TimeSlip (3 page)

Ingrid sat near the fire, wearing a voluminous woolen
dressing gown. She had disposed of her torn stockings and her long legs
stretched in front of her. Her hair had escaped its binding and dark curls hung
down her back, almost to her waist. Strom resisted a sudden urge to pick her up
and bury his face in them.

Ingrid had laid some food on a low table near the fire, and
he realized that he was hungry. He hadn’t eaten for five hundred years, give or
take a decade.

“I’m sorry I haven’t had time to shop. It’s just smoked
salmon and rye bread and some cheeses. Oh and I found some Akevitt.”

Strom sniffed the narrow glass of yellow-tinged liquor,
inhaling the scent of caraway seeds. It reminded him of his grandfather. He
raised his glass to her and downed the shot it in a single gulp, sighing with
pleasure as the alcoholic heat rushed through him.

“Thank you for your hospitality.”

“You’re welcome. Now perhaps you might like to tell me your
name.”

A slow red tide crept up his neck. Damn. He had kidnapped
her from her office, had dragged her into a stolen car and had leered at her
extremely attractive butt up six flights of stairs, but somehow he had
forgotten to introduce himself. He stood up quickly.

“My apologies, I am Captain Strom Hallstrom, at your
service.”

It was her first opportunity to have a good look at him. He
had the most amazing face, with strong chiseled features and a full lower lip.
Ingrid stared at the mouth that had kissed her so tenderly earlier. Strom’s
eyes caught hers, and she blushed. He knew exactly what she was thinking. His
eyes raked over her long slim legs and he flashed an amused grin when she
caught him looking. Ingrid tried to tuck her legs under her and gave a yelp of
pain.

“Let me see it.”

Ingrid stretched her foot toward him and Strom muttered
under his breath when he saw the puncture wound. “Stay there.”

He was turning alpha male again. Strom disappeared in the
direction of the kitchen and returned with a bowl of warm water and her
first-aid kit. Warm fingers lifted her foot onto his lap.

“This is going to hurt a little.” He produced a pair of
tweezers and used them to remove a small, jagged object from her foot.
Ouch
that hurt
. Ingrid closed her eyes and heard the clink of something metallic
drop into the saucer. With deft fingers he strapped up her foot and replaced it
on the couch.

“The other one.”

That was a command, rather than a request, and Ingrid found
herself stretching her leg toward him. He wiped some dried blood away from the
underside of her foot and then his ministrations turned to her bruised knees.
For such a big man, he was surprisingly gentle. He massaged the tender skin in
slow circles with a cooling salve before planting a featherlight kiss on one
knee.

Maybe it was the kiss, or perhaps it was the sight of the
blood-tinged water, but the earlier events of the evening suddenly hit her like
a hammer and Ingrid started to cry. Tears streamed down her face and she
couldn’t seem to stop them. David, Raoul and the others clamored inside her
head for attention and all she could think about was David lying on the
basement floor. It was all her fault he was there.

“Ingrid. It’s just shock, Ingrid.” Strom’s voice seemed to
come from far away. Then he pulled her into his arms and she clung to him. He
stroked her back, murmuring softly to her as she cried.

She kissed him first, a pleading demand for comfort, some
way of feeling normal again. He pulled away, momentarily surprised by her reaction,
and then Strom’s index finger brushed her lower lip gently and she closed her
eyes. His mouth touched hers, tasting her, and then began a slow, sensual
exploration. She kissed him back hungrily. Her palms stroked his broad chest,
sliding along his neck, and she fingered through the strands of his hair. She
couldn’t seem to get close enough to him.

With a reluctant groan, the viking broke the kiss and eased
her down onto a pile of cushions, before taking her mouth again. Sliding her
hands along his muscled back, her fingers inched their way beneath his shirt
and she stroked the warm skin beneath. His mouth left hers, trailing hot kisses
along her neck and shoulder. Desire unfurled inside her. This was madness, she
knew him only a few hours, but she was hungry for him.

Adrenaline sex, he’d experienced it a few times after
battle. Strom groaned as her hands became more eager. His fingers reached for
the belt on her robe and he hesitated. Much as he wanted her, he couldn’t let
this happen. Ingrid would hate him in the morning. He couldn’t let her get
under his skin like this. She was still in far too much danger. Strom pressed a
gentle kiss against her lips, and held her until her breathing slowed and she
was calm again.

“Ingrid, we really need to talk.”

“Of course,” she murmured with an embarrassed flush, as she
untangled herself from his arms. What on earth was she doing? She had witnessed
a murder and now she was kissing a stranger as if it was going out of fashion.
Okay,
Sorrenson, get a grip. This guy may have saved your life but you know
absolutely nothing about him. And what was he doing in the museum at night
anyway?

“What were you doing in my office?”

“I was waiting for you, Ingrid.”

This was getting way too weird. Strom’s expression was
serious, but how had he known where to find her, unless he was one of them.
Ingrid moved to the edge of the couch.

“Strom, thank you for tonight, but it’s getting late and I’m
really tired. So if you don’t mind…”

He didn’t move. Her heart sank. This was turning into scary
movie night. The one where the too-stupid-to-live heroine brings the killer
home with her. She was off the couch in a flash, hobbling toward the kitchen.
She eyed Finn’s prized Sabatier knives on the worktop, and reaching for the
knife block, she selected the largest one she could find.

“Ingrid, put it down. You might hurt yourself.”

Strom’s voice startled her and the knife fell from her hand,
skidding across the tiled floor. She inched her way along the kitchen cupboards
toward the hall.

“Ingrid,” his tone became impatient. What was wrong with
her? One minute she was kissing him and the next she had fled like a startled
bird.

Ingrid picked up a heavy ceramic dish and flung it in his
direction. Strom caught it easily and replaced it on the counter. The big idiot
thought this was a game. He covered the distance between them in an instant.
Then she was in his arms, being carried to the couch.

“Put me down.” When she thumped his chest there was no
reaction. It was as if he barely felt her blows. Then she was pinned down, with
both hands over her head, clasped in one of his. They were both out of breath.

“Ingrid, I will release you. But you must promise to listen
to me. Do you promise?”

When Ingrid nodded, Strom released her hands and touched her
face tenderly before moving away. Her fear began to evaporate.
Okay, so he
wasn’t going to hurt her.

“You’re in danger, Ingrid. We know about the thefts at the
museum. I’ve been sent here to protect you.”

Ingrid breathed a sigh of relief. “You’re with the police? Oh
thank god. I thought for a moment that you were one of—”

“No, I’m not one of Raoul’s men.” Strom reached for her
hand. “You’ve got to trust me. I need you to tell me everything. Now why don’t
you start at the beginning?”

Ingrid poured two more shots. “I suppose it started with my
doctoral thesis
Sexual Symbolism in Early Hiberno-Norse Morning Gifts
.”

Strom took a sip of his drink. “I’ve read it.”

Ingrid eyed him with amazement. “Really?”

“Well, not all of it,” Strom admitted. He had flipped
through the first two chapters in the interests of research before the mission.
“But I have a copy back home.” Yeah, it was on loan from the rare book
collection at the Gates Library of Cultural History and he had forgotten to
return it before he left on the mission. Damn.

Ingrid took a sip and continued. “It didn’t exactly set the
academic world on fire, but when professor Clynes retired there was an opening
at the museum. That was when I met Raoul. I was due to give a paper at a
conference in Oslo after Easter. When I called up some of the exhibits to take
some new photographs, I knew immediately that they were fakes. Superb ones, but
the originals were gone.”

“I was the last one to work with them and I couldn’t report
the theft until I knew what else was missing.”

“So you carried out a little investigation of your own?
Don’t you know how dangerous that was, Ingrid?”

“I know that now,” she admitted, staring at the bandage on
her foot.

“I’m sorry,” Strom murmured. “Please continue. What happened
then?”

“Over the next week, I called up dozens of exhibits at
random. There were a lot fakes. So I went to Dr. Martin, the curator.” Her
voice dropped to a husky whisper. “He discovered that references to the stolen
items were also missing from the new computer catalogue that Raoul and his team
had been working on.

“David confronted Raoul earlier this evening. It had to be
one of his people, but Raoul just laughed, and then he shot him.” Ingrid’s
voice shook. “He just shot him and then he pointed the gun at me and then I
ran.”

The muscles in his stomach clenched. They had almost been
too late. The geeks at the Department of Temporal Security had cut the
intervention too fine. They had arrived just in time, another few minutes and
Raoul would have killed her. Someone was going to pay for this.

Chapter Three

“Ingrid, who else knows about the fakes?”

She shook her head. “No one. I have a report of my findings
on my laptop. I’ll pass it over to your colleagues when they arrive. Do you
think they’ll be much longer?”

Strom hesitated for a moment, wondering how much to tell
her. She had already been through a lot tonight, but he couldn’t let her go on
thinking that he was a law enforcement official. He was saved by a knock on the
door, and he was off the couch in an instant. “Go to your room immediately, and
lock the door. Don’t come out until I call you.”

For a moment Ingrid’s chin stuck out mutinously, but then
she thought the better of it and hurried down the corridor.

Strom armed his weapon and moved silently toward the door.
He could hear voices outside. It was Jake and Pete. He breathed a sigh of
relief and let them in. Pete had a bruise over one eye. “Two of the Cyraelians
are dead. We had to vaporize the bodies, but Raoul escaped. Sorry, Boss.”

“We kicked in a few doors upstairs while the law enforcement
officials were in the basement, so they wouldn’t connect it with Ingrid. I
thought she might miss these.” Jake reached into his backpack and produced a
pair of high heels and a leather handbag.

“My shoes,” Ingrid said delightedly. She reached up and
planted a kiss on Jake’s cheek. Jake grinned at Strom, who glared back at him.
He commed Jake silently,
Don’t you even think about it.

“I thought I told you to stay in your room,” he growled.

Ingrid looked behind them into the lobby. “Aren’t the police
with you?”

Jake looked blankly at her. “What police?”

Ingrid froze. They weren’t the police. He had lied to her.
She flashed Strom a look of hurt and bewilderment. She had kissed him. She had
kissed the murderous, treacherous toad. Anger flared inside her. Well, she
wasn’t going to die without taking one of them with her. She backed slowly
toward the kitchen.

Strom had caught the hurt look. He didn’t want to tell
Ingrid like this, but she was heading toward the kitchen again, and she was far
too fond of those silly knives.
Help yourselves to drinks, guys,
he
commed. Then he set off in pursuit.

Strom lifted her off her feet and manhandled her toward the
bedroom. Ingrid squealed and managed to land several hard kicks on his shins,
but he barely blinked.

“You said that you would listen to me, Ingrid.”

She aimed another blow at him. “You told me that you worked
for the police.”

“No, I did not. You presumed that I was with the police.”

“But you let me believe it. You murderous, treacherous,
lying bastard. Now let go of me.”

Ingrid wriggled like an eel. Strom muttered several
expletives under his breath as he struggled to open the bedroom door and subdue
her with his other arm.

“Ingrid, you are a most infuriating woman. Stop wriggling!”

Strom opened the door, tossed her on the bed and locked the
door behind him. “Now we talk.”

Ingrid glared at him. “Talk, is that what you call it? Are
you going to add rape to the rest of your crimes, Strom?”

“It’s only rape if you’re not willing.”
That was the
wrong thing to say, idiot.
Now she looked as if she really would like to
kill him. He probably should have let Jake handle this. He was better with
women. But the thought of Jake laying a finger on Ingrid made Strom’s fist
clench with jealousy.

“You arrogant … Oh I can’t think of a word horrible enough
to call you.”

Ingrid looked around the bedroom, seeking a weapon. Her eyes
fell on her stockings. Probably not, he was hardly likely to sit still and let
her choke him. Maybe she could beat him to death with one of her shoes? Some of
them had sharp, vicious bits. Like the purple wedges with the pointy toes. She
rolled off the bed and raced for the wardrobe.

Strom leaned nonchalantly against the door. “Getting
changed? Why don’t you wear the pale-blue one?”

Ingrid stopped in her tracks. Pale-blue what? He was talking
about her negligee. The creep must have searched through her things. Her hand
fastened on a wooden handle of a large burlesque fan, Finn’s idea of a joke for
her last birthday. Well, it was better than nothing. She made her way back to
the bedroom. The viking was no longer lounging against the door. The arrogant
bastard was lying in the middle of her bed with his hands behind his head.