Chapter 6 Tristan
SIX
TRISTAN
The villa sits on a hill overlooking miles of vines that spill into the valley below. Postcards are made out of landscapes exactly like this.
Too bad it does dick all for me.
Nick leans against the counter, scrolling through documents. My tablet pings and Zara's face fills the screen.
"Morning, children. Tristan, you look awful. Are you sleeping, or did you decide you're too good for basic needs now?"
I don't even have the energy to do this with her, which is very telling considering I normally enjoy Zara's banter. "Tell me what you have."
"A new identity surfaced. A woman linked to one of the Ferryman's shell households on the British coast. No photo, minimal details, but the timing matches."
All traces of fatigue are gone. "Which coast?"
"North of Scotland. Super hidden." She hesitates. "There's a marriage file tied to the address. The bride's name is redacted."
Nick looks at me. "You think it's Keira?"
"I hope not."
"The file lists a child in the household. No gender or name. Just a notation for pediatric medicine delivery."
Nick's shoulders drop. "Fuck."
She's married.
A dull feeling twists sharply in my gut.
Maybe she wanted this. Maybe this guy was her endgame all along and I was just the idiot who got played.
But then why send the lockbox?
Why now, after all these years? Why send me a photo of our son if she didn't want me to come? She knew what it would do to me, so why?
Unless she didn't. Maybe she's trapped and the lockbox wasn't a taunt but a call for help.
I pour a glass of whiskey and throw it back. Then pour another.
"Boss, you okay?"
"I can't stand it. Not knowing if she chose this or if he's got her locked in there. Not knowing if my kid is safe or if he's growing up calling another man father. We could be wrong about all of it. Maybe she chose this."
"We'll find them." Zara's voice is calm. "But you need to be patient and plan this out."
"I don't have time for plans."
"You do if you don't waste it being drunk and sleep-deprived," she snaps. "Pull yourself together."
I set the glass down hard enough that it cracks. She flinches behind the screen.
"Get me everything. Layout of that town. Every camera, every contract. Staff list for that house. Every last detail. I want it."
"Already on it."
Zara signs off and Nick watches me like I'm a live grenade. "Go get some rest."
I don't want to sleep. Sleep is the only place where the past catches up, where my head plays her face on repeat. Where my soul is completely restless. But I don't have the energy to fight with Nick, so I grab my laptop and head for the stairs.
Nick calls my name, but I ignore him.
My body moves like it's underwater, thanks to the whiskey I chugged.
I should've made an espresso before heading up. There is so much I have to do, places I haven't looked yet.
I kick off my shoes the moment I'm inside, tossing my jacket onto the bed. The shirt comes off next, pulled over my head and discarded as I drop into the chair and flip open my laptop.
The program I built months ago loads on command. The one designed to find her.
I've put traces everywhere on the Ferryman. Every dark corner, every whispered alias, every digital breadcrumb he's ever left behind.
I will find him.
It just needs to happen sooner rather than later.
Code cascades down the screen, a slow green pulse against black. My eyes sting from hours of sleeplessness. I blink hard, trying to focus, but the alcohol has turned everything soft at the edges. The lines of code blur together, freeze—
Then the screen goes black.
Three words appear in the middle: Go. To. Sleep.
I don't have the strength to shout for Nick. Instead, I let my head fall back against the chair. Just for a second. Just to clear my thoughts. Just to let the anger cool enough to think.