Twice Dead - Catherine Coulter [251]
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, “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 in-grate, 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 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