Chapter Eighteen

He insisted on Laila going to bed before he did, explaining he had work to do before they left.

Work consisted of checking in with the LAPD. Jerry was still unconscious in the hospital under armed guard, and Carroll was safe in protective custody—a weight off Trace’s mind. After that, it was a case of composing an email to Emile, notifying his boss he’d be taking some vacation time while the experts figured out what they’d seized in the raid and the bureaucrats decided what to do with it.

Stretching out on the couch, he forced himself to rest—eventually drifting off into a light sleep.

The jumbled dream shocked Trace awake, the sense of loss and sadness almost bringing him to tears. He couldn’t remember anything, but his chest ached as if his heart had been torn out.

The last time he’d felt half as bad was when his father had passed.

He lay on his back, forcing his breathing to slow as the morning rays dragged across the room. It took a concentrated effort to call the dream back, grab the splinters to see what had hurt so much.

There were shadows and a howl… He shook his head, pushing it away. Just crazy thoughts brought on by thinking about all things Norse.

The sound of the shower caught his attention, signaling his partner was up and going—right on time.

He played with the ring on his left hand, twirling it with his fingers before staring at the ceiling.

“Freyja,” he whispered, “I’ve no right to ask you for anything, but can you please help me keep her safe? Give her a bit of that Valkyrie magic to survive this one, ’cause it’s going to be a rough ride. Me, I’ll answer for my own sins in time—but she deserves better.” He drew a deep breath. “I know she’s not telling me the whole story, and I’ll be honest, that’s pissing me off big-time. But whatever happens, she doesn’t deserve to die down here.”

He waited, listened.

Nothing.

To be honest, he wasn’t sure what he expected—a roar of thunder, lightning striking the floor at his feet… But it would have been nice to get some hint he’d been heard.

With a sigh, he levered himself up off the couch and headed for the kitchenette to prepare a light breakfast.

A few hours later, they were headed for the boarding gate. The bags had been checked, their passports and visas inspected and approved without a second look.

Trace offered up a silent thanks to Aisha for once again coming through as they walked through the terminal.

“The flight is twelve hours long?” Laila asked, “Really? I thought Aisha was kidding.”

“Yep. Plenty of time to catch up on your sleep.” He gave her a wink as he held up his hand, letting the wedding ring catch the light. “Makes me look good if you’re tired and worn out already.”

She sighed, pushing his hand down. “Don’t expect me to spend time fawning and falling all over you.”

“Not even a little bit?” The teasing came naturally as he held out their boarding passes to the flight attendant. “Don’t make me beg.”

That earned him a sly smirk from the air steward as she led them to their first-class seats at the front of the plane.

Laila sat in the window seat, glancing out at the wings. He settled beside her, enjoying the extra space their status conferred.

He waited until the plane was airborne before starting the conversation, following the path mapped out in his mind—questions he needed answers to.

“I assume you give Freyja updates, or she’s keeping an eye on you to see how things are going.” He watched her closely, gauging her response. “So why aren’t you swooping down on the Blanco estate right now with a posse of Valkyries, wiping out his guards and taking the cane back to your sister’s grave? Why are you slumming it with me, taking the long way in and out?”

She flipped one dark lock of hair behind her ear. “Because there are rules even gods need to follow. The Allfather doesn’t like public displays of our power unless it’s unavoidable.”

The flight attendant came forward with the drink cart, forcing him to pull back the hundreds of questions choking his thoughts.

He waited until she was gone before continuing. “So, what does Odin define as unavoidable? Would he send backup if we got into deep trouble?”

“I honestly don’t know.” She rolled her shoulders. “It’s just important to get the cane away from Blanco. My sister needs to be at rest before the end of the world. Returning it to her side will give her that peace.”

“Ah.” The flash of deception in her face jabbed at his heart like a pro boxer, hitting low and leaving a bruise.

He’d spent years, decades, hearing lies.

Laila was a bad liar. She looked to her left, over his shoulder—a clear indication of evasion.

His stomach ached, sadness curling around his gut. She didn’t trust him with something, something important.

But he couldn’t force it out of her. All he could do was be careful and hope when she was ready to tell him the truth, she’d tell him. Right now, the focus had to be on the mission.

He took her hand, letting his thumb brush the soft skin.

Her fingers twitched in his grip. Trace leaned in, brushing his lips over her ear. “We’re supposed to be newlyweds, remember? Got to play our part.”

“You’re afraid Blanco has spies on this plane?” The teasing smile shot straight down his spine, igniting his desire for her again.

“I think he’s got spies everywhere, so let’s just play it safe.” He gave her his best grin. “How about you tell me how you got this job. Sounds rather interesting…”

…

Laila had been waiting for this question—from their first meeting when he saw her wings and spotted the bracelet moving to her wrist. It was inevitable Trace would want to know more about her past, how she came to be sitting with him, playing his wife as they prepared to steal an ancient weapon from a drug warlord.

“We have over ten hours.” He squeezed her hand. “Take your time.”

She scowled at him, enough to earn a sympathetic grin from a passing woman making her way back to her seat.

“I was born… many years ago.” She enjoyed the sight of Trace pressing his lips together in a tight line, stifling his questions.

She was in control here.

“I told you my parents were merchants. We traveled the world on ships, making deals at every stop. Wine, spices, cloth… If you could sell it, we bought it and made money on it.”

Laila paused, the memories rushing back like a tidal wave. “But as I got older, my parents realized this was no life for a child—especially a woman. So, at some point, we all went ashore, and they settled in a port city, opening up a business.”

He moved in, his free hand moving up and down her bare forearm with a gentle rhythm. “Quite a change.”

“You have no idea.” She nodded and took a sip of wine. “Then, when I was old enough, they found a husband for me.”

His forehead furrowed. “I’m not a big fan of arranged marriages.”

“It wasn’t as bad as some.” She closed her eyes and saw Sven there—smiling, the gray and white of his beard standing out against his weather-beaten skin. “He was the son of a family friend, a local who we had come to know and trust. His family had helped us settle in town, so when he asked my father for my hand, it was a natural thing.”

“How old was he?”

Laila raised an eyebrow. “Older. I was not his first wife. But he was a good man—my father told him if he ever hurt me, there’d be hell to pay. My mother was a bit more direct.” She let out a soft giggle. “Mom said she’d cut his balls off and fry them up, feed them right back to him if I was ever unhappy.”

“Wow. Okay. They were serious,” Trace said. “What was his name?” The slow stroking continued, her skin tingling with goose bumps at the sensual touch.

“Sven. He dealt in furs. We were never cold.” She allowed herself a soft chuckle. “I will always have a soft spot in my heart for him.”

“As you should.”

Laila looked up into Trace’s blue eyes, seeing nothing but kindness for her late husband.

“I would never ask you to forget him,” he murmured. “How did he pass?”

“Sickness. When I look back, it could have been the Black Plague—but there were so many ways to die…” She gave a wistful sigh, seeing the invisible numbers racing behind his eyes. “Yes, I’m an older woman. I hope this won’t wreck your reputation.”

“I have no reputation,” he said.

Laila lowered her head and chuckled. “You said it first.”

“It must have been fantastic to live back then.” He let out a sigh. “Just imagine what you’ve seen, experienced.”

“Like cholera, dysentery, smallpox?” She snorted. “Fleas, and body odor that’ll make you throw up? Dried and salted fish and meat that needs to be soaked in water for hours to make it edible? That?”

He rolled his shoulders. “Well, okay. Maybe not so much.” He eyed her. “How about as a Valkyrie? What have you seen doing that?”

She turned and looked out the window into the clouds, the tug of recent memories pulling her down. “Battlefields. Blood. Death.” A shudder ran through her body, nausea surging up. “So many young lives. So much potential wasted in the name of this god or that one, this cause or…” She paused to take a shallow breath, her lungs aching.

His arms went around her, pulling her into a tight hug.

“I’m sorry,” Trace whispered. “I didn’t think… Hush now, put it out of your mind. Just try to relax, enjoy the flight.”

She looked up as the flight attendant moved closer with their meal trays. The woman smiled, seeing the newlyweds cuddling together.

Trace pressed his lips to her temple, a light kiss. “Time to eat, then rest up. We’ve got a busy few days ahead of us.”