“Your explanations are sorry, and I still have no confidence in you.”

“Get used to it. We’re going to be spending quite a lot of time together.”

“We are?”

Thorin nodded. “Starting now. Get dressed. We’re getting out of here.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Thorin said, his smirk turning into a grin. “Without Little Red Riding Hood, the woodsman would have had a hard time trapping the Big Bad Wolf.”

Chapter Seventeen

“Why should I go anywhere with you?” I asked Thorin. “You say ‘jump’ and expect me to pull out my pogo stick? You should know me better than that by now. You’re going to have to give me more information first.”

“We’re going to Juneau,” Thorin said and rose from the couch. “There are some people there that we need to see.”

I folded my arms over my chest and made no indication I planned to leave the couch anytime soon. He could be stubborn with his short answers. I could be even more stubborn. “Why do both of us need to go?”

“Number one, so I can keep an eye on you, and number two, you make much better bait if you’re visible.”

I gulped. “Bait?”

Thorin grinned, baring his teeth at me. “Wolf bait.”

If I refused to go with Thorin, Skyla would help me in whatever way she could, but the wolf attack and Skyla’s subsequent research had turned our investigation on its head. I was at a loss for what to do next. Thorin admitted he knew little more than I did, but I had a feeling the bit he knew was crucial to unraveling the mystery of Mani’s murder. If he wanted to go to Juneau to hunt for more information, and keeping company with him would lead to finding more answers, then it made sense to go with him, even if it meant facing that damned wolf again. Either way, it sure beat sitting around Siqiniq, clueless and hiding in the apartment.

Thorin smiled like he knew he had me on his hook. “What are you going to do if you stay here? Lay around some more? Shall I order you a box of bonbons?”

Well, that did it. I took accusations of idleness and indifference as serious fighting words. I stood up and scowled at Thorin. “Okay, you got me. I’ll be your bait. Let’s go to Juneau.”

After my concession to join Thorin on his “excursion,” he directed me to go downstairs into his store and pick out a cold-weather wardrobe. I layered up in a fleece jacket, thermal T-shirt, Gore-Tex-lined pants and boots, and a heavy parka. Thorin had changed as well: hiking pants, a wool fisherman’s sweater, and an insulated waterproof jacket. He had also asked me to pack an overnight bag.

“Why the insistence on winter gear?” I asked.

“It’s going to be a cold ride.”

I shook my head and rubbed a hand over my face. Getting answers from Thorin was like trying to get a jammed-up Snickers bar out of a stubborn vending machine. “How long does it take to get to Juneau?” I asked.

“Depends on your method of conveyance.” Thorin routed us through the store to the street entrance, rather than out back, to where he parked his Land Rover.

“And we’re being conveyed by…”

“Boat.”

“Whose boat?”

Thorin gave me an incredulous look. “My boat, of course.” Which explained the need for insulated clothing.

Nighttime water travel would be frigid, and I quailed at thought of being trapped on a boat with Thorin for—“How long did you say this would take?”

“We’ll be there by morning.”

Thorin and I stepped out onto the street, and he led the way toward the marina where Skyla stored her kayak. At the docks, Thorin strode toward the end of the first row of boats, and I followed behind more slowly. The boats increased in size as we went, from recreational inshore fishing skiffs to deep-sea vessels. Thorin stopped before a big one, a Viking – I tried not to snicker – with the word Mjölnir painted in bold print across the back and sides.

All night, on a boat, with a virtual stranger—my nerves protested. “Who are we going to see and how are they going to help us?”

“I didn’t say they were going to help us.” Thorin stepped onto a deck attached to the boat’s rear end and climbed steps leading to the dark interior. The boat’s massive engine roared to life a moment later, and a thrill raced through me. Okay… this could be fun.

I climbed up into the boat – yacht – and surveyed the plush interior. “If these people aren’t going to help, then why are we talking to them?”

Thorin returned to the dock and unfastened the mooring lines. “I didn’t say we were going to talk, either.”

I gave a frustrated growl. “Why do all your answers have to be cryptic and evasive?”

Thorin glanced over his shoulder as he fiddled with a knot. He smiled and arched an eyebrow. “It gives me a mysterious allure, don’t you think?”

“It’s annoying.”

Thorin worked with the ropes, and the muscles of his shoulders and arms bunched and flexed as he stowed things, making ready to leave. Surety and grace shaped every movement—not like a dancer, but like someone who knew the full capacity of his body and spent time honing and perfecting it—a fighter, a soldier, or cheesy as it sounded, a warrior.

Val had a strong physical presence, too, and could undoubtedly hold his own in a fight, but I’d never call him a warrior. He lacked the impression of suppressed violence that seemed to hang around Thorin. If Val’s and Thorin’s employee/employer relationship was the farce I had come to suspect it was, then I wondered if Thorin’s aura of power was the reason Val deferred to him, albeit begrudgingly.

In place at the command center, Thorin engaged the throttle and eased the boat from its slip, demonstrating the finesse of an expert sailor. “Make yourself at home,” he said, motioning to the living space stretched out behind the helm. “The bar is stocked.”

“Tea?” I asked.

“Look in the cabinet beside the refrigerator.”

The galley was nicer than most household kitchens. Granite countertops, stainless steel, Sub Zero fridge and wine chiller, and – wouldn’t you know it—custom Viking appliances.

“You’re not very subtle,” I said, finding boxes of tea, cocoa, and dehydrated apple cider mix. I selected a bag from a box of oolong and went to the sink to fill the tea kettle.

“What do you mean?” Thorin asked.

“Viking yacht, Viking kitchen appliances…”

“Can I help that the Scandinavians know how to make quality products?”

“I’m just saying you might be straying into the territory of cliché.”

Thorin tapped a series of buttons on the control panel. Then he left the helm and came into the galley. He pulled out a stool at the bar table and noticed my worried glance toward the unmanned wheel. “Autopilot,” he said.

“You still haven’t answered any of my questions,” I said, digging through the cabinets for sweetener and powdered creamer.

“Thirty-three thirty-six, the Giants, and Johnny Walker Gold, straight up.”

I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t care about your pants size, who you think will win the World Series, or your favorite drink. I meant you haven’t explained who we are going to see in Juneau, or what they have to do with the wolf attacks and Mani’s death.”