Page 61 of Veiled Justice
The living-room fire was still burning green in the grate. I recognised Jón, Freja, and Maktel. Hanlon was there too; he was done typing, then. There was no sign of Aron, and I didn’t know anyone else.
Krieg threw Einar down onto the tiled floor, strode to the fire, took a handful of white sand and threw it into the flames. They surged and flashed then turned back to their usual red. ‘Helga Jónson’s death has been avenged,’ he said into the silence.
Freja let out a low growl. ‘Einar?’ she snarled. ‘How could he?’
‘He was paid two million to kill Helga,’ I confirmed. I figured such crass details were better coming from an official source rather than Helga’s godfather, King or not.
Jón ground his teeth and his lips twisted. ‘He killed one of us formoney?’He hawked and spat on Einar’s corpse.
‘Justice has been carried out,’ Krieg said dispassionately. ‘He died on my tusks. The blood money he was paid will be gifted to you, Jón and Freja.’
‘I don’t want it.’ Freja was trembling with fury or grief, I couldn’t tell which.
Jón shrugged. ‘It’ll spend the same.’ He looked at Krieg. ‘And the ones that hired him?’
‘I’ll be dealing with them,’ I said firmly.
Jón looked at me dubiously. ‘See that you do,’ he said finally.
‘Who is she?’ a female ogre called. ‘To be here in the den like this?’
Krieg introduced me. ‘This is Inspector Wise of the Connection – and she is in my shadow,’ he said firmly. The room fell so silent you could have heard a phoenix fart. The female gaped at me, her face a mask of fury.
I had no idea what being in his shadow meant, so I kept my face impassive.
Krieg turned to Jón and Freja. ‘The body is yours. Do with it what you will.’ He turned on his heel and marched out of the den. I followed him because I really didn’t want to be in the den alone with that bitch looking at me with such violence in her eyes. Not that I couldn’t kill her, but I doubted Krieg would appreciate it if I did.
I followed his swagger down a long corridor. Finally he held a door open for me: it turned out we were going to his inner sanctum –his bedroom. ‘I need to shower and change,’ he said. ‘It is best for you to stay here whilst I do so.’ Away from his ogres.
‘Sure. You don’t like entrails in your hair.’
‘I do not. Stay here.’
I nodded and looked around as he entered the en-suite bathroom. It came as no surprise that his room exuded opulence and sophistication, blending masculine colours and textures. The space was dominated by deep, earthy tones – charcoal, walnut brown and slate grey – complemented by accents of brushed gold. It was a room that emanated command – but also sensuality.
The focal point was a super-king-sized bed adorned with dark navy bedding and a sturdy, carved-oak headboard. Beside it was a sofa layered with textured throws and pillows. There was no TV in the room that I could see; instead, the stone wall housed a sleek fireplace that added warmth.
The floor was polished hardwood softened by a Persian rug. Floor-to-ceiling navy curtains covered large windows; they were still shut and only the lamp that Krieg had flipped on lit the space.
Opposite the bed, a low glass-and-steel table beside a leather armchair served as a reading nook. A decanter of whisky and a few crystal tumblers rested on a sideboard, alongside a small collection of books. Throughout the room were pieces of beautiful pottery, mainly painted black though a few were maroon, in a similar style to the bold, muted art works that adorned the walls.
I sat on the sofa and leaned back into the cushions, surprised at how much I sank into them. They were ridiculously comfy. I couldhear the soothing sound of running water from the bathroom and my eyelids started to feel entirely too heavy.
My phone rang, shattering the quiet and ripping me awake.Dr Potter calling.I answered on a yawn. ‘Hey, Kate.’
‘Hey, Stacy.’
‘You sound tired.’
‘So do you,’ she quipped.
I laughed softly. ‘I guess we’re all running on empty.’
‘That’s what happens when the Connection is too tight-arsed to pay for more staff.’
‘You’re not wrong. What’s up?’
‘I’m calling about Alice Rose.’
