“If it hurts you, Solina, it hurts me.”
I met his warm brown stare. “Do you know where the cave is? I mean, wasn’t that eons ago? And it’s here, on earth. Not in Asgard?”
He shook his head. “Midgard was less familiar to us. Loki thought he could lose us here. He underestimated Odin. He underestimated the Ravens.”
“Could you find it again? The cave?”
“Perhaps. If there’s enough incentive.”
I frowned and pulled my hand free. “I’m sure, given enough time, Val will present us with plenty of incentive.” Would he use my father as bait to lure me, and thereby Thorin, into his scheme?
“I’m sure, too.” He motioned to the pool table. “Now, are we going to bet or what?”
“I always lose when I bet against you. I learned my lesson after that game of rummy in the desert.”
He grinned. “Smart woman.”
“Just out of curiosity, what would the stakes be?”
“Anything you want.” His smile widened. Totally Cheshire Cat. “And anything you’re willing to give. Give being the operative word.”
My attention flickered to the empty space behind Thorin. Baldur had disappeared, silent as a ghost. My heart fluttered, and my breath turned to insubstantial mist. I coughed, clearing my throat. “What happened to the thunder god who demanded and bullied to get his way?”
He scrubbed a hand across his jaw and lowered his gaze. “It’s still my nature to be that way, Sunshine. Perhaps I realized you deserve better.”
“I thought you didn’t play games with naïve little blondes.”
“It’s no game to me.”
“Yes, it is. It’s called eight ball. And you’re going to lose.”
He raised his chin and issued a smug smile. “I’m willing to risk it. No tricks. We play clean and honest.”
“I’ll run the table.” Full of false bravado, I smirked at him and chalked my cue stick, giving my shaking hands something to do. “There’ll be nothing left for you. Wait and see.”
But I never made the first shot. Baldur jogged down the basement steps, loud and heavy footed, and interrupted. “I’ve got news.”
Thorin huffed, and his nostrils flared. The muscles around his eyes tensed. His reply was for Baldur, but he kept his attention focused on me. “What is it?”
“The Valkyries hacked Helen’s network. They found something. Might be one of Helen’s trucks.”
I blinked and shook myself as if the gesture might scatter the tension between Thorin and me. “Time to hit the road again?”
“The game will still be here when we get back,” Thorin said, and I suspected he meant more than just a round of eight ball.
I looked away, unable to bear his gaze any longer.
“You coming with us?” he asked Baldur.
The Allfather shook his head and offered a sheepish grin. “But call me if there’s an emergency.”
“Where are the Valkyries now?” I asked.
“GPS pinged something at the Nevada and Oregon border, near a small town called Winnemucca. The Valkyries are nearly there.”
Thorin rounded the edge of the table, stepped close, and held out his hand. When I took it, he drew my arm around his neck, and his hands slid to my hips.
“Couldn’t talk you into taking the jet, could I?” I asked.
He frowned. “Does it really bother you that much?”
“Maybe I should make Dramamine a permanent part of my daily regimen.”
He tightened his grip. “You’ll get used to it.”
My ears popped.
My vision swirled.
The world dropped from beneath me.
Chapter 9
Thorin and I regrouped with the Valkyries in the rear parking lot of an ancient motel set on the side of a two-lane highway on the outskirts of Winnemucca, Nevada. I dropped to a knee, closed my eyes, and urged my stomach to settle. When I belched, the worst of my nausea drained away. “‘You’ll get used to it,’ he says.”
A footstep fell beside me, and a warm hand settled on my back. “You gonna be all right, girlfriend?”
“Skyla.” I rose to my feet and rubbed my wrist across my mouth, wishing for a bottle of water. “I’d hug you, but I don’t want to puke on you.”
“That bad, huh?”
“I don’t do the spinny rides. The Gravitron, the Scrambler, the Himalaya, they all make me sick.”
She chuckled. “Are you comparing Thorin to a cheap carnival ride?”
“If the shoe fits...” I scowled at the subject of my analogy, but he was focused on the single eighteen wheeler parked at the rear of the motel: a huge black Kenworth tractor attached to a plain white shipping container, same as the ones from Helen’s warehouse. “Have you checked it out yet?”
“No. We just got here.”
I glanced around at the Valkyries—fifteen women of varying ages and ethnicities, most wearing what amounted to tactical gear: heavy-duty boots and pants that had been most likely purchased from law enforcement or army surplus stores. For accessories, they wore utilitarian gun holsters, sword and knife sheaths, belts loaded with extra ammo, even a couple of pairs of handcuffs here and there. Everyone kept their hair cut short or tucked it up in tight braids or under caps.
I eyed my cheap sneakers, jeans, and hoodie sweatshirt and frowned. Upgrading my wardrobe would have wasted time and money. Everything I wore burned away whenever it came to a fight. What do they make Johnny Storm’s uniforms out of, anyway?
“Seems a little strange for it to be sitting here, all on its own, at a roadside motel,” I said. A mostly abandoned motel at that. Judging by the parking spaces in front of the rooms, the truck and its driver were the sole occupants of Finney’s Roadside Retreat. No surprise. Sleeping in the backseat of a car appealed to me more than this broken-down motel with its peeling pink paint and bleached-out signs. Even the fading sunlight failed to mask the motel’s worn and weary appearance.
Skyla nodded. “This was the only one with an active GPS signal. The other trucks are still dark. We have no idea where they are or where they went.”
“I know I think everything is a trap. And it pretty much has turned out to be, so why should things be different this time? Maybe Helen wanted us to find this truck.”
