Harry had spent the whole flight to Paris reviewing the files that Malcolm had sent to his phone. He'd been able to trace Ruth's movements in Budapest. She'd been there for a while, apparently. Using a different name. Renata Eder worked in a bank as a teller. She had been seen with a man named Alexandru Nistor, who was well known to police. The man had a criminal record a mile long, in and out of prison for a variety of mob-related crimes. Harry had to wonder what Ruth—even Ruth as Renata—was doing with a man like that.
But Malcolm had also sent pictures of Renata. Harry gazed at each and every one far longer that was really necessary. But he could not help it. He had only seen Ruth's face in the recesses of his memory for two long years. And now he had pictures. Pictures of her smiling in the bank. Pictures of her looking small and afraid on Nistor's arm. Pictures of her trying to hide her face behind her hair so the bruises did not attract attention. And at that point, Harry had to put the phone down. He could not see her like that. It just hurt too much.
His plane landed and Harry raced through Charles de Gaulle, checking the screens for arrivals. He had Ruth's flight memorized. It was arriving right now at Gate 27. He jogged through the airport, trying to avoid crowds as best he could, but it was slow going. He needed to see her, he needed to get to her. That was all that mattered was finding Ruth.
And then she was there. A throng of people parted just enough that he could see her look up from rummaging through her carryall. Their eyes met, and Harry felt his heart practically burst in his chest. Everything in him was screaming to run to her, to take her in his arms, to kiss her with everything he had. But for some reason, he couldn't move. He could only stare at her as she looked back at him with tears falling down her cheeks and a beaming smile when she saw him. He felt much the same, though such things likely did not show on his face as they did on hers.
Harry fixated on that moment of their blessed reunion, being so close and yet still thrumming with the anticipation for when they would cross the divide and be together again. He yearned to take her face in his hands, hold her close, hear her lovely voice and feel the beating of her heart against his.
But so focused was he on Ruth that he did not notice the man dressed in a black jumper and black cap and denim jeans before it was too late. Harry was too late to do anything about that man whose hand was in the pocket of his jumper and pressed against Ruth's back, whispering in her ear. Harry could do nothing by the time he saw Ruth's expression change from one of elation to one of anxious terror.
The man was leading Ruth very quickly away, weaving through the crowd. She intelligently did not look back at him, for that would have given them both away. But Harry was not going to lose her again, not now that she was so close. He had no choice but to follow.