They heard a young woman say with great excitement, I have news, Khaled. That witch Elizabeth Palmer—excuse me,LadyElizabeth—the witch whose mother was nearly kidnapped on Saturday, flew her broomstick right back into London when she heard about her dear mother. God bless the old bitch. And she’s not alone. She’s got a bodyguard with her, an FBI agent named Roman Foxe.
Khaled stopped the recording when a waiter passed by and slipped the recorder back in his pocket. “That’s the essence of it. Adara wasn’t any more specific, didn’t tell me why she hates you or how she knows you are here with Agent Foxe. But I think we’ll know very soon now, and I think it’s likely she and the men she calls her comrades might be responsible for the attacks on you and on your mother. I fear she may be planning to kill you.”
Elizabeth was shaking her head back and forth. “But why? I don’t even know this woman. Why does she hate me so much? It makes no sense.”
Rome took Elizabeth’s fisted hand in his and lightly stroked her fingers. “Khaled, you have no idea why they’re doing this? Why they want her dead?”
“No. I know I can’t push. But soon I believe she’ll tell me. We don’t know yet if her brother, the imam, is involved. Mr. Eiserly has photos of Adara for you. Study them, and be careful. I’ll contact John again when I learn more. Now I must go.”
Khaled dabbed his napkin on his mouth and rose. “A pleasure to meet you both. Please stay safe, Lady Elizabeth.” He strode toward the café door, his umbrella already unfurled when he reached it.
There was silence at the table. John finished off his tea, set his cup neatly in its saucer, and rose. “And I am expected back at Thames Hall. A pity, I’d have enjoyed a pint and hearing stories about this Hurley Janklov, Elizabeth.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a thumb drive, and gave it to her. “This is everything we know about Adara Said and her known associates. We’ve made great strides in determining why you and your mother were targeted. Be patient, it’s coming together. Special Agent Foxe, it was a pleasure to meet you. Keep our girl safe.”
He nodded to them and left. Like Khaled, his umbrella was ready for the elements before he reached the door.
Elizabeth stared at the tea leaves at the bottom of the cup. She touched Rome’s arm. “Please don’t tell Mother anything about this yet, all right? She’d lock me in my room and bar the windows.” She frowned. “Adara Said. I’d never considered a woman would be involved.” She gave Rome a twisted smile. “If I’m a witch, I would wish for a magic wand to send Adara Said and her compatriots, whoever they are, to a gulag in Siberia.”
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Barcelona
Late Tuesday night
That afternoon, Archer nearly fell over with shock when his fat, hard-nosed landlady, Señora Capilli, knocked on his front door and handed him her cell phone, told him he had a call. It was Rebel and an FBI agent, Dillon Savich, and they told him they knew where he was and were going to bring him home. How had they found him? Rebel said it was Autumn and Tash, then Rebel had spoken with Agent Savich, and he’d explain it all when Archer was home again. They believed he was innocent, and they would help him prove it. Rebel told him how he’d been arrested and how everything had started to unravel when Carla Cartwright had lied to the FBI about him. They’d called her in for questioning. Soon now, soon, and he’d be free and clear. And the biggest news? Two agents were already on their way to pick him and Sasha up in Barcelona, and they would be arriving first thing in the morning.
After Archer had returned Mrs. Capilli’s cell phone, he yelled Sasha’s name, grabbed her up, and whirled her around in his arms. “That was Rebel. They know I’m innocent! We’re going home tomorrow morning, early!”
He didn’t get the reaction he’d expected. Sasha didn’t believe this FBI agent, not for a minute; it was a lie to get him back andthrow him in prison, and they’d talked his brother into helping them. They argued for hours, but Archer refused to budge. He knew there were no guarantees, but it didn’t matter. He wanted to go back, no matter the possible bad consequences. He told her about Carla being brought in to be interviewed by the FBI. Still, Sasha had argued.
He reminded her she’d said she wanted to go back with him, they’d face everything together, but she insisted they were lying to him and now she didn’t want to go, not until he was sure.
Archer had to believe Sasha would come around. She had before, she would again. He’d even tried to explain he wanted desperately to see Tash again, to hug him tight, breathe in his kid smell, promise him he’d never leave him again, but still, no go.
Now it was late, middle-of-the-night late, and Archer, unable to sleep, began to pack. As he was folding a shirt to put into his suitcase on the bed, he wondered what exactly Rebel had meant about Tash and Autumn helping find him in Barcelona, but of course he already had a good idea what Rebel meant, he’d known for some time what Tash could do. And Autumn too? When he saw Tash he would tell him he should have believed him from the start. He was sorry, but he’d listen now. Tash could tell him everything.
Archer looked down at his watch, shook his head at himself, still disbelieving he was wide awake and packing in the freaking middle of the night. He was nearly all packed and ready to go, Sasha too, after angrily throwing her clothes into her suitcases. She hadn’t slept either, her angry breathing in his ear. He heard the shower turn on, pictured Sasha stepping into the narrow stall, pictured her lathering her beautiful body, something he always enjoyed doing himself. He had to believe she’d be happy with his decision once they were home again and he was cleared. They could begin their lives again.
He looked down at Sasha’s four suitcases, three of themclosed and bulging because she’d been too upset to fold her clothes neatly. The last one, a carry-on that held her cosmetics, was still open, and he wondered yet again how she’d been so willing to go home with him in a few days, just a few more days, yet now, when everything looked positive, she no longer wanted to go. It made no sense.
He looked around their bedroom, saw nothing else to pack. He heard the faint sound of a cell phone buzzing. A text? It wasn’t his cell phone; his burner was in his coat pocket. It wasn’t Sasha’s burner phone either; he saw it on the dresser getting a final charge. The sound seemed to have come from one of Sasha’s suitcases on the floor at the foot of the bed. He pulled it up on the bed and opened it, carefully lifted away the beautiful lingerie he’d bought her in Paris. Wrapped in two bras at the bottom of the suitcase was a cell phone. He stared at it, baffled. Why would Sasha have another burner cell phone? Why was it hidden? Why didn’t he know about it? He picked it up, looked down at a text:Archer’s suicide not an option now. Meet you in Marrakesh. GO.
Archer stared numbly at those few words. At first he didn’t understand. Then he saw the text was from Carla, and in an instant he knew what the words meant, understood everything, and his world fell apart. Sasha had been planning to—what? Poison him? And make it look like he’d killed himself because of what he’d done, because he was guilty? He couldn’t breathe until his pain flipped to rage at her betrayal, and rage at himself for being so stupid. His hands trembling, Archer scrolled through a dozen more texts going back to the middle of June, when they’d first arrived in Paris, all of them from Carla, upbeat and smug, encouraging Sasha to keep him happy and hidden until it was time. The two most recent texts read:Miscalculated, called in by the FBI, but will figure it out.And just that morning:May have to move up timeline, keep you posted.
He looked down at his wedding ring.Celia, I’ve been a great fool.
Archer heard her say from behind him, “Well, this changes things.”
He started to turn when something struck the back of his head and he was down.
Chapter Sixty
Barcelona
Sherlock looked down at her phone, saw the location she’d pin-dropped was just ahead. She pressed the button to roll down her window and leaned out to feel the warm night air on her face. She said, “There’s the bungalow on the right, Ruth, just as Autumn and Tash described it.”
Ruth cut her lights and turned off the Corsa’s engine in front of a small, pale yellow house with a red-tiled roof and a small garden filled with flowers and orange trees. “They’ve left a light on,” Ruth said. “Guess they couldn’t sleep. They’re probably already packed, waiting with their luggage by the door. I’m glad we’re earlier than we thought. I’d just as soon be on our way to the airport before the traffic gets nasty.”
They walked quietly to the front door and knocked. No answer. Sherlock called out, “Mr. Navarro?” and knocked again. She looked at Ruth, put her finger to her lips. “Something’s wrong.” Sherlock pulled out a credit card, went down on her knees, and slipped it between the door and the doorframe. The lock clicked open as she’d hoped.
