For a moment, I doubt my own reality.
The girls were only children when they disappeared. I had to use artificial intelligence to recreate the faces they would have grown into. And I assumed that the girl standing before me was Paige Dawson, one of the forty-five girls who went missing in London that summer.
I could be wrong.
But I don’t think I am. I notice the rapid pulsing of her jugular vein. Her face remains eerily composed, but her body language gives her away.
"What is your name?” I ask her.
"I'm sorry, who are you again?" she says, placing a hand on her hip.
I discreetly hand her my phone. There's a hitch in her breathing, but she takes it from me without taking her eyes off me.
"You just look so much like someone I know,” I say. “Perhaps I was mistaken.”
"Sir, please leave before I call security,” she says, briefly glancing down at the phone even as she keeps her head tilted up in a haughty manner.
She finishes typing and hands the phone back to me.
With a dramatic sigh, she sidesteps me and walks off without looking back.
I glance down at the Notes app on my phone.
Skylink
37 Rue des Lumières
A name and an address.I have no clue what either of these means, but I'm going to find out. I send Enzo a text.
"I have so many questions," Grace says from beside me.
"You and me both,piccola," I say, pulling her closer toward me. Her arms come to wrap around me. I never thought I'd find solace in the arms of another person, but this girl is always everything I need. "Let's get out of here. I need to be alone with you."
29
GRACE
We’re back at the hotel now, sitting on the gorgeous balcony overlooking Paris.
A platter of fresh strawberries and cream sits between us, but neither of us reaches for it. Dante has been on the phone with Enzo for over an hour, speaking rapid Italian.
Even after he hangs up, he looks lost in thought.
“Dante?” I call.
He blinks like he’s waking up from a dream.
“This feels huge, Grace,” he says. “I finally feel like I’m close to uncovering the truth about my sister.”
I think about the blonde model.
She was aloof and stunning. There was no sign of trouble whatsoever on her face, but Dante saw past her facade.
“How did you know that she needed help?” I ask.
“Her eyes gave her away,” he says. “She was afraid of something. Of someone.”
“But she still left you a message?” I ask.
