Chapter Twenty-Three
M?RTEN PULLED HIS car up onto his curved driveway and turned off the ignition.
But instead of getting out, he remained sitting, staring out the windscreen.
The leaves of the birch trees in the little copse beside his cottage shimmered in the summer sun, bright-green and vibrant, but he barely noticed.
He didn’t want to go into his empty house.
Didn’t want to see the single coffee cup sitting in the drainer where he’d left it this morning.
Didn’t want to be reminded that he was alone again.
A flock of robins arrived in the branches overhanging the driveway, twittering and fluttering, their little red chests flashing in the sunlight; they were the sound of summer to M?rten.
But they also brought to mind the woman with the same name.
The woman he couldn’t seem to get out of his soul.
She had so loved watching the little birds as they came to his feeder, taking so many photos and then exclaiming over their beautiful colors.
He’d been cleared to go back to light duties, which meant sitting behind his desk all day, but surprisingly it’d been an exhausting today, and he hadn’t stopped to eat lunch, so he was ravenous.
But when it came to the thought of cooking dinner for one, he balked.
Nothing seemed to taste the same. His fridge was empty anyway; M?rten had had no urge to go back to the little gourmet supermarket because it also reminded him of Summer.
She’d been so incredulous of all the unique items on the shelves, commenting on all the wonderful fresh vegetables, some of which she’d never heard of before.
How she’d wanted to savor everything—cheese from a tube, the big round rye crispbread, kn?ckebrod, that everyone in Sweden took for granted, even the pickled herring, which was definitely an acquired taste.
Summer had been gone for five days now, and it felt like a lifetime.
He shouldn’t have let her go. Should’ve been able to stop her.
But she was so bloody stubborn. And when she told him about Marco, he hadn’t known what to say.
He could see how someone might not recover from such a trauma, and it explained a lot about her.
Things that he’d half guessed already, such as the way she was always so guarded, especially around him, kept her life so rigorously controlled, and was terrified of commitment.
He’d wanted to comfort her—a small part of him had stupidly hoped that maybe he could help her heal—but she’d turned her back on him, shut him out, and even though he had tried to reach out, she’d rebuilt that indomitable wall between them.
The wound in his side ached annoyingly the longer he sat here, but he still couldn’t force himself out of the car. His phone rang out of the blue, and M?rten stared at it blankly for a few moments.
At last, he hit the answer button. “Hey, Jacob.” M?rten knew his voice came across as flat, but right now he didn’t care.
“Hey, bro. You sound shit. Bad day?” What was this “bro” thing? Jacob sounded more American every day. The thought almost made him smile. Almost.
“Yep.” Bad week if the truth be known, but M?rten didn’t elaborate. “Have you got any more news?” He cut to the chase instead. The FBI was still trying to track down Tyrone King, and until they did, M?rten wouldn’t rest easy, and Jacob knew it.
“I’m not sure. Nothing concrete anyway. But…” Why was Jacob hedging? M?rten sat up straighter in his seat.
“But there’s something. Tell me,” he demanded.
“This is not official,” Jacob warned, then drew a deep breath.
“One of our IT guys found some chatter on a dark web message site that we’ve been monitoring.
He can’t find a solid link that connects it to Tyrone, but someone with a profile that matches our eco-terrorist was reaching out to a contact in Seattle.
Asking for information about the city and details of where he could hire a photographer for a particular wildlife project he had in mind. ”
The hair on the back of M?rten’s neck stood on end. “Fuck,” he whispered.
“Miller asked if we could follow it up, but the boss say’s there’s not sufficient detail to make a solid connection.
Many groups use this message board, a lot of them are suspected hard-core terrorists.
He argued it could be anyone making this request, but he didn’t believe an eco-terrorist was radical enough to be taken seriously on this site, and so while we should continue to monitor it, he doesn’t think it should be given priority.
” M?rten swore under his breath as Jacob went on.
“He needs more convincing intel before he’ll commit to spending more manpower on it. ”
“So you’re saying that he won’t agree to putting a guard on Summer without some proper proof.” M?rten gripped the steering wheel with one hand, his knuckles going white.
“Yeah,” Jacob replied unhappily. “Miller has put as much pressure on him as she can without getting both of us fired,” Jacob gave an ironic laugh.
M?rten was sure Jacob would’ve argued until he was blue in the face, or he was ordered out of the room, and he didn’t blame Jacob or his partner for the leader’s lack of action.
He didn’t blame the team leader either. He had superiors to answer to higher up the food chain, and it was a lot harder to take risks when you were accountable for every dollar you spent, as well as a duty to protect the agents under your command.
M?rten and Jacob had railed against Rydberg’s inaction on a case more than once back when they had been partners.
Both M?rten and Jacob had been known to act without direct permission more than once, had taken risks that’d paid off in the end.
But things were different now. Jacob couldn’t jeopardize his brand new position at the FBI to go chasing ghosts.
“What do you reckon we should do?” M?rten asked.
“That’s the problem. I don’t think there’s anything we can do. Not in an official capacity anyway.”
“Hmm,” M?rten replied, his mind whirling with possibilities. Jacob might not be able to act officially, but perhaps he could. Which was probably why Jacob was telling him all of this. He couldn’t come right out and say it, but was he hoping that M?rten might do something?
“Nikki went around to see Summer the other day,” Jacob said just a little too casually into the silence.
“How is she?” M?rten blurted the words before he could stop himself.
“Nikki said she seems fine. She has a wedding coming up tomorrow that’s keeping her occupied.”
“Oh, yeah. That’s good.” M?rten remembered it was one reason she hadn’t been too happy to come to Sweden because she would’ve failed in her bridesmaid duties.
It was good that she could now attend her friend’s nuptials.
He wondered what sort of dress the bride had picked out for Summer to wear; she’d look stunning in just about anything, he imagined.
“Nikki also thinks that Summer is missing you, but she’s too stubborn to admit it,” Jacob added.
M?rten made a scoffing sound. He should be grateful that Jacob was trying to make him feel better, but he was a realist. And while Nikki had high empathy and was good at reading other people’s feelings, Jacob’s words didn’t comfort M?rten in the slightest. He would only believe it if he heard it come from Summer’s mouth. And that wasn’t likely to happen.
“Anyway,” Jacob said into the silence. “I just thought you’d like an update on what’s going on over here.
Let me know if you come up with any solutions,” he added, but then left it at that and they ended the call.
It wasn’t Jacob’s place to tell M?rten to come back to America, but M?rten knew his partner well enough to understand that was the purpose of his call.
He sat in the car, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, Jacob’s words echoing through his head.
Was Summer still in danger? If that message on the dark web had been from Tyrone, was he planning a trip to Seattle?
And for what reason? Some kind of stupid retribution?
It wasn’t beyond the scope of plausibility; criminals often did things with very flimsy motives that most normal people wouldn’t understand.
And Tyrone King definitely wasn’t most normal people.
He knew Summer wouldn’t appreciate him turning up on her doorstep. But what else was he to do? The FBI didn’t think the intel was strong enough to act on. And even though Jacob would offer to stand guard outside her house if M?rten asked him to, he couldn’t do it 24/7. He’d need backup.
Rydberg would be indignant if M?rten asked for more leave so soon after his last holidays.
But then he had just solved a major case.
He should be given brownie points for that.
And he’d returned straight back to work without taking the few days sick leave the doctor had suggested.
Maybe he could take that prescribed leave after all.
Dammit. Damn bloody Summer for being so contrary and not taking her own safety seriously. Damn bloody Tyrone King for holding some sort of personal grudge. But if there was even the slightest risk that Jacob’s intel was correct, he couldn’t leave Summer unprotected.
He knew he had to get on the next flight to Seattle.
His heart pounded painfully at the thought of seeing Summer again.
But that wasn’t the reason he was going, he told himself.
Things were over between them, if they’d ever really started.
He needed to keep reminding himself of that.
He was going there to protect her, that was all.
He’d initiated this whole thing, and now he would finish it.
M?rten punched Rydberg’s number into his phone and waited for his supervisor to answer. M?rten was going whether or not Rydberg agreed, but it would be better to have a job to come back to, if he could wrangle it.
* * *