“So, you never go on vacation?”
“Do you?” I counter.
Carina was in Paris for several months last year as part of her university’s music program. It’s the only trip she’s evertalked about. Her aunt, Isabella, lives in Chicago, and she’s never mentioned any other family.
She sets the ketchup-stained plate beside the lamp next to the bed and shakes her head. “Not really.”
Even after turning back toward me, Carina doesn’t meet my gaze. I don’t ask her many questions, knowing my own answers are stingy, but there are times—like now—when I want to know more.
She speaks again before I can. “Have you been to Madrid?”
“Twice.”
“Did you visit the Royal Palace?” She’s smiling as she asks, knowing that exploring an ancient castle is an unlikely outing for me.
I shake my head.
Her nod is knowing. “Another work trip?”
“Yes.” I adjust my position, tucking an arm behind my head. “One of the times, we went to a football match. Soccer, you’d say.”
Carina lies down beside me in the same position. “We?”
I hesitate, catching the slip too late. I could lie, make up a name or a colleague, but I decide on the truth.
“My brother Maksim and I.”
It was last summer, shortly after he turned eighteen. A quick trip to survey a development project we’d invested in and to oversee a new narcotics route. I’ve never followed sports, but Maksim does.
“Is he older or younger?” Carina asks.
“Younger.”
“Are you guys close?”
“We spend a lot of time together.”
That time is mainly spent listening to Igor talk. Or training. Or me lecturing him. I don’t think we are close, not really. Notin the way she means. I think my attempts to protect Maksim pushed him away.
“Did they win? Real Madrid?”
I roll my head to study her, pleasantly surprised by the question.
Mentioning Maksim was a mistake I’ll chastise myself for later. I’m normally exceptionally careful about keeping Carina separate from the rest of my life. It’s easy to convince myself one slipup won’t matter when she’s next to me. Next week or next month, I’ll remember all the reasons secrets are important.
“Yes,” I tell her. “They did.”
THE CHASE
One of the players wearing a navy jersey manages a kick past the diving keeper, and the bar around me erupts in cheers. I don’t join in the celebration; I continue chewing my dinner. Stewing.
Six days.
It’s been six days since I landed in Paris.
Six days of watching the surveillance video Misha pulled from Gare de Lyon’s servers, searching for clues of where Carina went after arriving at the train station.
Six days of updates from Andrea, saying the Italians are still looking too.
