“At the airport.”

“Where are you going?”

“The Caribbean.”

“For real?”

“For real.”

Heloise looked out the window. The sky over the Marble Church was a dazzling white from the fall clouds, and the leaves of the little fig tree on her patio were wrinkled and brown.

“That sounds amazing. Have a great trip,” she said.

“You bet I will.”

“And hey, give me a call when you get back, okay? We could grab a bite or something.”

“On one condition,” Schäfer said. “None of that vegetarian crap for me, okay?”

“It’s a deal.” Heloise smiled.

She took a single sip of her wine after she hung up. Then she found a number in her phone’s contact list.

She leaned forward in her seat as she waited for the call to be answered.

“Yes, hello. This is Heloise Kaldan with Demokratisk Dagblad,” she said. “I understand that you fished a body out of the water off of Aarhus this morning.”

CHAPTER

48

IT WAS ONLY nine o’clock, but the asphalt in front of the hotel was already on the verge of melting in the summer heat. Anna studied every single pedestrian who crossed the street from the balcony of her suite. On the Grand Hyatt Martinez’s private beach across the street, the cabana boys in their white polos and lavender shorts were setting up sun umbrellas, putting out towels, and serving morning mojitos for aging rich men and women in dental-floss bikinis.

Car after car materialized in the hotel’s driveway. The luxurious ones—the Bentleys, the Ferraris—were lined up near the entrance, exclusive and sparkling, with license plates in Arabic or Russian. The less ostentatious vehicles were hidden away in the underground parking garage below the hotel.

Anna had been staying at the hotel since the middle of May. That had given her two weeks to get to know the place, to get her bearings and learn the various escape routes, the layouts of the suites, the employees’ daily routines, and the colors of the uniforms.

She was ready now.

He had shown up on June first, just like Nick had said he would. The sight had sent a curious tingling sensation through her, right to the tips of her fingers. She tasted acid in her mouth, and her temples throbbed. For the first six days, she had observed him from a distance. She had waited, recording his movements, his eating habits, his routines.

She had gotten a running start.

Now, as the climax seemed to be imminent—now, when what she had been waiting for for so long was finally a possibility—she somehow felt like drawing it out just a little more. She wanted to savor the lead-up to what was going to happen just a bit longer.

She jumped when she saw him come out the revolving door two floors below her.