She shot him a furious glare. “You said it yourself. I’d have to report my own mother. And you too. And it would take too long. What if my father . . . ? These are my parents we’re talking about, Ralf. Who says it’s even true? I can’t believe it.”

“Yeah, but—”

“Shh.” She raised her hand and looked up her father’s number, but her thumb hovered motionlessly over his photo. “Fuck.” She bit her lower lip. “What should I tell her?”

“That she needs to get away from your father because he probably took her to England to kill her, or to have her killed?”

Sara stood frozen in the middle of her bedroom, holding her phone in her trembling hand. Slowly, her shoulders sagged. “I just can’t believe it,” she whispered. “That this is happening. But that handwriting—” Her breath caught. She turned her face toward him. “Ralf? We need to go there.”

“What?”

“We need to go where my parents are. If it’s really true that my father . . . then I need to stop him myself.”

“I don’t know if—”

She grabbed his arms and looked up at him. “I want to look him in the eyes, Ralf. He’s my father. You have a car.”

“Hey, I only got my license five months ago. They drive on the left over there.”

“It can’t be that hard, can it? We’ll just go to, what’s it called, Calais, and then it’ll be clear enough from there.”

“Don’t you need to book the crossing in advance?”

She shook her head.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. A friend of mine just got back from England. They have ferries there, plus a railroad tunnel. All sorts of options. You can travel around the clock.”

Ralf was unconvinced. “What about your grandparents? You’re supposed to go to school tomorrow.”

“Jackie will cover for me. I’ll tell them I’m staying with her, and I’ll park my scooter at her house.”

“And what will you tell her parents?”

“I’ll come up with something. Come on. You need to get going. Pick me up from Jackie’s in half an hour. Oh, wait.” She stopped him. “Do you have ID?”

He patted the inside pocket of his jacket.

“Perfect. I’ll see you soon.”

23

23

“The way that woman reacted!” The tears rolled down Helen’s cheeks, and her stomach muscles ached.

Werner put on his poshest English accent. “Not. Amused. At. All.” He threw his cardigan into the corner of the hotel room and pulled Helen toward him.

She put her arms around his neck. “I haven’t laughed like that in a long time.”

“Me neither.”

“You know the waiter saw you, right? Those silly faces you were making. They’ll ban us from that restaurant tonight if we’re not careful.”

“I’m more worried about something else.” His face took on a serious expression.

She grew alarmed. “What?”