Page 16

16

Air locked in Freya’s lungs as the pad of Abe’s thumb brushed the inside of her wrist. A spiral of sensation shot up her arm, stealing her breath and short-circuiting her rational brain.

She’d never felt a touch like this before—a gentle, private connection that, even in public, remained hidden from everyone else. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once, derailing her in a way that both thrilled and unsettled her. She felt like she was perched atop a roller coaster, teetering on the edge of the unknown, her meticulous control slipping away.

“Freya.” Abe’s voice was low, his breath warm against her ear as he pressed a steadying hand to her back.

The sound of her name snapped her back to reality. Right. Walk. Move. Her body remembered its functions, and she sucked in a sharp breath, her senses flooding back online like a rebooting computer.

“I’m good,” she muttered, trying to control her breathlessness as she followed Asta.

She had never been in Asta’s house, but she knew Asta—so she braced herself.

Asta, now free of her hat contraption, beckoned them down a narrow hallway. The walls were a riot of pink floral wallpaper overlaid with a shimmering, metallic material. Freya skimmed it with her fingertips.

High-grade EMF-blocking mesh.

She’d always known Asta’s research into EMF radiation was all-consuming—the woman had never married or had children—but she’d never fully grasped that Asta lived her research. It was her life. The realization was an inexplicable discomfort settling in Freya’s gut.

She entered the kitchen. Hand-hewn cabinets clashed with gleaming scientific apparatus. A complex glass distillation setup dominated an entire counter, its intricate network of tubes and flasks resembling a transparent, frozen waterfall. Brass microscopes and old-fashioned scales nestled between jars of herbs and spices, as if alchemy and modern science had collided and decided to coexist.

“Vinsamlegast. Sit down,” Asta said, gesturing to a table that looked like it might have been salvaged from a medieval banquet hall.

Freya smiled at Abe’s bewildered face. “‘Vinsamlegast’ is the Icelandic word for please.”

“Ah.” His face split into that solar smile again. For reasons she couldn’t fathom, the longer she spent in this man’s company the bigger the impact his smile had on her. It defied logic.

Asta filled a kettle from the tap and placed it on a stove that looked straight out of the 1950s. She lined up three mismatched mugs, spooning green powder from a dented tin into each. A massive tuxedo cat regarded Freya with regal indifference from its perch on a windowsill.

Catching Freya’s gaze, Asta said, “That’s Moose. She’s her own person. Moved in with me several years ago after living in the barn down the road. Fair warning, Moose is strictly a look-don’t-touch kind of person.”

Moose blinked yellow eyes that said you may have opposable thumbs, but I have superiority.

“Noted.” Abe took a seat beside Freya at the kitchen table, giving the disdainful gaze of the cat a wide berth.

Asta placed two steaming mugs on the table. “Drink.” She beamed. “Now I am sure you have much to tell me, but first—you must be hungry?”

“Um, yes. But we don’t want to put you out.” Freya pulled one mug toward her. small daisy flowers bobbed in the liquid. Camomile? She raised the mug and sniffed. Grass with an undertone of peat bog. Hmm . She took a tiny sip. Yup, tasted like mud too.

“Not at all.” Asta tapped her lip with one finger. “I don’t cook much. No time. I can make you a sandwich?”

“That would be perfect.” Abe turned his superpower smile on Asta. Freya could have sworn her single-minded professor pinked. Abe’s power knew no bounds. But, she already knew that, didn’t she?

His eyebrows lifted as he tasted his drink, and his eyes widened a fraction. “This is a potent brew.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing.

Asta beamed at his words. “It’s my special blend. Icelandic moss, with a touch of birch leaf and angelica root.” She winked conspiratorially. “It’s excellent for digestion. Very cleansing.”

“It’s certainly unique.” Abe drank more of the murky liquid, his face a masterpiece of stoic appreciation.

Warmth bloomed through Freya at his kindness.

He placed a thumb and forefinger at the base of his throat, his eyes glistening. “I can definitely feel it cleansing my insides.”

Asta placed a crusty loaf of bread on the table with a flourish. “Shall we eat?”

Despite the tea tasting like Asta had brewed it in a ditch, she made excellent sandwiches, piled high with thick slices of pink ham and her homegrown tomatoes. As they shared their impromptu meal, Abe and Freya filled Asta in on what had brought them here. Asta listened with a solemn expression, running a finger around the edge of her mug.

Once the story was complete, a heavy silence settled over the table. Freya, her belly full, felt exhaustion creeping in. The last twenty-four hours were catching up to her.

It was Abe who broke the silence. “In the morning, we’ll move on.”

Asta looked at Abe sharply. “You have a plan?”

“First, I need to contact my team. Don’t worry.” He raised his hands. “I’ll take my phone and hike to the nearest hill. I have some calls to make.”

Asta nodded her approval. “But first you must get a good night's sleep—and clean up. I am forgetting my manners. Come.” She motioned for Freya to follow her, glancing back over her shoulder at Abe. “Be careful outside. The ground is treacherous.”

“Copy that.” Abe headed for the front door.

Freya followed Asta up the narrow flight of stairs, worn wooden treads creaking under her feet. At the top, three doors led off a small landing. Asta pointed. “Bathroom. Help yourself to clean towels, and anything else you need.”

“This is so kind of you Asta.” Freya caught hold of her old mentor’s hand, gratitude washing through her. She hadn’t seen Asta for years, but Asta had welcomed them both with open arms.

Asta’s eyes crinkled at the corners as she patted Freya’s hand. “It’s good to see you, Freya, even in difficult circumstances like these. When this is all over, you must come visit an old woman properly. We have much to discuss—my recent work on adaptive neural shielding against variable-frequency EMF exposure, heh?”

When this is all over.

Freya suppressed a shiver. For the first time in her adult life, everything was uncertain, and she didn’t know what tomorrow would bring. “I’d like that very much, Asta.”

Asta smiled and pushed open the nearest door. “This is my guest room. A bed and not much more, but the mattress is very comfortable.”

“Thank you.”

Asta made a dismissive wave of her hand. “Do you have a change of clothes with you?”

“No.”

“Well, let’s get you some clean clothes. Come.” She hustled Freya into the third room.

Asta’s bedroom .

She opened a paneled wardrobe and rifled through the shelves. Freya cast a glance around the room. A bed with a pale blue coverlet. A small bedside table stacked with biophysics textbooks with familiar titles.

The room was comfortable, feminine, but there were no personal touches. Like downstairs, there were no family photos adorning the walls, no trinkets or mementos scattered about. Apart from her cat, Asta’s research appeared to be the sole focus of her existence.

“Here.” Asta placed a pile of clean clothing in Freya’s arms.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it. I’ll leave you to get cleaned up. I have some precautions I’d like to review now that you’re here.”

“Precautions?”

“Boring stuff. Nothing important.” Asta made a dismissive gesture as she turned to head downstairs.

Okay. Freya blew out a breath.

The bathroom was simple, like the rest of the house. Like Asta’s life. White-tiled bath and sink. One bar of white soap and a bottle of generic minty shampoo. One towel on the rail.

Freya turned on the tap, letting the thunder of the hot water wash through her. Exhaustion gnawed at her, dragging her down. Steam rose from the water as she waited for the bath to fill. She rose and crossed to the bathroom mirror. There were shadows under her eyes, but nothing that a good night’s sleep wouldn’t fix.

She stared at herself, reliving the whisper of Abe’s thumb against the sensitive skin on the inside of her wrist. Did he treat all his charges like that? Was it all part of the service? She’d never had a bodyguard before. Was she reading more into this than there was?

She’d had sexual relations with men, but never a relationship . She didn’t know what the indicators were. There should be manuals on things like this.

She glanced over her shoulder at the steam-filled, modest bathroom. She and Asta were more alike than she wanted to admit. This was the reason they had always got on so well—their matched single-minded focus on their work.

For all of Freya’s adult life, it had felt like enough.

Is this what I will end up like if I continue on my current trajectory? Will I end up alone with an aloof cat as my sole company?

Right now?

She was no longer sure if the path she had chosen in life was the one she wished to continue.