“We’re trying to track down the Frasiers, but nothing yet. They must be with Simon and Lily. Lieutenant Dobbs and I went to the hospital to see Tennyson Frasier. He claimed he didn’t know where his parents were. Seemed to me that he really didn’t care one way or the other. When we told him that Lily was gone, I thought he’d go nuts. This Dr. Rossetti-you remember, the shrink who wanted to treat Lily when she was still in the hospital after the accident? The guy Lily didn’t like? Well, he was there with Tennyson. He got all huffy, said Tennyson was a fine man, a great doctor, and his wife was a bitch and didn’t deserve him. He then gave Tennyson three happy pills while we were watching. I’ll tell you, Savich, I think Tennyson really doesn’t know anything about the disappearance.”
Savich was hearing everything, but he wasn’t thinking a whole lot in that instant. He was flat-out scared. He wanted to leave Bar Harbor and fly immediately out to California, but he couldn’t. He simply couldn’t leave. It was that simple and that final. He said, “I’m not sure what I think right at this moment, Clark. And I can’t break free. I’m up to my eyeballs right now.” He drew a deep breath. “Actually, we’re about to confront a psychopathic killer right here in Bar Harbor, Maine, and I’m in charge.”
“Look, Savich, there are a whole bunch of us on this. We’ll find out who took them.”
Yeah, yeah, Savich thought, then said, “If this Olaf Jorgenson is behind this, we’re talking about a lot of resources, like a private Learjet here, with flight plans out of the country. It won’t be hard to find them.”
“We’re already on that. I’ll call you when we get something. Ah, good luck in Bar Harbor.”
“Thank you. Keep me posted.”
“Yes, I will. Look, Savich, I’m sorry. Dammit, I was supposed to keep them covered, keep them safe. I’ll do everything I can with this. I’ll call you every hour.”
“No, Hoyt, call me only if it’s an emergency for the next three hours. Otherwise, I’ll get back to you when I can.” Clark Hoyt didn’t know what nuts was, Savich thought, as he punched off his cell phone. He had to call Sherlock, tell her what was going on. Thank God she was home and safe. He didn’t want her to hear about Simon and Lily from Hoyt or Lieutenant Dobbs. He had two hours and forty minutes left to set up the operation. He walked over to Firefly Lane to the Bar Harbor Police Department. He knew he simply had to try to stop thinking about Lily and Simon now. He had to concentrate on killing Tammy Tuttle.
He wanted to press his fingers against the pulse point in her neck and not feel a thing.
• Lily heard moaning, then a series of gasping curses that seemed to go on forever. Those curses sounded strange, long and drawn out. Then she heard crying. Crying?
No, she wasn’t crying. Nor was she cursing. She felt movement, but it wasn’t tossing her around; it was just there, all around her, subtle, faintly pulsing.
Simon. Where was Simon?
She opened her eyes slowly, not really wanting to because her head already hurt and she feared it would crack open when she opened her eyes.
There was a woman moaning again. Crying, then more of those soft, slurred curses.
It was Charlotte. Lily remembered now. She’d shot Charlotte, but she was still alive. And hurting. Lily at least felt some satisfaction. If her head hadn’t hurt quite so badly, she would have smiled. She hadn’t saved herself or Simon, but she had managed to inflict some damage.
She moved her head a little bit. There was a brief whack of pain, but she could handle it. She saw that she was sprawled in a wide leather seat, some sort of belt strapping her in. It cut into her belly and didn’t hurt much, just a little tug, and that was a relief.
She saw Simon was seated next to her. He was strapped in, too. She realized then that he was holding her hand on top of his leg. He was looking toward Charlotte.
“Simon.”
He made no sudden movement, just slowly turned his head to look down at her. He smiled, actually smiled, and said, “Shit, I knew I should have left you at home.”
“And miss all this excitement? No way. I’m so glad you’re alive. Where are we?”
“We’re about thirty thousand miles up, a private jet, I’d say. How are you doing, sweetie?”
“I don’t feel much like a sweetie right now. We’re in an airplane? So that’s that funny feeling, like we’re in some sort of moving cocoon. Oh, dear, I guess maybe we’re on our way to Sweden?”
“I guess it’s possible, but why did you say it like you already knew.”
“When those guys were chasing me down the beach, they shouted to me. They’re foreign, very stilted English, Swedish, I think. I thought then that Mr. Olaf Jorgenson had gotten tired of waiting to have things done for him.”
“You’re right about their being Swedish.” He was silent for a moment, then said, “You said you were running down the beach to get away from them?”
She told him what had happened, finding the trail back up, finding him unconscious, and then about Charlotte.
“If Charlotte hadn’t been there, we would have gotten away and I would have moved us to the Eureka jail, no visitors allowed.”
He picked up her hand and held it. “That crying and cursing-it’s Charlotte Frasier. The pilot, who also seems to be a medic, has been working on her. You shot her through her right arm. Pity, but she’ll be all right. Before you came awake, she was screaming that you were an ingrate, after all she’d done for you. She said she was going to kill you herself.” He didn’t add that she’d punctuated everything she said with the foulest language he’d heard in a long time.
She was thoughtful for a long moment, then said, “Are you all right?”
“Yes, just a slight headache now. How’s your head?”
“Hurts.”
“Ah, they see we’re awake. Here comes Mr. Alpo Viljo. No, I’m not making it up, his name is Alpo. Sounds Swedish to me. He’s an enforcer, a bodyguard maybe. I’ve never run into a real Swedish badass before. From what I’ve heard, he’s the one who smacked his pistol butt against your head.”
Alpo Viljo was indeed one of the men who’d chased her on the beach near the cemetery. He was even bigger up close, but really out of shape, his belly hanging over his belt, unlike most of the Scandinavian people she’d met. At least he was blond and blue-eyed. Had to be some Viking blood in there somewhere.
He didn’t say anything, just stood there, his arms crossed over his chest, staring down at her.
Lily said, “What’s your partner’s name?”
He started, as if he wasn’t sure he understood her, then said in his stilted, perfectly understandable English, “His name is Nikki. He’s a mean man. Do not do anything to piss him off.”
“Where are we going, Mr. Viljo?”
“That is none of your business.”
“Why is Mr. Olaf Jorgenson bringing us to Sweden?”
He just shook his head at her, grunted, turned, and walked back to the front of the cabin, where Charlotte Frasier was still muttering a curse every little while.
“You got that, Lily? No pissing off Nikki. As for Alpo, I think he likes you. You do look like a princess, and maybe Alpo’s a romantic man. But don’t count on it, okay?”
She had to grin, even though it hurt her head to move her mouth. She looked out the window at the mountains and canyons of white clouds. She said as she turned back to face him, “Simon, I really do like your hair. Even messed up, it’s cool the way it curls at your neck. Long, but not too long. Sexy.”
“Lily,” he said, leaning closer, his voice very low, “you’re not thinking straight at the moment. I want you to close your eyes and try to sleep.”
“I think that’s probably a very good idea. All right. Maybe I could have some aspirins first?”
Simon called out to Alpo Viljo, and soon Lily was downing a couple of aspirin and a very large glass of water. She gave him a silly grin as her eyes closed.
And in that exact moment, Simon knew it was all over for him. He’d met a woman to trust, a woman loyal to her bones. She sent his feelings right off the scale. His princess, all delicate and soft and pale as milk-well, not right now, since she was still damp from the rain, her clothes torn and splattered with mud, and that hair of hers, all limp and tangled around her head; it was his opinion that she looked superb.
What was a man to do?
He eased a small airplane pillow between her belly and the seat belt. He leaned back against the seat and
