Where the Shadows Lie Read Free Page B

work.’
    Magnus grabbed her arm. ‘Colby, please!’
    ‘Get your hands off me!’ Colby shouted and threw open the door. She walked rapidly over to the four agents standing around the other car and muttered something to them. Within a minute the car was gone.
    Two of the agents returned to the van and climbed in.
    ‘I guess she’s not going with you,’ said the driver.
    ‘I guess she’s not,’ said Magnus.

CHAPTER THREE
     
    M AGNUS LOOKED UP from his book and out of the airplane window. It had been a long flight, made longer by the five-hour delay in their departure from Logan. The plane was descending. Beneath him was a blanket of coarse grey clouds, torn only in a couple of places. As the aircraft approached one of these Magnus craned his neck to try to get a glimpse of land, but all he could see was a patch of crumpled grey sea, flecked with white caps. Then it was gone.
    He was worried about Colby. If the Dominicans did come after her it would unequivocally be his fault. When he had first told her about Lenahan’s conversation she had counselled against going to Williams. She claimed she had always thought law enforcement a stupid profession. And if he had agreed to marry her in the parking lot of Friendly’s, she would be in the seat next to him on her way to safety, instead of in her apartment in the Back Bay, waiting for the wrong guy to knock at the door.
    But Magnus had had to do what was right. He always had and he always would. It was right to go to Williams about Lenahan. It was right to shoot the kid in the yellow T-shirt. It would have been wrong to marry Colby because she forced him to. He had never been sure why his parents had gotten married, but he had lived with the consequences of that mistake.
    Perhaps he was too nervous, perhaps the Dominicans would ignore her. He had demanded that Williams organize some police protection for her, a request that Williams had reluctantly agreedto; reluctantly because of her refusal to go to Iceland with Magnus.
    But if the Dominicans did catch her, would he be able to live with the consequences of that? Perhaps he should just have said yes, agreed to whatever she wanted just to get her out of the country. That’s what she had been trying to force him into. He hadn’t allowed himself to be forced. And now she might die.
    She was thirty, she wanted to get married and she wanted to marry Magnus. Or a modified Magnus, a successful lawyer pulling down a good salary, living in a big house in Brookline or maybe even Beacon Hill if he was really successful, driving a BMW or a Mercedes. Perhaps he would even convert to Judaism.
    She hadn’t cared that he was a tough cop when they had first met. It was at a party given by an old friend of his from college, also a lawyer. The mutual attraction had been instantaneous. She was pretty, vivacious, smart, strong willed, determined. She liked the idea of an Ivy League graduate walking the streets of South Boston with a gun. He was safe but dangerous, even his occasional bad moods seemed to attract her. Until she started to view him not as a lover but as a potential husband.
    Who did she want him to be? Who did
he
want to be? For that matter, who was he? It was a question Magnus often asked himself.
    He pulled out his electric-blue Icelandic passport. The photograph was similar to the one in his US passport, except the Icelander was allowed to smile, whereas the American was not. Red hair, square jaw, blue eyes, traces of freckles on his nose. But the name was different. His
real
name, Magnús Ragnarsson. His name was Magnús, his father’s name was Ragnar, and his grandfather’s name was Jón. So his father was Ragnar Jónsson and he was Magnús Ragnarsson. Simple.
    But of course the US bureaucracy could not cope with this logic. A son could not have a different last name to his father
and
his mother, whose name was Margrét Hallgrímsdóttir, and still have the government computers accept him as part of the same family.