Page 77 of The Expat Affair

She’s standing by one of the arched windows by the exposed brick wall, her face lit up with dingy sun streaming through from outside, a beacon for the emotions simmering there: surprise, shock, determination. Her son, Sem, sits like a statue behind a wall of filthy glass.

Not a question, but I nod anyway.

“Did you do what I asked?”

Call the detective. Tell him a child’s life is in danger and to hurry.

I don’t think Sem has spotted the gun in Lars’s fist just yet, but he knows enough to be afraid. His eyes are wide, the skin of his mouth stretched tight. Half hidden behind the flap of her coat,Willow signs words he must understand, because his gaze sticks to her hand while hers sticks to mine.

I look lightning quick to Lars and shake my head, hoping she gets the message behind the gesture. No, I didn’t call the detective. I didn’t get the chance. No one is coming to save us, and perhaps even more pressing, no one but us knows we’re here.

“Well, I did.” Willow hooks a thumb in the chain strap of her Chanel bag, hanging from a shoulder. “I did what you asked.”

I nod because I understand, too. This is not Willow, one-upping me. This is her, telling me a secret packed in our mutual gaze. Willow has the gun we talked about. It’s in her bag. I just pray she knows how to use it.

Lars has had enough of our back and forth. He raises the gun, stretching his arm long so she’s staring down the barrel. “Stop fucking around and give me my diamonds.”

This is the place where Willow is supposed to look shocked. Where she says something like,Whatare you talking about? What diamonds?

But that’s not what she says at all.

“You already got your diamonds.”

It shouldn’t sting as much as it does, the realization that Willow lied—or at the very least, concealed her involvement here. Despite what I said to Lars earlier, the two of us are not friends. She owes me nothing, not even an explanation. I tell myself I shouldn’t care.

And yet...

And yet.

She meets my gaze, only for a second or two before it flits away.

Lars cocks his head and scowls. “You think I’d be standing here right now if I had those stones? When I said you’d never see my face again, I meant it.”

“And yet here you are.” If I didn’t know better, I’d say Willow sounds annoyed.

“Uh,yeah.” Lars’s eyes go wide. “That’s because they weren’t there. The safe you said would be stuffed with stones was empty. Somebody cleaned it out before I got there.”

Willow flips the clasp on the front of her bag, a move she disguises behind a subtle shift to her right. “Nice try, but I’m not buying it.”

“What, you think I’m lying? I’m telling you, somebody else got there first. They took the diamonds you swore would be there.”

“I swore nothing.”

“Hang on, hang on.” Fleur holds up both hands, her gaze bounces between them. “You know him? She knows you?”

“Yes, Willow knows me,” Lars says at the same time Willow says, “No,” but I don’t know why she bothers. All this talk about diamonds, the cleaned-out safe, the accusations of lying. By now we’ve all figured out that Lars isn’t exactly a stranger.

“I’m the guy she hired to kill Xander.”

Lars’s words fall like a bomb into the room.

I gasp as Willow gives a hard shake of her head. “No.No.I didn’t hire you tokillhim. I hired you to clean out his safe.”

Fleur takes a step to the side, putting some distance between them. “You hired ahit man?”

“I just told you, I hired athiefwho as it turns out is also a murderer. I never said tokillXander. I gave him the safe code and said he could have everything in there, and that’s it. Idefinitelydidn’t tell him to cut off Xander’s finger and strangle him with a zip tie. That’s all on Lars.”

Fleur makes a face, and I know she’s picturing it, too, Xander dead and bloody on the floor. For his sake, I just hope he was dead by the time Lars pulled out the knife. I hope he was at least spared that agony.

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