Read Online Girl of Lies by Charles Sheehan-Miles - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Charles Sheehan-Miles
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jealous—Javier was someone to have fun with, and a good friend. But he wasn’t boyfriend material, no matter what he thought.
At midnight, Abuelita served a Christmas turkey with truffles and a variety of other dishes. Both of Andrea’s uncles were there. Miguel—forty years old, married to the flighty and vain Maria Carmen. Their two children, both pre-teens, threw fits when Andrea wouldn’t let them play in her closet. Luis, her younger uncle, was thirty-five. Single, nattily dressed, he wore an easy smile and had a confident gaze as he talked of building his advertising business in Barcelona. They all talked and laughed until the early hours of the morning.
Christmas morning was spent primarily at the parish church of Santa Maria in old town. The front of the building, with its rounded arches and tower, was faced with old tan and brown brick, and dominated the intersection of three narrow streets. The three alleys were decorated with lights and candles, creating a magical scene.
Later, she spoke on the phone with Carrie, still silent and wounded from the loss of her husband, saving strength for the coming birth of their child. Sarah, on the phone, had been snappy and irritable, and her parents distant. Julia had been in Boston, and Jessica sounded stoned. In the end, Andrea decided that the magical Christmas she’d experienced was far preferable to the cold, often quiet holidays she’d grown up with in San Francisco with her parents.
Staying in Spain for the holidays had been the right decision. Increasingly as she’d come closer to finishing secondary school, she’d felt that Calella was home and the United States just a place she visited sometimes. Last Christmas hadn’t just reinforced it… it had solidified it. After discussion with Abuelita, she’d struck the American colleges off her list, confining her search to universities in Spain, Paris and London.
Now, answering Leah Simpson’s questions, she felt awkward, unsure of herself. How do you explain to a stranger the hurts and rejections that you can barely even admit to yourself? Somehow she had the feeling this self-confident, mature woman who wore a sidearm wouldn’t be sympathetic to the sometimes overpowering sense of loneliness and grief Andrea felt.
Whatever she felt, Simpson at least mimicked feeling some empathy. Her eyes softened, and she said, “As I’m sure you’re aware, Bear and his team are working to investigate your kidnappers. But… can you remember anything about them that might give us a clue what they were after? Is there anyone you’ve angered? Anyone have a reason to hurt you?”
Andrea shook her head. “No… I… I don’t have any enemies. Nothing like that.”
“When did Tariq Koury first approach you?”
“He was in the seat next to me on the flight. He was… creepy. I knew something was wrong because he lied to me about where he was going to school, and he was too old for that anyway. But I figured he was just a creep… not a kidnapper or whatever.”
“Koury was much more than a kidnapper.” Simpson shifted in her seat, as if debating how much to say.
“Don’t hesitate,” Sarah said. “Andrea needs to know what she’s up against. We need to know what we’re up against.”
Andrea flashed a grateful look at her sister.
Simpson said, “Koury’s fairly well known. He’s Saudi born. Not religious, he’s been involved in various sorts of intelligence work for a long time.”
“Spy stuff?” Sarah raised her eyebrows.
Andrea frowned. What did that kind of thing have to do with her?
Simpson nodded unhappily. “More often mercenary. Koury did some contract work in Iraq, Afghanistan, plenty of other places not all that safe for Americans. We’re not sure who he was working for in this case.”
“But you’re certain he was working for someone?” The words came from Carrie, who had returned to the room with a baby clutched to her chest.
Andrea’s eyes were drawn instantly to the small
At midnight, Abuelita served a Christmas turkey with truffles and a variety of other dishes. Both of Andrea’s uncles were there. Miguel—forty years old, married to the flighty and vain Maria Carmen. Their two children, both pre-teens, threw fits when Andrea wouldn’t let them play in her closet. Luis, her younger uncle, was thirty-five. Single, nattily dressed, he wore an easy smile and had a confident gaze as he talked of building his advertising business in Barcelona. They all talked and laughed until the early hours of the morning.
Christmas morning was spent primarily at the parish church of Santa Maria in old town. The front of the building, with its rounded arches and tower, was faced with old tan and brown brick, and dominated the intersection of three narrow streets. The three alleys were decorated with lights and candles, creating a magical scene.
Later, she spoke on the phone with Carrie, still silent and wounded from the loss of her husband, saving strength for the coming birth of their child. Sarah, on the phone, had been snappy and irritable, and her parents distant. Julia had been in Boston, and Jessica sounded stoned. In the end, Andrea decided that the magical Christmas she’d experienced was far preferable to the cold, often quiet holidays she’d grown up with in San Francisco with her parents.
Staying in Spain for the holidays had been the right decision. Increasingly as she’d come closer to finishing secondary school, she’d felt that Calella was home and the United States just a place she visited sometimes. Last Christmas hadn’t just reinforced it… it had solidified it. After discussion with Abuelita, she’d struck the American colleges off her list, confining her search to universities in Spain, Paris and London.
Now, answering Leah Simpson’s questions, she felt awkward, unsure of herself. How do you explain to a stranger the hurts and rejections that you can barely even admit to yourself? Somehow she had the feeling this self-confident, mature woman who wore a sidearm wouldn’t be sympathetic to the sometimes overpowering sense of loneliness and grief Andrea felt.
Whatever she felt, Simpson at least mimicked feeling some empathy. Her eyes softened, and she said, “As I’m sure you’re aware, Bear and his team are working to investigate your kidnappers. But… can you remember anything about them that might give us a clue what they were after? Is there anyone you’ve angered? Anyone have a reason to hurt you?”
Andrea shook her head. “No… I… I don’t have any enemies. Nothing like that.”
“When did Tariq Koury first approach you?”
“He was in the seat next to me on the flight. He was… creepy. I knew something was wrong because he lied to me about where he was going to school, and he was too old for that anyway. But I figured he was just a creep… not a kidnapper or whatever.”
“Koury was much more than a kidnapper.” Simpson shifted in her seat, as if debating how much to say.
“Don’t hesitate,” Sarah said. “Andrea needs to know what she’s up against. We need to know what we’re up against.”
Andrea flashed a grateful look at her sister.
Simpson said, “Koury’s fairly well known. He’s Saudi born. Not religious, he’s been involved in various sorts of intelligence work for a long time.”
“Spy stuff?” Sarah raised her eyebrows.
Andrea frowned. What did that kind of thing have to do with her?
Simpson nodded unhappily. “More often mercenary. Koury did some contract work in Iraq, Afghanistan, plenty of other places not all that safe for Americans. We’re not sure who he was working for in this case.”
“But you’re certain he was working for someone?” The words came from Carrie, who had returned to the room with a baby clutched to her chest.
Andrea’s eyes were drawn instantly to the small
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