“My father died before I was born. His name was Tommy Keyes.” I took another step forward. “He was Walker’s brother.”
Daniela said nothing. I took one step forward, then another. After a long moment, I turned and lowered myself onto the bench next to her. She tracked my movements, hyperaware. On the bench beside her, I stared straight ahead at the wall that Daniela had probably been staring at for days.
“Why tell me this?” Daniela asked finally, breaking the heavy silence that had fallen between us. “What could you possibly expect to gain?”
I didn’t turn to look at her. “My name is Tess.”
She hadn’t asked. She probably didn’t want to know.
“My mother’s name is Ivy. She doesn’t have any siblings. And Adam, Walker’s other brother, he doesn’t have any kids.”
I didn’t stumble over referring to Ivy as my mother. There was too much at stake.
“Your daughter,” I said, bringing my hand slowly to Daniela’s stomach. “We share the same blood.”
We’re family.
I willed her to see it that way, to see me that way, if only for the most fleeting of moments.
“And if you are telling the truth, if you and my daughter share blood, what does that make me?” Daniela asked.
A terrorist. A criminal.
“Someone who wants to protect her daughter,” I said, my quiet voice cutting through the air like a knife. “And hopefully, someone capable of believing that I might want that, too.”
Daniela stared at my hand on her stomach. She kept staring until I removed it.
I wanted her to trust me. I wanted her to at least try to convince me that I could trust her, too.
Nineteen minutes.
I knew in the pit of my stomach that we weren’t going to make it back to Hardwicke before the hour was up. I knew what would happen when we didn’t.
Stop, I told myself. I had to believe that Ivy would come through, that Daniela would be released. And if I believed that, if I could make myself believe that, then I needed to know what we would be walking into once Ivy had secured Daniela’s release.
For that, I needed someone who knew how Senza Nome operated. I needed Daniela on my side, not theirs.
“You said that you had a message for me.” Daniela’s voice was even, without emphasis. I had no idea if she believed what I’d told her about Walker’s parentage, or if she cared. I had no idea if she saw even a hint of him when she looked at me. “It would be in your best interest,” Daniela continued in that same deadly, even tone, “to deliver that message.”
What if the interrogators were wrong? I thought, unable to block out the hint of fear slithering its way up my spine. What if Daniela hasn’t been emotionally compromised? What if she’s one of them in every sense of the word?
What if they have no intention of silencing her at all?
For the first time, I truly processed the fact that the woman sitting beside me was Senza Nome. Like Mrs. Perkins. Like Dr. Clark.
“You want the message?” I said. “‘The dove has always wanted to fly to Madrid.’”
I saw the moment the words landed for the woman.
The dove has always wanted to fly to Madrid. What did that mean? What could that possibly mean?
Beside me, Daniela climbed to her feet. I stayed sitting, tracking her movement. She turned back to face me, and I returned her stare.
“You are quiet,” Daniela said finally, after a full minute had stretched by with us in silence.
I shrugged, my leg muscles tense, ready to propel me to my feet the second it became necessary. “I told you everything I came here to say.”
The woman opposite me smiled slightly. I didn’t know whether to be warmed by the expression—or chilled.
“If I asked you to,” Daniela said, a slight, lilting accent creeping into her voice, “would you tell me what else my people asked you to do? Their other demands—the things that were not a part of their message for me.”
I wasn’t sure if this was a test or a trick or even just a request—but I was here, and she was asking. If things went as planned, Priya would be delivering both of us through the gates of Hardwicke. Honesty was a chance I had to take.
“They want you, and they want Priya, and they want me.” That was just the start of their demands. In as few words as possible, I communicated the rest. Daniela listened in utter silence, one hand creeping to the small of her back, her eyes sharp as she digested my words.
“May I ask who issued your orders?” Daniela inquired once I’d finished.
I told her about Mrs. Perkins.
I told her about the armed men in the halls.
I showed her the video Mrs. Perkins had sent me. I didn’t watch it. I couldn’t. But even when I turned my head away, I wasn’t able to block out the sounds. I closed my eyes. I pressed back against the strobe-like images that battered against the halls of my memory.
Help me!
I bowed my head, my arms curving around my torso.
Daniela let the video play to the end. When she looked up, her eyes were dry, but I could see a glint of emotion lurking in their depths.