The Ice Whispers: A Constable Petra Jensen Novel (Greenland Missing Persons Book 8) by Christoffer Petersen

Author:Christoffer Petersen [Petersen, Christoffer]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Aarluuk Press for Arctic Noir, Action Thrillers and Greenland Crime
Published: 2021-05-06T16:00:00+00:00

Part 13

Troy made me smile, and my nose bleed, until the black night merged into a grey dawn over Toronto. The bustle of kitchen staff and breakfast smells caught me by surprise, and I checked the time on my smartphone.

“It’s just after five,” Troy said, looking at his watch as I frowned at the blank screen on my smartphone. “That needs charging,” he said. “And so do I.”

“You’re leaving?” I said as Troy stood up.

“I’m going to get a few hours’ sleep, then drive Linder to the airport.” He gave me a wide, sleepy smile, adding, “It would be forward of me to ask if you’d join me, for the recharging.”

I felt the heat in my cheeks, and I knew they were redder than the blood on the napkin I had used to mop up my nose bleed the whole night. I said nothing, even though I had plenty of thoughts charging through my head. I just had to pick one, but Troy beat me to it.

“So, I won’t,” he said. “But not because it hasn’t been fun, and not because…”

“What?” I said, when he paused a second too long.

“I was going to say not because I don’t want to. Only I promised Linder a ride. And driving tired is like driving drunk. I won’t do it.”

“You really are a Mountie, aren’t you?”

Troy grinned, bid me a goodnight which he changed to a good morning, and left me on the couch in the hotel bar. The smell of him drifted away to be replaced with pancakes and syrup, and I clutched a cushion to my stomach as I felt the need to squash something – anything, including the torrent of thoughts suggesting I chase after him, catch him on the stairs, or in the elevator, or just… anywhere.

Frustrating.

I changed that thought to…

I am frustrated.

“Argh,” I said, through gritted teeth, loud enough to turn a waiter’s head as he carried a tray of glasses into the dining room.

“You’re all right?” he asked.

“I’m fine.”

“If you’re sure?”

“Positive,” I said, and I was, until half an hour later when Gaba found me in the bar and practically dragged me into the dining room for breakfast.

That’s when the day turned sour, and the highs of undercover work met the lows. The bottom of the sea lows, with icebergs and glaciers calving on top of me, one crashing blow after another.

To be fair, Gaba was only the messenger, but the first blow was the hardest.

“The operation is off, and we’re on the next available flight back to Copenhagen.”

“What? Why?”

Any residual thoughts of Troy were gone as I watched Gaba, watched him sip his coffee, hanging on to his next, his every word.

“Lots of reasons,” he said, “including the fact that they can’t use you at the bar because you’re known and blown. Beresford saw you, and no amount of make-up is going to change that or hide the bruise.” Gaba tapped his cheek under his left eye as he looked at me.

“We can hide it.”

“Petra…”

“What?”

“You haven’t

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