“Unofficially?”
“I think Hailey’s on Facebook.” Jonas looked at the dregs of his tea, but decided against drinking it. “She was talking one day about some really stupid game on Facebook, and when I asked her how she’d seen it, she said she was just browsing, but you know, it’s a closed site—you can’t browse properly unless you’re a member.”
Finn smiled. He wasn’t sure if it was the kid’s intelligence or his infatuation with Hailey that gave him this attention to detail, but he couldn’t help but admire it. And it undoubtedly offered the key, because there weren’t many reasons why Hailey would join a social networking site without telling her best friend about it.
“Okay, I need to find and access her Facebook page.”
Jonas nodded vigorously and wrote something on a page in his notebook, then tore it out and put it on the table.
“I think I can do that. Meet me at that Internet café at eight o’clock.” Before Finn could answer he added, “We can’t use your computer—if they’re monitoring you, we don’t want to give Hailey’s location away. And we can’t use mine. I mean, my parents are pretty cool, but they’d be freaked out if I brought you home with me.”
“I suppose they would,” said Finn, and took the piece of paper. Jonas had written in block capitals for Finn’s benefit. “Thanks for your help.”
Jonas smiled crookedly, as if he thought the thanks were inappropriate, then glanced toward the waitress.
Finn said, “No, I’ll get this—you paid last night, remember?”
Jonas stood and said, “Eight o’clock.”
“See you then.”
Finn sat for a moment after Jonas had left, then looked at the waitress. She came over and handed him the bill, then said, “Could I ask you something?” Finn looked up at her, offering encouragement. She looked uneasy, though, not wanting to hear the answer even before she’d put the question. “How old is your friend?”
“He’s fifteen.”
It didn’t seem to surprise her, but rather confirm her suspicions. Perhaps she’d watched him as they’d talked, lopping years off him as the conversation had gone on. She shrugged, looking a little embarrassed.
He wanted to say something to comfort her, because she was pretty and seemed desperate to find someone, to be in love. But he could think of nothing to say that wouldn’t sound cynical or jaded. Instead, he thought of Adrienne, who had perhaps wanted only the same, to be in love, and he thought of the reasons why he’d made that so hard for her. They were good reasons, perhaps, but he felt ashamed nevertheless.
History
In bed that night, Sofi lay on her side, idly running her fingers across his chest, a habit she’d developed, something he usually liked, but tonight he wished she’d stop. He stared up at the ceiling, and the soft trace of her fingertips was a distraction from what really preoccupied him.
He should have been thinking about what Louisa had proposed to him, but instead he was thinking about what it would mean to the girl who was in another bedroom not far away, probably sleeping, her trust placed entirely in Finn’s ability to rescue her.
He almost resented Katerina for that trustfulness. In the context of her life thus far, the fact that he’d killed a man to protect her, had found her a place to stay, and had promised to get her to safety shouldn’t have counted for much. Perhaps it was simply that she was still a child, or that she’d seen something within Finn that was different.
Because he would get her to safety, no matter what it took. He wouldn’t get more accurate timings for Sparrowhawk until tomorrow, but it was already looking tight in terms of getting the girl to Stockholm next weekend. Still, he wouldn’t be deterred, whatever the obstacles.
“What are you thinking about?”
“Sorry, nothing important.” He raised his hand and put it on hers, as much to stop its gentle progress around his chest as a sign of affection and reassurance. “Just thinking through the business we were discussing this evening.”
Sofi knew, more or less. She was a journalist, a canny one at that, but she’d never pushed at the edges of his cover story, had never asked questions, had never even mentioned stories from the paper that might touch on the world she imagined he inhabited.
Now, though, she said, “It’s odd, that she should give important work to you, when she knows you’re leaving. Odd that she doesn’t give the work to your colleagues.”
“Ours is not to reason why.”
“What?”
“Nothing, it’s an old saying. She asked me, anyway.”