Page 92 of Hard Limits

I checked my phone again, praying for a message from Meera, wishing I could call the whole search off, apologise profusely to these people who’d dropped everything to help me, and slink off home. Wherever home was.

“Are you ready?” Brax asked.

“No.”

While we’d been joining the mile-high club—Meera was going to choke when I told her about that—the others had been plotting. We’d spent the last hour of the flight together in the main cabin discussing their plan. They wanted me to make the initial approaches to Meera’s colleagues at Quinta do Lago, to Pedro’s brother, and to the owner of the hostel where she’d been staying. Those were all people who’d spent time with her recently, and hopefully, one of them would be able to provide further details of the French-slash-Belgian guy she’d been hanging out with.

The hope was that the witnesses might be more open with a female friend than with a cop or, say, Dawson or Priest. Brax and Ari would come with me for moral support, and Tulsa would translate when necessary.

Meanwhile, Jerry and Chase would visit the police to see what they had to say, while Dawson and Priest were heading to Lisbon to search for Alfie. Alexa had been sending through leads as she found them, and the team had a good idea where he was.

“Just ask the same questions you would have asked if you’d come alone, and let Ari chip in if necessary. It’ll be over before you know it.” Brax was driving, but he glanced across at me. “Alexa sent me your college transcript and a bunch of notes from your professors. There were several mentions of you staying calm under pressure.”

I didn’t even want to know how she’d gotten ahold of that information.

“But that was in a medical setting where I knew what I was doing.”

“You’re a very fast learner.” The satnav told us our destination was approaching. “Is that the place? Up there on the right?”

“I think so?”

Alexa had told Brax that we’d be staying in “some old farmhouse,” but this was gorgeous. Low white buildings with thick tiled roofs set around a stone courtyard, and plenty of neatly pruned trees for shade.

“There’s a pool around the back,” Chase said as he appeared from one of the doors. He and Ari had arrived before us, Jerry and Tulsa too. “And the property also comes with a haunted wine cellar and a roof terrace. At least I should go home with a tan.”

Haunted? “There’s a ghost?”

“I doubt it, but the locals seem to think so.”

“Who paid for this?” Brax asked. “I’ll need to reimburse them.”

“You paid for it. Alexa used your credit card.”

“How did she— Never mind. What about the plane?”

“Priest borrowed it from a friend. No payment required, but a donation to the Blackwood Foundation would be appreciated.”

“Consider it done.”

Chase checked his watch. “We should get started.”

Quinta do Lago was pretty in a rustic kind of way. A stark contrast to our rental house—rough and homey versus modern and minimalistic. Pedro was a friendly Portuguese guy in his mid-thirties, smiling and enthusiastic as he talked to a group about the ecological project he was heading. Hair hung down his back in locs, and his tan said he spent a lot of time outdoors. Best of all, he spoke good English.

“You’re here to look for Meera?” he asked once he’d finished with the group. “You’re Indi? She spoke of you often.”

“I’m worried about her. She hasn’t answered my calls for nearly two weeks.”

“And you came all the way from America?”

“Wouldn’t you get on a plane if your best friend was missing?”

He considered the question for a moment. “I would do that. And of course I’m worried about her too, but I’m not certain how much help I can be. She didn’t tell anyone here of her plans.”

“The police said she went to the beach for a week with a man, a blond man, possibly French or Belgian. Do you know who that might be?”

“No. No, I don’t, but I suppose it’s possible she went to the beach on impulse. Meera changed in the weeks before she left. Became, uh, how do you say this? Wild?”

“After Alfie met that other woman?”

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