Young Writers Society

In seven years, Viggo and Nyssa will be on the run from the law. Here is part of how it happened.

To know more, read Chapter 14.1.

“Here. Try the custard. It’s awesome, right?”

Viggo shook his head, an air of disapprobation around him.

“Here,” Nyssa insisted before thrusting her spoon in his mouth.

He gave her the evil eye, but he gulped it down and a dreamy look came over his face. She grinned. “Yummy, hm?”

“Like tasting clouds,” he said, rolling his eyes like it was irony.

But it was delicious. She would have to make regular visits to the new French bakery in her neighborhood. Even Viggo, stubborn bastard that he was, had to lick the spoon clean before handing it back to her. She immediately dug in again. The tart was well worth digging into.

“I swear,” he muttered. “With everything you eat? You should weigh four hundred pounds and sport a row of rotten teeth.”

“You’re just jealous.”

“Jealous?” He snorted. “You wish…”

“You exercise multiple times a week, you diet like a fifteen-years-old beauty pageant contestant and you still weigh three times my weight. Ah, I can see the tail of that green-eyed monster!”

He snorted. “Sure. Must be that.”

Nyssa watched him as she gobbled up the rest of her pastry. He was pacing around the car. He seemed nervous. Maybe the circumstances warranted it. He was a cop. She was a girl. They were out in the middle of the night, smack in dealer territory, in an ominously dark parking-lot.

She wasn’t scared, but she had her favorite SFPD detective around for protection. She grinned around her spoon. It was a nice feeling.

“Are you sure you can analyze those burners on the down low?” he asked for the umpteenth time.

Her eyes rolled heavenward. It was almost insulting. “For the millionth time, yes, I’m sure. It’s my job!”

“You’re the pro.”

Damn right. Nyssa finished her snack and crossed her arms. Small shivers went through her. She pretended she was cold but, really, Viggo’s apprehension was catching. She snuck a glance at her watch and saw that their friend was over half an hour late.

“She stood us up, you think?”

He raised a brow at her. “Helen? She wouldn’t. Any particular reason why you keep asking?”

Nyssa sniffed. “I don’t know her.”

“It’s the fourth time today you ask.” Temporarily distracted out of his vigilance, he leaned on the car next to her. “You don’t trust her, do you?”

“I don’t know her,” she conceded grudgingly.

Detective Helen Defoe was a relatively new arrival. She had followed her husband from Austin, where she used to work Fraud. She seemed to have adapted to her new job with little to no trouble, as far as Nyssa could tell. Even grumpy, old Reims liked her. There was the usual friction due to her being inordinately beautiful. Tall and strawberry blond, lean, fit, always dressed sharply, she was the perfect counterpart to Russel’s tall, dark and handsome.

“She’s a good cop,” Viggo told Nyssa.

She shrugged. It was a glowing recommendation on his part. If her beef with Helen Defoe had only been professional, it would have settled it.

“She sure makes fast friends,” she muttered.

Viggo wasn’t one to tattle, especially about his partner, but he would have had to be blind not to see what was going on between Russ and Helen Defoe. They were disgustingly obvious. They didn’t touch, their eyes didn’t meet in public. When they spoke, Defoe’s expression was that of a teen caught doing the dirty with her boyfriend in the back of her father’s car.

Viggo ruffled Nyssa’s hair, looking blankly forward. The gesture was awkward, and she loved it. She rested her head against his shoulder.

“He would fuck his gun if the barrel was wide enough,” he said.

Nyssa spluttered with laughter. “I guess he would.” She closed her eyes and pressed her face to the linen of his shirt before her hilarity could turn to tears. “I just don’t get them.”

“What’s there to get?” He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “Hormones and stupidity. How many times did you put the end result of that under your microscope?”

“What is he trying to prove, going through girls like it’s a marathon?”

“How would I know, Nyssa? I’m a one-woman guy.”

“Lucky Angela…” she teased him, half-serious. He blushed a little. “Oh, by the way, how are things between the two of you?”

He gave her a look. “Don’t change the subject. You’re hurt, I get it, but why are you fixating on Helen? Russ’s actions are just as questionable.”

“But he isn’t married.”

“Ah.”

“She’s married. She’s got a kid. Doesn’t she love them?”

She said it with a frown, like she couldn’t puzzle out the logic of the situation. Who could, really?

“Two kids,” Viggo told her. “I saw her with her husband. It’s…love.”

“Then what’s Russ?” Nyssa asked.

“A mistake? One of those stupid decisions you make when you stop thinking about the consequences?”

“I just don’t get it. How hard is it not to spread your legs when you love someone else?”

He chuckled. “Don’t judge them too harshly. Maybe one day we’ll be the ones making the misstep.”

“Not you!” she exclaimed hotly. “You would never do something like that.”

“‘Never’. Famous last word.”

She drew back to stare at him. “Are things that bad with Angela?”

“No, things are pretty good, actually.” He smiled his special Angela smile. “She isn’t happy I’m keeping secrets but she’s so busy planning the wedding…”

“Already?!”

“Yeah, I know. A year in advance. I asked once if it wasn’t a bit over the top.” He winced. “Trust me, that’s not a question you want to ask.”

She laughed. “Viggo, you’re ever the diplomat…”

“What? I wanted a quiet wedding. A minister, a handful of friends and our parents. Over and done in half an hour.”

“And then, a honeymoon in Las Vegas?”

“Yes,” he said, wide-eyed. “How did you know?”

His naivety cracked her up. “Oh, you’re such a guy…”

“What’s wrong with Vegas?!”

“Nothing. For a bachelor party. For your honeymoon, you want to go somewhere romantic. Like Paris or Niagara Falls.”

His face darkened. “My mother said the same thing.”

Ouch, the situation was serious, indeed, if Viggo was consulting with his mother. Nyssa hid a smile behind her hand. “Angela tasked you with taking care of the honeymoon, didn’t she?”

“Yes. I don’t blame her, she does enough as it is. She’s jumping through hoops not to offend anyone. Her mother and Mom are bickering nonstop. We’ve got four bridesmaids and counting.”

And none of them Nyssa. She refrained from commenting on that, but she was a bit hurt.

She thought she was his closest friend. They met for dessert four days a week after their shifts. She was always invited to his and Angela’s Sunday barbecues. Even this plan to track the mole using his criminal associates’ burners was something they had come up with together, something they had told no one about. He confided in her more than he did in Russ.

And yet, his sisters, whom he saw twice a year, were going to be bridesmaids!

But Nyssa was trying not to be petty.

“What about your best men?” she asked.

“Also four of them. My brothers in law, Russ and a cousin of Angela’s. The ceremony keeps getting bigger and bigger, but I stay out of it. I suppose I owe it to Angie.” Viggo shrugged, looking distinctly unhappy. “I got the house I wanted. I can go along with her about the wedding. Especially since her parents are paying.”

“Ah, it rankles…” Nyssa realized. “Just splurge some more on the honeymoon.”

His expression turned pained. “I’m not the Paris type. Or one for Niagara Falls either. Hell…”

“I’ve got a friend who works in a travel agency.”

He didn’t buy the aloof act. He leaned in with his good cop face. “Do you?”

“I do. And I just might have asked her for advice.”

She put a hand in her shoulder bag. She hadn’t planned on giving him Lauren’s estimate before their meeting with Defoe but since the other cop was late…

“Did you, now?”

“I did. Here you go.”

He stared at the papers in sheer disbelief. “How the hell did you…”

“Don’t thank me for the family discount. Lauren’s father was a cop.” Her nails dug in her palms. She really wanted him to like it. “Plus, it’s off-season and you’re way early to book it.”

“Key West?” he asked with a shit eating grin.

She shrugged, delighted. “Well, since it was you, it had to be on the ocean and it needed to be far enough away for you to actually sit back and relax. And if memory serves, Ernest Hemingway is Angela’s favorite author.”

Viggo gave a good hug. He crushed Nyssa to his chest until her bones groaned. Her legs scissored helplessly but she couldn’t touch the ground.

“You’re the best meddling gipsy this side of the Atlantic Ocean,” he said, pressing a loud kiss to her temple.

“I’m not Gipsy!” she chuckled. “But I am the best.”

The best, maybe, but not the best person. Guys were moron. Viggo clearly didn’t care about his own wedding and Nyssa decided that she was fine with the position of best friend. She smiled at her very own Nordic giant, letting go of the petty grudge.

His teeth flashed white, then he ruffled her hair. “Tell yourself that, Esmeralda. Who told you this honeymoon thing had me over a barrel?”

“Your good-for-nothing partner, of course.”

“Thanks.” The papers disappeared in the pocket of his jacket. “Hey, look who’s there.”

A pair of headlights blinked in the distance. As the car passed under a streetlamp, she saw that it was another Crown Vic. “Wow, you’ve got eyes like a hawk.”

But Viggo wasn’t listening. He was back on alert. Defoe parked parallel to them and waved a sleepy hello at them. She took an armful of sealed evidence bags out of the back of her car. Maybe Viggo admired her as a cop, but he was watching her closely. He clocked her gun and back-up piece before he let Nyssa take the promised phones.

“Those are all the phones I asked?”

Helen’s red eyebrows rose at his curtness. “Yes. And I had a hell of a time getting them out of Evidence too.”

“Thanks,” he groaned. “You didn’t tell your partner?”

“Please. Tell Reims?” Dramatic eye-roll. “I wouldn’t tell my priest.”

Now, at last, he grinned. “Good girl.”

Instead of smiling back, Helen jerked back. “I should go. It’s been a long day.”

Weird, Nyssa thought. Viggo had noticed too but he recovered faster, “Yeah. Sorry we kept you up.”

“Don’t mention it. Let’s just hope you find out something useful.”

“I’ll do my best,” Nyssa assured her.

“We’ve already compared the call logs.”

Helen’s voice was gentle, helpful, but Nyssa had the strangest impulse to cram one of the burners down her throat. “Phones are often bought in batches,” she explained testily. “I’m going to hack the GPS of every cell from those burners’ lots and look for those who came anywhere close to a station. Once we’ve got a few numbers that might belong to the mole, we’ll look where they pinged and use a process of elimination to identify our traitor.”

“Our techs couldn’t do that?”

It was just the tone to get Nyssa hot under her collar but Viggo, once again, intervened before she could lose her temper, “Our techs aren’t genius-level hackers. Nyssa is. And they would need a warrant. We just want something to point us in the right direction.”

“Well, good luck.”

Dismissive bitch!

“Thanks,” Viggo said. “And don’t forget: not a word.”

“Cross my heart.”

To know what those two are up to in the present, read Chapter 15.1.