80

SHE SAT AT MY BOOTH. And for one second I thought she would kill me where I sat.

“You are a bad father,” Lucy said. “I told you if you want the baby, back off.”

“Irony is wasted on you,” I said.

“You’re going to make things difficult for me, aren’t you, Sam?”

“You don’t know difficult.”

“Don’t open fire here, Sam. So many innocent people. Not to mention expensive, easily broken champagne bottles.”

“Edward thinks I’m dead.”

“Not anymore. He’s seen you. You will let this exchange happen, or I will never tell you where Daniel is.”

“Daniel.” The name cut like a knife.

“Our son. I named him for your brother, like I said we should.”

I felt my heart shift in my chest.

“Don’t interfere,” she said.

“What is Zaid giving you for his daughter?” Now, thirty feet away, Edward and Yasmin approached Zaid. They stood by the booth, facing him.

“He’s giving us,” Lucy said, “everything he’s worked for in his life. You could learn a lesson here, Sam. He’s doing whatever it takes to protect his child. Back off and Daniel will be yours.”

Yasmin blinked, heavily. The scarf hid the rest of her face.

Zaid handed Edward the case. Edward spoke softly and Yasmin sat beside her father, sagging into the booth. Edward remained standing.

“Stay in your seat, Sam, and I’ll tell you where Daniel is. Don’t interfere,” Lucy said.

Edward turned and hurried away, carrying the case. Zaid embraced his daughter. She seemed very small in his arms. She did not hug him back.

“Reunions are lovely,” Lucy said, and I wanted to tell her to shut the hell up. “You and your son can have a reunion, too. Just stay seated.” She leaned forward, plucked the tiny earpiece from my ear, and crushed it under her boot. “Who are you working with?”

“A crazy woman. I only say that because now she can’t hear us.”

“Sam, come with me. Daniel is very close. I can give him to you now. And then we’re done.”

She’d protected me twice before. I so wanted to believe she’d just give me my son. That, I know, is the definition of both optimism and insanity.

I glanced back. Zaid still held Yasmin, heaving in the massive relief that his child was safe.

Yasmin kept her scarf over the bottom of her face. They sat, perhaps waiting for Edward to clear the area. I remembered that no one knew Yasmin was missing. She nodded once in answer to words her father spoke. Tears ran down Zaid’s face.

“I can get you immunity,” I said. “You could negotiate a deal. You don’t have to keep running. Is that going to be your life now? Dodging and hiding?”

“Immunity? That’s a laugh. I made my choices, Sam. I know that.” I heard a catch in her voice, for the first time, a prick of regret.

Zaid held his daughter’s hand. He picked up the champagne glass and drank it dry, a nervous gesture. Yasmin stayed still as stone. I couldn’t imagine the levels of therapy she’d need to get her life back.

“Lucy. Why would you turn your back on your whole world?”

Then, on her wrist, I saw the little sunburst inside the nine. Same as the thugs in Holland, same as my would-be murderer in Brooklyn. “Lucy, my God.” I jabbed at her tattoo.

“Get up,” she said. “We’re walking out now.”

I saw Edward hurrying past a statue of a man in a windblown coat, looking up at the glass ceiling as though expecting a storm. Then he had vanished in the mass of people heading downstairs. I hoped Mila was tracking him; I wanted her to forget about me. Yasmin was safe.

We were up and walking. I risked a glance back at Zaid just after we passed and saw him jerk slightly as he set down his champagne glass. Cough. He coughed again. Then Yasmin eased out from the booth and hurried toward the entrance.

I stopped. Yasmin Zaid didn’t. In her eyes was cool resolution. She was hurrying past us, not giving me or Lucy a glance. Or glancing back at her father. She went down the stairs, the same way Edward had gone.

I took a step forward and felt the gun rub up against my spine. “This way, Sam. You want to see your son? This way.”

Zaid still sat but his head had sagged forward. No one around him, intent on their bubbly, on their laughter, on checking their phones, noticed. I couldn’t see if he was breathing or not. Poison, I thought.

“He’s dead,” I said. “She killed him.”

“Yes,” she said.

His own daughter.

“What the hell has Edward done to her?” This world, where wives betrayed husbands, where children poisoned parents. I felt my chest go hollow.

“Edward’s made her into his own. You honestly don’t want to know. We’re walking, Sam.”

A server stopped by Zaid, noticing his state, knelt close to him and screamed.

“Your son,” Lucy said. “Your son.” Like it was a prod to keep me going. I walked.

Farther down the concourse, Edward waited for Yasmin. She closed the distance between, and his right hand closed around her wrist. His other hand held the briefcase.

“Just stick to me,” Lucy said, as we went down the stairs, “and you’ll get your kid back.”

“No, I won’t,” I said and I turned and grabbed the gun she had set in my side, under my jacket. Transport police swarmed past us, hurrying to the champagne bar. “You shoot me now, you won’t have time to get away.” Our lips were an inch apart, like lovers saying good-bye at the train station in an old black-and-white movie.

“Sam, don’t. Why can’t you just walk away from them? For your son’s sake?” Her voice begged.

I glanced down the stairs. I could see Edward and Yasmin looking back at us, at Lucy and me locked together. I took the risk. I pivoted and grabbed Lucy’s gun, twisting fingers around the barrel, forcing its aim toward the floor.