She trusted Broadnik, too. He wouldn’t break the rules for her, but he’d bend them. And if Kira did turn up in a hospital bed or a jail, he would never tell anyone she’d asked for help. Why she’d rather call him than ask Brian to go to the Tailored Access guys. Hard-core coders saw everything as a game. If and when they did decide to help, they’d never let Brian forget it.
Broadnik it was. Just picking up her phone to call him made her feel better.
* * *
He picked up straightaway. “Rebecca Unsworth. Aren’t you on vacation? Europe, right?”
“Europe, wrong.” She didn’t have the time or energy to sugarcoat. And Broadnik wouldn’t care. “I need help.” She walked him through what had happened.
“You believe he’s non-US?” he said when she was done. “To a reasonable certainty.”
The magic words, the ones that gave the NSA the authority it needed, no warrant required. “Yes. I’ll put it in writing if you want.”
“No need. So she went missing Friday night?”
“Last night.”
“Not even a day.”
Not you too. “I may not have a PhD, but I can count, Jake.”
“You telling me everything?”
“Like what?” More sharply than she’d intended, proof how raw she was.
“I don’t know, drugs?”
Drugs. She realized CC and even Rob Wilkerson must have wondered the same, Maybe your little girl is just too high to pick up the phone. The implication that Kira was on a bender—or, worse, that she was whoring herself to a skeezy French drug dealer—infuriated Rebecca.
“Guess again.”
A pause, mercifully brief.
“I’ll open a ticket. I’m gonna do it from campus to watch it myself.” His way of protecting her. “Give me maybe half an hour, forty minutes.”
She hadn’t known Broadnik lived so close to Fort Meade. In fact, she had no idea where he lived. Their friendship was defined by work, she realized. It would evaporate if either of them switched jobs. It was a stereotypically male relationship, which didn’t bother her in the least. One reason she’d succeeded in law enforcement, such a male-dominated field.
“Thanks, Jake.”
She hung up.
Now what? Probably she should hit the big clubs next. Sunday or no, backpackers and tourists would be going out tonight. The clubs didn’t fill up until late, but many had restaurants that served lunch and dinner. Their managers would be around by midafternoon to check guest lists, plan for the night.
But Rebecca wasn’t counting on getting many answers from them, not unless she had the Mossos to help press them.
In the movies, the world was black and white. When detectives showed up and flashed their badges, everyone except the baddies answered their questions quickly and truthfully. In the real world most people looked out for themselves. They might not want innocent people to get hurt. But they wouldn’t go out of their way to help, not when their paychecks were at risk. Nightlife was big business in Barcelona. At twenty euros a head just to get inside, plus drinks, food, and bottle service, a big club like Opium could gross millions of euros during the summer months. Employees would be told to refer questions to managers, who would know that they’d best tell the owners about anything tricky. And the owners had lawyers.
The indifference suddenly overwhelmed her. Nobody cares. My girl is gone and nobody cares. Rebecca leaned back against the perfect sofa, the perfect accessory for this perfect living room for their perfect vacation. The room was hot. Airless. She should open the windows. But she couldn’t take the city’s happy sounds.
She thought of Kira, the images flipping by like photos in an album, the first time she’d slept in her crib, her first day of school, the first time she’d ridden a bike, outside their house in Houston, Rebecca running alongside to protect her—
Though now she remembered it wasn’t Kira’s first time on a bike; she’d found out later that Kira had actually learned in a Kroger’s parking lot with Brian.
How many other firsts had she missed? How many clues?
If she’d been a better mother, maybe Kira wouldn’t have gone to this bar in secret. Maybe she could have been honest. Every night at the office, every weekend, they’d added up to this.
Some part of her knew she was punishing herself unfairly. Kira hadn’t told Brian either. Anyway she was a teenager, every teenager kept secrets, it was practically a requirement. But the cold logic failed to comfort her—
The apartment door opened. She hadn’t even heard the steps in the hall outside. Another failure. She stood