Page 77 of Girl Lost

“Yes ... and no.” She pushed out a long breath and got lost in the past.

A man across the street pointed a camera in herdirection. Red flags went up. Probably,there was nothing toworry about. Just a tourist photographing the clock tower.

Thenwhy did adrenaline race through her veins at the sightof him?

She should get up and walk away,butshe needed more time with Aisha. They’d come thisfar,and all she needed was the name.

She sippedher tea and watched the tourist out of her periphery. “Do you remember the painting we were discussing?”

Aisha staredinto her tea and gave a short nod.

They couldn’t very well sit and talk about bombings and terroristsin public,so Luna spoke in code. “What day willthe painting be in the museum?”

“I don’tknow the exact day,but within three days of Muharram.”

The Islamic New Year. This year it would fall inearly July,only a few months away. “What’s thename of the artist?”

Aisha’s head hung low,eyestransfixed on the cup. Her hands trembled.

Luna flickeda glance in the direction of the tourist. She didn’t see him.

“This is bigger than one ... artist.There are many.” Aisha turned to look at Luna. “Oneman controls the paintings,the museums,the artists. Everything.”

Acold sweat broke out on Luna’s neck. “Who isit,Aisha?”

Aisha shook her head. Tears slid down hercheeks. “I’m sorry. So sorry.”

Aisha lifted the hemof her tunic a fraction.

Enough that Luna saw thewires.

“It was a bomb.” She forced herself to breathe, to stay in the present. “A suicide bomber. Right in the middle of the marketplace in Peshawar. I barely escaped with my life. My asset. A beggar girl. So many others. They weren’t so lucky.” She cleared her throat, forcing the words out. “Shrapnel embedded in my thigh.”

He didn’t speak, but his silence was enough. It had been so long since someone had simply listened. Truly listened. Without judgment, without expectation.

“They brought me back to the States to recover.” She kept her tone of practiced detachment. “They wanted me to lay low while they figured out if my cover had been compromised. Said I needed to reconnect with my real identity.” A humorless laugh escaped her lips. “Except I didn’t even know who that was anymore. And all I could think about was...”

“Our daughter,” he said.

“I wanted to know if she was okay. Maybe ... maybe she’d want to meet me now that she’s eighteen. I searched for her using the channels I had, but nothing. Then finally worked up the courage to call Stryker. To ask him to help me find her. He said he would, but only if I met him in person.”

“So you came back to Millie Beach.”

“Covertly, at first.” She looked at him then, meeting his gaze. “I needed to do some ... recon.”

“The manicure?” he asked.

“Okay, maybe a little self-care was in order.” She released Corbin’s hand and splayed her fingers, inspecting. Those perfectly polished nails felt like a betrayal. A symbol of the secret life she’d used to keep herself away from her friends.

She curled her fingers into fists and held them in her lap. “I only stayed for one day. Then I had to go back to DC for a senate hearing on the incident. By the time I got through that ordeal, I’d decided. I’d risk meeting Stryker.”

She paused. It hadn’t felt like a conscious decision but more like a driving force pushing her to come home. For what? To witness his kidnapping?

“Luna, I’m so sorry. For everything. For Peshawar. For our child. For ...” He dropped his eyes. “Leaving you to deal with it all alone.”

She wanted to tell him it was okay. Wanted to brush it aside, to pretend it didn’t matter anymore. But the truth was, it did matter. It always had.

“It wasn’t all your fault. We both made choices. Choices we can’t take back.”