Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
“Who was that?” Pearl asks.
“That was The Brit.”
“Your husband?”
“Yes, my husband.”
“Another man was trying to carry Anya.” She points to the unconscious girl, who has now come around and is sipping water. “I was trying to keep up but was struggling. He helped me too. My legs were dead. But he didn’t leave me.”
“Brad,” I say without thought. “Brad was helping you. He was shot.”
Pearl swings alarmed eyes onto me, her hand covering her mouth.
“He’s okay,” I say, settling her, admiring her beautiful, vibrant hair. It’s the only thing on her that isn’t dull today.
“Can I see him? Say thank you?”
I nod, smiling mildly. Oh my. All I can see is red. Brad wasn’t talking about blood. Pearl is a beautiful young woman. Young being the operative word. “I’ll take you later. First, we figure out what happens next.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, we reunite everyone with their families.” I know better than anyone that deportation is risky. “The last thing I want is for any of you to fall into the wrong hands again, so we’ll manage that.”
“I have no family.” Pearl clears her throat and levels a sure look on me.
“No one?”
She shakes her head. “I left London to backpack across Europe. I met a man at a hostel in Albania. He asked about my family, my friends.”
Jesus. “And he took you.”
“When he established I wouldn’t be missed.”
My God, what is this world we’re living in? “Your parents?”
“Murdered. Burglary gone wrong. The man was arrested on the scene. Druggy just looking for his next hit.”
Jesus Christ. “I’m so sorry.” I take her hand, for what good it is, like a gentle squeeze might make everything okay. And weirdly, it might. “Will you help me communicate with the girls?” I ask. “I’ve forgotten names already. Where they’re from.”
Pearl nods on a snivel.
“I speak a little Romanian,” I say without thought.
“You do? Where did you learn Romanian?”
I blink, checking the room, worried Danny might have heard me. “In a previous life,” I say quietly, forcing a smile at Pearl.
And I accept in this moment that she isn’t going anywhere.
A few hours later, everyone is showered, changed, watered, and I think Beau and I need therapy, a ridiculous thing to claim. But, Jesus. We know all the girls’ stories. Eight came from good families which, when we called, were out of their minds with worry. Missing people’s cases had been opened, and police in various countries involved.
Reunited.
But Pearl and Anya? They remain at the mansion and will do for the foreseeable future. The eight other girls have gone to stay at a hotel by the airfield overnight and will be flown home tomorrow, where loved ones await their return.
Insane.
Insane but real.
After settling Pearl and Anya into a spare bedroom together, Beau and I plod down the stairs, exhausted but energized at the same time. I get a glass of water and Beau drops onto a stool. And then she’s up again fast on a gasp. I watch, alarmed, my water at my mouth, as she zooms across the kitchen.
Into the waiting arms of her eccentric Aunt Zinnea. “You’re here,” she sobs, clinging to her like she could go under if she lets go.
“My darling, I’m here. Always here,” she breathes, eyes closed, hugging her niece tightly. “Why didn’t you call me? I would have come straight away.”
Beau sniffles and breaks away, wiping at her nose. “So much has happened, and . . .” She steps back. “Wait, do—”
“James called me.”
Her shoulders drop. It’s relief. “He did?”
“Of course he did.” She takes Beau’s hand and leads her to the island, sitting her down. “I know your father and I didn’t see eye to eye, but he’s still my brother. Was my brother. Oh, how terrible!”
“They said he was in the wrong place at the wrong time,” Beau says, and Zinnea visibly recoils. She should. If Beau pursues this, it could be a disaster. “I think they’re lying to me, Lawrence. And now Ollie’s missing, and a new cop’s shown up asking questions.”
He doesn’t even correct her for using his birth name while he’s his alter ego. That’s how worried Lawrence is by Beau’s splurge of words. He just looks at her in sympathy.
“Did you actually travel in that?” I ask, motioning to her canary-yellow fishtail dress, needing to give Zinnea a moment, time to think about how she might approach this.
She looks down her front, as if she might have forgotten she’s wearing the blinding monstrosity. “This old thing?”
“You bought it last Easter,” Beau pipes in. “It’s barely a year old.”
“Oh, did I?” Zinnea, rests a hand on her chest, feigning thinking, and I laugh in disbelief, going to her, welcoming her back with a kiss.
“Good luck,” I whisper in her ear, feeling her squeeze my hip in reply, then I go in search of my boy, finding him in his room on his bed, his phone, as ever, glued to his hand. I’m blessed with his attention when I walk in, and it is all I can do not to throw myself at him and hug the life out of him. Today has been a constant, cruel, consistently painful reminder of a past life I’m slowly accepting I will never be allowed to forget. But I also feel so . . . accomplished. Lucky. The shit aside, I feel like I’ve done something worthwhile. Not be a wife or a mom or a friend. But something for someone else. I feel like I’ve done something that might change the world in a tiny way.