Marked For Revenge. Emelie Schepp

finger to move it farther back into her mouth, she only gagged more.

      She grew more panicked.

      She stuck the capsule down her throat again, thrust her chin up. But that only resulted in more gagging.

      Her palms were damp with sweat.

      She closed her eyes and opened her mouth, poking the capsule as far down her throat as she could.

      She swallowed.

      Swallowed, swallowed, swallowed.

      Slowly, it slid down toward her stomach.

      The man clapped his hands together and grinned.

      “There you go,” he said. “Only forty-nine left.”

      * * *

      The first blow was aimed at her head, the second at her throat.

      Jana Berzelius deflected Danilo’s fists with her lower arms.

      He was in a rage, darting from side to side, trying to land blows from every direction. But she fought against him, got her right fist up, ducked, jabbed with her left and then kicked. She missed but repeated the movements, quicker this time, striking Danilo’s knee. His leg buckled slightly, but he kept his footing. She knew she had to make him lose his balance and fall, so she kicked again—this time at his head. But as she did, he grabbed her foot, wrenching it forcefully to the left. She was twirled around and landed flat on her back on the cold, hard ground. In almost the same movement, she rolled to the side, hands in defensive position, and jumped to her feet.

      Danilo was standing completely still in front of her, waiting, his nostrils flaring and teeth bared.

      He rushed toward her, throwing himself forward. At the same moment, she bowed her head, holding her fists in front of her face. Using all of her strength, she raised her foot and kicked in defense.

      She hit her target.

      As Danilo crumpled to the ground, she pounced on top of him and was about to put one knee on his chest when, with a primal roar, he threw his weight around so that they rolled together and he ended up on top. He sat astride her, punching her in the ribs with all of his strength.

      Grabbing her hair, Danilo pulled her head toward him, lifting it from the ground. She tried to lift her upper body to lessen the pain, but his weight on her chest made that impossible.

      “Why are you following me?” He leaned forward, hissing in her face.

      She didn’t answer. She was thinking feverishly: this can’t happen, she couldn’t let him win. She knew far too well what he was capable of. But she was trapped, her arms under his legs. She reached out with her fingertips, trying to find something to defend herself with, but there was only ice and snow.

      An unpleasant feeling began to wash over her. She hadn’t counted on ending up on the bottom. She had been intending to ambush him—she’d had the advantage from the beginning.

      She clenched her fists and flexed her muscles, summoning all of her energy. Swinging her legs into the air, she drove her knees into his back. Danilo arched backward, losing his grip on her hair. She kneed him again and again, trying unsuccessfully to hook one leg around his neck.

      He wouldn’t budge.

      He grabbed her hair again.

      “You shouldn’t have done that,” he snarled, beating her head against the ground.

      The pain was incredible. Her vision went black.

      He slammed her head against the ground again and again, and she felt how the strength ran out of her body.

      “Stay away from me, Jana,” he said.

      She heard his voice as if in a fog, far away from her.

      She didn’t feel the pain anymore.

      A warm wave washed over her, and she realized she was about to lose consciousness.

      He raised his fist, holding it near her face without striking her. It was as if he was hesitating. Meeting her gaze, panting, he said something unintelligible that echoed as if in a tunnel.

      She heard a shout that seemed to be coming from far away.

      “Hey!”

      She didn’t recognize the voice.

      She tried to move, but the pressure on her chest made it impossible. Fighting to keep her eyelids open, she looked straight into Danilo’s dark eyes.

      He glared back at her. “I’m warning you. Follow me one more time and I’ll finish what I started here.”

      He held her face a half inch from his.

      “One more time and you’ll regret it forever. Understand?”

      She did, but was unable to answer.

      She felt the pressure on her chest release. The silence told her Danilo was gone.

      She coughed violently and rolled to her side, closing her eyes for a long moment...until she thought she heard the unfamiliar voice again.

      * * *

      Anneli Lindgren laid a plate with two pieces of crispbread on the kitchen table and sat down across from her live-in partner, Gunnar Öhrn. Both worked for the county police, she as a forensic expert; he as a chief investigator.

      Steam rose in wisps from their teacups.

      “Do you want Earl Grey or this green tea?” she asked.

      “Which are you having?”

      “Green.”

      “I’ll have that, too, then.”

      “But you don’t like it.”

      “No, but you’re always saying I should drink it.”

      She smiled at him and as she opened the tea bags, music came drifting in from Adam’s room. She heard their son singing along.

      “He seems to like it here,” she said.

      “Do you?”

      “Of course.”

      She could sense Gunnar’s anxiety in the question, so she answered quickly and without hesitation. It was the only way to avoid any follow-up questions. He was always nervous about everything, overthinking, analyzing, obsessing about things he should have let go of long ago.

      “Are you sure? You like it here now?”

      “Yes!”

      Anneli dropped her tea bag into her cup and let it swell with hot water as she listened to Adam’s voice, the music and lyrics he had memorized, and watched the color from the tea leaves seep into the water, counting the number of times she and Gunnar had lived apart but then together again. It was too many to remember. It might be the tenth time, maybe the twelfth. The only thing she could be sure of was that they had lived together off and on for twenty years.

      But it was different now, she tried to convince herself. More comfortable, more relaxed. Gunnar was a good man. Kind, reliable. If he could only stop harping on every little thing.

      He rested his hand on hers.

      “Otherwise we can try to find a new apartment. Or maybe a town house? We’ve never tried that.”

      She pulled her hand away, looking at him without bothering to voice an answer. She knew the look on her face was enough.

      “Okay,” he said, “I get it. You’re happy here.”

      “So stop nagging.”

      She sipped her tea, noting that there were approximately ninety seconds left of the song Adam was playing. One guitar solo and then the refrain three times.

      “What do you think about the meeting with the National Crime Squad tomorrow?” he asked.

      “I’m not thinking