Thirty-Three

“Try to remember it,” Finn said over breakfast. The hotel offered a buffet of American and European favorites in the restaurant, but also the same ham and cheese sandwiches that they’d gotten at the coffee shop. Hollis thought it was an odd breakfast choice, but Finn pointed out that it was pretty similar to the breakfast sandwiches they bought at home, minus the egg.

“You don’t think the egg is essential?”

“Clearly it’s not.” He took two. “You experience the culture through the food.”

“When did you turn into Anthony Bourdain?” She settled on black coffee and a croissant and focused on the moments before she drifted off to sleep. “It was right there. I knew it.” She struggled to remember the thing that had seemed so obvious the night before. “It was brilliant too. Whatever it was.”

“Maybe you’re trying too hard. It’ll come back to you.”

She hoped that was true. “We’re supposed to go to La Boca today,” she said. “Teresa was pretty insistent. And that bookstore.”

“Bookstore first. I get the feeling we’ll be followed, so we’ll need to lose them before we go to La Boca. Whatever she wants us to do, we should probably not bring Bryan and Eduardo.”

“What does she want us to do? Did Teresa give any hint last night while she was feeling you up on the dance floor?”

“She was sweet. I assumed she was a gold digger, and I guess she is, but there’s something kind of innocent about her.”

“Then she married the wrong man,” Hollis said. She had a certain sympathy for anyone married to a killer, but they couldn’t help everyone. “Did she say anything?”

“Mostly she talked about Declan. Or asked about him, really. She must think we’re better acquainted than we are because she assumed I knew how devastated he was by the deaths of some close family in Ireland. She said it made him turn away from God, which she thought was the worst thing that could happen. He did lose his uncle, but it’s hard to image Declan being devastated about anything. As far as I can tell, he’s got the emotional depth of a 1960s romantic comedy.”

“Maybe that’s just for show.”

“Maybe. Teresa did say something about how Declan had women everywhere. When she saw us at the museum, she thought maybe you and he were involved on the side, but she realized that couldn’t be true once she started dancing with me.” He smiled widely. “Because, obviously …”

Hollis took his hand. “Obviously.”

“And Carlos? Did he say anything while he had you in his death grip? Anything except for the tango metaphor?”

She shook her head. “Not really. Silva said something weird, though. Something about how a sacrifice stays hidden only so long but once it’s on display, the world can judge its worth.”

“What does that mean?”

“Maybe he was the sacrifice, and he knew that Carlos had figured it out, so now we can decide if what he did was worth it,” she guessed.

“It wasn’t.”

Finn got up from the table and went for another sandwich and some fruit. He glanced back at Hollis. She pointed to her cup.

She had a momentary rush of the panic that comes from having no idea what you’re doing. She should have been used to it. Every day since the first time she agreed to help Interpol she’d had at least a few minutes of feeling in over her head. At least she felt rested, was halfway to being fully caffeinated, and had eaten some “calories don’t count because I’m not home” baked goods. Self-care for spies.

“Good morning!” A blond woman in her twenties stopped at the table. Behind her was a man about the same age, his arm around her. “You are the McCabes?”

Hollis tensed, but relaxed just as quickly. The arm around the woman, her hand on his, the giggling, over-the-top happiness of the pair practically announced who they were—honeymooners.

“Yes. You’re the people we gave our room to.”

“It’s the most …” She looked at her husband. “We’ve never had so much luxury before. We are so happy.”

“Hopefully the start of a lifetime of happiness.” She wondered how they’d feel if she knew a killer had bugged the room.

“Thank you for your kindness,” she said. “What a lovely gift.” The couple left the restaurant, still wrapped in each other’s arms.

A gift. Hollis remembered what she’d figured out the night before.

Finn put a fresh cup of coffee in front of her and dug in to his sandwich.

“Last night, I was thinking about how Declan lost all the money he got just a few months ago,” she whispered. “And a few months ago, the university got a huge anonymous donation to the Art Department, the English Department, and the International Studies Department. All the things we care about.”

Finn dropped his food. “Crap. You’re saying he donated all of his stolen art money to our school, to our departments.”

“I think so.”

“Just when you want to hate the guy …”

“He felt guilty because people died getting that money. People he cared about.”

“But why us? Aren’t there orphans somewhere he can help?”

“He likes us.”

Finn laughed. “Yes, so much that he is using us to get the address book back from Blue. Peter’s never going to go for that. If he really liked us, he wouldn’t have put us in the middle of it.”

“He got rid of the real Tim and Janet. And they were going to kill us.”

“Until Declan killed them.”

“Or, like he said, they’re just out of the way. Whatever that means,” Hollis said. “Though Declan did send someone to break into our house and search for the address book.”

“Thank you,” Finn said a little too loudly. The other diners looked their way, so Finn leaned closer to Hollis. “I told you the house was broken into. You know how particular I am about the recycling. I wouldn’t have had the papers out of order.”

“It’s one of your sexiest qualities.”

“I’m just pointing out I was right.”

“And I’m pointing out that I think he’s trying to protect us, in his own peculiar way.”

“So the guy Declan sent to break into the house somehow ended up dead because Carlos killed him?”

Probably. Though it didn’t explain why Carlos had killed the man or placed him in their house. “Now all we have to do is find a way to keep Carlos from killing us once he realizes we don’t have the book, didn’t kill Declan, and have no idea what the third job is.”

“How?”

It was a good question. “Carlos said it. We stay loyal to each other as long as we’re dancing, so I guess we have to find a way to keep the music playing.”