Hide Me. Ava McCarthy

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ her cue from the locals and carry an umbrella.

      Her phone buzzed against her hip. She whipped it out to check the caller ID: her sister, Amaranta. Mentally, Harry poked a tongue out at herself for hoping it might be Hunter, then debated whether to take the call. Amaranta specialized in big-sister guilt trips, and Harry wasn’t in the mood for one right now. She cursed and put the phone to her ear.

      ‘Amaranta?’

      ‘At last. I was about to hang up.’

      Harry rolled her eyes and didn’t answer. She pictured her sister: ash-blonde and elegant, just like their mother. Harry was the one who’d inherited the dark Martinez looks, but it was Amaranta who’d got the exotic Spanish name. By the time Harry was born, her mother had tired of all things Spanish and had christened her Henrietta, after her own mother. It was her father who’d rescued her and shortened the name to Harry.

      Amaranta huffed into the silence, then quickly got to the point. ‘You know that Mum’s in a complete state because you’re in San Sebastián?’

      Harry squinted into the phone. ‘Why would she care where I am? And how does she even know? We haven’t spoken in over a month.’

      ‘Exactly. Don’t you think you should call her?’

      ‘No.’

      Harry let that one sit. She knew it sounded truculent, but had no intention of being drawn into explanations. Her relationship with her mother was like a wound that wouldn’t heal. Their exchanges usually ended on a sour note, and Harry often broke contact for weeks at a time to give them both a chance to recover. Eventually Harry would go back, peeling off whatever scab had managed to form and exposing herself to another injury. Never once had her mother initiated a reconciliation. Harry suspected she was secretly relieved by her daughter’s occasional absences.

      ‘You’re being childish,’ Amaranta said eventually.

      ‘Not really. We both know she doesn’t like me, so why pretend?’

      ‘That’s putting it way too strongly, and you know it.’

      ‘Just because she’s different with you doesn’t mean it isn’t true.’

      ‘You were Dad’s favourite and I never objected.’

      ‘Well, maybe you should have.’

      Harry bit her lip, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Waves crashed like thunder-claps into the silence, and even Amaranta didn’t rush to fill it this time.

      Their family had always been split into two teams: Amaranta and their mother versus Harry and their father. It was something she and Amaranta had accepted many years before, and it had brokered a sort of truce between them. Sure, they still bickered, but sibling rivalry was never the cause. The truth was, the family pairings had suited them. For Harry’s part, she’d stopped craving her mother’s affection so badly. Her father had become her safe haven and proved that her mother might be wrong; that Harry might be lovable after all. She guessed it must have been the same for Amaranta.

      Harry kicked a pebble along the promenade. At the time, the arrangement had seemed well balanced, but as an adult the after-effects were starting to feel a little unstable.

      Amaranta sighed into the phone, and when she spoke again, her voice was softer. ‘It’s a little late for all that now, isn’t it?’

      ‘Maybe. Maybe not.’

      ‘Look, why not just call Mum?’

      Harry’s brain jangled at the thought. ‘I don’t get why she’s so uptight. What’s wrong with me being in San Sebastián?’

      ‘You tell me. It’s just another job, isn’t it?’

      Harry closed her eyes briefly. ‘More or less.’

      They kicked the topic around for a while, but could shake nothing else from it and so wound things up and said goodbye. Harry stowed the phone away and tried to put the exchange out of her head. Thinking about her mother had never brought her much comfort.

      She continued along the promenade for another hundred yards, then turned left on to Calle de la Infanta Cristina. Her stomach muscles tightened. In front of her stood the grey, triangular block that housed the Ertzaintza station. She straightened her shoulders, smoothed down her hair, then marched through the door and asked for Detective Zubiri.

      An officer escorted her down a narrow corridor, and she trotted behind him, her shoulder aching from the weight of her satchel, which held her laptop and computer forensics toolkit. She probably wouldn’t need them, but if she was supposed to be a hacker then she may as well look the part.

      The officer showed her into a room and clicked the door shut behind her. Harry did a quick survey of her surroundings.

      She was alone in the room. The lights were dimmed, the blinds drawn. The only illumination was the glow of a projector and laptop on the conference table. The projector whirred. Dust motes swirled in the slanting cones of light, and Harry moved closer, peering at the image cast up against the wall. It was a headshot of Riva Mills.

      Harry stared at the pointed features and taut lips. The blonde hair was fine and silky. It was the only thing soft-looking about her.

      ‘You’re late.’

      Harry turned to find Zubiri watching her by the door. His shaggy hair hung low over his brows, obscuring his eyes a little. She glanced at her watch.

      ‘Not really.’

      He stomped across the room, his large head dipped low like a charging bull. He took a seat in front of the laptop, gesturing for Harry to sit to one side, presumably so she could view the slideshow on the wall.

      She pulled up a chair, nodding towards the photo of Riva. ‘We’re starting with her?’

      ‘We start where I say. Tell me what you know about her.’

      Harry settled her satchel by her feet, playing for time while she coached herself to let his rudeness slide. She counted to three, then straightened up.

      ‘I only know what I could find out from public sources. She’s from Ohio. Ran away from home at the age of fourteen, bought her first casino when she was twenty-one.’ Harry turned to study the striking face projected on the wall. ‘I guess a lot must have happened to her in those intervening years.’

      Zubiri grunted. ‘What else?’

      ‘She owns eleven casinos, three of them here in Spain. She’s lived in San Sebastián for the last ten years, though I’m not exactly sure what her link with the place is.’

      She threw Zubiri a questioning look, but he didn’t fill her in. Instead, he jabbed at his keyboard. Riva’s headshot disappeared and another photo flashed into view: Riva shaking hands with some guy on a podium. The man wore a broad smile and a ceremonial chain, but Riva’s expression was sombre.

      ‘She’s well respected in the community here,’ Zubiri said. His American-flavoured accent seemed more pronounced, as though he’d been practising overnight with CNN. ‘She’s on the board of trustees for two children’s homes. Contributes to local causes. Fundraises СКАЧАТЬ