Wren set up a website I can access from anywhere—secured by a sixteen-digit passphrase. Buyers’ names and addresses. Photos of the girls they purchased. The price they paid. Hell, she even organized it by region. As if she knew exactly what I was going to do.
Of course she did.
She’s part of McCabe’s team. And any black hat worth her salt knows the shit that goes on in this part of the world.
Outside, I build a small fire and burn my bloody clothes. The next auction is in two days. If I have any hope of saving those girls, I need to get out of here tonight.
But as I kick dirt over the last red embers, I hear Lisette’s sweet voice.
“Do not go.”
“I have to, sweetheart,” I whisper into the darkness. “Or I’ll never be whole again.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Present Day
Lisette
The patterof raindrops on my umbrella keeps me company as I walk along Rue du Parc. The school bell trills, harsh, yet happy at the same time, and I turn to wave before Mateen disappears inside.
But his head is bent towards his best friend, Philippe, and he does not see me.
I miss the days he looked to me for everything, though I knew they could not last. The long, strange months isolating in Boston while his new bone marrow took hold. The loud, cramped weeks sharing a single room in my parents’ house in Marseille. The exciting year we passed in a rented apartment with private tutors so he could attend school with other children his age.
Toulouse was the start of a new adventure. A place only for us. A duplex I own, bought with funds I did not want, but am grateful for.
I called it blood money. Joey called it restitution.
The city suits me. Busy, but not frantic. Close enough to Marseille we can visit Maman and Papa every few months, but far enough away for me to figure out who I am now that I am…free.
Ten minutes later, I push through the door ofPétales de Fleurs.“Bonjour, Fleur,” I call, breathing in the fresh, sweet scent of roses, carnations, and peonies.
“Lisette! Come sit.” With a warm smile, Fleur pats a chair at the small bistro table in the corner of the shop. “I boughtPain au Chocolatandcafe au laiton the way in. I thought you could use a treat today.”
Dabbing at my eyes with a tissue, I swallow the lump in my throat. “Mateen was so happy to see his friends again. You would think we spent threeyearsin Marseille, not three weeks.”
“Time moves slower for children.” Fleur opens the simple, white box and offers me a chocolate croissant. “Did you have a good visit with your parents?”
I tear off a piece of pastry. “Maman still thinks I am too thin. She baked fresh bread every other day. Mateen learned how to swim. He is like a fish now.” Pride tugs at my lips. “I think he grew three inches this summer. Another year and he will be as tall as I am.”
“Do you have pictures?” Fleur asks. “I have not seen your sweet boy since June.”
“Mon Dieu.I did not know it had been that long. He was so busy this summer with his tutors. But he does not need them anymore. His French is almost as good as mine now.” I pull out my phone and we scroll through photos until our coffees are nothing but a distant memory, and it is time for the shop to open.
* * *
A little after three,I carry my last arrangement of the day to the cooler and tuck it neatly inside. Before I can wash my hands, my phone beeps in my pocket. The tone is one reserved for Ford and Joey. I hold my breath as I check the screen.
Joey: He’s in Pakistan. Sending you the number he used to call Ford. Maybe this time, he’ll answer?
My eyes burn. He will not. He never does, but I have to try.
In the back room, I sink down onto one of the storage crates. My fingers shake as I dial.
Please pick up.
The call rings four times before it goes to voicemail.
