She puts her hands on her knees.
I sit on the coffee table, facing her, gun still pointed at her. She doesn’t look threatening; she’s smaller and much frailer than me, but I’d never underestimate her because of her size. Or even because she appears to be weaponless. It’s often the ones you least expect capable, who turn out to be the most dangerous.
“Now tell me who you are, and what you want.”
She keeps her focus all on me, but she doesn’t seem afraid—careful and smart, yes, but not afraid.
“I’m Naeva Brun,” she says. “I’m sure you know by now who I am and how I know you.”
Victor and Niklas’s sister. Interesting.
“Go on,” I tell her.
“And I’m here because I need to go with you to Mexico.”
A wave of disappointment and betrayal rushes over me. How could Victor do this after everything I told him? After I warned him? After he pretty much gave me his word that he wouldn’t interfere? I bite down on the inside of my mouth, and look at Naeva with exasperation.
“So he sent you to babysit me,” I say, and then stand.
“No,” she says, “I came on my own. He doesn’t know I’m here.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“I’m telling you the truth.”
I jerk my hand toward her to emphasize the gun’s presence, just in case she needs reminding.
“Then how did you know about Mexico?” I drill her. “How did you know when I was leaving?”
“Like you, and my brothers,” she says, “I have a set of my own skills.” She shrugs her petit shoulders. “Nothing to brag about, but I’m not completely useless.”
Hmm…to be related to Victor and Niklas, Naeva sure lacks the confidence in herself that they reek of.
“Then tell me how?” I say.
She looks up at the popcorn ceiling. “I was hiding in the building’s venting system,” she says, looking back at me. “It was easy to get into the building after everything had been moved out, and everyone with it. I snuck in a couple hours before nightfall, and I waited.”
“Waited for what?” I ask. “How’d you know there’d be a meeting?”
“Niklas has a big mouth,” she says. “You were right about him, about what you said in the meeting.” She smiles softly. “I’ve been going to that bar he sleeps at, for a while now. I’ve sat next to him a few times, wanting to tell him who I am, but I never had the courage. I don’t think he’s ready to see me.”
“I’m surprised he didn’t hit on you,” I say.
She blushes. “Actually, he did,” she says, and I cringe. “But I brushed him off, and he left me alone.”
“Good thing Niklas isn’t the determined type,” I say. Though he seems to be with me, unfortunately, I think to myself.
She nods. “Yes. It’s a good thing.”
We’re both quiet for a moment.
Feeling less threatened by her, I decide to sit down on the coffee table again. The gun remains in my hand, resting on the top of my leg; I casually take my finger away from the trigger.
“OK, so let’s say for conversation’s sake,” I begin, “that you’re telling the truth, and that Victor doesn’t know you’re here—if it’s not to babysit me, then what’s your interest in Mexico?”
Naeva’s expression becomes more serious and thoughtful; she makes a movement as if wanting to gesture her hands, but stops before her fingers lift from her knees, remembering her predicament. She sighs; her eyes stray from mine, and then she looks down at the floor. I wait, growing impatient, but I don’t let her onto just how much.
Then suddenly she raises her head, and I get the oddest feeling from the look in her eyes. Empathy? Familiarity?
She leans forward just a little, keeping her hands on her knees, and in a soft voice, she says, “Sarai, do you not remember me?”
I tilt my head to one side; I feel my eyebrows drawing inward; I blink with confusion. Remember her? From where? My mind begins to race; only snippets of full pictures flash across my memory, but Naeva isn’t in any of them.
Then something dawns on me—she called me Sarai.
I’m standing again, and I don’t recall the movement that brought me to my feet; my gun is still in my hand, but in my heart I must not feel threatened or my finger would’ve already found the trigger again by now.
Empathy. Familiarity. I feel them both more now, the longer I look at her, the deeper I peer into her eyes, the harder I study her delicate features.
Yes—she is familiar to me, but I can’t recall…
“May I stand?” she asks.
I nod.