and a doomed idea.
A worker rolled a rack of pastries to the shop by the ticket turnstiles. With thirty minutes until the first express train for the airport, employees began to arrive for a handful more stores, preparing for a morning rush. Absorbed in their routines, no one looked at her or Stig. Sitting at a table with newspapers and food wrappers, her broken shoes and skinned knees were invisible. Their foursome looked like any other group of waiting passengers.
At 4:45, Stig folded the front section of the paper around the rest of the stack, tucked them all under his arm and stood. “I suppose you’ll have to escort me to the gents’.”
Wend stood, and she too started to push out her chair, but Skafe was next to her before she could finish rising. “I—” Her voice sounded like she hadn’t spoken in days, not merely an hour. “I’d like to use the bathroom too.” Maybe that was his plan. A breakout from the bathroom.
They made her use a stall in the men’s room, but at least they let her close the door. Sitting on the toilet, she touched the pistol. It was warm from her body and smaller than she expected when she held it in her hand. All those years Big Frank had taken her brother shooting, she’d never wanted to go and hadn’t felt like she’d missed out, but she didn’t even know how to check if there were any bullets in the gun.
“Hurry up or I’m coming in.” Skafe was right outside.
She pointed the business end at the metal door. If he opened it right now and she pulled the trigger, there would be police, lots of them. She was a woman without a country, so what would happen to her if she was slapped in a British jail for shooting a man? She’d read the news stories about other Americans arrested overseas. A person in her situation wouldn’t get help from the American embassy, and she doubted the Mexican one would offer much either. No, she’d be on her own.
“Did the thought occur to you that your lurking might be making her bladder shy?” Stig’s voice carried through the door. “I hear it’s a common affliction among kidnapped women forced to piss with an audience, so perhaps you could back off a bit.”
She had a partner, and he had a plan that hopefully wouldn’t involve getting arrested.
Officer down,
he wanted her to yell. Simple to remember. She mouthed the words silently while she tucked the pistol back in the concealed holster.
Returning to the concourse, she saw at least two dozen people scattered through the grand space. A few who must also want the Heathrow Express rolled black or red suitcases, and a trio of Asian tourists with brightly colored hard-sided
“What’s that? A numbers crossword?” Wend was reading the puzzle upside down.
Fear that he’d read the message tightened her butt cheeks on the metal chair, but she fought to seem unconcerned by Wend’s question.
“Keeps the brain young.” Stig looked at Wend. “Might not be too late for
you.
”
“Funny.” Skafe’s low, uninflected voice made the hair stand up on her neck. “Ha. Fucking. Ha.”
Stig ignored him in order to fiddle with his cuff links, sleek silver-colored squares with a diamond on one side and a black stone on the other. When he held them out to her, his French cuffs dangled like dirty, tattered surrender flags. “Could you put these in your handbag?”
Her fingers brushed his palm as she picked up the masculine jewelry. For an instant he curled his fingers back and squeezed hers, and the contact infused her with as much strength as the sandwich had. Maybe they would escape.
The confidence was, like hope, a crest quickly undercut by aches and exhaustion. Above the far left platform, an ornate black-and-white wall clock ticked to 4:40. Her brain took several beats to calculate that almost five a.m. in London was almost nine p.m. the night before in California. She gave up without determining how many hours had passed since she’d left her apartment with a carry-on and a doomed idea.
A worker rolled a rack of pastries to the shop by the ticket turnstiles. With thirty minutes until the first express train for the airport, employees began to arrive for a handful more stores, preparing for a morning rush. Absorbed in their routines, no one looked at her or Stig. Sitting at a table with newspapers and food wrappers, her broken shoes and skinned knees were invisible. Their foursome looked like any other group of waiting passengers.
At 4:45, Stig folded the front section of the paper around the rest of the stack, tucked them all under his arm and stood. “I suppose you’ll have to escort me to the gents’.”
Wend stood, and she too started to push out her chair, but Skafe was next to her before she could finish rising. “I—” Her voice sounded like she hadn’t spoken in days, not merely an hour. “I’d like to use the bathroom too.” Maybe that was his plan. A breakout from the bathroom.
They made her use a stall in the men’s room, but at least they let her close the door. Sitting on the toilet, she touched the pistol. It was warm from her body and smaller than she expected when she held it in her hand. All those years Big Frank had taken her brother shooting, she’d never wanted to go and hadn’t felt like she’d missed out, but she didn’t even know how to check if there were any bullets in the gun.
“Hurry up or I’m coming in.” Skafe was right outside.
She pointed the business end at the metal door. If he opened it right now and she pulled the trigger, there would be police, lots of them. She was a woman without a country, so what would happen to her if she was slapped in a British jail for shooting a man? She’d read the news stories about other Americans arrested overseas. A person in her situation wouldn’t get help from the American embassy, and she doubted the Mexican one would offer much either. No, she’d be on her own.
“Did the thought occur to you that your lurking might be making her bladder shy?” Stig’s voice carried through the door. “I hear it’s a common affliction among kidnapped women forced to piss with an audience, so perhaps you could back off a bit.”
She had a partner, and he had a plan that hopefully wouldn’t involve getting arrested.
Officer down,
he wanted her to yell. Simple to remember. She mouthed the words silently while she tucked the pistol back in the concealed holster.
Returning to the concourse, she saw at least two dozen people scattered through the grand space. A few who must also want the Heathrow Express rolled black or red suitcases, and a trio of Asian tourists with brightly colored hard-sided
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