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and dumped her on the
bed. Ingrid made herself lie perfectly still until the door closed, and she
heard the sound of a key in the lock. Then she rolled over. There was someone
on the bed beside her. Ingrid shook her head, trying to clear her hair away
from her face.
    The woman who lay beside her was gagged and bound. She had a
deep cut on her left temple and her eye was black and blue. Through the torn
edges of the woman’s silk blouse, Ingrid could see dark red welts. They looked
like burns. It was Barbara, David’s wife. Someone had beaten her mercilessly.
Blue eyes stared vacantly back at her. Barbara was dead.
    Ingrid retched. She was going to be sick.
    She rubbed her damp face as best as she could against the
edge of the quilt and lay back on the pillow, trying to stay as far away from
Barbara as possible. Poor Barbara and David. At least they were both at peace
now. They had been devoted to each other. Last Christmas, everyone from David’s
department in the museum had sat around a blazing fire downstairs, singing
Christmas carols, while Barbara played the piano. Although he usually avoided
family parties like the plague, Finn had surprised her by accepting her
invitation. It was their first Christmas like that since her father died.
Barbara had teased Finn gently about his intentions toward Ingrid, believing
that he was her boyfriend, and they didn’t have the heart to tell her the
truth. They had laughed about that on the snowy walk home.
    Finn and Strom—the most important men in her life. How
utterly different they were and now she was going to lose both of them.
    * * * * *
    “What do you mean you’ve lost her,” Strom’s voice roared
down the telephone.
    “I’m sorry,” Jake whispered. She said she was going to the
bathroom. It’s just across the hall, but she didn’t come back.”
    “We’ll be right there.” The phone was slammed back into the
receiver with brutal force and Jake replaced his handset with trembling
fingers. Strom was going to kill him.
    How could Ingrid do something so stupid? Jake had already
searched the other offices on the floor, but they were unoccupied. He ventured
through a small, wooden door and found another staircase. The next floor up was
quiet. A large meeting room took up half the space, and the rest was occupied
by David Martin, curator. That must be the guy Raoul killed last night. It was
strange that the office was still occupied.
    “Can I help you, sir?”
    Jake gave the secretary his most charming smile. “I’m
looking for my fiancée, Ingrid Sorrenson.”
    The girl was a mine of information. David Martin was on sick
leave and Mr. Jasson would be using his office until he returned. No, she
hadn’t seen Ingrid, but then she had been on lunch for the past hour. Oh and
congratulations, Ingrid was such a lovely girl. And no, Mr. Jasson wouldn’t be
in the office this afternoon. He was at a meeting with his associate, Mr.
Cranton from head office.
    Jake’s stomach clenched. Jorge Cranton was one of Raoul’s
henchmen. A vicious psychopath wanted for torture and murder, and they had
Ingrid.
    Jake chatted amicably to the old guy on the security desk.
No, Ingrid hadn’t left yet. The only other exit was through the car park. Jake
needed to get a look at their security tapes, but the room was locked. There
was nothing for it. They would have to break into the museum again tonight.
    In all the years he had known him, Jake had never seen Strom
so angry. They had started out the same year in Fleet Academy—him, Strom and
Pete. One history geek in their class had nicknamed them the vikings, on
account of Strom being so blond and their surnames. They had played that up all
through their years at the Academy, with the tattoos and the women, but Strom
had outclassed them all. He was the youngest Fleet Command captain ever, at
twenty seven, and he was promising to be even more brilliant than his dad,
General Hal Hallstrom. Strom and his father had barely spoken since that