CHAPTER 9
I SWIPED AT my eyes with my sleeve as Elizabeth opened the car door. Of all people, I didn’t want her to see me weeping.
“Didn’t go well, I take it?”
A strangled laugh escaped. “That’s the understatement of the year.”
She leaned back in the driver’s seat. “Sara was as useful as a bicycle in a NASCAR race. The woman who picked Tabby up had brown hair and was aged somewhere between twenty and fifty. Sara thinks she was wearing glasses, maybe, and she might have been driving a car that was black, blue, or brown. So that narrows it right down.”
“It doesn’t matter. Zacharov’s got her.”
“Oh, good.”
I turned to stare at her. “Good? How can that possibly be good?”
“We know where Zacharov is. At least it’s not one of the multitude of other people you’ve pissed off over the years.”
