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“Who are you?”
“Forgive me. Tristan Viognier.” The name triggers nothing. “When we met on a call, I went by Nomad.”
Ah. Interpol. He’s a part of an elite group within Interpol. Chances are Tristan Viognier is an alias.
“She’s groggy. She’s been in and out of sleep all day. We don’t know anything yet.”
“May I speak with her privately?”
“No.”
“In your presence?”
“You flew to Kuala Lumpur for an update?” Given he hasn’t shown any identification, my skepticism is warranted.
“I was in the area. Jack Sullivan has kept us updated.” He steps closer and offers a card identifying himself as an Interpol officer. “I’d like to hear her story.”
The nurse exits the room. Recognizing me, she smiles and says, “Everything’s looking good.”
“Do you think she’s up for a guest?” Is she up for an interrogation? That’s what I’m actually asking the nurse.
With a pleasant smile, she says, “Yes, sir. She’ll tire easily, but loved ones will do her soul good.”
With her blessing, I lead Nomad into the suite.
Sage has fallen asleep in the armchair.
Sloane rests against pillows, propped up by the hospital bed.
“Sloane, this is Tristan Viognier. He’s part of the team that helped us find you. If you feel up for it, he’d like to ask you some questions.”
“The nurse said they may discharge me in the morning.” Sloane’s attention is on me, but her gaze centers on something behind me. I follow her gaze to Max standing guard in the doorway.
“That’s good news.” Sage needs to get back to Asheville, and we need to put this behind us. “Do you feel up to answering some questions?”
Sloane stares out the window. She’s Sage’s sister, and there are similarities if you look closely. The shape of the eyes and nose bear a resemblance. Sage’s hair is a lighter brunette shade, and her eyes are a warmer brown. When Sage smiles, her face lights up and inner warmth glows. There’s an absence of warmth from Sloane.
“Do I have a choice?”
She does have a choice, but we all have questions, so I yield the floor to Tristan.
From Arrow’s perspective, we weren’t hired by a US agency to find Sloane. We aren’t law enforcers. If she broke any laws, she did so outside US territory. If anyone is going to investigate the matter, it would be Interpol or the Cayman Islands police. And the Cayman Islands will not send investigators to Kuala Lumpur.
Tristan drags a chair beside her bed. He removes his sports coat, leaving a close-fitting black dress shirt with gold cufflinks engraved with what looks to be a family crest. He positions himself lower than Sloane, presumably to set her at ease. The effort seems lost on Sloane, who continues to stare out the window.
“How are you feeling?” Tristan asks. I back up to the wall and lean against it. This is his game, but I slide out my phone and hit record. Our team will want to hear these answers.
“What do you want to know?” She jabs her temple with her index and middle fingers. “My head hurts.”
“I’ll strive for expediency.” Tristan leans back in the seat and crosses an ankle over his knee, exposing purple paisley dress socks. “What led to your abduction?”
Sage shifts in the chair, blinking herself awake. Sloane remains transfixed with the window.
“Do you know why you were abducted?” Tristan asks again.
“He took me on a boat. I told him I get seasick.”
“Does this man have a name?”
