He doesn't know?

I stare at his face, watch for a twitch of the lips, the dart of the eyes, the frow of the brow—signs he is lying. But the man is either a seasoned actor or telling the truth. In which case, what the fuck am I doing here? And where the fuck is Nina?

"What do you mean my sister is fine?" I croak out, feeling uneasiness squirm in my chest. In the middle of a gallery, I can't even appear threatening.

He shifts uncomfortably as if I'm the sun and he's Icarus. "We should move on, if you still want to see the Mona Lisa."

Never thought I'd say the words, "Fuck the Mona Lisa," but I do, and I'm glad no one's within hearing range of my muttering. "You came back. My sister didn't. What are you not telling?"

"I swear, I don't know why she didn't come back. She was supposed to. The—" I could have sworn his eyes dart to my left before he dips them to the floor and scratches his hairline. "We both were."

"And I'm supposed to just believe you?" I fold my arms across my chest so I don't throttle the guy. Too many witnesses.

"This was a bad idea—" For a hot second he grimaces as if in pain. "Can we take this elsewhere?"

"Why? So you can disappear me too?" I should sound scared. Most women in my shoes would probably sound scared. But I'm in a crowded space, and even without it, without the witnesses, I could probably take the guy down. I'm not Nina.

"Trust me, I have no interest in making anyone disappear. Just the opposite." The laugh that leaves his throat is rough and cynical. Something about it brushes against a soft spot in my chest.

Then it hits me. His words. His nerves. The bakery he disappeared in, mid afternoon. The worn out look that haunted his face when he'd returned. The multiple times I've caught him staring at me, brows knitted as if he's considering something, and none of it murder.

"You're looking for someone?" I gasp, the words acidic in my mouth. What kind of man, suspected of fowl play, would covertly look for someone else? Was he looking for Nina too? Why? To clear his name? End media speculations? Keep protective siblings from ambushing him?

He grimaces at the question, before a flash of guilt slips into his eyes and he nods. The faintest nod if I ever did see one.

"That's what you were doing, yesterday at the bakery."

"Thought you weren't following me."

I raise my brows at him.

"Fine. If you must know, yes. I was looking for someone." He sighs, eyes gliding to locate the nearest exit.

"You're looking for Nina?" I ask, blunt as a cheap knife.

"Something like that." He nudges towards the exit.

"Fine."

#

He finds a hole-in-the-wall sort of pub on a silent walk where we're both judging one another. At least I am. For once I wish I was armed, screw the fact I'm not a cop here. What if I'm walking into a trap? Some human trafficking ring he's part of and my sister's been taken, as weird and scary as that sounds? I'm about to be next.

I wedge myself in a dark, musty corner of the quiet pub—at midday. With a wall at my six and a pen gripped in my hand like a shank, I watch as he sloshes two pints of ale on the table and slinks in, opposite me. "Where's my sister?"

With a sigh, he brings a pint to his lips before mumbling, "Told you, your sister is fine." He takes a long swig and adds, "As far as I know."

"As far as you know?" I eye the drink. Am I thirsty? Sure. Am I hundred percent certain he hasn't tampered with it? Not really.

In exasperation, he lifts my untouched glass to his lips, takes a loud, pointed slurp, and pushes it back my way. "If you don't want it or don't drink beer, I'm sure they have champagne."

"It's fine." I pull the drink closer as if accepting a duelling glove. He watches me carefully and I bring the piss-pale drink to my lips and sip. The cool bitterness coats my tongue and I almost sigh with relief. It was hot outside. And the walk didn't help. Or the fact that fifteen minutes ago, I found out Nina is fine. Missing, but fine. Or so he says.

"Nina is somewhere in Eastern Europe," he says unprompted, fiddling with a fidget silver ring on his thumb I've often seen him with. He's either wearing it on his thumb or around a silver chain on his neck. Perhaps a memento from his ex?

"Eastern Europe?" I narrow my eyes. "And why would she go to Eastern Europe alone?"

"Who says she went alone?" For once, there's haughtiness in his voice as he laughs into his half empty glass.

"You're telling me Nina ran away?" I lean over the table. "The same sister, who, up until four months ago was daydreaming about buying an acre plot in the countryside and building three tiny homes out of shipping containers and a deck that joined them all, so mum, her, and I could have our own houses and live off grid? That Nina?"

"Maybe she had a boyfriend."

"A boy—" I can't even finish the word. Was this guy for real? Did he realise Nina barely had a life outside of being his assistant? From the moment she woke up to the moment she hit the bed, hair still wet from her shower at almost midnight, that she didn't have the time nor luxury of dating let alone maintaining a relationship? "When exactly would she have done that?"

For a long moment, his silence is the only thing between us. Then he says, "She spent most of her time around a guy, Anna."

I can't help but laugh at the implication. Nina and him? Him and Nina? Secretary and her boss? Cliche of all cliches if true. But then a burning in my chest stops all those.

Nina with Carter? Really?

Suddenly, the damn pastry from this morning threatens to come up for no good reason.

"Nina would have told me if she was seeing anyone. Especially you."

"Maybe there were certain things she was keeping things to herself?" His suggestion feels barbed.

"No. She wasn't like that." But even as I say those words, the last few months before Nina's disappearance comes to mind. She'd been secretive. Reckless at times. Could she have been lying to me?