“We can’t assume that yet.” His tone is carefully neutral. “It’s possible they’re not responding to our calls because of security reasons—because they don’t want anyone to intercept their communications.”

“You don’t really believe that.”

“It’s unlikely,” Peter admits, his gray eyes cool on my face. “This is not the usual procedure in these types of cases.”

“Right, of course.” Doing my best to battle the nauseating fear spreading through me, I ask evenly, “So what’s Plan B? Are you going to send in a rescue team? Do you have more men standing by that can act as backup?”

Peter shakes his head. “There’s nothing to be done until we know more,” he explains. “I’ve already put out feelers in Russia and Tajikistan, so we should have a better idea of what happened soon. So far, all we know is that their plane took off from Moscow without any problems.”

“When do you think you’ll hear back from your sources?” I’m trying to contain my panic, but some of it seeps through in my voice. “Today? Tomorrow?”

“I don’t know, Mrs. Esguerra,” he says, and I see a hint of pity in those merciless gray eyes. “It could be at any time. I will let you know as soon as I hear something.”

“Thanks, Peter,” I say and, not knowing what else to do, walk back to the house.

The next six hours go by at a crawl. I pace around the house, going from room to room, unable to focus on any specific activity. Whenever I sit down to study or try to paint, a dozen different scenarios, each one more horrible than the next, start playing in my head. I want to believe that everything will be okay, that Julian’s plane disappeared off the grid for some innocuous reason, but I know better than that.

There are no fairy tales in the world Julian and I live in, only savage reality.

I haven’t been able to eat anything all day, though Ana has tried tempting me with everything from steak to dessert. To pacify her, I eat a few bites of papaya around lunchtime and resume my aimless pacing around the house.

By early afternoon, I’m literally sick from anxiety. My head is pounding, and my stomach feels like it’s eating itself, the acid burning a hole in my insides.

“Let’s go for a swim,” Rosa offers when she finds me in the library. I can see the concern on her face, and I know Ana probably sent her to distract me. Rosa is usually too busy with her duties to take off in the middle of the day, but she’s obviously making an exception today.

The last thing I feel like doing is swimming, but I agree. Rosa’s company is better than driving myself insane with worry.

As we exit the library together, I see Peter walking in our direction, a grave expression on his face.

My heart stops for a moment, then begins slamming furiously against my ribcage.