“Any idea how much longer we have to keep her here? We shouldn’t stay much longer. The family could be back any day.”
Kingsley started to raise his gun.
“One more day, then we’re gone.”
“What are we waiting on?”
“Him.”
“Your brother?”
Kingsley froze.
“Of course not. My brother doesn’t care if I live or die. He didn’t then. He doesn’t now.”
“You sure he even knows we’re here?”
“He knows.”
“You want to kill her now? We’ll get it over with and leave the body on his doorstep.”
Kingsley held the gun steady. The men first, then Marie-Laure. He could do this, had done this a thousand times. Strangers, though, all of them. Enemies of the state. Monsters who made Søren’s own father look like a candidate for sainthood. The mercenaries, he could kill them easily. But Marie-Laure...she was his sister, no matter what had happened. They were blood. He’d spent thirty years drowning in guilt because he thought he’d killed her the first time. He wouldn’t survive killing her again, not in cold blood with her back to him. But he had to, he had to for Søren. He could do this. Three shots. That’s all it would take. Nothing to it...only three bullets.
He stared down the gun and saw the end of the barrel shiver.
“Non. I don’t want to kill her. I have a better idea. We wait.”
The man on the floor by Nora’s head started to rise up. The second he stepped from the room, they would find Kingsley outside the door hiding in the shadows. He had only a split second to decide. He could make a noise, cause them to turn around and see him. They’d fire at him first, then he could fire back without remorse.
How strange...for the first time he realized Marie-Laure had grown up to look so much like their mother.
He lowered the gun and disappeared into the room across the hall. Could he go back out, try again? But it was too late. He’d lost his chance, lost his nerve. Kingsley stayed crouched in the room, in the dark. When the silence settled on the house again, he opened a window and dropped to the ground. He ran through the woods and to the car. Once inside he picked up his phone and dialed.
“Kingsley.” Søren’s voice sounded so relieved Kingsley had to blink back tears.
“I don’t have her,” Kingsley confessed.
“She’s alive?”
“Oui. She’s alive. But...I couldn’t take the shot. I couldn’t kill my sister. She had her back to me. I would have had to shoot her in the back. And she said she doesn’t want Nora dead. So I couldn’t... I killed her before. I couldn’t do it again.” He leaned his head against the steering wheel. “Forgive me.”
He heard silence on the other end of the line. He died in that silence, died a thousand deaths.
“Come back. It’s late. She’s alive. There’s nothing to forgive.”
“I’ll get her back. I’ll find a way. There’s two of them at least but there might be more. I can wait it out and—”
“Kingsley...listen to me. Come back. Do as I say.”
Kingsley could only nod first before he could speak.
“Yes, sir.”
Part Four
CASTLING
27
THE PAWN
Laila felt the bed shift. Her eyes flew open and she rolled up immediately. Wes sat at the end of the bed, his back to the bedpost, watching her.
“Hello?” Wes said, laughing at her sudden alertness. “You get lost?”
“Oh, no, I’m sorry.” She grabbed a pillow and pulled it to her chest. “Grace and I are sharing a room. She was crying. I wanted to give her some privacy. I only meant to hide in here a few minutes.”
“You fell asleep. It’s okay. You can stay. I’ll sleep somewhere else.”
She started to stand up, but Wes waved his hand at her.
“Stay. Seriously,” Wes said. “There’s a bunch of bedrooms in this house. I’ll grab my stuff.”
“No, I’ll stay with Grace. I doubt she wants to sleep alone tonight, either. It must be hard for her, being apart from her husband.”
Wes kicked his shoes off and sat back down on the bed cross-legged.
“Yeah, I’m sure it is. They’ve been married like twelve years.”
“But she’s so young.” Laila thought Grace looked no more than thirty.
“She got married at your age. Seemed to work out. They’re still together.”
“You have a girlfriend?” Laila asked. She wished she had more clothes on than the white T-shirt and boxer shorts she’d put on to sleep in. The last thing she’d planned on was falling asleep on Wes’s bed.
Wes came up on his hands and knees and reached across her to switch on the bedside lamp. For a second he was so close to her she could have kissed his arm. She gave herself two seconds to imagine kissing his arm, the ridges of muscle leading from his elbow up to his shoulder.
“Not exactly,” he said, sitting back on the bed. He couldn’t seem to meet her eyes. “Or boyfriend. I feel I need to clarify that.”
“Why?”
“I got a few jokes in school. Side effect of not having a girlfriend and not sleeping around.”
“I get some jokes, too.”
Wes reached into the bedside table and pulled out a small leather case.
“No boyfriend?”
“Never.”