“I want to take care of you, Lake.”
“I know.”
“Let me take care of you.”
I can’t.
TWENTY-FIVE
PARIS
Lake
When we land and I have to show my passport, I finally take the phone from the black leather pouch Alessio packed for me. My uncle’s doctor's night shift nurse left a voicemail telling me in great detail about my uncle’s health status. He’s still unconscious, but his vitals are good, and they’re monitoring him.
Since the nurse gave me the number of the doctor I could text and ask questions, I shoot him a few messages and thank him for his time. I want to call my aunt, but she’s at work by the time we reach Paris.
My brother is at school, and I hope I’ll get to talk with him later. For now, I count my blessings that my uncle is alive and my family is well.
And also, I’m in Paris.
Leo and I walk into a Parisian hotel room with textured off-white walls. Black modern contemporary decor is interrupted by a touch of tradition expressed in a classic teardrop crystal chandelier and a dark chestnut-brown marble fireplace. Long, sheer curtains open to a balcony, and I immediately find my way outside. I grip the railing and lean out slightly.
I take in the view and recognize where we’re staying. On the drive over from the airport, I was too busy listening to the messages about my uncle and taking in the general splendor of the Champs-Élysées and the Arc de Triomphe to pay attention to the hotel. I knew it would be nice, but I still can’t believe it’sthisnice.
I spin around to tell Alessio we have the best view of Vendome Square (even though he knows because he selected this suite) when I find Alessio speaking to the general manager of the hotel, who kindly escorted us to our suite. I’ll tell him later.
My phone rings, and without looking at the caller ID, I answer. “Hello.”
“Your uncle will make a full recovery if you deliver the small plastic piece taped on the inside of the gun’s grip.”
Frozen, I listen. I can’t talk because Alessio is only a few feet away, watching me.
“You’ll need a tool to retrieve it.” the man continues. “In Paris, wait for further instructions.” The line goes dead.
“Lake!” Leo shouts, and I’m so startled that I jump, then rush into the bedroom. Leo’s bouncing on the king-size bed.
I’m fine. It’ll be fine. If I don’t stop freaking out, Alessio will realize something is wrong. Nobody will survive his interrogation, least of all me.
With the sadists calling to tell me they’ve spared my uncle and that they’ll leave him alone, I’m a little relieved. I’ll do whatever they want. And taking a small piece from the gun instead of the gun itself sounds like a much better option.
“This is my room,” Leo says, still bouncing on the bed.
At least he took off his shoes.
“Come, Lake, come.”
I remove my shoes and bounce with him while telling myself that my uncle will survive all this. My family will be okay. All I have to do is deliver something from inside the gun’s grip. I can do that. Can’t I?
Leo and I jump up and down a few more times before Leo slides off the bed. “I want to show you something.”
I follow him into the bathroom. There’s a beautiful tub, shower, sink, a marble countertop, mirror (everything is so pretty), and Leo stands in front of a wall hung with four framed black-and-white pictures of the same woman. She has long, straight, jet-black hair and stunning blue eyes. In all four images, she’s lounging on the couch of this penthouse suite. I believe there’s a large picture of her over the fireplace as well.
“That’s my mom,” Leo says.
Oh. I thought the woman was a fashion model, and the images were part of the hotel’s chic décor. Based on research, I’m aware that French hotels often portray their proud heritage that’s closely related to beauty and fashion as well as the arts.
Even though he’s aware she passed away, he’s using present tense, so I do the same. “She’s beautiful.”
