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She forced his hand away. “I don’t need you.”
“I never said you did.”
Ronja shifted her focus to the open door where she heard Leo and Bridget in conversation, the television sounds blending with their words. “Who are they?” Ronja asked Peter.
“Harmless.”
“What are you going to do to them?”
“Nothing. They’re a means to an end.”
“You want me to live here?” she hissed, raising her head slightly. “With them, with you? How did you arrange this? This place is tiny. And I’m—” The avalanche of questions she had was too much, and she dropped her head onto the pillow. What was she doing? Entertaining the idea of another one of Peter’s schemes? His global network was a web he’d created and maintained with great precision, allowing him to hop from one identity to the next, keeping tabs on anyone. She’d known this—and still thought she could get away with disappearing.
Laughable, really. Easier than crying. Easier than dwelling on it.
“I’m going to work for Leo’s uncle,” he continued, “get us a home. We’ll be regular Americans in no time.”
“You do whatever—I want no part in it.”
Bridget appeared and knocked on the doorframe. “How’s it going, roomie?” She had a beer in her hand and sauntered over, crouching next to Peter. She seemed to lap in his appearance briefly before smiling at Ronja. “You two want this bedroom? I can sleep with Leo, although he and I aren’t really together.” Together was aimed directly at Peter.
Ronja shook her head, “No, Peter and I, we—”
Peter interjected, “I’ll take the couch.”
Bridget’s face expanded. “Oh,” she touched his arm, “are you sure?” She gave him a squeeze and stood. “I’m dying to hear how you know Gabby.”
“Yes, Peter. Me too,” Ronja goaded in Swedish as Bridget sashayed out.
Peter answered, “I grew up in Chicago. Swedish parents. Went to school with his younger brothers.” He cocked his Cheshire grin. “You always wanted to know why my English was so good.”
“That’s one I’ve never heard before,” she said.
“I have no reason to lie.”
“Except that’s all you do.”
“You’re not giving me a chance.”
“You had your chance, and you blew it.”
His silence convicted him, but he finally responded, “I’ll have to convince you to give me a second one.”
She stared past him, distracted by a comforting noise outside the window: the gunning acceleration of a V-6 engine.
“C’mon,” Peter whispered in Swedish, his eyes softening. “Let me back in.”
Ronja thought of the Dalahäst hidden inside the tote next to her. She closed her eyes and turned away from him.
Chapter Seven
Ronja
Ronja awoke to Bridget flinging aside the curtains with a merry, “Ready to go shopping, sleeping beauty?” She squinted at the garish light, heard and smelled sizzling bacon, which tossed her insides. It was her first night in this dreaded living arrangement. She’d changed into one of Bridget’s gauzy nighties that was on par with sleeping naked. The headache and nausea from—how many hours ago?—had subsided, but she still felt a low-level queasiness. She massaged her stomach and patted the pillowcase, feeling the horse inside.
Ronja pressed a smile at Bridget. “Hmm?” she said sleepily. “Where is Peter? Leo?”
“Work stuff.” Bridget sat on the bed in her fitted white top and jeans and touched Ronja’s forehead. She pulled out a wad of cash and fanned herself. “When the cats are away, the mice get to play.”
