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“The cover on the platform is replaced,” she continues, “leaving an inch or two open at the top of the bed for ventilation. Then the bed is made up from the outside, and the pillows positioned carefully so as not to cut off the air supply. When it’s time to move, you slip your hands through and push the cover down. You can flip it if necessary, but it will be quieter if you just make an opening large enough to squeeze through.”
It’s a clever ruse. No question. But in practice, nothing is ever as easy as it sounds.
“I’m plenty strong enough, even with little leverage to get out,” Tamar adds.
I shake my head. “I’m going in. I need you to make the bed after me.” She doesn’t reply, and even I realize that I sound like a misogynist. “Good thinking, Tamar. It’s an impressive tactic.”
She shrugs. “I didn’t come up with it. I was trained by an elite agency.”
That’s for sure. No one would know better than Mossad how to successfully infiltrate a heavily guarded hotel room.
5
LEXIE
When I wake up, I gaze out the plane window, my mind wandering to Rafael even before I get my bearings. You’re going to have to do better if you expect to get over him.
Forgetting him is going to take a concerted effort and time. A lot of time. Some small part of me knows I’ll never be able to forget him.
For years, I’ve built him up to be some kind of Prince Charming. If Prince Charming is a hot, dirty-talking criminal type who oozes sin, that is.
That night in the vineyard solidified everything I’d ever dreamed about him—and more. Then those long, white-hot hours, in his apartment, that turned into blissful nights with his body tucked around mine. My traitorous pussy and my heart flutter in tandem as I remember—it’s infuriating.
Sex can’t carry a relationship forever, not even amazing sex, but it was our way of communicating all the things that were too hard for people like us to say. Although it turns out we were speaking different languages, and I didn’t realize it until it was too late. That’s the lie I’ve been repeating inside my head so that I stop beating myself up for being weak and pathetic. So pathetic.
I knew it was just sex for Rafael—maybe a little more than that, but nothing compared to how I felt about him. Not even close. Even knowing this, I interpreted every ragged breath, every groan and shudder, every trembling orgasm as something it wasn’t. I put stock and importance in all of it, especially in the gentle caresses and whispered sweet nothings that came after—stock and importance they didn’t deserve.
It’s not that I should have known better—I did know better. It’s like I believed that my pussy held some voodoo magic that would cause him to fall in love with me. It’s embarrassing to admit, even to myself.
Rafael didn’t lie or even mislead me. He told me exactly who he is, and then he showed me—not once, but twice. But I’m stubborn and I refused to accept any of it, until I didn’t have a choice.
I glance out the window as though there’s a balm somewhere in the heavens that will soothe my aching heart. If it’s there, I can’t find it.
We seem to be flying low, as though we’re about to land—although I don’t remember the landing gear being lowered, and the flight attendant isn’t seated. I haven’t been paying close attention for long, but it’s almost as though we’re circling the city. Why?
Maybe I missed something while I dozed. “Is there a problem?” I ask Anya when she brings me water.
“I’m not at liberty to discuss it, but”—she leans over until her mouth is just inches from my ear—“it’s for your safety.”
For my safety?
She captures my gaze with a quick nod as she straightens.
“Is there a threat?”
She lifts a shoulder like she doesn’t know, but it’s not terribly convincing. “May I get you a snack?” she asks with a practiced smile.
A snack? She’s told me everything she plans on telling—at least for now. But offering a snack means Anya suspects it’s going to be awhile before we land. “No, thank you.”
After she disappears, I scan the cabin for the guards. Ivy is at the front of the plane, and Callum is seated in the rear. Both appear to be on alert. Is it possible the traffickers veered from the pattern, like they did with the timing in Oslo? Am I too late, again? Please, God, no.
I swallow the grapefruit-size lump in my throat and peel the blanket from my legs, setting it on the armrest before going to the front of the plane.
“We’re circling the city. What’s going on?” I ask Ivy, taking the seat across from her.
“It’s a safety precaution,” she replies, her tone even and matter-of-fact.
“Why the precaution?”
