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Then four…
Then six…
When I reached the three-week mark – the longest he said he’d be gone – I called him again.
“Hey… I know you might still be out of town, but I’m starting to get really worried. Please call me, okay?”
I paced nervously for hours and chewed my fingernails – something I hadn’t done since I was seven years old.
Then I started calling all the hospitals in Greater London, asking if a Lars Henriksson had been admitted in the last three weeks. No one had any information whatsoever.
When I still hadn’t heard from Lars the next morning, I decided to take matters into my own hands.
When I went into work, I made a beeline for Sean.
“You look like shit,” he said as soon as he saw me.
“Thanks,” I snapped.
But I knew it was true. I’d lost several pounds from not eating, and I had dark circles under my eyes from insomnia.
“Was Buenos Aires really that rough?” he asked. “I know it was bad, but – ”
“Buenos Aires isn’t the problem.”
He realized exactly what I meant and physically recoiled from me. “No – ”
“Sean, please,” I begged. “Just do a trace on his phone – ”
“No!” he hissed, then looked around again like he was afraid of being overheard. “Did he bolt?”
“I don’t know! Which is why I need you to – ”
“If you don’t know whether he bolted, that means he’s not around – which means he probably bolted,” Sean said sardonically. “Which means you really don’t want people asking if you tipped him off, even accidentally.”
“Sean – ”
“Did you?” he asked, peering at me intently. “Tip him off?”
I hadn’t intended to warn Lars…
Although some of the things I’d said could have possibly been construed that way.
Are you working for Russia or China? Or someone else – a foreign power?
…okay…
I totally could have tipped him off.
Not that I was going to admit that to Sean.
“No,” I said forcefully.
He looked at me like Don’t bullshit me.
“I DIDN’T! I’m just worried that – ”
“You should be worried about yourself, not your boyfriend,” Sean hissed.
