It didn’t matter; he wasn’t going to get any wetter than he was already. He looked up at the window, bent his knees, and jumped, extending his arms above his head as he did so. He wrapped his fingers around the cold metal bars and heaved himself up, ignoring the burn in his biceps and triceps as he did so.

He pulled himself up so that he could look between the bars and into the cell. It was dark, but, as lightning crackled overhead again, it cast enough of a bright white flash for him to see the figure curled up on the bed that had been cut into the wall.

“Sakura?” he whispered.

There was no response.

“Sakura!”

The curled-up figure stirred.

“John? Is that you?”

He spoke through gritted teeth, trying to ignore the ache in his arms and stomach. “Yes,” he said. “It’s me.”

38

Victoria drummed her fingers on the steering wheel of the truck while she waited for Milton to return. The rain was still teeming down, hammering on the roof and streaming down the windshield. She leaned forward to turn the radio up so she could hear it over the noise of the downpour. Her phone vibrated in her pocket. She took it out and saw that it was Jean-Michel, wondering what time she would be back. She thumbed a quick reply.

Not sure. I’ll—

She jumped as the passenger door opened and Milton climbed into the cab.

“Shit,” she said. “You gave me a shock.”

Milton was soaked, and water dripped from his clothes onto the upholstery.

Victoria finished her text and then turned the radio down. “So? What’s going on?”

“She’s in a cell at the back, just like you said.”

“And now?”

“I just need to get her out.”

“Any ideas how we can do that?”

“I told you: this isn’t your problem.”

“It kind of is.” Milton looked as if he was about to rebuke her, but Victoria spoke over him. “I made a couple of calls. You were right—it was Edwin. I fucked up. The reason she’s in there is because he sold her out. I just heard—he’s put the word out that he has heroin he wants to sell. He offered it to someone I know, and they told me.”

Milton nodded. “I’m not surprised.”

“So my sending him to help has led to this.”

“And there was no way you could’ve known. I only told you she was sick. I didn’t tell you about the drugs. That’s all on him.”

“Doesn’t matter. I recommended him. I should have found someone more trustworthy.”

Milton stared through the rivulets of water running down the windshield. Victoria watched his reflection; he was weighing up the pros and cons of asking for help.

“Come on. A helping hand wouldn’t be useful?”

“Of course it would.”

“So why are we waiting?”