As soon as I reach the hotel, I throw on some cargo pants and a shirt, and let Peggy and Kit know I’m back. Then I check in with Hala and Caitlin.
“How’s the stakeout on Jingo going?” I ask.
“Like watching paint dry,” Caitlin complains. “Hala’s gone out to get us some lunch. Jingo hasn’t left the house. Amber intercepted an email from his girlfriend, though. He has a date at her place later tonight. I’ll need you for that.”
“Sure thing,” I confirm.
“How are you?” Caitlin asks. “Your morning sounded more exciting than ours.”
“You’d rather be shot at in a lab filled with horrible poisons than hang out in your car eating Indian food?” I ask.
“I think here, it’s just ‘food,’” ponders Caitlin, missing my point.
There’s a knock at my door, so I hang up with Caitlin. I check the peephole—it’s Kit. Opening up, I find her in a subdued but graceful flowing tunic that falls low over matching pants. It’s an Indian-style ensemble that looks elegant but tells me that she’s heading to another funeral or set of condolence rites. Without saying anything, I just offer my mother a hug. She clings on, emotional. When she pulls out of the embrace, her eyes search my face. Her hand comes up to touch my jaw, where a slight bruise is forming from the glancing blow I took in this morning’s fight.
“What happened?” Kit asks.
“Did Peggy not bring you up to speed?”
“She did. But I mean, what happened to your chin? What’s this bruise?”
There’s a good reason we don’t share that level of detail all the time. Kit is clearly stressed and anxious. I have no idea how to deal with her questions. If I ignore them, she’ll get upset. If I address them in too much detail, I’ll freak her out.
“Jessie?” she persists.
“You know how these things go,” I say lightly. “Half the time you’re watching us through our lapel cams.”
I’m not super keen to share with my mother the intimate details of how I feel every time I dodge a bullet or a knife. How I attacked the guy this morning. How I wasn’t 100 percent sure I wouldn’t be hit when I ran out into the path of his gun. Those details alone could drive her back to the solace of vodka, for all I know.
“Mum, you’re just feeling fragile because of the girls who died. It’s understandable . . .”
“Are you even wearing the bracelet I gave you?”
I wonder at how desperate Kit is, that she’s clinging to the superstition that her magic wooden beads will save me. Maybe that’s what we all do when things feel shaky. Cling to whatever we think we can control. I look at my naked wrist, then remember.
“I’m sorry, Mum. I had to give it to the lab. They incinerated it. Procedure.”
Kit nods. “I suppose that’s safer,” she says, but she doesn’t look like she really believes it. She seems seriously upset. I’m relieved when there’s a knock on the door of my room.
“That’ll be Peggy,” Kit mutters. “I have to go.”
Riya’s wearing jeans and a white blouse, maybe not the best ensemble for traveling on the back of a motorbike. But the afternoon is warm and muggy, and I keep our speed down as we head toward Bandra. Riya hangs on tightly on the turns, and a few times, she directs me onto side streets that help us cut the route shorter. As we drive down quiet residential roads, with lush vegetation on each side, we pass many older villas with verandas, wooden shutters, and arched windows. I slow down so we can take everything in. It feels good to be together, without any pressure, without anyone else.
When we finally get closer to Kit’s school, we park nearby. Riya stays on the bike for a long moment after we stop, and I stay there too. Her arms remain around my waist. Gently, I bring my hand up to cover hers, and for a moment our fingers intertwine. I feel as if my heart might stop—and it nearly does but in a different way when a low, male voice says my name, inches from my ear.
I spin around and find myself face-to-face with Luca, the former Navy SEAL. He raises his hands with a grin.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he says. “Ethan clocks anyone who parks on this block and your bike showed up, so I came out to see if we had anything to worry about.”
“No, it’s just me,” I say, trying to get over my inner fluster caused by the handholding with Riya. “I need to see the headmistress for a few minutes,” I say.
“Jaya? She’s in her office,” Luca says. “Come on, I’ll take you over.”
In the meantime, Riya has swung off the motorcycle and removed her helmet. I introduce her to Luca, explaining to her that Kit has hired private security to watch over the girls. We both follow him across the street and into the school grounds.
“The girls are back on their timetable. Nothing strange has come up on our watch yet. I feel good about security,” Luca tells us. “We’re still not letting them out in the playground though.”
“Sounds smart,” I comment.
“You bet.” Luca nods.
On the front steps of the school, I pause and take a look around again. The building is set back from the street, but the road that runs outside it, the one we parked on, is really busy. Beyond the road, over on the other side, low apartment blocks rise up; the top layers of them overlook the playground. Colorful scarves, saris, and shirts hang from lines on each level of the blocks, like festive bunting. Posters for various political candidates are plastered haphazardly over
