“Of course you couldn’t.”
“I found the files. All of them. They wanted them desperately.”
“But you didn’t give them to them.”
I can hear awe in Pen’s voice.
“Damn right I didn’t.” She looks up, her eyes locking with Pen’s. “I told them I had them. That they were safe, and would never see the light of day unless something happened to someone I loved. Then it would be war. I told him I’d writtenletters that would be sent to the relevant authorities, releasing their location should anything happen to me or anyone else close to me.”
Pen rocks back on her knees.
“Who helped you seal the room?”
Franny smiles.
“Someone I trust with my life, but I’m not divulging their name. This is entirely on me.”
She turns to Elijah and places a hand on his shoulder. Her eyes suddenly clear.
“It may have been wrong of me, but I did it to protect you all. It was enough that I lost your father. I was not risking any of you. Handing over the files would have meant I had no leverage. Keeping them was everything.”
Elijah scoops Francesca against him.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
He mutters something against her hair, but I can’t make out what it is.
Pen turns to face me.
“Kat’s missing,” I say, hoping the complete and unwavering faith I’m about to put in our friend is not unwarranted.
“Shit.”
I sitand stare as Pen does, whatever it isthisPendoes.
Her fingers fly over the keyboard, perched precariously on her lap.
Who is this woman?
She looks like the same person I’ve known for eighteen years, but there’s something else. Turning to stare at Elijah, he’s clearly unfazed by the woman he loves. I draw in a breath. There’s adeeper, darker side to the happy-go-lucky woman who turns up at red carpet events in army boots and designer dresses.
“There’s no chatter,” she says, turning to Elijah.
His shoulders relax a little.
“What does that mean?” Francesca asks before I can.
“It means, if Kat’s been taken, then no one is talking about it online. That would be unusual in a kidnapping case. There have also been no ransom demands to date, that we’re aware of.”
The muscles in my shoulders refuse to relax. Instead, pain begins to radiate up into my head, culminating behind my eyes.
“Is that always the case?” I ask.
Pen turns to me, her hand pinching the skin of her throat, her gaze pained.
“No, not always.”
Francesca lets out a mini howl.
