Revealing Us (Inside Out #3)(46)

He stares at me a long moment and then lets out a deep, hearty chuckle. “Yes. I suppose he does. And I guess the same applies to you.”

This time I laugh and, unlike Chantal, I’m comfortable with the silence we fall into as I complete my forms. I instinctively like Rey, even if he does refuse to tell me what he said to Chantal.

I complete the forms and head to the desk to turn them in, hopeful the process will move quickly from here.

It doesn’t. For the next hour the three of us wait, and Chantal thankfully begins to loosen up with him. Both of them drill me on my French, laughing at my pronunciation—and I do, too.

At some point, I relax into what I believe to be new friendships blooming, and with them, connections to this city and to Chris.

When inally my name is called, my mood and my steps are lighter. A plump woman behind the counter with a thick accent asks my name. She keys my information into a computer and studies her screen a moment, then she begins to speak in highly accented English and at lightning speed.

“Can you repeat that, please?”

“Denied,” she states latly. “Your passport is denied.” She hands me my paperwork and a form written in French.

My pulse leaps. “Denied? What does that mean?”

“Denied is denied. No reissue. You want answers, go see Special Services.”

“Where is Special Services?”

She points to my left and I see a “Special Services” sign over a door. Blind to the rest of the room, my heart thundering loudly in my ears, I rush toward the sign and ind a small oice with four steel desks, only one of which is occupied.

A man in a dress shirt and solid navy tie, with streaks of gray in his neatly trimmed brown hair, gives me an expectant look.

“English?” I ask hopefully.

“Yes, madame.” He sets down his pen and rests an elbow on the desk, looking rather mifed at the interruption. “What can I do for you?”

I cross to his desk and hand him my paperwork. He glances at it and then at me. There is a new sharpness to the way he looks at me, cutting and almost . . . accusing. I tell myself I’m 176

being paranoid, but adrenaline is pouring through me and I barely keep my voice normal. “What’s the problem?” I demand, when he says nothing.

He picks up the phone, using his other hand to point me into a chair in front of his desk. The silent command provokes another surge of adrenaline and I have to inhale slowly to calm myself before I sit down.

I’ve barely settled into the seat when he hangs up the receiver. “Please stay here, Mademoiselle McMillan. We need to ask you some questions.”

My heart skips a beat. “About what?”

But I know. This has to do with Rebecca.

“Just wait here.” He delivers his clipped command as he pushes to his feet and walks away, exiting out of a back door several feet behind his desk.

I spring into instant action, unsure how long I have to enlist help before he returns. Fumbling with my purse, I pull out my cell and dial Chris’s number.

The three rings feel like a dozen before he answers, “Sara?”

His voice is rich, warm, soothing, and oh so welcome.

“I need you here,” I breathe out. “I need you at the embassy.”

Chris immediately starts speaking in French to someone else and I hear several voices communicate with him before he’s back on the line with me. “I’m already walking to my car.”

I close my eyes in relief. He hasn’t asked why I need him.

He’s simply leaving a meeting without an idea why. Guiltily, I think of how I’d allowed Amber to rattle me earlier and I’m reminded of all the reasons I shouldn’t worry about Chris shutting me out. All of the reasons why I should, and can, count on this wonderful, amazing man.

“Talk to me, Sara. What’s happening?”

“They denied my passport and said they need to ask me questions.”

He curses under his breath. “Don’t answer anything until I get there. I’m calling Stephen. I’ll call you back.”

“Okay.”

“Sara. It’s going to be ine. It’s an administrative lag, nothing more. A misunderstanding we’ll clear up.”

But I’d heard his initial reaction, his curse, and we both know it’s more than an administrative lag. “Just hurry, please. I need you, Chris.”

“And I’m here for you. I’ll call you back after I talk to Stephen.”

We hang up and I sit, my foot tapping nervously. Chris wouldn’t have to call the attorney if he truly believed this was just a passport lag. And what does that even mean? Why is my passport lagged?

“There you are!” Chantal exclaims, and I turn to ind her and Rey headed toward me. I’d forgotten about them completely, and I cringe at the idea of them discovering me being accused of murder. What will they think of me? Or worse, of Chris?

I push to my feet and step around the chair to meet them, trying to hide the trembling of my hands by running them over my hips.

“What’s going on?” Rey asks, and he doesn’t look pleased.

“And why didn’t you tell me you were coming in here?”

“They need to ask me some questions. I’ll be out as soon as I’m done.”

“Questions?” Rey looks baled. “About the pickpocket?”