Page 73 of Viking Unchained

But . . . and this was a big BUT . . . she still had to get through a trip to Minnesota and back with him, not to mention two full days at her parents’ farm. She’d purchased the airline tickets yesterday and expected he would reimburse her for his half.

Okay, she had six days to straighten herself out. Six days to stop thinking about him in a sexual way. Six days to not fall in love with him.

All thoughts of sex or love or stubborn jerks flew out the window when the phone rang, and her dad announced, “Someone burned down the Denton barn last night.”

And he’s just now telling me? “Dad! What’s going on? First, your cows. Now, the Denton barn. What do the police think? Is Mike safe? Are you all in danger? Should I bring Mike home? Maybe you and Mom and the Dentons should come stay here with me.”

“Now, slow down, honey. First of all, the farmers in the area are on the alert, and we have surveillance teams working round the clock. We’re safe. The police found some grubby motel room down the highway where some foreign guy had been staying. In the waste can there was a crumbled copy of the local newspaper with the article about Dave’s memorial.”

“Terrorists? Oh, my God!”

“The FBI has been called in.”

“The FBI! Oh, my God!”

“Hold on, now. It’s not a terrorist group. They think it’s just some anti-American wacko.”

“Maybe they should cancel the memorial service.”

“The town council held an emergency meeting tonight, and they decided they damn well weren’t going to cave in. So, the service is on, but there’ll be more police than regular folks, I imagine.”

“I’m coming as soon as possible.”

“Will you take Mike back right away, or stay for the service?”

“I don’t know. I’ll see what the situation is when I get there.”

“Honey, don’t worry.”

How could she not worry?

When she clicked off, Lydia realized that she was shaking, too distraught to cry. She wasn’t sure why, but the first call she made was to find Finn. She tried Ian’s number, where Finn was staying. No answer.

Next she called the airline and changed the reservations. For both of them, although she assumed she would be traveling alone since she couldn’t reach Finn. The earliest flight she could get was six A.M. the next morning.

She was in her bedroom packing when she heard a crash in the living room. It sounded like glass breaking. Rushing out, she saw that her sliding glass door to the deck was broken, and a newspaper-covered brick lay amongst the shattered glass on the carpet.

This was too much of a coincidence. The incidents in Minnesota. The brick through her window.

Quickly, she got Dave’s pistol out of the locked drawer in the kitchen. She had no idea if it was loaded, but she felt secure just having it in her hand. Next, she put on rubber gloves and peeled the newspaper off, spreading it on the counter. It was the article in the Coronado newspaper about Dave’s memorial service and her aerobics studio. There were three names circled with black marker. Dave’s. Mike’s.

Hers. And red drip marks stained the newsprint. Blood, she assumed.

With a whimper, she grabbed the cordless phone and ran to the bathroom, locked the door, then called 911. After that, she began calling everyone she knew. Kirstin, Ian, Geek, getting only voice mail. Finally, Cage answered, thank God, after six rings, his voice sounding husky. Had he been asleep? At nine P.M.? But then she heard a female voice in the background and knew he’d been in bed, all right, but not asleep. That couldn’t concern her.

“Cage, this is Lydia. Help! ”

Even wine didn’t help . . .

Thorfinn sat in a low wooden armchair on the deck behind the house at Blue Dragon, sipping fine wine from a fragile-stemmed glass, in the midst of Magnus Ericsson’s two hundred closest friends and kin.

And had never felt more alone in all his life.

They had all come to celebrate a grand harvest of new grapes which would go into the fine wines for which this vineyard was known. Laughter and music came from the vast lawns to the side of the house, where he would be forced to return soon, lest he appear an ungrateful guest.

Kirstin had been giving him black looks ever since he arrived last night with Ian. Madrene and Hilda gave him black looks, too, but that was the usual pattern with them. Kirstin’s attitude was new. If he were not so tired and disillusioned, he might trouble himself to ask her what was amiss. Then again, probably not.

Someone approached, carrying an empty glass in one hand and a wine bottle in the other. It was Magnus, the father to this unruly clan of Vikings, who had settled here in the Sonoma Valley. More than fifty, he was still a formidable Norseman. There were threads of gray in his long, light brown hair, but his big body was well-honed from hard work, and his face was mostly unlined. Fourteen children in all this man had bred over a lifetime, and Thorfinn had not even one. Well, mayhap he had one, but that remained to be seen, and was something he could not dwell on now.