Chapter twenty-five

Los Angeles

"I dropped her off and she ran inside," Jack told the detective again. "She waved at me and I drove away."

"You're sure you saw her enter?"

Jack nodded and glanced across the room at Anna Taylor, who was talking to another detective. She was pale and looked shaken, but Jack couldn't bring himself to feel anything except worry for Sydney. All she had was her ballet leotard and sweatpants; he was holding her sweatshirt in his hands. She'd be cold, he thought, wherever she was.

She'd be scared, too.

He thought of Irina suddenly, and felt new horror pierce him. He'd promised he'd protect Sydney, and now she was gone.

"Jack!"

He looked numbly at Arvin, and wondered how he'd found out. It didn't matter; nothing mattered except Sydney's safety. "Sydney's gone," he said.

Arvin put his hand on Jack's shoulder. "We'll find her."

Jack clutched the sweatshirt to his chest and remembered a similar moment; hearing his wife's car had gone into the river, praying that somehow she'd made it out alive, Arvin telling him they'd find her.

"Mr. Bristow," the detective said, "Can you think of anywhere Sydney might have gone instead? A friend's house, maybe?"

He shook his head. "She wouldn't have. We had a pizza date tonight. It's her favourite part of the week."

A uniformed officer entered the room and approached the three men. "Excuse me, Detective?"

Though they moved off to one side, Jack could still hear the conversation.

"We've checked with all the girls in the ballet class. Two of them remember seeing the girl go into the bathroom. None of the girls remember anything out of the ordinary," the officer said.

The detective made a note on his writing pad. "It was between two classes; there were a lot of people in and out of here today."

Jack looked up as the detective returned to his side. "Mr. Bristow, I'll have an officer escort you home. It might be better to have you there in case there's a ransom demand."

"That's not necessary," Arvin said, "I'll drive him home."

Jack rose unsteadily and headed for the door. He felt a hand on his arm and looked down to see Anna. "I'm so sorry," she said.

He couldn't speak. With a brief nod, he pulled free and went out into the cool night.

Where are you, Sydney? he thought.

He sat on a couch in the living room, a glass of brandy in his hand as he stared at the phone. Arvin was at the bookshelf – still full of Irina's books – blocking Sydney's post box from view. He turned to face Jack, holding a framed photograph. Angling it to show Jack, his tone was pitying, "Jack, you don't need to torture yourself like this."

Jack studied Irina's smiling face, drawing strength from it. "She's her mother."

"You don't need to have her picture out for you to look at all the time."

Jack closed his eyes. "Not now, Arvin. Please."

Arvin crossed the room and sat next to Jack. "I know you loved her, Jack, but she wasn't who you thought she was. She's dead now, and you need to move on." He laid the photograph face down on the coffee table. "Emily and I are worried about you."

Jack reached for the photo and turned it over. He looked at it for a moment, then focused on Arvin. "What if the KGB took Sydney?"

"Jack—"

"No, listen. The Director mentioned Irina Derevko may have already started Project Christmas on Sydney. What if the Russians want to finish the job?"

Arvin thought for a moment then nodded. "It's one possibility. But it's also entirely possible Sydney wandered out on her own and got lost. Or – and this makes me sick to think of it – she's been taken by someone else, someone who saw her and liked her—"

Jack stood. "No. It's too clean. It happened too quickly. This was planned and executed perfectly."

"Jack—"

"I need to contact someone who'll be able to tell me—"

The phone rang, silencing both men. Jack picked up the receiver. "Bristow."

"Hi," a cheerful voice replied, "I'm calling on behalf of Hoover Deluxe. Would you be interested in a demonstration of our newest model--?"

"No." Jack slammed the phone down. He looked at Arvin and shook his head. "If this was about money, someone would have called already."

"Okay," Arvin said, "let's say for second that you're right and the KGB is behind this. What do you propose to do?"

"Get in touch with my contact first. If they can confirm it, then – then I'll do whatever it takes to get my daughter back."

Arvin nodded slowly. "And if it's not the KGB?"

Jack sank back onto the couch, suddenly drained of strength. "I don't know. But I can't just sit around and do nothing."

Arvin held out his car keys for Jack. "Go find your contact. I'll stay here in case someone calls."

Cape Town

"Rishka, are you on some kind of health kick?"

Irina looked up from the chopping board and smiled at Andrei. She popped a slice of mango into her mouth before replying. "We don't eat enough fruit in this house."

"Maybe not, but that's no reason to go overboard." He gestured to the assortment of fruit spread out on the kitchen counter. "Is there any kind of fruit you don't have here?"

Irina ate another piece of mango and shook her head.

"Did you leave anything for other people to buy?"

"I'm making fruit salad, Andryusha." She addressed him as if he was a small child. "I'll need more than one kind of fruit."

"Does Prudence know you've taken over the kitchen?"

She nodded, and reached for a piece of papaya.

"You know, if you eat it all now, what are you going to put in the salad?"

Smiling, she tossed the top of a pineapple at Andrei, catching him square in the forehead.

"Ouch!"

"Don't be such a baby. I didn't throw it that hard."

He picked it up from the floor and looked at Irina incredulously. "It's a pineapple! You don't have to throw it hard for it to hurt."

"Well, at least it wasn't the whole pineapple."

Andrei studied the object in his hand, then looked at Irina. She held up the chopping knife.

"Don't throw things at women with knives."

Shaking his head, Andrei tossed the pineapple onto the counter and left the room. Irina watched him go, then resumed slicing the mango.

By the time she'd finished the salad, her hands were sticky with fruit juice and as she held them beneath the faucet, she remembered making fruit salad with Jack. They'd got distracted, and the salad was never finished. That was the week before they got distracted making toast and almost burned the house down.

Irina felt a momentary twinge of sadness for what had been lost. She thought of the letter she'd written Jack and knew she'd been wrong. But what was done was done, and all Irina could do know was hope that Jack and Sydney were safe and happy.