Free Island Getaway, An Art Crime Team Mystery by Jenna Bennett

knuckles and give him
something else to think about? “Why would she do that?”
    Fredrik shrugged. “I have no idea. I guess
she doesn’t trust you.”
    No shit, Sherlock . “She has no reason
not to trust me.”
    “Sure.”
    “She doesn’t!” Nick shoved a hand through
his hair and resisted the temptation to grab a fistful and yank.
“Dammit, I’ve been doing this job for a long time. Years. I know
how to talk to a suspect without letting them know that I suspect
them of anything.”
    “Uh-huh,” Fredrik said.
    Nick turned a narrow-eyed stare at him.
“What the hell does that mean? That tone of voice?”
    Fredrik smirked. “It means you’re doing a
good job trying to convince yourself.”
    Nick opened his mouth to protest, but
stopped when Fredrik held up a hand. “Listen, Nick. I like you.
You’re good at what you do. I’m not saying you’re not. But in this
case, I think you should consider that your judgment’s a bit
impaired.”
    “Meaning?”
    If the flat and deadly calm of Nick’s voice
bothered Fredrik, he didn’t let it show. “Meaning, this girl’s
gotten under your skin. I have no idea how. From what I’ve seen of
her, she doesn’t seem the type who’d know how to wrap a man around
her finger. Especially someone with your experience. But what the
hell do I know?”
    Nothing. He knew nothing. And to add insult
to injury, or annoyance, it was impossible to guess from Fredrik’s
tone whether he was talking about Nick’s experience in the bureau,
or his experience with women. And Nick wasn’t about to ask.
    “I feel bad for her,” he said instead. “My
gut says she isn’t involved.”
    “You sure that’s your gut speaking? And not
something a little lower?”
    “Fuck you.”
    “No thanks,” Fredrik said, with a big grin.
“And I’m sure you’d rather—”
    He stopped as his computer signaled an
instant message, and the levity dropped off his face.
    “What?” Nick asked, moving closer.
    Fredrik scanned the message. “Looks like we
caught a break.”
    “What kind of break?”
    Fredrik glanced at him. “The bag turned
up.”
    “Annika’s bag? Where?”
    “Bus station at Nynäshamn.”
    Wonderful. “Where’s that?”
    “Hour and a half down the coast,” Fredrik
said. “It’s where your girlfriend boarded the ferry to Gotland this
afternoon.”
    Nick stiffened. “If you’re suggesting—”
    “I’m not suggesting anything. A lot of
people come through Nynäshamn. And the bag was hidden away under a
bench. It could have been there since yesterday. There’s no proof
that your girlfriend put it there.”
    Nick decided to ignore the way Fredrik
referred to Annika as Nick’s girlfriend—twice. He also refrained
from trying to convince Fredrik that Annika hadn’t left the bag
there. “Can you have someone check the passenger lists for the
ferry for the past two days? Just in case someone pops?”
    “I can try,” Fredrik said. “Though it’s not
like international travel where you have to show identification to
board, you know. It’s just a ferry. You pay, you go on.”
    Of course. It couldn’t be easy. “At least
pull payment records and try to make a match through a credit card.
Someone who came in on the same flight—or at the same time—so
they’d be at the airport when we landed yesterday. Or someone with
a connection to Annika and her father. If whoever it was paid cash,
I guess we’re out of luck, but it’s worth a try.”
    Fredrik nodded. “I’ll send someone down
there to pick up the bag and bring it back here.”
    “Don’t bother.” Nick headed for the door.
“I’ll go down there myself. And tomorrow morning I’ll take the
first ferry to Gotland and give her the bag myself. And tell her
everything.” And then he’d shake her until her teeth rattled and
ask her what the hell she thought she was doing, ducking him. If he
liked her answer, he might kiss her.
    Fredrik looked at him, steadily, for a
moment. “Is that smart?”
    Nick