“Agree.”
“What’s the plan?”
“We get her back home where she’s safe. Out of reach. We figure out what the fuck was said at that meeting that St. James needs kept quiet. And we find Felix Pérez and take him out. Apart from the first part, the rest can happen in any order.”
He snorts.
“Let’s find a hotel near the airport. I’ll call Charlie to arrange a flight.”
I take my phone out and dial Charlie. Matthaeus climbs into the driver’s seat. I take the passenger side and we ride in weighted silence.
21
Dante
We spend the next few hours in a hotel room. Mara doesn’t say a word to either of us. She just sits in the small nook at the window of the fourth-floor room looking out at traffic on the highway below.
Later, four hours into the flight to Naples, she’s asleep and I’m still watching her. It’s all I can do. I think about her life. How she has lived. How did she spend her days? Was she locked in a room? Waiting for them? Locked in a cellar?
Christ. I run a hand through my hair. The thought makes me sick.
I remember how she looked when she was kicking that asshole on the floor. Remember how she sounded, a mad, screaming, wild woman so different from the quiet, sleeping girl in the chair across from mine.
She’s messed up. I knew she would be going in, but I didn’t feel the extent of it in my gut like I do now.
She moves, muttering something as she turns over, her forehead creasing. Something slips from her hand and hits the carpet with a soft thud.
I look down. See the orange handle of Matthaeus’s Swiss army knife. One I’d given him a few years ago. The blade is open. I stand, bend to pick it up. She must have been holding it under her blanket. Waiting for the next attack.
Fuck.
I close it, take the seat beside hers.
The instant I do, her eyes fly open and for a moment, they’re panicked. Like she doesn’t recognize me. Is it always going to be like this?
“It’s me,” I say. “You’re safe.”
She takes a moment to adjust her features, to put on the mask of cool detachment. She shifts in her seat and the blanket falls away. I catch it before it slides all the way off, adjust it over her.
“It’s not safe to keep this open,” I tell her, holding my hand out to her, palm up, the now closed knife there for her to take.
She reaches out, snatches it, careful not to touch me. “Did I kill him?”
“No. That was me.”
She nods, shifts her gaze away. “But Felix will come for me.”
“He’s not going to get to you. I’m going to make sure of that.”
She looks down at the bracelet on her wrist. “Samuel knew Felix too.”
“Samuel?”
“My friend.”
That’s right. “What do you mean he knew Felix?”
“He used to work for him before he worked for Petrov. I had known him since I was little.”
“The guard who gave you the bracelet? You knew him?” What. The. Fuck.
She nods.
“Petrov hired him knowing he worked for Felix?” I ask. That makes no sense.
“Petrov didn’t know. I never said anything.”
“When was this that he came to work for Petrov?”
“A year ago, I guess. He shouldn’t have died.” She trails off and I can almost hear what she’s thinking. Hear the guilt she feels over his death.
“It wasn’t your fault. Petrov killed him. Period. That wasn’t on you. You know that, right?”
She shrugs a shoulder. But I’ve got another question.
“Can I see that bracelet?”
“Why?”
“Just let me see it.”
She holds her wrist out to me. I take hold of it, feeling her soft, warm skin. Remembering how she felt the other night. I clear my throat, banish the memory and remind myself how small she is. How delicate. I turn her wrist over, the underside seeming even more vulnerable, and unclasp the bracelet.
“I want it back,” she says.
“You can have it back. Just one minute.” I study the thing, look at the gold square plate. See the tiny screws holding the two sides together. “Matthaeus,” I say. He’s got his eyes closed but I know he’s not sleeping. He gets up and comes over to us. “These screws, let’s get them off.”
“Why?” Mara asks.
Matthaeus takes the bracelet and sits back down in his seat. He sets the bracelet on the table in front of him and unzips his computer bag. From inside it he retrieves a small case of screw drivers. He chooses one, tries it then replaces that one and takes another.
“He’s breaking it,” Mara says. She pushes the blanket off to stand but I put my hand on her knee.
“Stay.”
She looks down at my hand then up at me. I hold steady, not letting her go. Because thing is, I don’t want to let her go. I don’t want to pull my hand away. No matter what I said, no matter the right thing, I know what I want.