help. Because deep down inside her, in a place that reason couldn’t reach, she still wanted—even though more than thirteen years had passed since that night—nothing more than for him to fall. That his face should be smashed beyond recognition, that his arms and legs be broken like matchsticks, and his hands, the soft hands that she had loved and feared more than anything else in the whole world, crushed to bloody fragments against the solid ground far below.
And at the moment when the hatred once again broke free inside her, someone pressed Play and her wishes came true.
Often that was when she woke up, at the moment when he disappeared from sight, and she avoided having to hear the sound of his body hitting the ground five floors below.
But not always.
Not today.
The muffled, soft sound was still echoing in her ears as she gulped down a quick breakfast by the kitchen sink. It was almost drowned out by the sound of traffic as she cycled fast along Rålambsvägen, but was still echoing weakly at the back of her mind as she made the mountain bike jump the curb on Drottningholmsvägen, and still hadn’t vanished completely by the time she pulled up breathless beside the guard’s box by the cellar entrance at Fridhemsplan.
She stopped at the barrier, showed her police badge to the guard inside, who waved her past absentmindedly, evidently more interested in the cell phone he was fiddling with instead of concentrating on his job.
Yet another incompetent idiot, she thought angrily before she rolled down through the tunnel beneath the Kronoberg complex, its cool darkness effectively shutting off the outside world and all of its sounds.
♦ ♦ ♦
“Come on, put a bit of effort in, for God’s sake! This isn’t a housewives’ exercise class!”
Sweat was pouring from the six bodyguards. Five men, one woman. Down on the floor, ten push-ups, quickly up on your feet again, ready, kick, punch, punch. Then down again. Twenty sit-ups and back up into position again. Ten reps in total, then switch with your partner. A firm grip around the waist, kick, punch, punch.
Her sparring partner was strong and his blows almost penetrated the padded shield in Rebecca’s arms.
Bang, bang, bang.
Three more, then change again.
The self-defense instructor was living up to his name today. Peter Pain hadn’t got his nickname simply because he was British.
The first training class for the rookies in the Alpha group. Evidently Vahtola had requested a serious session to challenge the newcomers to her group. Rebecca could see their boss watching them from the glass passageway above the self-defense room.
Approximately forty-five minutes had passed and the tempo had been relentless so far. Even though they were all in good shape, more than one of them was starting to flag now.
“Okay, stop, gather ’round.”
Peter Pain beckoned them all over. There was a collective sigh of relief and Rebecca noticed to her delight that several ofher male colleagues had to rest their hands on their knees to catch their breath. She was tired, but not as tired as the biggest of the men.
That’s the advantage of having a bit less muscle, boys; it takes less oxygen to keep it going. She smirked silently before Pain’s new orders interrupted her.
“Restraint and release, groups of three, two holding, one trying to get loose. Questions? Okay, get going, and I want to see some speed! Go, go, go!”
She ended up with two big men who she knew slightly already. Stefan and Dejan, the former a muscle-bound guy about one meter ninety tall, the latter only a bit smaller.
“I’ll start,” Dejan said and gestured to Rebecca to grab him from behind while Stefan took up position to lock Dejan’s arms from the front.
“Ungh . . . !” Dejan twisted loose easily with some sort of advanced martial-arts technique as he let out a loud roar.
“Nice, Savic, but drop the Karate Kid bullshit!” their instructor said from the side of the
And at the moment when the hatred once again broke free inside her, someone pressed Play and her wishes came true.
Often that was when she woke up, at the moment when he disappeared from sight, and she avoided having to hear the sound of his body hitting the ground five floors below.
But not always.
Not today.
The muffled, soft sound was still echoing in her ears as she gulped down a quick breakfast by the kitchen sink. It was almost drowned out by the sound of traffic as she cycled fast along Rålambsvägen, but was still echoing weakly at the back of her mind as she made the mountain bike jump the curb on Drottningholmsvägen, and still hadn’t vanished completely by the time she pulled up breathless beside the guard’s box by the cellar entrance at Fridhemsplan.
She stopped at the barrier, showed her police badge to the guard inside, who waved her past absentmindedly, evidently more interested in the cell phone he was fiddling with instead of concentrating on his job.
Yet another incompetent idiot, she thought angrily before she rolled down through the tunnel beneath the Kronoberg complex, its cool darkness effectively shutting off the outside world and all of its sounds.
♦ ♦ ♦
“Come on, put a bit of effort in, for God’s sake! This isn’t a housewives’ exercise class!”
Sweat was pouring from the six bodyguards. Five men, one woman. Down on the floor, ten push-ups, quickly up on your feet again, ready, kick, punch, punch. Then down again. Twenty sit-ups and back up into position again. Ten reps in total, then switch with your partner. A firm grip around the waist, kick, punch, punch.
Her sparring partner was strong and his blows almost penetrated the padded shield in Rebecca’s arms.
Bang, bang, bang.
Three more, then change again.
The self-defense instructor was living up to his name today. Peter Pain hadn’t got his nickname simply because he was British.
The first training class for the rookies in the Alpha group. Evidently Vahtola had requested a serious session to challenge the newcomers to her group. Rebecca could see their boss watching them from the glass passageway above the self-defense room.
Approximately forty-five minutes had passed and the tempo had been relentless so far. Even though they were all in good shape, more than one of them was starting to flag now.
“Okay, stop, gather ’round.”
Peter Pain beckoned them all over. There was a collective sigh of relief and Rebecca noticed to her delight that several ofher male colleagues had to rest their hands on their knees to catch their breath. She was tired, but not as tired as the biggest of the men.
That’s the advantage of having a bit less muscle, boys; it takes less oxygen to keep it going. She smirked silently before Pain’s new orders interrupted her.
“Restraint and release, groups of three, two holding, one trying to get loose. Questions? Okay, get going, and I want to see some speed! Go, go, go!”
She ended up with two big men who she knew slightly already. Stefan and Dejan, the former a muscle-bound guy about one meter ninety tall, the latter only a bit smaller.
“I’ll start,” Dejan said and gestured to Rebecca to grab him from behind while Stefan took up position to lock Dejan’s arms from the front.
“Ungh . . . !” Dejan twisted loose easily with some sort of advanced martial-arts technique as he let out a loud roar.
“Nice, Savic, but drop the Karate Kid bullshit!” their instructor said from the side of the
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