Page 23 of Kept 3
I frowned when he asked this because I had no rational answer. I doubt he would accept that I liked watching the play of emotions across her face as she read: that I found her intriguing.
“It amused me to watch her read,” I confessed lightly, “and I thought, perhaps, there might be a link to the hunters. After all, she worked in an educational institution, and we know Ms Bernshire posted her package to one.”
“A long straw, even for you, Montague,” he snorted.
I knew he was angrier than he was letting on, to call me by my surname.
“Never mind, Gerald. I have security searching for the cook, she won’t be far. When I have dealt with her, I will mop up the hunters.”
“You had better ensure that is indeed what happens,” he muttered, and then did something very un-Gerald-like, and hung up on me.
I called my security immediately our conversation ended so abruptly.
It turns out I have not underestimated the cook’s intelligence. She has outsmarted my investigators, and they have admitted she has disappeared without trace.
Apparently, once she left Ereston, she became a ghost. She has not touched her bank accounts since fleeing Boston, limited as they are; she has not purchased a plane, train, ferry or bus ticket. Where can she have gone? My instincts tell me she has left England. She would want to get as far away from me as possible, but how, without transport?
I wonder if she hitchhiked to the continent. I will start my search in Rennes, her ancestral home. I don’t think she would have gone there; she is smart enough to know that I would have the resources to research her background. Still, it is a starting point. I will travel to France and dine at my favourite Parisian restaurant tomorrow night. From there, I will journey to Rennes.
New Entry
Gerald has shared some disturbing news about his Kept, which is causing me some consternation.
He is keeping Margarita, my little cook’s roommate. To say I am shocked by the revelation is an understatement.
“How the fuck did that happen?” I growled at him over the speakerphone as I dressed for dinner.
“A remarkable coincidence,” he laughed.
“Like hell, Gerald. Coincidences like this don’t just happen. How do you know she’s not a Hunter? How do you know she’s not the one who received the first journal in the mail?”
His silence was deafening.
“Because unlike some,” he snarled, “I am not an idiot.”
“Careful, Gerald.”
“Oh, very well.”
I heard the petulance in his tone and tightened my hold on my anger.
“Margarita is a little firecracker,” he said, “an amusing companion, but she is not well-read if you get my drift. I doubt very much that she has studied anything more than a fashion magazine her entire life; she certainly has no links to aristocracy, or indeed to anyone outside her family and a close circle of friends. My background checks were thorough.”
I remain silent, thinking through his explanation.
“I thought you might like to know that your prey is in Indonesia,” he added slyly.
“What?”
“The cook, Josephine, is hiding in Bali. Apparently, it was as far away as she could think to get, and as far as her limited resources would allow her to travel.”
“And you know this how?”
“Margarita spoke to her.”
“And you believe the cook would have told your Kept where she was hiding?”
“They trust each other completely,” Gerald drawled, “apparently they are best friends.”
