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“Anya—the woman being impersonated. You don’t know her.”
I don’t, but still, I feel terrible. Although not as crushed as I would be if it were Cristina who had been murdered.
“The woman on the flight—what’s her name?”
“Astrid.”
“Astrid. She’s a bad actor?”
Rafael nods and my father grunts.
“Something about her made me uncomfortable, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. What about the pilot?”
“He’s loyal.”
“Dad, was she going to sabotage the plane?” My father’s plane has been targeted before, and I lost my grandparents and others I’d known my whole life. It was gruesome. My mother held up through the search and recovery—and the funerals—but it stole some of her fire.
“Your flight wasn’t targeted. She was learning the ropes and sending information so that a future flight could be compromised. Worthington had always planned on subbing her when the new flight crew came on board next month. But when we changed the timing, he had to move quickly, because once Roman, the pilot, worked with Anya—the real Anya—a seamless switch would have been impossible. They look very similar, but not identical.”
Eerily similar, now that I look back on it.
“Why did Worthington turn?” I can’t understand why someone who was heir apparent to a lucrative enterprise, and all the power anyone could ever want, would turn and risk losing everything—including his life. Because he will die and it will be a very public, very ugly end.
“It’s rarely just one thing that turns a man. But you’re getting older, and apparently he was concerned that you might marry before his ticket got punched.”
I side-eye Rafael, who’s doodling on a notepad, like he does sometimes. Even when it seems like he’s not paying attention, he is.
“This has been in the works for a while. It has nothing to do with your friendship with Rafa,” my father adds, in embarrassing detail.
I feel my cheeks warm, but Rafael seems to take it in stride, as though it’s just another piece to a damning puzzle.
“Is there any connection to the bastard in my cargo hold?” Rafael asks, glancing up.
Someone’s in the cargo hold? It’ll have to wait until later.
“Doesn’t appear to be. But we’ve just gotten started with the interrogation. We’ll explore that avenue. Trust me. I’ll let you know what we find.”
We’ve just gotten started with the interrogation. Worthington deserves what he gets, but still, I shudder at the prospect.
“I’m coming back to London to be with Mum,” I say quietly, but firmly, my tone unwavering. I’m not asking permission from either of them. “I’m sure she’s lonely and worried about you out and about.” It’s isolating being in lockdown. She shouldn’t have to be alone.
“I’d like you back in London, and so would your mother. But give me a few days until we have a better sense of how we’ve been compromised.”
A few more days to torture people until they give up the goods.
“For now, stay in Porto—either at Valentina’s place at Huntsman Lodge or at Antonio and Daniela’s house. I spoke with Antonio. They would love to have you, and you’d be safe there.”
Rafael sits back with a sour expression. My father’s suggestions didn’t include him. Although it wouldn’t have made the slightest difference. My heart hasn’t given up on him completely, although it’s beginning to understand the term no future. My brain and my sanity, however, want no part of him.
“Anything else, sweetheart?” Dad asks.
“Yes. Make sure you call off that shoot order on Rafael. And don’t put out any more orders like that on him. Ever.”
Rafael’s eyes light up, and he winks at me.
Just because I don’t want him in my bed doesn’t mean I want him dead—unless he comes around with another woman on his arm. Then all bets are off.
“Rafa?” my father asks.
