Page 212 of To Catch a Sub

She could feel Landon’s surprise at her answer, and her cheeks felt warm. She wasn’t lying or evading. She really had gone to university for this. People liked to talk about the value and craftsmanship of jewelry, but the why—why create jewelry at all?—had always fascinated her.

“A hundred and fifty thousand years ago, someone collected tiny, pretty snail shells, and made holes in them, turning them into beads. Yes, that’s astonishing that they had tools with the finesse to do that, but more astonishing is that they would, not that they could.

“We have no idea how they wore them, and we don’t know why they wanted to. Was it a show of status or wealth, like the British Crown Jewels? Or was it part of their belief system, like a rosary? Was it made for a child, to protect them, like a changmingsuo amulet, or a mal de ojo bracelet?”

Colette stopped, realizing she’d leaned forward in her excitement to talk about this. She sat back, her face hot.

“A hundred and fifty thousand years?” Oliver shook his head, then took a sip of his tea. “I wouldn’t know how to make jewelry out of a snail shell and I have a whole shed full of tools.”

Nana grinned. “She’s smart. I like her, Landon.”

“So do I.” Landon pulled her against him and kissed the side of her head.

“Kimia, Oliver,” Ali’s voice, laced with alarm, echoed from the other side of the house.

“Nani? Are you okay?” Landon was already out of his chair, beating his father out the door.

Colette wasn’t sure what to do, hesitating in her seat even after Nana had walked out. She managed to wait another thirty seconds before curiosity got the better of her, and she followed them, moving quietly so that she could backtrack without them knowing she was there if this was a family thing she shouldn’t see or hear.

They were in the living room of Nana—whose name was apparently Kimia—and Ali’s wing.

She snuck up to the door, pressed against a wall so she could see in but they couldn’t see her.

Ali was seated in one of the armchairs, perched on the edge, a remote in hand. Kimia stood beside him. Oliver had his palms braced on the back of the other armchair.

Landon stood behind all of them, shoulders tight.

“I can rewind.” Ali carefully pressed buttons on the remote.

Serious but lively music played—the intro to a news segment.

“A dramatic scene took place only days ago in a picturesque village near Northampton. The BBC has learned that ten members of a suspected organized crime group based in Russia were arrested after an explosive fight in a small hotel in Catesbury.”

Colette’s heart stuttered in her chest.

“At least three men, one of whom has been identified as a former London Metropolitan Police force detective, confronted the criminals on the night in question. Locals reported hearing explosions, and exclusive footage obtained by the BBC shows the remains of what appears to have been a car bomb outside the hotel.”

“Watch this next part,” Ali said.

“One woman, believed to be a French citizen, was taken to a local hospital. Her affiliations are unclear at this time, but she was seen leaving the hospital the next day with a man believed to be the former detective inspector.”

Colette wanted to run, she wanted to turn and dash out the door. Instead she slid into the room, just enough so she could see the screen.

The grainy vertical footage from outside the hospital had clearly been shot on someone’s phone.

In the video she walked slowly, leaning into Landon. The bandages around her wrists were visible, the baggy scrubs obviously not hers. Landon wore all black, his hair rumpled, but at least his dark clothing didn’t show any blood or dirt.

Their faces were blurred, and no names had been used, but the shocked expressions on Landon’s family’s faces made it clear they recognized him.

“The British division of Interpol has taken the case, but declined comment on the motives behind this shocking scene. In a recent statement, Interpol stated that there are ten foreign nationals in custody, one of whom is under guard at Charing Cross Hospital in London. No one employed by the British Interpol bureau was involved in the event—a correction from earlier reports that indicated an Interpol inspector was involved.”

The new anchor’s flat delivery somehow made everything worse.

There was an interview with a local who claimed to have heard five or six explosions and gunshots that night, then a second interview with someone who claimed that they weren’t criminals, but Russian spies.

Ali paused the TV.

Colette couldn’t bear to look at Landon, instead studying the other’s faces. They looked horrified and scared. Confused and worried.