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I can’t be a coward.
“Alright,” I mumble. “I’ll see what I can find.”
The line goes dead.
I stand at the window for a long second, staring out at the tarmac. It’s a beautiful day—the sun is hot enough for me to see the heat rising from the asphalt. The sky is nearly cloudless, and the wooded mountains in the distance are a calming shade of green.
While I’m on my way to get the water to Alize, my phone buzzes.
A text from Graham.
I suck in a breath. Maybe it isn’t the best idea to look at it now, but desperation has me clicking on the picture anyway. This is the man who took my mum from me. The handful of seconds it takes the picture to load feels like an eternity.
I take a look at it and wish I hadn’t.
Because I know that face.
It’s the same one Lev showed me on his yacht.
Le Bourreau.
* * *
