CHAPTER 16

.16.

The air in the hallway was thin, but it turned to ice when Riccard placed a manicured hand on the study door and looked at me with a thin, condescending smile.

“Mr. Karlsen is expecting his nephew,” Riccard murmured, his eyes flicking to my travel-worn clothes. “Perhaps the... guest... would be more comfortable in the living room? There are magazines. National Geographics.”

I felt the itch in my knuckles, but I didn't have to move. Jimmy did it for me. He stepped into Riccard’s personal space, his height suddenly a weapon. His voice was glacial, the kind of tone that comes from growing up as a man who owns the land he stands on.

“Are you actually trying to offer… suggestions… in this house?”

Riccard didn't exactly step back; he recoiled. The mask of the sophisticated courtier slipped, revealing a terrified errand boy underneath. Jimmy didn't wait for an answer. He gripped my arm and ushered me into the study, the heavy oak doors swinging shut behind us with the finality of a tomb lid.

The room was a temple to the man who wasn't there. Karlsen Senior’s face was everywhere – framed photographs lined the mahogany shelves, showing a silver-haired, sixty-eight-year-old version of the Karlsen lineage shaking hands with governors and leaning against the shoulders of Hollywood starlets. Above the fireplace, a portrait of a woman looked down on the room. She had an expression that was hard to read in the shifting light – beautiful, distant, and holding some secret she wasn't sharing.

Ole was perched on the edge of the massive desk, looking casual, but I caught the slight swivel of the executive chair behind him. He’d been sitting in it. He’d been trying the seat of the throne on for size before we walked in.

“Junior,” Ole said, his voice a hypnotic Danish purr. He stood up, 6'2" of custom-tailored sympathy. “My boy, I’m so sorry. The storm... the timing... it was a tragedy upon a tragedy.”

He didn't wait for Jimmy to speak. His cold blue eyes pivoted to me, scanning my face for a price tag and coming up short. “And this is?”

“A friend,” Jimmy snapped. He didn't offer my name. He didn't offer or accept a handshake. He went straight for the jugular. “What happened? How did he die?” His voice had become a terse wire.

Ole sighed, twisting the heavy gold signet ring on his finger. He looked at the portrait of Trudy, then back at us. “The doctor called it an insulin shock. His heart just... gave out. I told him a thousand times to get a professional nurse to handle those injections. Or Trudy. But you knew Jay. He was a man who had to have his own hand on the glass plunger.”

I saw the news hit Jimmy like a tidal wave. He swayed for a second, the stillness I’d taught him in the surf being the only thing keeping him upright. An overdose. A mistake. Or a convenient ending? If Ole had been a different kind of man, the question might've never crossed my mind.

“How did you convince Mother to go ahead with the funeral without me?” Jimmy’s voice was a bark now, echoing off the stone walls.

Ole smiled, and it was the most terrifying thing I’d seen since the storm. “Oh, but I didn’t, my boy. I didn’t have to.”

“I don’t believe you.” If Jimmy’s gaze could scorch, we’d be looking for a second urn.

“Believe what you like, Junior. Grief does strange things to a woman’s sense of time.” Ole gestured vaguely toward the ceiling. “She’s resting in her bedroom. The doctor gave her something to help with the... nerves.”

“I have to see her,” Jimmy said, turning to me. The fire was gone, replaced by a desperate, hollowed-out look.

“Of course,” I said.

Jimmy didn't look at his uncle again. He turned and strode out of the room. I heard his footsteps heavy on the terrazzo before the door clicked shut. 

Suddenly, the study felt much smaller.

I was alone with the wolf. Ole Karlsen stood there, the 1929 version of a wannabe king, watching me with predatory curiosity. He didn't speak. He was waiting for the "friend" to show his hand.

But I kept the hands in my pockets and didn't blink. I’d faced sharks in the Pacific. All of them had looked more honest than the man standing in front of me.