On The Scent

Tommaso

Once Mr. Dawud left with another fifty thousand—less than a third of the cash I had after my initial payment, without counting the four bank cards sewn into the lining of my bag—I collapsed onto my bed. I felt like I may have been close enough to touch her last night but lost her again. A few hours, a less backstabbing guide, and I would’ve been done.

I pulled the Polaroid out of my pocket and stared at it. She looked so thin, so tired. I didn’t know when this picture had been taken, but I didn’t want to think about how she looked now. Not after those women I saw last night.

I tucked the picture back away and pulled out my phone. I needed to talk to someone who knew a piece of what Paige was going through, convince myself I hadn’t damned her by walking out of Ahmed’s office. I dialed Sera.

She picked up on the second ring. “Tommaso! Do you have her?”

“Not yet.” I rolled onto my back to stare at the ceiling. “I’m close, though. I think she may have been there last night, at the