Read Long Lost (Myron Bolitar) for Free Online Page A

said.
    “I know.”
    “I tried to find you.”
    “I know that too.”
    “Can you stop saying ‘I know’?”
    “Okay.”
    “So what happened?” I asked.
    She took back her hand. Her eyes drifted toward the Seine. A young couple walked by us. They were fighting in French. The woman was outraged. She picked up a crushed soda can and hurled it at her boyfriend’s head.
    “You wouldn’t understand,” Terese said.
    “That’s worse than ‘I know.’ ”
    Her smile was so sad. “I’m damaged goods. I would have taken you down with me. I cared too much about you to let that happen.”
    I understood. And I didn’t. “No offense, but that sounds like a load of self-rationalization.”
    “It’s not.”
    “So where have you been, Terese?”
    “Hiding.”
    “From what?”
    She shook her head.
    “So why am I here?” I asked. “And please don’t tell me it’s because you missed me.”
    “It isn’t. I mean, I do miss you. You have no idea how much. But you’re right, that’s not why I called.”
    “So?”
    The waiter appeared in a black apron and white shirt. Terese ordered for both of us in fluent French. I don’t speak a word of French so for all I know she ordered me diaper rash on whole wheat.
    “A week ago I got a call from my ex-husband,” she said.
    I hadn’t even known she’d been married.
    “I hadn’t spoken to Rick in nine years.”
    “Nine years,” I repeated. “That would be right around the time we met.”
    She looked at me.
    “Don’t be dazzled by my mathematical prowess,” I said. “Math is one of my hidden talents. I try not to brag.”
    “You’re wondering if Rick and I were still married when we ran off to that island,” she said.
    “Not really.”
    “You’re so damn proper.”
    “No,” I said, thinking again about the soul piercing on that island, “I’m not.”
    “As I can attest?”
    “Again,” I said, “hidden talents—I try not to brag.”
    “Good thing. But let me set your mind at ease. Rick and I weren’t together when we met.”
    “So what did ex-husband Rick want?”
    “He said he was in Paris. He said it was urgent I come.”
    “To Paris?” I asked.
    “No, to Six Flags Great Adventure in Jackson, New Jersey. Of course Paris.”
    She closed her eyes. I waited.
    “I’m sorry. That was uncalled-for.”
    “Nah, I like you snarky. What else did your ex say?”
    “He told me to stay at the Hotel d’Aubusson.”
    “And?”
    “And that’s it.”
    I shifted in the chair. “That was the entire phone call? ‘Hi, Terese, it’s Rick, your ex-husband whom you haven’t spoken to in nearly a decade, come to Paris immediately, and stay at the Hotel d’Aubusson, and oh, it’s urgent’? ”
    “Something like that.”
    “You didn’t ask him why it was so urgent?”
    “Are you being intentionally dense? Of course I asked.”
    “And?”
    “He wouldn’t tell me. He said he needed to see me in person.”
    “And you just dropped everything and came?”
    “Yes.”
    “After all these years, you just . . .” I stopped. “Wait a second. You told me you were in hiding.”
    “Yes.”
    “Were you hiding from Rick too?”
    “I was hiding from everyone.”
    “Where?”
    “In Angola.”
    Angola? I just let that go for now. “So how did Rick find you?”
    The waiter arrived. He brought two cups of coffee and what looked like an open ham and cheese sandwich.
    “They’re called Croque Monsieurs,” she said.
    I knew that. Open-face ham and cheese, but with a fancy name.
    “Rick worked with me at CNN,” she said. “He’s probably the best investigative reporter in the world, but he hates being on air, so he stays behind the scenes. He tracked me down, I guess.”
    Terese was paler, of course, than she’d been on that sun-blessed island. The blue eyes had less sparkle, but I could still see the gold ring around each pupil. I have always preferred dark-haired women, but her lighter locks had won me over.
    “Okay,” I said. “Go on.”
    “So I