You have no idea, sweet cheeks.
I look at the brooch design again, the rose and ribbons burning into my mind. I’m ashamed to say I’d almost given up. My plan was to carry on until the end of the show, hoping for a miracle. I didn’t really expect one. Every relevant location had been searched, even the remotest ones, and nothing had been found. I’d asked Laura all kinds of questions and done everything I could to help her remember. All in vain.
The ignominious prospect of becoming the first unsuccessful key seeker loomed on the horizon. It was beginning to weigh on me. The only thing that kept my spirits up was the solace I found in being around Laura, and the gratification of being insideher.
But now, for the first time since I’d embarked on this quest, I have a lead.A bona fide fucking lead!
I dart to the coffee table and grab my laptop. “I’m booking us on the next flight to Chengdu.”
“What?” Laura stares at me like I’ve just proposed we ride there on unicycles.
“Call your grandmother,” I say, fingers poised over the keys. “Tell her we’re coming.”
“But what about the show? My job? Your job?”
I wave a dismissive hand. “We’ll tell Isabelle it’s a family emergency, and we’ll be back in three or four days. Shoot an email to the bank and give them the same story.”
Should I ask Adam to send us a private jet?
I stare at the screen, thinking. I could also search for one to rent, crew included. Or, if there’s a commercial flight leaving in a few hours, I could book us on that instead. It could be a smart move in case Kurt still has eyes on me… I should call Adam and ask for his advice.
Laura’s silence breaks me from my cogitation. I glance up. She’s staring at me, her head shaking.
“What?” I ask. “What’s the issue?”
“If this is really about Pedro’s challenge, then why lie to Isabelle?”
I think on my feet. “Because it was a secret challenge, remember? She’s not in the loop.”
The frown between her eyebrows deepens.
“OK,” she finally says. “Assuming I take three days off work and go along with this crazy plan of yours, where do we find the money? Do you have any idea how expensive last-minute tickets to Chengdu are?”
How do I wiggle out of this one?
“I’m a bank teller,” she goes on, “and you’re a tattoo artist. We’re not the kind of people who can jet off to China on a whim.”
I close the laptop and meet her gaze. This is delicate ground. But I think I can handle it. A MESS psyops expert prepared me for this. I’m going to feed her a lie. A small, sustainable lie, tied to a truth.
“Laura,” I begin. “I have something to confess.”
She crosses her arms. “What?”
“I’m what they call a trust-fund punk.”
Her eyebrows lift. “Excuse me?”
“I come from old money,” I say, trying to look guilty. “Henri and I grew up rich. That explains the posh British accent.”
“Yeah, that explains a lot, actually.” She narrows her eyes. “But why the charade?”
“I left that life behind to pursue my own path, to live unshackled by social constraints.”
She looks like she’s on the fence about buying my story, but it’ll have to do.
“Anyway,” I say. “The money’s there, and I’m free to do with it as I please.”
Her expression doesn’t change. “And you just never mentioned it before?”
