Page 11 of The Scribe (Irin Chronicles 1)

“Hello?” Lena Matheson answered in a groggy voice. “Ava, what’s wrong?”

It was just past midnight in L.A.

“Did you and Carl hire someone local?”

“What?” She heard Carl’s voice in the background, a quiet growl that her mother shushed. “What are you talking about?”

“Did you hire someone, Mother?”

There was a quiet huff. “Well, really, Ava, what did you expect? You asked Carl to have pepper spray delivered to your hotel. He—”

“That’s precautionary, Mom! I do that anywhere I’ve never been before when I’m traveling alone.” A tight, nervous part of her stomach relaxed. It wasn’t a stranger after all. Despite the unusual voice, the man following her was just another guard hired by her overprotective mother and stepfather. Nothing she couldn’t handle.

“Just go about your business and ignore him. He has a job to do, and you know Carl won’t fire him.”

No, but he might hire more if he got wind of the incident in the alley today. “This is Istanbul. It’s very safe as long as you’re smart. I’d probably be in more danger traveling in New Jersey. You really don’t need to—”

“Have you forgotten Cassie Traver? She was in Paris and she was kidnapped. Let’s not take any chances, Ava. You know how he worries.”

You mean how his accountant worries.The only reason her stepfather had started up with the guards again was because of the enormous amount of money the Travers had been forced to pay to Cassie’s kidnappers. Ava had no illusions of paternal concern.

“Just tell him to keep his distance. I know you won’t fire him, but I don’t want to see him anywhere near me.”

“Do you want to talk to Carl?”

“What do you think?”

There was a heavy pause on the line. “Okay. Are you… having fun?”

She heard Carl growl again. Her mother covered the phone with her hand.

“It’s late, Mom.” Ava swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’ll call you back another time.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just—”

“I gotta go. There’s someone I need to meet with. For work.”

“Call me back tomorrow?”

“I don’t know—”

“Later, then. Just call me later.”

“Sure.” Ava collapsed in one of the luxurious chairs under the shade and ran her fingers along the frond of a potted palm. “I’ll call you later.”

“I love you.”

“Love you, too. Bye.” Ava hung up before Lena could say anything more, then stared over the rooftops of Istanbul, far above the crowds.

Silence. At last, silence.

Ava started earlythe next day. She’d been to Topkapi Palace before but had woken when the first prayer calls floated over the city and couldn’t get back to sleep. She lay in bed for a few hours, loading and editing work on her laptop, then decided to beat the crowds and some of the heat. She headed toward the opulent palace in the center of the old city, walked past the first gate, and started working.

Photography had been her escape for years. There was something about the intense visual focus that helped Ava block out the voices around her. She could get lost behind the lens. An observer instead of an outsider. She snapped pictures of the stunning architecture, trying to capture it from unique angles in the morning light. But more and more, she found herself drawn to the people who began crowding the various courtyards.

Whispers of excitement.

Routine hums.

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