Page 64 of The Shadow Friends

She looked down at the photo that had just landed in her phone. Zoya Larina, a.k.a. Beatriz Guerrero, was in her mid-forties, a stunning woman with intense dark eyes and a cascade of black hair streaked with gray. “What do we know about her?” she asked.

“Not much. I assume the Agency’s moving in to protect the woman, so you don’t need to get involved. It’s time to come home, Mags.”

“We plan to. Our flight to Boston’s already booked.” She looked at Lloyd. “But I’m not sure our friend here is happy about going home.”

“Damn right, I’m not,” said Lloyd. “Not without my wife.”

“Oh Lord,” sighed Declan. “He’s going to get you both killed.”

Lloyd stood up. “Excuse me, but I have to go make a few arrangements.”

“What arrangements?” she asked.

“I’m not going to Boston. I’m going to Madrid.”

Chapter 24

Jo

Tuesday

When Jo walked into the Marigold Café, she did not immediately see Andrei Petrov, even though the dining room was almost empty. It was three in the afternoon, the dead hour between lunch and dinner, when the kitchen could finally catch a break, and the only other table was occupied by an elderly couple lingering over their servings of pie. Then Jo spotted the young man sitting in the corner booth, slouched behind the divider, as though trying to stay out of sight. Only when she approached did Andrei raise his head, but he didn’t speak, just gave her a silent nod. As Jo slid onto the bench across from him, he shot a furtive glance at the door, as if to confirm that no one had followed her.

“What’s going on, Andrei?” said Jo. “Why are we meeting here?”

“Because they watch me,” he said softly, and he burrowed deeper into the booth. “All the time, they watch me.”

“Who’s watching you?”

“Everyone. They think I am spy.” Andrei raised his head, and Jo saw exhaustion in his face. The dark circles beneath his eyes looked like bruises on his pale skin. “I am not spy. You know this.”

“To be honest, Andrei, I really don’t know that.”

“But you must know. And Hannah knows, but she is gone.” He cast a nervous glance around the dining room. “Now police ask me questions, too many questions. I need you to say I do nothing wrong.”

“I’m not sure they’ll listen to me, Andrei.”

“No one else helps me.” His voice broke and he folded into himself, as if wanting to vanish. The couple at the other table were now looking at him, not with obvious hostility, simply curiosity. But when you felt a whole community watching you, it was easy to imagine malice in their eyes.

He repeated, softly: “No one else,” and dropped his head in his hands.

“What, exactly, have the police said to you?” Jo asked.

“They think I lie, to get visa.”

“Who said this?”

“Government police.”

“You mean the FBI? Did you lie?”

“No!” He looked at her. “Everything I say is truth, I promise. You tell them this. Please, you tell them.”

As if it mattered what she said to the FBI. She was a small fish in a pond where the really big fish, from all the alphabet agencies, were now in charge. But here was Andrei, looking at her with pleading eyes. Innocent eyes. Or so it seemed to Jo.

She nodded. “I’ll talk to them.”

The hotel ballroom of the Cod Cove Resort was now the beating heart of the Maslov murder investigation. There were so many desks and computers and personnel crowded into the room that Jo did not immediately spot Agent Minnihan. Then she glimpsed his head of red hair poking up among a circle of men, all of them wearing civilian clothes. Feds. She crossed the room to join their group.