Niklas laughs lightly, shaking his head. “Really, Izabel?” he says with sarcasm and leaves it at that.
I can’t argue with that, or lash out him for being a dick—Fredrik lost the only person in the outside world that he loved, months ago. Killed her with his own hands, forced to put her down like a rabid dog. Fredrik Gustavsson is the least emotionally attached person in our entire organization. And probably always will be.
Three hours later, while waiting in our hotel room in New Brunswick, New Jersey, Victor gets the call from Dorian.
“She’s gone,” Dorian says, trying to contain the trepidation in his voice. “The fucking house was ransacked. They fucking took her, Faust.”
I’ve never seen or heard Dorian react this way. Not to anything. I never even knew he had an ex-wife. He doesn’t seem the wife type.
“There was no note this time. No more bread crumbs.”
“Good,” Victor says. “How quickly can you be here?”
“I can be there before 2:00 a.m.,” he answers, “bet your ass on that.”
“We’ll see you then,” Victor says, but just before they end the call he adds, “Bring Fredrik with you.”
“Fredrik? But I don’t even know where to find him.” Dorian sounds more worried than before, as if forced to waste time by looking for Fredrik is going to cause him to miss the 2:00 a.m. meeting.
“Just try to find him first,” Victor says. “If you can’t within the next hour, come alone and we’ll figure it out.”
Dorian and Fredrik, although no longer partners, still reside in Baltimore. And the partner Dorian was assigned to after Fredrik, Evelyn Stiles, former CIA, Victor relocated her somewhere in France.
Niklas isn’t used to seeing Victor be so lenient—he stands there with a you’ve-got-to-be-shittin’-me look on his face, his arms covered by a long-sleeved black shirt, crossed loosely over his chest, untucked over a pair of black jeans held up by a black belt with a silver buckle, which is the only part of the belt that shows. Niklas always wears dark colors and the same motorcycle boots; a rugged kind of man who always has facial stubble and doesn’t care to style his brown hair. He doesn’t care about much, really, certainly not about impressing anyone. Funny thing is though, he seems to attract women like shit attracts flies, much like Dorian. The two have more in common than any of us. But the difference with me is that Dorian I can tolerate—he’s never tried to kill me.
“I guess it turned out to be a bad idea telling Fredrik he can lay low for a while,” Niklas speaks up.
“I suppose it was,” Victor says, slipping the phone back into his jacket, “but we couldn’t have known something like this would happen. We may not need him. Let’s hope we don’t.”
I look over at the clock on the nightstand between the double beds.
“Well, he has four hours to find him,” I say. “And somehow I don’t think he’s going to have much luck.”
“Neither do I,” Victor agrees. “We’ll work with what we have.” He looks to me. “You could try calling Fredrik. He might answer for you.”
I shake my head. “Victor, he doesn’t talk to me anymore. Not since Seraphina. I’ve told you that, more than once. Hell, it’s starting to make me feel—”
“You’re right, I apologize,” he says—Niklas’ eyes roll upward into his head. “This isn’t about trust, Izabel. I know you’re not lying to me about it. But the fact remains, I still think he’d talk to you.”
“No. He won’t,” I say icily, standing firm on the issue because I’ve already tried talking to Fredrik and he shut me down. And it hurts. “And besides, if he doesn’t answer for you, even when you’ve given him some time off, that’s something you should be concerned about.”
“I hate to say it,” Niklas chimes in, “but I agree with her.”
“Like I said,” Victor responds, “we’ll figure it out when we come to it. We may not even need Fredrik.”
If we do, we’ll probably be screwed.
Fredrik, although still very much a vital member of our organization—one of the most vital members—is also the most unstable. Not with his work—no, Fredrik is frighteningly good at what he does—but emotionally…he has no emotions anymore. Since losing Seraphina, the only woman he’s ever loved and who understood him, apparently the woman who helped him control his urges, he’s not been the same since. He is now the epitome of darkness; a dangerous, gorgeous man with a beast that lives inside of him so frightening that he scares me. And I don’t scare easily.
I never could’ve imagined it before, never would’ve given it a second thought, but I feel like Fredrik could kill me. Not that he would target me, or risk his place under Victor, but that if he had to kill me, or torture me for whatever reasons, he would do it without question or protest.
The Fredrik I once knew is dead.
Niklas leaves a short time later and goes to his room down the hall.
“Izabel,” Victor says from the table in front of the window, “you need to be prepared for what might happen.”