Copenhagen Cozenage (8 page)

Freja had texted me.

So sorry Morgan. Dropped and broke phone. Found Tivoli Gardens. Nice gardener let me borrow his phone so I could tell you I’m OK. Just a skinned a knee, and an embarrassing story. See you at brunch.

A sigh slid from my lungs like the air from a week-old birthday balloon. She was OK then. I tugged Leroy closer and fiddled with the zipper on his collar until I had the phone stuffed back inside. It buzzed again.

Leroy flinched, scratched at the offending noise, and then leaped to his feet.

Hmmm…maybe I should have put it back in my purse after all? I leaned over his neck, trying to find the tricky little zipper.

Leroy shook, from his ears all the way down to the tip of his tail, and then he yanked the leash from my fist and scrambled into the shop beyond.

I looked up at the door. Creepy, but someone had to get Leroy. I forced my spine to straighten and my lungs to pull in a deep cleansing breath. Just because Bret had allowed too many films in which this kind of door was opened by a hapless blonde bound for slaughter did not mean that such things occurred in reality. Besides, I only had a few golden streaks and was mostly a brunette. Didn’t that fact alone make me immune to the Door of Doom?

I crept down the steps on cold, bare feet. OK, not so bad. I reached out for the cut glass knob. The door was slightly ajar after Leroy’s entrance. A nudge against the knob with my index finger and the hinges groaned as the door swung wide. The sound of a footstep crunched behind me. I spun, heart thumping at a ridiculous pace. Visions of famished zombies scrabbling down the alley danced in my head.

It was so much worse.

Standing at the top of the broken cement stair was a hulking figure of a man. The man with the brutal face. The same man who had watched me from across the fountain at Tivoli Gardens. The same man who had hidden in the shadows by the duck game as I bought my ticket for Dragon Boat Lake. Yep, that man.

Except this time, my stalker wasn’t at the edge of a crowd in a flower-strewn fun park. Oh, no. Now I stood with my back to the Door of Doom in a crooked little alley. This time I was alone with a man whose heavy fists looked large enough to palm my face. And that insufferable dog had abandoned me.

12

Cozenage

Have you ever looked into the eyes of a dangerous animal? I was at the beach once and saw a young man swimming with his dog. The guy was in his early twenties and well-muscled with a tattoo of a lady charming a dragon inked across his back.

The dog was an intact male with a wide head and a thick stocky body. It wore a chain instead of a collar.

I was wading through the water and noticed that the animal did not respond like a normal dog. Usually when a dog sees me it will wag and wiggle, even bark or rush forward to investigate. This dog didn’t move a muscle. It did not wag or twitch its ears or even blink as I approached. It turned its massive head to meet my gaze. I could almost feel a cold steel
click,
as the animal’s eyes locked with mine. Hard, silent eyes assessed me. Eyes like the flat silver coins the ancients placed over the eyes of a corpse.

The man with the brutal face had eyes like that.

I grabbed the cut glass knob and plunged through the Door of Doom. My heart smashed blood through my veins with a rapidity that my short run through the secondhand store did not require. My chest ached with its terrible pounding. My hands fumbled for a weapon. I knocked dusty crocheted tapestries of seascapes and butterflies off the wall and scattered an extensive collection of hand-carved wooden frogs across the floor.

I ran until I came up against the panes of the front windows. The man with the brutal face was coming. I zipped back around to the right and crouched behind the voluminous skirt of a sequin bedecked wedding dress with puffed sleeves.

One of the wooden frogs crunched as the huge man stepped into the room. He stood in the center of the shop. The man turned in a slow, precise circle, eyes taking the room apart.

I slid one hand into my purse looking for the slim black canister that Bret had insisted I carry. My lids slammed shut and I stifled a groan. They had confiscated my mace at the airport.

The man stopped when he saw the mannequin. The very mannequin that happened to be wearing my hiding place. He reached out and yanked the pale, plastic lady aside. She clattered to the floor, leaving me hunkered down behind a pair of white satin pumps. I stared up into the face of the behemoth and then grabbed a shoe in each hand.

He seized my arm and yanked me to my feet.

I stood staring straight into his massive chest. This wasn’t going to end well.

“The purse.” His voice was like gravel, grinding and low.

“What?” I squeaked.

“Give me your purse.”

My purse contained not only my meager funds, but my grandmother’s watch, and the manila envelope with her list of instructions. It had my receipt for the hotel room and the brunch and my passport and my plane ticket home. He couldn’t have my purse.

“Look, I’ll give you my cash, but you simply cannot have my purse.”

He snatched one of the straps off my shoulder and pulled me closer. “The purse, Morgan.”

What? How did he know my name? I raised my chin and met his stare. They had taught us what to do in exactly this situation at The Y when I was in eighth grade. Although school had been a long, long time ago. I bit my lip and whispered, “No.”

Before the big man could smash me into a Morgan pancake, I stomped down hard on his instep, and smashed both satin heels against his ears.

He groaned and lurched back a few steps. Something over his shoulder caught my eye.

I blinked and looked again.

Emil the gardener stood in the doorway. He dropped to one knee and snapped a picture of me being harassed and robbed.

I took an unconscious step toward Emil, intent on beginning my own personal inquisition.

But the man with the brutal face surged forward. He snatched a fistful of my sundress and yanked me closer. “The purse, girl!”

I bit my lip, but remained silent.

He backhanded me hard across the cheek.

Something crunched beneath the heavy blow and I stumbled backwards onto my butt.

“Hey! This was never part of the plan.” Emil stood in the doorway, trembling with fury. He seemed taller all of a sudden, younger, hands wider and shoulders more broad.

I scrambled backwards into a display of beaded earrings with feathers and clay flowers. My movements were sluggish and sparkly, little lights danced in my peripheral vision. My face was damp with tears that I had no memory of crying. Plan, what plan? Why did everyone have a plan except me? Especially when I needed one so badly. The big man ignored the gardener and stepped closer, a grim smile bending his face.

Emil stood there for another heartbeat and then snatched up an umbrella with a bone handle and hurtled through the room. He smashed the giant man in the ribcage. When he turned, Emil tackled him.

Both men crashed backwards into a shelf of music boxes. Discordant tones blended with the harsh sound of shattering ceramic and glass. The man with the brutal face rolled the gardener over and into a display of green glass candy dishes. My gardener friend groaned. Great, my pseudo-rescuer was getting thrashed.

Then something big and black hurtled through the room. It hit the behemoth flat in the back. He went down hard. Emil pulled himself up and landed a few good punches while Leroy licked the huge man until he roared to his feet and shoved the dog aside. Leroy skidded into the gardener and something gray slid across the floor. It stopped at my feet.

I looked down at a gray-haired wig. My gaze snapped back to my rescuer. The gardening clothes were the same, but the gray hair was gone. When he blushed and avoided my gaze, I caught just a glimpse of a dimple in one cheek.

August Bruun stood before me, Leroy at his heels.

The man with the brutal face looked back and forth between us. Then he lunged forward and snatched the purse off my back. He smashed through a bin of weary stuffed animals and thundered down the hall toward the door.

I threw one of the creepy dolls after him, but he crashed around the corner unscathed. I grabbed a heavy ceramic ashtray that some dad in 1976 must have gotten from his second grader, and gave chase. At the Door of Doom I fizzled to a stop. The brutal-faced man was gone. What was I going to do if I caught him? Pelt him with ancient merchandise until he begged for mercy?

I paused and turned to face my canine nemesis and his trusty sidekick. Was he the gardener or the cute guy at baggage claim? August and I stood and stared at one another as the clomping footsteps of the behemoth faded down the alley.

Leroy plopped down between us on the floor with the gray wig in his jaws.

13

Confession

August looked back at me and tried to smile. He sat down on an old steamer trunk and ran both hands through his hair. “Look, it wasn’t supposed to go this way.”

I didn’t reply.

“Maks was just going to steal your purse while I snapped my last few pictures. At the end of the day, I’d pick up my paycheck and continue looking for clues for my grandpa. He promised you wouldn’t get hurt.”

“Who?” I choked out, noticing that his accent was gone.

“Some stupid artist. He put an ad up online. The guy was willing to pay good money for anyone in Copenhagen this weekend who could take some candid pictures for him. Wanted someone with a big, unruly dog. I was coming for my grandpa, anyway. The artist paid Leroy’s fare, so I just added him to my travel plans. Leroy and I actually arrived two days ago. I was only at the airport to set you up.”

To set me up? Of course he was. Why else would a cute guy with a dimple flirt with me at the airport? I leaned back against a beaded hanging of an owl and groaned.

August paused. “Do you need some ice, Morgan? Your cheek looks terrible.”

I shook my head and waved my hand for him to continue his tale. Where did he think he was going to find ice?

“Um…anyway. The artist wanted you stuck with the dog. After that, my job was to sneak around and take pictures while you tried to find me. It sounded hilarious then, like one of those fun reality TV shows. I could make some cash while I followed Grandpa’s clues, and who doesn’t enjoy a good joke?” He glanced down and picked up a chipped set of Russian nesting dolls. “Please don’t answer that. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

I stared at him. It took me a moment to realize my mouth was hanging open. I snapped it shut. “Do you know how much I paid in extra cab fare to haul that animal all over Copenhagen? How many outfits he ruined? How my heart nearly stopped when Leroy was almost strangled on that bridge? I almost fell in the moat.” I stood and paced back and forth in front of a display of cartoon festooned placemats. “I got kicked out of Rosenborg Gardens and church. Did it never occur to you that you could have eased my pain and suffering by letting me in on your little joke? When I was wading through the fountain perhaps? Or maybe as I fought off those wild children in their charging boat or when I plunged off the pirate ship or got robbed by your overgrown thug?” I snatched the nesting dolls out of his hands and slammed them on the floor. “You are shameless. And you know what? I don’t even like your stupid dimple. So there!” I scattered the dolls until they were completely out of order, and then plopped down on an embroidered pillow with ugly orange tassels.

August stood up and crossed the room. He rummaged around in a dark back corner and trudged back holding an old mortar and pestle set. He stood in front of me for a moment, and then placed them in my hands. “For your cheek.”

I stared at him and then stared at the set. Really? But finally, I leaned my cheek bone against one of the cool black stones and sat silent, letting the adrenaline drain from my weary limbs while tears oozed down my cheeks.

He scanned my face before he glanced down, staring at the floor. “You were marvelous, all day long. I was horrendous.” He reached down and tugged Leroy up by the collar. “I’ll send the artist that picture of his man hitting you and then I’m quitting. This wasn’t fair to you. I’m so sorry.”

I glared up at August. “You are nothing whatsoever like Snarvich The Reticent .”

He looked confused for a moment, and then the tiniest hint of a smile nudged his mouth.

Well, now it was done. My disguise was completely blown and my geeky interior exposed. A tiny part of me was embarrassed and fueled the blush I felt creeping up my cheeks. But mostly I was glad. Pleased that August realized I preferred a fictional character from 1968 to him.

He stood for a long, silent string of heartbeats, holding the dog’s leash. Then he dropped it on the floor and knelt in front of me. He seemed about to say something, but closed his eyes instead. August steepled his fingers before his bowed head and sighed. Finally, he met my gaze. His eyes were dark blue within the shadows of the small dusty store.

The air between us almost crackled with tension.

Just spit it out, I wanted to shout. Whatever he wasn’t saying was setting me on edge. My nerves felt as though a thousand tiny centipedes scuttled across them back and forth, forth and back, their horrible little legs scrabbling against me. My muscles clenched tighter and tighter until my back ached.

He reached out and ran his thumb over the puffy bruise on my cheek. “Forgive me, Morgan.”

I froze.

The remorse was clear in his eyes. But was that enough? Perhaps it was exhaustion or the shock of my fall from the pirate ship or the horror of Maks’s attack, but I didn’t step away as the lying fiend leaned nearer.

August took my face in his hands and kissed me. Careful and cautious and slow.

I put my hands on his chest to shove him away, but couldn’t. For half a heartbeat, I melted against him and returned his kiss. The cluttered secondhand store faded and I felt his quiet strength as August slid his arms around my back and pulled me close. He had saved me, time and again. August was the only good thing about this wretched day. And he was also the very worst of all that I had endured. A lie. A terrible heart-shattering lie.