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Grabbing my jacket, I motion for Anton to follow. “You’re wasting time. Spit it out.”
“She went out for breakfast and—”
“She what?”
“She said she needed time alone to deal with all the shit happening in her life.”
Motherfucker. Rushing out the door, I take the stairs two by two. “How long ago?”
“Just over an hour.”
“You let her go on her fucking own?”
“She said she’d be back.”
“And you fucking believed her?”
“I felt bad, okay? What you’re doing, Yan, it’s not right.”
He thinks now’s the time for a moral lecture? “Where did she go?”
“She didn’t say.”
“Tell me you didn’t give her money.”
“Of course I did.”
My brother is a goddamn pushover, a fucking pussy when it comes to that little spitfire of a woman. I’ll deal with him later. The priority is finding Mina. “Where are you now?”
“At the apartment. Should I go look for her?”
“Stay the fuck put and call me if she shows up.”
I cut the call and activate the tracker app. We’re running the two blocks to where the rental is parked.
Throwing the keys to Anton, I say, “Drive.”
As always, he’s fast and efficient. Cool and collected. He unlocks the doors and takes the wheel. “What’s going on?”
I slide into the passenger side, nearly choking on my relief as the tracker appears on the app. “Mina ran.”
“Fuck.”
Mina didn’t get rid of the tracker. The microscopic electrodes are picking up her pulse. The elevated reading shows she’s stressed. Otherwise, her vitals are normal. She could’ve easily cut out the tracker, something I wouldn’t put past her, but the red dot blinks reassuringly on the screen.
I pull up the coordinates as Anton steers the car into the heavy traffic. By the speed at which she’s moving, I’m guessing she’s on a train. She’s roughly four hours ahead of us. Opening a railway plan, I study the lines. If my assumption is correct, she’s on her way to Hungary.
“Where to?” Anton asks tightly as we near the first exit.
“Budapest.”
He doesn’t ask questions. He programs the GPS and does as he’s told. Unlike Ilya. When I get my hands on my brother, he’ll pay for not following the one, simple fucking order I gave.
According to the GPS, it will take us eleven hours to get there with the current traffic. That’s if Budapest is indeed Mina’s destination. What the hell is she doing? If she thinks she can run from me, she’ll be sadly disappointed. I’ll catch her.
Again and again.
Anton shoots me a sidelong glance. “What about flights?”
“It’s better to follow her on land. Easier to change direction if needed.” Our own plane is undergoing maintenance, and if we’re stuck on a commercial flight, it may take us even longer. There are a lot of overbookings and delays, as it’s the end of the summer holiday and the Czech Republic is swamped with tourists.
Time crawls by. We don’t stop. Not to eat, not to stretch our legs, not even for a piss. We only take five minutes to refuel. I don’t work. I don’t check my messages. I do nothing but study the red dot that represents Mina. The farther we advance, the more convinced I become I’m right about her destination.
Six-and-a-half hours later, she stops moving. I look up the location. It’s a private clinic in Budapest. I can only imagine why she’d go there. Tapping on the listed number, I dial the clinic. A female voice comes onto the line, asking if she can help me.
“I’d like to speak to Ms. Hanna Belan, please.”
“Certainly, sir. Who may I say is calling?”
“I’m having trouble hearing you. I’ll call back when I have a better connection.”
I cut the call. Just as I thought.
“Family of Mina?” Anton asks.
It’s not his business. Nothing concerning Mina is anyone’s business but mine. “Pull over at the next gas station.”
We swap places. He catches a nap and I drive, keeping an eye on the tracker app. For the moment, Mina is immobile. It’s only when I pull into Budapest that she starts moving again.
Changing direction, I drive to the station and park in the drop-off zone.
“Circle around until you hear from me,” I tell Anton.
The station is busy. I tuck a Glock into my waistband and pull on my jacket to hide the weapon. I stay vigilant as I walk, following the tracker to the cafeteria. It doesn’t take me long to spot Mina’s spiky, platinum-blond hair.
She’s sitting alone at a table, drinking something. There’s a teapot on the table. No food. I take in the details with a practiced eye. The tables around her are all occupied. A single man with black-rimmed glasses, dark hair, and a mole on his cheek sits in the corner. He’s attractive, about fifty I’d say. He’s the only other person on his own at a table, which is why he stands out. He’s reading a newspaper and eating a pastry. Maybe just waiting for his train. Still, I take nothing for granted. I scan over the mothers with children and elderly people with dogs. I check the exits and escalators. Then I glance at the departure screen. The next train for Prague leaves in forty minutes.
