Chapter Ten
Port de Sóller
Mallorca, Spain
Caspian held Liesel’s hand as they walked through the crowded streets of Port de Sóller. They didn’t speak much, but their eyes were constantly moving. Before leaving their hotel, they had challenged each other about the layout of the town and the different escape routes around the restaurant.
Caspian adjusted their path slightly, leading her through a curved route around the plaza, then down a quieter side street before returning to the main promenade. It wasn’t a full SDR—surveillance detection route—but it was enough to potentially flush out an inexperienced watcher.
But even then . . .
With all the tourists lingering in the shops, the couples sipping sangria along the waterfront, and the families enjoying dinner on the many terraces, Caspian knew it would be near impossible to spot a tail, let alone a professional surveillance team.
They arrived at Ses Oliveres fifteen minutes before 7 p.m. The sun was getting low, and it would be dark in less than thirty minutes.
A coastal breeze threaded through the air, bringing with it the smell of grilled seafood.
The hostess greeted them with a warm smile and led them to a table on the terrace.
It was set for four. When she reached to clear the third and fourth wineglasses and the tableware, Liesel stopped her.
“Leave this one,” she said, taking off the white sun hat she’d been wearing. “We’re waiting for someone else.”
Caspian took the chair facing the pedestrian promenade, which gave him a clear view of the bay, the pedestrian road, the tram tracks, and the steady stream of foot traffic.
Anyone looking at him would see a relaxed man enjoying the company of a beautiful woman.
While this was true, Caspian was clocking everything: the couple holding hands and laughing a little too loudly, the lone man nursing a beer three tables to their right, and the woman pretending to read the menu while glancing at them over her sunglasses.
Caspian knew Liesel was doing the same.
“Anything?” she asked.
“My sixth sense isn’t tingling,” he replied.
It was a few minutes past seven when the waitress approached their table.
“Should I bring you something to drink while you wait for your friend?” she asked in Spanish.
Liesel ordered a bottle of sparkling water and small plates of Iberian ham and fried anchovies.
“She probably has eyes on us,” Liesel said once the waitress had left.
Caspian scanned the crowd again.
“Maybe,” he said. “If she’s watching, she’s doing it from a distance.”
As they waited for the appetizers, and for Sofie to show up, Liesel asked, “You think the folks you zip-tied got free?”
“Yeah. I’d be shocked if they didn’t. I’m sure they weren’t out for long.”
“Then we have to assume they’ve reported back and they’re now actively looking for you.”
“If they’re looking for me, then the window for us staying static here is closing fast.”
“If?” Liesel asked.
“Maybe they already got what they came here for,” Caspian replied.
“Paul Hobb.”
“Yep. Why risk coming after me if they’ve already accomplished their mission? To settle a score? Because I bruised their egos? I don’t think so.”
The appetizers arrived, and Caspian forced himself to eat. He chewed, but he didn’t taste anything.
“She’s half an hour late,” Liesel said, munching on a fried anchovy. “What do you want to do?”
Caspian looked at her. She smiled, did her best to appear casual, but the tension in her shoulders and the slight crease in her brow told him the truth. Liesel was worried.
Worried about what I’ll say. Worried about us leaving before she could see her sister.
“We’re here. Let’s order mains and wait. If she doesn’t show by the time we’re done, we’ll head back to the hotel, grab our gear, and drive to Palma.”
Liesel looked relieved, but before she could reply, two local police officers came into view.
They were walking their bikes side by side along the promenade, chatting.
Both wore short-sleeved blue uniforms, shirts and shorts.
One was in his late forties and seemed to have a permanent squint, as if he was annoyed by the sun.
He had a strong build and a calm, seasoned look that suggested a couple of decades of patrol work and regular gym sessions.
The other was younger, lean, and had a pair of sunglasses perched on his cap.
Caspian bit the interior of his lower lip as the two officers stopped by the hostess stand. He had a side view of the officers, but Liesel would have had to turn her head to see them.
“The local cops just stopped to talk to the hostess,” he said.
Had he been wrong about the two people on the beach? Had they reported the incident and given his description to the police?
Without making it obvious, Caspian watched the exchange. The hostess nodded at something the older cop said, then her eyes swept casually across the terrace and briefly landed on their table. Was she about to point them out?
Caspian forced himself to stay relaxed, but his heart rate climbed anyway.
The young officer laughed and said something Caspian couldn’t hear. Then, he leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to the hostess’s lips.
“I think the hostess is the younger cop’s girlfriend,” he said. “They’re leaving.”
Still, knowing this could have gone very differently, the tension didn’t drain from Caspian’s neck and shoulders right away.
Movement from inside the restaurant pulled his attention. A woman approached their table. Caspian sat upright. The woman looked like Liesel.
But older, and roughened, somehow.
Her skin was sun worn, and her eyes were shadowed by fatigue. She wore a plain olive green blouse tucked into black pants. Her dark hair was pulled back into a hasty knot. Caspian thought there was something feral about the way she moved.
“Liesel,” he murmured. “Your sister’s here.”