Lillith remained on theOrchidtoday. Poppy thought Avi would, too. But she glimpses him every now and then between the shadows of the ancient ruins. He’s still following her. And he’s letting her know it.
She stops under an old fig tree to sip water. The heat feels physical, pressing against her skin. The air shimmers with it. And it vibrates with the loud, incessant, metallic whir of cicadas.
As she swallows the last of her water, she notices Dr. Marsh sitting alone on a bench in the shade of an ancient olive tree.
She makes a decision. First she checks for signs of Avi. She doesn’t see him. Poppy goes up to the bench.
“Dr. Marsh. Do you mind if I sit?”
He glances up. He looks rough.
“Of course not.”
She takes a seat and fiddles with her empty water bottle, buying herself a few seconds to hopefully make her questions seem organic.
But he speaks first. “Are you enjoying the cruise?”
“Yes,” she lies. “And you?”
He nods.
She hesitates. “Thanks for signing my books. I’m Poppy. I came with—”
“Eight hardbacks.” He smiles tiredly. “I remember. I’m honored. Truly.”
Bolstered a little, she says, “It was a fabulous talk. Especially the part about Vincent Kapoor and his accomplices, Aline-Claire Lavoie and Sanjay Lohar. I—I’ve always been fascinated by characters like Aline-Claire, which is of course why I boughtIn His Grip—that gray area about whether she was a victim who was coerced and manipulated into complicity. Like, at what point did these women begin to realize they were actually lying to themselves—where exactly did their moral erosion begin?”
“Human psychology is indeed endlessly fascinating. The ancient Greeks certainly had a good handle on the vagaries of the human mind.”
She inhales and breathes out slowly to steady her voice.
“I can’t wait to read what revelation you will make in your current work in progress. About Vincent Kapoor,” she says.
He nods.
She clears her throat. “You mentioned you were tying up some lose research ends while on the ship? Have—have you found the missing links you were searching for on this trip?”
He faces her. His eyes hold hers. She senses a shift in his energy.
Before he can answer, she adds, “I hope you don’t mind my asking. I was just so curious. I really can’t wait to read the book.” She fans her hand in front of her face. “Fan girl and all.”
“It’s fine. Yes. I actually do have it wrapped up. I’m writing the final chapters basically as we speak.”
Her heart kicks. “So you got the missing pieces?”
He sighs, as though exhausted from his endeavors, or life, or perhaps it’s her.
“I certainly did. And then some. The book will be a perfect swan song for this old FBI agent, I think.” He smiles.
Her heart hammers. The images Carter showed her swim into her mind.
“Could his accomplices maybe still be alive?”
“You mean Sanjay?”
“I ... I’m sort of wondering if—I mean, if it’s at all possible. I mean—are youcertainshe died? Are you one hundred percent convinced it was her body that they identified after the train derailment in Pakistan?”
“She?”
