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“Your husband?”
“Yes, my husband.”
“Another man was trying to carry Anya.” She points to the unconscious girl, who has now come around and is sipping water. “I was trying to keep up but was struggling. He helped me too. My legs were dead. But he didn’t leave me.”
“Brad,” I say without thought. “Brad was helping you. He was shot.”
Pearl swings alarmed eyes onto me, her hand covering her mouth.
“He’s okay,” I say, settling her, admiring her beautiful, vibrant hair. It’s the only thing on her that isn’t dull today.
“Can I see him? Say thank you?”
I nod, smiling mildly. Oh my.All I can see is red.Brad wasn’t talking about blood. Pearl is a beautiful young woman.Youngbeing the operative word. “I’ll take you later. First, we figure out what happens next.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, we reunite everyone with their families.” I know better than anyone that deportation is risky. “The last thing I want is for any of you to fall into the wrong hands again, so we’ll manage that.”
“I have no family.” Pearl clears her throat and levels a sure look on me.
“No one?”
She shakes her head. “I left London to backpack across Europe. I met a man at a hostel in Albania. He asked about my family, my friends.”
Jesus. “And he took you.”
“When he established I wouldn’t be missed.”
My God, what is this world we’re living in? “Your parents?”
“Murdered. Burglary gone wrong. The man was arrested on the scene. Druggy just looking for his next hit.”
Jesus Christ.“I’m so sorry.” I take her hand, for what good it is, like a gentle squeeze might make everything okay. And weirdly, it might. “Will you help me communicate with the girls?” I ask. “I’ve forgotten names already. Where they’re from.”
Pearl nods on a snivel.
“I speak a little Romanian,” I say without thought.
“You do? Where did you learn Romanian?”
I blink, checking the room, worried Danny might have heard me. “In a previous life,” I say quietly, forcing a smile at Pearl.
And I accept in this moment that she isn’t going anywhere.
A few hours later, everyone is showered, changed, watered, and I think Beau and I need therapy, a ridiculous thing to claim. But, Jesus. We know all the girls’ stories. Eight came from good families which, when we called, were out of their minds with worry. Missing people’s cases had been opened, and police in various countries involved.
Reunited.
But Pearl and Anya? They remain at the mansion and will do for the foreseeable future. The eight other girls have gone to stay at a hotel by the airfield overnight and will be flown home tomorrow, where loved ones await their return.
Insane.
Insane but real.
After settling Pearl and Anya into a spare bedroom together, Beau and I plod down the stairs, exhausted but energized at the same time. I get a glass of water and Beau drops onto a stool. And then she’s up again fast on a gasp. I watch, alarmed, my water at my mouth, as she zooms across the kitchen.
Into the waiting arms of her eccentric Aunt Zinnea. “You’re here,” she sobs, clinging to her like she could go under if she lets go.
