TimeSlip (7 page)

“So let me get this right, Ms Sorrenson. You believe that
someone has been stealing from the museum, replacing the artifacts with fakes,
and that since you brought your theory to your boss, he hasn’t been seen?”

Ingrid nodded nervously.

“You need to speak into the microphone, dear. Nodding your
head doesn’t work.”

“S-s-sorry,” she stammered. “I mean, yes. Dr. Martin was
very concerned. He said he was going to speak to Mr. Jasson, in case there had
been a mix-up or something…” Oh god that sounded so lame. No wonder they were
looking at her as if she was an idiot.

“I’m just worried about David. I mean Dr. Martin.” Damn. Now
she sounded like a hysterical female who was in love with her boss.

“These are very serious accusations, Ms. Sorrenson. Are you
sure you want to make them?”

Ingrid didn’t hesitate. There was no going back now. “I’m
certain.”

It seemed like forever before her statement was typed up and
brought for her to sign. When she finally left the police station two hours
later, she felt like a limp rag. Strom and Jake were waiting across the street.

“How was it?”

“Awful, they think I’m an idiot.”

Strom put his arm around her. “Hush, let’s get you home.”

More police arrived early the following morning. Not the
kindly sergeant this time, but two sharp-eyed plainclothes detectives. They
were very interested in her story. She wasn’t the only one who had contacted
the police about the Martins the previous night. One of the neighbors had a
spare key for the Martins’ house, and when she let herself in to put away their
mail, she had found David’s body.

Their questions were endless. Could she repeat her story
again? Just how well did she know Dr. Martin? Were they in a relationship?
Where was she every minute of the day for the past week?

Then there was Jake. She had introduced him as her boyfriend
at the museum. Her colleagues had seen them together. David Martin’s secretary
thought they were engaged. Strom raised his eyebrow when he heard that one, but
wisely said nothing. They questioned them together. They questioned them
separately, but it was hours before they were released from the police station.
They hadn’t had much time to concoct a mutual alibi and now the police were
convinced that she was a sex-crazed curator who spent all of her time in bed
with Jake when she wasn’t at work.

Once the police became involved, Strom went back into
mission mode. It was as if their tender interlude had never happened. She
couldn’t understand it. How could he switch his feelings on and off like that?

Life at the museum was worse. Her return to work was greeted
with astonishment and she was immediately summoned to HR and advised that she
was on leave until the police investigation was concluded. On Friday, she got
to meet Agent Guinand from Interpol, an intense Parisian investigator who
specialized in international art smuggling. Raoul’s contacts with other museums
were being investigated and the same pattern of theft had been uncovered. It
was going to take months to sort everything out. She felt like a fly caught in
a spider’s web.

Worst of all, her viking was treating her as if she was made
of spun sugar. He slept in her bed, but apart from a few gentle kisses, he hadn’t
touched her at all. It was driving her crazy. There was only one person she
could turn to for love advice.

“I don’t believe it, Sorrenson. I thought you and he were,
you know…”

“Finn, if we were, do you think I’d be having this
conversation with you?”

“There’s no need to snap.”

“Sorry, it’s just that …”

Finn looked at her woebegone face. “This is the twenty-first
century, Ingrid. Why are you waiting for him to make a move on you?”

“It’s a little bit difficult, considering…” Ingrid flushed
scarlet. She must really have it bad for the big guy.

“Considering that you’re tripping over the rest of us.”

“Exactly.” She looked pleadingly at him. “So I was wondering
Finn, if you could take the others out for the evening.”

Finn rubbed his hands with glee—a wild night on the town and
a ton of delicious gossip to look forward to tomorrow. “Hon, it would be my
pleasure, but you have to promise to tell me everything, and I mean
everything.”

* * * * *

Strom turned the key in the lock of the apartment door. He
was becoming accustomed to the antiquated devices they used here. The others
were out for the night. Finn had offered to take Pete and Jake for a cultural
tour of the city. He wasn’t sure what that entailed, but knowing Jake, it was
bound to involve women or alcohol or both.

Central Com had just contacted him with an intelligence
report confirming that Raoul had returned to the twenty-sixth century. This
mission was almost over. Jake had a final meeting with Agent Guinand from
Interpol tomorrow afternoon and the following morning they were going home.

His heart fell, how the hell was he going to tell Ingrid?
Sharing her bed without touching her these past few nights had been agony. But
if he touched her, made love to her, he knew that he would never let her go.
No, he couldn’t let that happen. It would be better for Ingrid if they made a
clean break with no complications. He had plenty of time to be miserable about
her when he got home.

The lights in the room were dim. Music played low in the
background, something Ingrid called jazz, and a log fire burned in the grate.
That was something he would miss, that and the abundance of water for showers,
instead of the sonic ones on the ships back home. The table was set for two and
delicious smells wafted from the kitchen.

“Identify smell, Com?”

“A chemical compound. Primarily dimethyl sulphide or DMS,
usually found in truffles. The black truffle is said to have aphrodisiac
properties which—”

The bedroom door opened and Ingrid emerged. “That’s enough,
Com,” he hissed.

The black lace dress she was wearing would give a Tarsian
monk a hard-on for a month. The fabric skimmed over her curves like a second
skin and the neckline gave him a tantalizing glimpse of pale, creamy breasts.
Ingrid’s hair was loose and she had put makeup on her eyes that made them look
smoky and exotic. Desire uncoiled low in his abdomen. He could almost feel the
blood rushing to his cock. If this was a seduction, he was in big trouble.

Ingrid kissed him lightly on the cheek. Her perfume wafted
around him and he inhaled deeply.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” she said. “I’ve made something
special.”

She pressed a glass of wine into his hand, brushing her
fingers against his. He felt as if he’d been hit with a plasma gun. Everything
about her, the slightest touch was driving him crazy. Strom took a deep gulp of
wine. He would sit at the table, that would put some distance between them, and
the tablecloth would conceal the growing bulge in his pants.

Ingrid busied herself in the kitchen, chatting to him about
Finn and the guys and their plans for the evening, but he found it hard to
concentrate on what she was saying. His suddenly raging libido was affecting
his brain function.
You’re going home in thirty-six hours.
Keep your
hands off her
. An evening alone with Ingrid was a very, very bad idea
.
He
should have gone out with Finn and the others, but it was too late now.

“Dinner is served.” Ingrid carried a covered dish to the
table. “It’s Finn’s secret recipe—chicken with truffles.”

Her breasts brushed his shoulder as she leaned over to serve
him and Strom stifled a groan, taking another deep gulp of wine from his glass.
Ingrid must have filled it up again. She was beautiful in the candlelight. Her
eyes were mesmerizing and her mouth… He took another sip of wine and tried not to
think about that—the way she had kissed him, the feel of her skin under his
hands. Sweet merciful stars, would this evening ever be over? He finished his
meal as quickly as he could without behaving like a savage. He was relieved
when she disappeared for a few minutes.

“And I have a surprise for you.”

For him? A surprise for him?
Ingrid was smiling
expectantly at him and he nodded his head in agreement. She offered her hand
and led him toward the bedroom. He had to stop this. Ingrid paused outside the
bathroom and opened the door. Every surface was covered with tiny scented
candles, and the giant tub was full of bubbling water.

“Don’t you like it?”

“I love it,” he replied sincerely. He really did love it. He
could hide in here for at least an hour and hopefully she would be asleep by
then. He knew that he was acting like a coward, but he couldn’t tell Ingrid
that he was leaving, not yet. He would have one more night to hold her while
she slept. One more night when he could pretend that she loved him and that
they would spend the rest of their lives together. He rested his forehead
against the cool surface of the mirror. Before he went to her bed, he would
need a very long, very cold shower.

Ingrid closed the bathroom door behind her. She couldn’t
understand it. The whole evening had gone exactly as planned. Dinner was
wonderful. She had flirted outrageously with him, touched him at every
opportunity and poured quite a lot of expensive red wine into him. But there
was no reaction whatsoever from the viking. Nothing, nada, zilch. Oh he had
looked, all right. It was hard not to miss that dark, hungry gaze, but he
hadn’t laid a finger on her. Strom cared about her, she was sure of that. He
slept beside her each night, so why wouldn’t he touch her?

He had been delighted with her surprise. She knew Strom
coveted the big tub, and she had no idea what a sonic shower was, but it didn’t
sound very pleasant. She had pocketed the bathroom door key when he wasn’t
looking. If he wouldn’t make a move, then it was up to her. This was the
twenty-first century, after all. She hurried along the corridor to her bedroom.
It was time to put Plan B into action.

Ingrid looked nervously in the mirror and took a deep
breath. She was really going to do this. Removing her clothes and makeup, she
slipped into the pale-blue negligee. She knew he liked that one. “Rose petals,”
she muttered. “Where are the rose petals?”

Taking a handful from the box, she sprinkled them over the
bed and took a last look around the room. Perfect. Now all she needed was the
viking. Her fingers clutched the handle of the bathroom door. It was now or
never. Ingrid stepped into the steamy room. She watched the emotions play
across Strom’s face, surprise, a hint of lust, followed by a big dollop of
regret. His muscular arm reached for a towel.

“Ingrid, please don’t. I mean we can’t…”

Shame flooded through her. She had offered herself to him on
a plate and he had rejected her. What a complete idiot she was. How could she
have ever thought that Strom wanted her?

“Why?” she snapped. “Are you part of some virgin space
cult?”

That made him laugh. “No, Ingrid, it’s nothing like that. I
just don’t want to have an affair with you.”

And there it was, utter humiliation, adorned with scented
candles. Strom didn’t want her. Ingrid raced to her bedroom and hastily pulled
on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Strom appeared at the door with a towel
around his hips, dripping water all over the carpet.

“Ingrid, wait, please, we need to talk about this.”

Talk. He wanted to talk? She wanted to kill him. Ingrid
pushed roughly by him, hurrying toward the door. If she didn’t get out of here
soon, she was going to humiliate herself even more by crying on him. “Strom,
the last thing I want to do with you is talk.”

Rivulets of water ran down his bare chest. “But where are
you going?”

“Strom, if you don’t want me, then it’s none of your damned
business.”

She caught up with Finn at the Sugar Club. Jake and Pete
were interested in all the cultural experiences Dublin had to offer, and they
didn’t have burlesque in the twenty-sixth century. The show was over, but the
club was still full, waiting for the DJ to start. She wriggled into the booth
beside Finn.

“Jack D, a large one would be nice, and keep ‘em coming.”

Finn looked at her tearstained face. “Oh, Ingrid, I’m so
sorry, hon. Disaster?”

“Complete and utter.” Ingrid downed a large gulp of Finn’s
drink while she waited for hers to arrive and coughed until her eyes watered.
“Give this girl a medal for being the most inept seductress in history.”

Finn put his arm around her and kissed her cheek. “You know
what, hon,” he whispered. “He’s not worth it, no man is.” Finn ordered two more
large ones and raised his glass to her. “Forget him, he doesn’t deserve you.
Let’s get wasted.”

Pete slid into the booth beside her. “Hi, Ingrid, I thought
you were…” He flushed with embarrassment and turned away.

Oh great, now my humiliation is complete
. Did Pete
know that she was trying to seduce the viking tonight? Who else had Finn told?
Pete slipped away and Ingrid watched as he had a hurried conversation with Jake
beside the stage, where he was talking with two of the dancers. She caught
Jake’s sympathetic glance. He knew. They all knew.

“Finn, I think I need another drink.”

Jake didn’t say anything, he didn’t have to. He put his arms
around her and stroked her hair. “I’m sorry, Ingrid. I didn’t know until we got
here and Finn told us that this was going to be an all-nighter.”

When the music started up again, Finn grabbed her hand.
“Come on, Ingrid, let’s dance. You can show Jake all your best moves.”

Her protests failed. They had obviously concocted a
cheer-up-Ingrid plan, and between the pair of them, they got her onto the dance
floor. Jake was a good dancer. Finn, as usual, concentrated on being
outrageous. Much to the amusement of the other customers, he had even managed
to borrow a fan from one of the dancers and insisted that they take turns with
it. Eventually, she had enough. She wanted to be miserable again. Jake followed
her back to the booth.