“Will you stay with me? While I sleep?”
I stride to the side of the bed, perch carefully on the edge, and take her hand. “Of course I will. There’s nothing more important to me than you.”
Her eyes widen. “Do you mean that?”
“Yes, I do.”
And I did.
I work on my laptop on the dining room table, missing my dual monitors, the small screen wholly inadequate. But I’m in a rush to get this done, and don’t have the time to waste getting new equipment.
Vicky’s sitting in an armchair nearby, wearing her silk robe and wrapped in blankets despite her protests. It’s been four days and she’s feeling much better.
“What are you working on?”
“You’ll find out in a few minutes,” I tell her. “I’m almost done.”
“Oh? I thought you were working.”
“I am.”
“Then what does it have to do with me?”
“Tink?”
“Yes?”
“Shh. Concentrating.”
I pull the last of my Ironvale notes into order, attachthe PDF copies I’ve made of all the relevant files—Stonegate Financial, Aetheris Pharma, and Blueforge Data, which turned out to be almost as damning as Ironvale—and email the whole lot to a solicitor I’ve been speaking to in Bern. It’s the tip of the iceberg of the data I have, but it’s enough to serve its purpose, along with the covering letter only to be opened in the event of my death.
I won’t be telling Vicky about that bit. What she doesn’t know won’t worry her.
“Done,” I say, leaning back in my chair, and easing out my stiff neck. A computer and decent monitors are my next priority. Or… maybe not mynextpriority. I want to do some trading, just to keep my hand in on the markets, but work holds less appeal. Not when I have Vicky to entertain me.
“Are you going to tell me now?”
“No.”
She glares at me. “You said—”
“Show-don’t-tell, remember?” I pick up the burner phone I have, an international calling sim embedded for this sole purpose, dial the number on Fournier’s card, and flick the phone to speaker so Vicky can hear.
It’s six-thirty in the morning in Montana, but I’m willing to bet he’ll answer.
He does. “Who is this?” His voice comes out slightly tinny, but still clear in the quiet of our room.
“Bastien, it’s Alexander Reyes.”
Vicky’s eyes go round, and she covers her mouth with one hand.
“Alexander. I assume this is important, if you’recalling me at this hour?”
“Yes, I think this qualifies.”
“Where the hell are you? DeLuca says you’ve not been in work.”
“DeLuca?” I echo. “Or is it Van Wyk you’ve had looking for me?”
