He’d wake up hungry, wanting a full ration of breakfast and black coffee. I could easily arrange that, and with my own stomach growling, the sooner the better. I moved off the bed gingerly, not wanting to wake him. I pulled on the first shirt I could get a hold of and my long linen skirt, which was an olive-green shade that I particularly loved. Stocking and boots came on next, but I left my hair unbound and wild.
Quietly, I collected my purse for the tip and then I opened the door a crack and slipped out of our room. The corridor was empty and still as I made my way downstairs, but the lobby had a few guests dressed for the day. Some stood next to their trunks; others held printed guides for sightseeing.
When all of this was over, I would make Whit take me to every single country I’d been dreaming about visiting since I was a little girl. There were so many cities and ruins I wanted to explore, different foods I wanted to try.
We only had to survive what came next.
I hailed down a hotel worker, another German, who took my order on a slip of paper. “Scrambled eggs, two—no,three—portions. Pita bread, honey, butter,” I said. “Coffee, black, please, and I’d love any fruit you have that’s in season.”
“Very good, miss.”
“Mrs.,” I corrected, smiling.
“Is that all?”
“Room two hundred and six,” I said. “Thank you.”
He nodded and strode off to the kitchens. I turned toward the grand staircase, but a soft voice in my ear stopped me cold. Something dug into my lower back.
“Hello, Inez,” a man whispered. “What you feel is my pistol. Cry for help, and I’ll shoot you. Make eye contact with anyone, and I’ll shoot you.”
I tried to turn, but he pressed his weapon into me farther, and I gasped.
“Not another sound,” he said. “We’re going to walk out of the hotel without any fuss. Understand?” He jabbed the barrel of his gun into me again. “Or I’ll walk up to room two hundred and six and shoot your husband.” He leaned closer, his breath skating across my skin, making it crawl. “That was your room number, wasn’t it?”
I swallowed hard, unable to rid my mind of the image of Whit bleeding, his hands stained red, gasping for breath, his face turning pale and cold.
“Are you going to cooperate, Inez?”
I nodded.
“Then let’s go,” the stranger said. He came to stand next to me, placing his free hand around me, the gun hidden underneath his jacket but still pressed tight against my side. I recognized him—he was one of the men who had been with Mr. Sterling. It was then I understood the trouble I was in.
“One foot in front of the other.”
Trembling, knees shaking, and palms damp with sweat, I did as he ordered, my only thought on saving the one person who mattered most to me in the world.
Whit. Whit. Whit.
PART FOURA RIVER FLOWS UNDERNEATH
WHIT
My wife was gone when I woke. I sat up, bleary-eyed, blinking at the space where she ought to have been sleeping. I glanced around the empty room, at the drawn curtains, and felt that something wasn’t right. My gut clenched as I swung my legs off the bed.
That first step hurt.
But I pushed through the unsteadiness, finding my boots under a chair, my shirt slung over the dresser. I tugged it on and then strode to the window to let the sunlight inside. I squinted, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the sudden brightness. Slowly, the room came into focus. Everything looked normal, the trunks stacked.
Her purse was gone.
Where thehellwas she?
Last night replayed in my mind. I had told her that I loved her. She never said the words back to me. Fear worked itself in my stomach. Maybe she realized she could never forgive me for what I had done.
And so she left me.
Panic tore into me. I tugged on my shoes, shrugged into my jacket, wincing slightly. The gunshot wound had healed as if several months had passed, but it still felt a little tender. I would go after her and get down on my knees if she wanted.
