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He nods.
“Also, have Tamar poke around to see if any students from Saint Philomena’s have gone missing recently. Not just current students, but former students as well. Have her look back at the student body, ten years.” After that, it’s a waste of time. The former students will be too old. Flesh traders target young women.
“A list of Saint Philomena’s students, past or present, is going to be a bitch to get our hands on,” Zé replies. “It could take awhile. Even for Tamar.”
Tamar is former Mossad, and my head of IT. Although she’s not really mine. She belongs to Zé. He met her on holiday, and they fell hard, but her job was in Tel Aviv, and his was in Porto. I didn’t want to lose him, but I was concerned about having a trained spy working in our organization. Eventually I got tired of Zé looking like someone stole his dog every time they were apart, and I offered her a job, praying it wasn’t a mistake. Hiring Tamar is one of the best things I’ve ever done for my business—and for Zé.
He gauges me carefully. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“Misha said something that made me wonder if they’ve started going after women from prominent families. It’s probably a red herring. Even if it’s not, it might be impossible to get any info from Saint Philomena’s in a useful time frame. But if anyone can pull it off, it’s Tamar.”
“Senhor?” Misha calls softly. “Please don’t wait too long to find my family.”
When I glance at her, all I see is a victim—although she’s not without culpability. I stride over to where she’s hanging and pull out my knife and slice through her bindings, because I can’t stand to see her hanging like that any longer.
“You’re going to tell this man where your family lives, and we’ll get to them within hours. But if you don’t give us and the authorities everything you know about the ring, I’ll turn your sister over to the traffickers myself.”
If Misha turns out to be a victim, as she claims, we’ll reunite her with her family when she’s released. Somewhere far away from Romania where they’ll be safe, and I’ll make sure she gets whatever help she needs. If she’s lying, she’s going to prison for the rest of her life—or until someone on the inside slits her throat. Misha will get what’s coming to her, if that’s the case. But turn her sister over to traffickers? I would never do that—not in a million years.
I text Giana as I leave the shack.
Rafael: How’s your charge?
Giana: No trouble. She’s asleep.
Rafael: I’ll be there within the hour. Don’t wake her.
11
ALEXIS
Something tickles my arm, and I jump, but it’s just a soft blanket.
“Go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Rafael?
It takes me a moment to snap out of the malaise. One minute I’m dreaming about him, and the next he’s standing over me—with swollen knuckles and a shirt splattered with what looks like blood.
He looks exhausted, like he needs a hot shower, a whiskey, and a long holiday away from traffickers and everything else that eats at him.
“Did you just get back?”
He nods.
I don’t see Giana and Sabio in the kitchen, but I want to know where they are before I ask too many questions. “Where are the guards?”
“Downstairs, on a break. You can speak freely.”
“What happened with the traffickers?” I glance at his knuckles. “Did you kill them?”
He shakes his head. “They deserve a painful death, but we questioned them, then turned them over to the authorities.”
“It looks like you talked with your fists.”
He draws a breath and lowers himself to his haunches. “It’s late. Why don’t we do this tomorrow?”
I know you’re tired, and it’s selfish, but I don’t want to wait.
