“Paul Laborde.”
I find Dad’s address in my contacts and give it to Max. He gets his police buddy to check if Dad is in Lisbon at present. Which, apparently, he is. So I infer two things. First, by not picking up, at least not immediately, Dad may be giving me a taste of my own medicine. Second, Max’s friend must have top clearance and access for him to get that info so quickly.
Max opens the door and asks his PA Berta to step in, before turning to me. “Can we leave today?”
“Sure,” I say. “You’re the boss.”
Berta walks out. I try Dad’s number again and get the voicemail again.
Berta peeks in. “TAP Air Portugal, business class, eight o’clock tonight, back in two days. Sound good?”
Max gives me a questioning look.
“My hotel is next door, and I pack fast,” I say. “How far in advance do we have to check-in when flying business? Not a regular business flyer here.”
“Me neither,” Max says.
Berta smiles. “You have plenty of time!”
He nods to Berta, who scurries to her computer.
I grab a cookie. “For a man who claims he’d rather not lie when he can help it, that was an unnecessary white lie.”
“Actually, I wasn’t?—”
“I’m a big girl, Max. You can be honest with me. Youalwaysfly business, don’t you?”
He shakes his head. “No. I usually fly first class… when I don’t fly private.”
“Who are you? What exactly are you doing in MINDFUCH?”
“Why would you ask that?”
“Because you have all the perks, you’re allowed to come and go as you please, but you’re a crappy civil servant. You’re probably the worst bureaucrat I’ve ever seen.”
He winks. “Then you haven’t seen many.”
“Don’t deflect! How influential is your family, exactly? Are you the love child of a former president? Which one?”
He laughs.
I find that idea just as ludicrous as he does, but I keep going because I’m afraid the truth will be that he’s an heir to a Mafia clan, or some billionaire who made his fortune in blood diamonds or financial speculation, or something equally inglorious.
“Is your secret daddy a sheik? An emir? Prince Charles?” I give him the once-over. “Nah. Prince Albert of Monaco?”
He waves dismissively and glances at his watch. “We should go pack.”
“Not before you confess?—”
My phone interrupts me.
“Saved by the gong,” I mutter in Max’s direction as I pick up.
“Lucie, my darling, is everything OK?” Dad sounds worried and short of breath. “I was driving, deep in the countryside for work. Reception is terrible here. That’s why I missed your calls.”
“I’m fine. There’s something I need to ask you.”
“Anything.”
