The Hostage Bargain

The Hostage Bargain by Annika Martin Page B

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Authors: Annika Martin
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later I must have fallen asleep, because I woke up to the scent of coffee and the sounds of Thor packing stuff up. He’d slicked down his curls and had donned a brown sports jacket and jeans and boots, a get-up that made him look more like a movie director than yesterday’s slick businessman. When I commented on his new look, he pulled out mirrored aviator glasses and put them on, which made him look downright dashing.
    “You have as many looks as a Ken doll,” I teased.
    He came to the bed and put his hands on either side of me, and leaned down close still wearing the sunglasses. No more smiling. “But I believe I have one look a Ken doll never has,” he said.
    My belly tightened. “I do believe I saw that look yesterday.”
    He stayed looming over me, all dressed up and spiffy compared to my scantily clad self. I liked lying under him like that.
    Goosebumps rode my skin as he touched my throat, drew a finger down the center of my chest. “Do you know what Odin said about you?”
    “What?” Energy stirred on my skin wherever his finger touched. He drew it down, down toward my belly.
    “Odin says a frisson of vulnerability turns you on. I’m inclined to agree.”
    “Oh, yeah? Is Odin a psychoanalyst from Vienna now?”
    “Let’s just say Odin has your number. Odin has everybody’s number.” Thor stood. “Unfortunately, we have to go. We have a lot to do.”
    So we were all business then. I got up and put on my shabby bank teller outfit.
    We took a cab to downtown Kansas City. Luckily, our first stop was an upscale department store where I picked out a trio of lovely sundresses and some awesome tops and pants, the sorts of things Isis might wear. And then we went to a beauty salon on what Thor termed “the rock ‘n roll side of town” for new hair.
    I took the chair in front of a purple-haired stylist who curled her heavily pierced lip in horror as she inspected my knife-chopped locks. “It was definitely a hasty job,” I said “But I want a big change anyway. Can we make it short and pink?”
    “Hold on,” Thor said. “Pink?” He shook his head.
    “She should have the style she chooses,” the stylist snapped. “You want pink? Pink would be gorgeous on you.”
    “But if she looks too radical or out of the ordinary,” Thor said, “she could lose the very important position she currently has. She might cease to be effective in her profession. Which has a public interaction component.”
    “He’s right,” I said. “How about jet black?”
    Thor shook his head.
    “Dark brown,” I said.
    This, too, Thor vetoed.
    “What?” I protested.
    “Come here.”
    “One minute,” I said to the stylist. I took off the plastic poncho she’d put on me and followed Thor out onto the sidewalk, glaring at his back the whole way to the corner of the building.
    “You can’t have your hair short and dark.”
    “Why? It’ll look totally natural.”
    He took off his sunglasses and eyed me straight on. “No go.”
    “Why not? It’s blonde or nothing? Is that the deal here?”
    “You can’t have it dark. You have to trust me.” The gravity in his voice suggested a world of pain, of trouble.
    Slowly things assembled themselves in the back of my mind…the hole, the rules. And the way I fit in, at least with Thor and Odin, almost like there was a place for me.
    The sense of a ghost.
    “Because that’s how she had it,” I whispered.
    He cocked his head, as though confused, but I suspected he understood.
    And then it came to me. Don’t leave Venus…or rather, don’t leave, Venus .
    “Venus,” I added.
    He set a hand on the wall to the side of my head, and then he set his other hand on the other side, caging me in. “None of us told you that,” he said accusingly.
    “You told me! You said it in your sleep. Don’t leave, Venus , you said.” It hadn’t been about planets. Venus was the girl.
    His gaze remained keen.
    “Is it that hard to put together that a girl came down this road with you

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