“Whoever answered Ivan’s phone knew it was me,” I say. “They said my name.” I don’t need to tell her that Ivan’s killer by now knows everything Ivan himself did—including the fact that we had planned to meet him in Cres tonight. The thought makes my skin prickle, because it means they now know everything he did about me.

Piotrek exchanges a glance with Claudia. He says something in another language, which I expect Claudia to snap at. But she murmurs instead and covers her mouth. And I realize that, for as steely as she appeared earlier, she, too, has been badly shaken by tonight.

A minute later she makes a call. After a few brief exchanges I can’t make out, she nods to Piotrek. The car slows and pulls off onto a side street. Moments later, we’re headed back to Rijeka and Claudia has pulled the chip from her phone.

In the darkness, Luka has not let go of my hand. And I realize that whoever killed Ivan now knows that I’m traveling with someone, even if they don’t know his name. And I’m not certain if that is a good or a bad thing.

“I didn’t tell you that I met Claudia and Piotrek earlier,” I say to Luka. “They came with Ivan.”

“Yes,” Claudia says. “I promised our friends in Zagreb that I would confirm that she is alive before they go to the trouble of planning a celebration.”

“Ivan could have told you that,” I say. “I think you wanted to see me yourself . . . because you know me.”

Her head turns, her perfect profile illuminated by the headlights of passing cars. “So clever, always,” she murmurs. “Even with no memory you are hard to fool. Welcome back, Audra.”

18

“I called Ivan a liar when he told me you were alive,” Claudia says, turned sideways in the front seat. “But I admit I hoped he was right. Piotrek would not agree to come, said anywhere within a hundred kilometers of Ivan was too dangerous.” I know she really means within a hundred kilometers of me, though of course she can’t say so in front of Luka. I’m a little surprised; somehow I thought it was Claudia, not Piotrek, who called the shots.

“In the end, I had to see for myself,” she says.

I think back to the phone conversation that just took place. She was checking in with someone in Zagreb. She might have wanted to see me, but she was indeed confirming I was alive to someone else.

“I’m sorry, but how did we know one another?” I say.

“We were friends,” she says coolly.

“You’ll have to tell me all about that.”

“In the meantime, we have a small problem,” Luka says. “Our backpacks were stolen from the cab. Our money, passports, phones are gone.”