Page 31 of Stay Close
Lucas tears the vest off and pulls from the curb while I tuck in my shirt.
I toss the vest into the back seat of the car and blow my hair out of my face. “Are you sure I have to wear it?”
I hear yes in so many ways that my head spins.
It’s too early for the dinner rush, so he takes me to the employee cafeteria to continue arguing me into submission. He grabs a table and runs off, returning with a bowl of soup and a crusty dinner roll.
“I miss chips and salsa,” I say, picking at the roll. “I miss fatty hamburgers and hydrogenated oils.”
He grins and opens the laptop. “You’ll be home in no time. Here,” he says. “You’ve been busy with your own work, and I didn’t want to distract you with too much information, but your security rating has changed, and we need to be on the same team about that.”
“Team Staying Alive or Team Not Causing an International Incident?”
“Definitely the first one. I can’t get too worked up about the second because your safety comes before anything else.” Where is the man who kissed me until my bones turned to Jell-o? He’s fetching a series of informational slides. “Scotty ran the data and produced a single electronic footprint. Of the nearly 150 threats to your life and safety on these specific message boards, seventeen are credible. Of those seventeen, sixteen likely came from one person using different VPNs.”
“An encrypted network?” I ask, needing proof. “Lots of people want to hide their identity. They could be separate individuals.”
“These posts come at the same time every day, possibly during scheduled breaks at work.”
I approach this information the same way I approach witness statements—by looking for holes, incongruities, and coincidences. “Doesn’t everyone have a lunch hour?”
“This one is earlier in the day. We believe the most threatening posts are from the same user.” He taps a button. “Meet Cor van Pelt.”
The photo he gives me is blurry. CCTV cameras at the marina caught him three times, walking into and out of frames. I play each of these on a loop, pleased that one of them caught his car and license plate. The frustrating thing is that this could be anyone. Not for the first time, I wish villainy showed on a person’s face. An eye patch or conspicuous limp would help narrow this nondescript image down.
“There aren’t better pictures?”
“There are a few old ones. School photos.” He brings them up, but the boy in them stares through a dark, stringy fringe of hair, his cheeks plump and childlike.
I try to match the face with the man who threw himself at me but find that the pictures don’t bridge the gap.
“I’ve furnished this information to local law enforcement agencies and briefed the palace security apparatus.”
“If we know his name, can’t we raid his house or catch him at work?” I ask.
“The news reports from the marina spooked him. He’s in hiding, likely blaming you.”
I chafe my arms, suddenly cold, and Lucas pushes a mug of coffee closer. I grip it, warmth spreading through my fingertips.
“Can’t we simply be more unpredictable? Perhaps we could travel to and from the negotiations with the prime minister.”
“We’ll be less predictable, but the prime minister’s office requested that we stay clear of them so we can avoid making everyone a target.”
I snort and his eyes dance.
“Creerse la última Coca-Cola del desierto.”
I squint, struggling to make sense of the translation. “He thinks of himself as the last Coke in the desert?”
Lucas looks away, grinning. He loves it when I understand Spanish. It’s not the same as having his declarations of affection down in triplicate, witnessed by a notary public, but I take it as gospel anyway.
He likes me.
CHAPTER 12
Lucas
I say nothing ofthe heat I poured through the phone to some hapless parliamentary flunkey, breathing down diplomatic threats Edie would not approve of. I might have said he could kiss Sove goodbye if anything happened to her on the grounds of the Grousehof.
