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“No. No, I’m not.”
Ned got up, wiped his mouth with a napkin and headed toward her. “What’s going on?”
“Hudson was arrested.” She sank onto the bed.
Silence, and Ned looked at Shae, then knelt before Iris. “What do you mean?”
“This morning. When he arrived in Amsterdam. Interpol arrested him for Werner Vogel’s murder.”
Ned took a breath, then got up and pulled out his phone.
“What’s going on?”
Ned had dialed, and now put the phone to his ear. Held up a “wait” hand. Then, “Hey, Fraser. I think we’re going to need a jailbreak.”
* * *
His career was probably over.
Hud sat on the metal bench in the holding cell of the National Central Bureau, a shiny glass building four blocks from the Oude Kerk, which had rung its bells early this morning as light cascaded into the room like the heavens peeling back the darkness.
It had started as the longest night of his life as he’d stared at the ceiling of the pristine cell—probably cleaner than a few hotels he’d slept in over the years—just breathing.
Yh. Wh.
And listening to the voice of Garrett Marshall, weirdly showing up in his head.You root deep in God’s love. You know, without a doubt, that you are His, and no one can take you from Him.
He didn’t know why, because it didn’t make sense, but the more he lay there, his hands folded over his chest, listening to himself breathe…
The more the knot in his chest loosed.
The more the breath, the thickness of, well, God, maybe, swept through him.
The more his mind stopped circling.
He finally closed his eyes and slept.
On the stainless steel, rock-hard bench.
Like a baby.
Call it jet lag, maybe. But when the bells began to ring, and Hud opened his eyes and sat up, something had changed.
Then the cell-block doors opened, and an officer walked toward him. “You’re free,” he said.
Yeah, he was.
But also, yay, because he followed the man out to the lobby, where he received his belongings—his duffel bag, jacket, watch, and championship ring—and then the door buzzed open.
Huh.
He walked through into the white, pristine lobby.
Nearly fell over when he spotted Ned Marshall standing there, looking freshly shaved, wearing a black parka, jeans, boots.
Ned held out his hand. “Sorry it took so long.”
Hudson met it. “Um. Did you…what…I don’t understand.”
