Island Getaway, An Art Crime Team Mystery (25 page)

She nodded. “I’m fine.”

But her voice was shaky. She’d kept strong
and steady the whole time she’d been talking to Steen. Nick had
been proud of her. But now that it was over, she was—his eyes
narrowed—leaning into the embrace of another man, while shivers ran
through her body.

The guy was tall and brown-haired, in an
olive-drab T-shirt and a pair of stained corduroys. The stains
looked dubious, but that could have been wishful thinking on Nick’s
part. Anyway, the guy was obviously American. This had to be Curt
Gardiner.

Nick scanned him, narrow-eyed, for the gun
he’d used to shoot the chief of police.

There it was, still in the bastard’s hand.
The one that wasn’t touching Annika. The hand that wasn’t patting
her back, getting a little too close for Nick’s comfort to the soft
curve of her buttocks. She was wearing jeans, God help him, and
they fit her like a second skin, and rode low on her hips, and he
caught a glimpse of pale skin between the waistband and the bottom
of the blue T-shirt she had on—just below where Curt’s hand was
currently resting. Another inch and he’d have his hand on Annika’s
skin. And at that point, Nick might just have to kill him.

Before the temptation could become too much,
he straightened and stepped out from behind the monument where he’d
been crouched, listening to Annika’s and Steen’s conversation. He
kept his own gun trained on Curt. “Step away from her, Gardiner.
And drop the gun.”

Curt stiffened. So did Annika. She moved
back, out of his arms, and turned. “Nick.”

He wasn’t quite sure how to interpret the
tone of her voice. Wary, maybe? She certainly didn’t sound happy to
see him. And Curt sounded downright hostile. “Who the hell are
you?”

“Nick Costa. FBI.”

The bastard wasn’t dropping the gun.
Instead, he lifted it. And he was still too close to Annika for
comfort. He wasn’t pointing the gun at her—not yet—but Nick still
didn’t like the odds.

He risked a glance at her. She was staring
at him. “FBI?”

“Sorry.”

She looked hurt. And he wanted more than
anything to take that expression off her face, but he couldn’t look
away from Curt for more than a second. He’d have time to explain
later. He hoped. “Drop it, Gardiner.”

“You first,” Curt said.

“Sorry. Not gonna happen.”

“Then I won’t, either.” Curt firmed his grip
on the pistol.

Great. A standoff. With Annika caught in the
middle, weaponless and in the crossfire. The very last thing he’d
wanted. The one thing he’d worried about the most.

Nick aimed another quick glance at her.
“Annika.”

“What?” She was worrying her bottom lip
again, looking from him to Curt and back. The overload of guns must
be upsetting, and who could blame her? She was a librarian, for
God’s sake. She shouldn’t be in the middle of a situation like this
one.

He gentled his voice. “Go check whether
Chief Steen is still breathing. Please.”

If the chief was alive, they’d need to get
him medical attention STAT. If they could keep him alive, Nick
might be able to prove that he’d been involved in the robbery and
murder of the guard all those years ago. Without that, proving
anything would be a lot harder, not to mention partly futile, since
Steen would be beyond being made to answer for it. But at least
getting Annika over to Steen would move her a few more feet away
from Curt, and out of the direct line of fire.

She made a moue, but did as he asked, albeit
not without a wary glance at Curt out of the corner of her eye.
When he didn’t tell her not to move, she sidled over to Steen and
bent to check his pulse. Nick was pleased to see her nudge the
chief’s gun out of her way with her toe before squatting. He was
less pleased when she looked up at him, her eyes enormous behind
the glasses, and shook her head.

Damn
.

“He would have shot her,” Curt said and
turned to Nick. “You’d have done the same thing.”

“I wouldn’t have killed him.” Steen was no
use to him dead.

“I didn’t have a choice,” Curt said.

“Sure you did. You could have shot him in
the arm. Or the shoulder. Somewhere that would have made him drop
the gun, but wouldn’t have killed him.” It was what Nick had
planned to do.

“Who cares?” Curt asked, with a glance at
the dead chief of police that was equal parts disgust and loathing.
“He’s scum. He would have killed Annika. And didn’t you hear him?
He said he’d shot Niels Halmquist.”

“I heard. But with him dead, that makes it a
bit harder to prove.”

“He confessed!”

“Sure. And we heard him. But he can’t sign a
confession. And he can’t be punished.”

“He’s dead!” Curt said.

“And that might make
you
feel
better.” As clearly it did. Especially if Nick was right and Curt’s
whole purpose in being on Gotland had been shooting Gustav Sundin
and Johan Steen and anyone else who’d had something to do with his
father’s death. “But it doesn’t help me. My job is to catch people
who commit crimes and find enough evidence to get them convicted. I
don’t shoot them. They’re no good to me dead.”

“He’s no loss to anyone,” Curt said.

“Maybe not to you. But he had a wife once.
He had a job and he probably had friends. He’s been chief of police
for a lot of years. You can argue that he shouldn’t have been,” and
you’d have a point, “but the people here have been happy with
him.”

Curt didn’t answer, and Nick went on.
“Gustav Sundin probably had friends too. He may have had a mother
and father, maybe siblings. Most people do. And Carl Magnusson had
a wife and children. His daughter traveled all the way here to put
him to rest. She cares that he’s dead.”

“What does my father have to do with this?”
Annika asked.

Nick glanced at her, where she was still
kneeling on the ground. “Didn’t he tell you? His mother was Carola
Halmquist. Niels Halmquist’s widow.”

“So?” Curt said. “That doesn’t mean I killed
anyone.” He turned to Annika. “I didn’t lie to you. I just didn’t
mention it.”

“Of course not.” She flashed him a smile,
and Nick wanted to gag. After the night they’d spent together, how
could she smile at someone else like that?

And especially this jackass. Surely she
understood what he’d implied? Gardiner had killed Steen on purpose,
and he’d killed both Gustav Sundin and Annika’s father. Nick knew
her relationship with Carl Magnusson had been bad, but surely she’d
care that Curt had killed him?

But maybe she didn’t. Maybe she’d known
about the treasure all along, instead of having learned about it
yesterday. Maybe that note she’d shown the chief, the one he’d
pocketed, had given instructions to where it was hidden. Her whole
trip might have had nothing to do with returning the ashes, or—as
he’d originally thought—returning the treasure. Instead, she’d
planned to dig it up and leave Gotland with it. Maybe not all of
it—the coins might be too distinctive and hard to hide. But she
could slip a couple of the bracelets on her wrists and a couple of
the rings on her fingers and walk onto the plane hoping for the
best. Some of the tourist shops in Visby sold modern replicas of
the ancient treasures. If anyone asked, she could just claim they
were souvenirs.

Hell, they sold replicas of the coins too.
Although boarding the plane with a shopping bag full of them was
surely stretching believability beyond the credible.

She was still smiling at Gardiner, who was
smiling back. Enough was enough. Nick took a step toward the
bastard, intending to relieve him of the gun while he was
preoccupied. But as it turned out, the man wasn’t as preoccupied as
Nick had thought he’d be. If Annika had been smiling at him like
that, he wasn’t sure he’d have been able to keep his mind on
business, but as soon as he moved, Curt’s focus was off Annika and
back on Nick. And so was the muzzle of the gun. “Stop right
there.”

“What are you gonna do if I don’t?” Nick
asked, thinking that a Kevlar vest sure would come in handy just
about then. It was the last time he left home without his body
armor. He’d thought Gotland would be safe—Annika wasn’t gonna shoot
him, and he hadn’t expected to get mixed up with a murderer. Just
went to show you never could tell. “Are you gonna shoot me?”

“If I have to,” Curt said, and sounded like
he meant it. And why not, after killing two people in the last
thirty six hours? “You’re behaving in a threatening manner. Coming
at me with a gun.”

“I have the right to carry. You don’t.”

“That won’t matter after you’re dead,” Curt
said.

He had a point. It would definitely be
better if he could avoid getting shot. Nick let the gun drop a few
inches, from Curt’s chest to his groin. Let the bastard think he
was worried. And besides, shooting his balls off would be a lot
more satisfying anyway. “Let’s talk about this.”

“Sure,” Curt said, with a smirk.

“I just want to make sure I understand. Did
you follow Annika out here?”

“I followed him,” Curt said, with a glance
at the chief of police.

“How did you know he was one of the men who
were involved in the robbery?”

Curt’s face darkened. “My mom told me. They
were all in it together. My dad, her dad,” he glanced at Annika,
“him,” the dead chief, “and the guy from the other night.”

“Gustav Sundin.”

Curt nodded. “They planned it all together.
They wouldn’t have gotten into the museum at all if it hadn’t been
for my dad. And then they betrayed him.”

“I don’t think that was my father’s doing,”
Annika piped up. “Mr. Steen said—”

“I heard what he said. That my dad thought
he deserved more. That doesn’t make it OK to shoot him.”

“Of course not,” Annika said soothingly.
“But I don’t think my dad wanted it to happen that way, Curt. I
think he wanted to share with your father. It was Mr. Steen who
didn’t.”

Curt looked unsure, and Annika continued,
“Just look at what happened. My dad could have left with the
treasure, and kept the money for himself, but he didn’t. He went to
Denmark, but he didn’t bring the silver along. He left it here,
where he knew it would be safe. Mr. Steen gave Gustav Sundin that
metal detector, and Gustav spent the rest of his life looking for
the silver, but he never found it. My dad obviously didn’t want
them to have it. Because he didn’t want them to profit from your
father’s death.”

Curt nodded. His attention was firmly on
Annika now, and much as that bothered Nick, he wasn’t about to
complain, not when it left him free to bide his time and plan where
he was going to shoot Curt for minimum damage and maximum
discomfort.

“You didn’t do anything wrong here,” Annika
added smoothly, with a glance at the dead chief of police. She was
good, Nick had to admit. The poor sucker would be eating out of her
hand soon. “You’re right. He would have killed me if you hadn’t
shot him. You saved my life.”

Gag me
.

“You’re my hero.”

Oh, please
. And dammit, no matter how
much he thought—hoped—she was just saying that to keep Curt off
balance, Nick wanted to hear her say it to him instead. In bed, if
he had his pick.

Who’s the sucker now, Costa?

“You’ll be a hero to all of Visby,” Annika
continued, getting to her feet. “You’ll be the one bringing the
treasure back to the museum, after all these years. I’m sure they
thought it was lost forever. But you found it. And you saved me
from a horrible death. You exposed the chief of police for the
thief and murderer that he was. They’ll probably write about you in
the newspaper. Maybe even dedicate something in the museum to you.
Or to your dad. A plaque or something.”

“Yeah,” Curt said, visions of glory and
honor dancing in head.

Nick rolled his eyes. Neither of them
noticed. Curt was hanging on Annika’s every word, and she seemed to
have forgotten that Nick was there.

“And when we go back home,” she said, “if
you don’t have to go back to Minnesota right away, maybe you can
spend a few days in New York. I’ll show you around. And show you
how grateful I am.”

OK. That was it. Next the bastard would grab
her and kiss her, right over the dead body, and that’d be more than
Nick could stand. Time to nip this in the bud.

But before he could take aim, Annika—
damn
her
—placed herself right in his line of fire. What the hell was
she thinking, stepping between him and Gardiner? Didn’t she realize
that the man was a murderer?

She didn’t really believe that crap she’d
spouted, did she? Gardiner hadn’t found the treasure; she had. And
the city of Visby wouldn’t be grateful to him. The city of Visby
would prosecute him for murder and throw away the key.

And God help her if she attempted to show
the bastard how grateful she was here and now. Just the fact that
she was smiling at him had Nick seeing red. If she attempted to
touch the son of a bitch, he’d probably pop a vein.

And then she did just that. Went up on her
toes—the bastard was taller than Nick, which didn’t make him like
the guy any more—and kissed him.

And instead of popping a vein, Nick popped
Curt, right in the kneecap. Maximum pain, minimum damage. No chance
that he’d accidentally hit an artery and the SOB would bleed
out.

Curt collapsed in a heap on the ground,
screaming, and Annika turned to Nick, straightening her glasses.
“What took you so long?”

“You got in my way.” He bent to scoop up
Curt’s gun, to move it safely out of the way. Curt seemed to have
forgotten all about it; the only thing on his mind was clutching
his knee and screaming. Better safe than sorry, however.

“I was trying to distract him,” Annika said.
“You could have shot him any time, you know. You didn’t have to
wait until I actually had to kiss him.”