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She hands me a glass of rosé and plops back on the couch.
“Could we be any lazier?”
“I don’t know. I fetched some wine. We’re drinking it. That’s something.”
My phone buzzes, and I pick it up.
Rafael: Let’s plan the vacation tonight. I’m up for anything that includes you naked.
“Now that the traffickers are history,” I tell Valentina, “Rafael wants us to take a vacation.”
“Where are you thinking?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere warm where there’s a beach and places to explore.”
“What about Rhone? Marco and I only spent a night there, but it was gorgeous. I’d go back in a heartbeat.”
The ocean is soothing for Rafael. I want to go somewhere where we’re surrounded by waves. “What’s the beach like?”
“I have pictures.” She pulls up the photos and hands her phone to me.
“The beach is gorgeous.”
“Pristine.”
I scroll through the photos and stop at one with Marco and a man who looks vaguely familiar. I sit up and hold the screen so she can see. “Who’s that with Marco?”
“A client he met with while we were there. You know Marco. He’s always working. He can turn even a night away to apologize into a work thing.” She shrugs. “It’s hard on him that my family has more money than his. He feels like he has to play catch-up.”
Most of what she said went right over my head. The longer I stare at the image, the more my gut churns. “What’s the client’s name?” I ask, trying not to give anything away with my tone.
“I don’t know. Marco never said. I can ask him.”
Every cell in my body shrieks, No! Where did that come from? “Don’t bother. I’m sure I’m mistaken.”
But I’m not sure. He resembles the photo I saw of Paolo—Francesca Russo’s boyfriend. But I saw it for only a brief second—and I was too preoccupied with keeping Francesca safe to absorb the details. I didn’t care about her boyfriend at the time. I shouldn’t care about him now either. Paolo’s dead.
52
LEXIE
I close the file and sit back, dozens and dozens of images passing before my eyes like old movie frames. The research on the trafficking victims is finished—at least my part. Tamar is going to take another look at the file, and then she’ll send it to Rafael, who’ll turn it over to the proper authorities.
In some ways, it’s strange to be done with the awful business, but I’m thrilled to put it behind me and start something new, preferably something less dark and soul-sucking. Although Tamar agreed to let me get up to speed on Vera Huntsman’s disappearance, and there’s only darkness there. I suppose it’s the nature of the work. No unicorns or sparkly glitter anywhere.
Before I meet with Tamar, I make a double espresso. I need a big hit of caffeine. I had a nightmare last night and couldn’t fall back asleep for hours, not even wrapped in Rafael’s strong arms.
Valentina and I were running on the beach, and two men were chasing us. They were wearing masks that made them look like monsters. One of the men cornered me. I fought back and managed to pull off his mask. It was the client Marco had been talking to in Rhone. I don’t need Freud to analyze that dream.
I haven’t been able to shake the man’s face since I saw it on Valentina’s phone. It’s been bugging me. I’m sure I know him from somewhere—he can’t be Paolo. Maybe I know him from London. Eventually I’ll figure it out. But for now, I have a meeting with my boss.
* * *
“Send me the file on the traffickers,” Tamar says as we’re wrapping up. “I have time this afternoon to take a look at it.”
“I’ll send it as soon as I get to my computer,” I reply, preparing to leave. But a nagging feeling stops me from going anywhere. “Did you ever have a déjà vu experience?”
She looks at me curiously. “Yes. Why do you ask?”
