Revealing Us (Inside Out #3)(47)

I hesitate and almost laugh. Could it be as simple as that?

Could I be overreacting? Oh, please let it be about the pickpocket. “Maybe.”

“Maybe it’s about Ella,” Chantal suggests, and she glances at Rey.

The door behind the desk opens, and Rey’s gaze goes past me. I turn to ind three men entering and, before I can stop her, Chantal charges toward them.

Rey steps to my side and whispers, “What’s really going on, Sara?”

“Chris is on his way here now. Please, if you want to help, get Chantal out of here.”

He shakes his head. “I can’t leave you.”

“Sara,” Chantal says, and I turn to ind her standing beside me, looking exceedingly pale.

“What is it?”

She whispers, “Is there some kind of investigation in the States?”

“I . . .” I do not want Chantal to know about this. “What did they say?”

“I didn’t understand, really. I asked about Ella, and they started questioning me about some investigation in the States.”

My hand goes to my throat. “Were they . . . talking about Ella?”

“I . . .” She looks lustered. “I don’t know.”

I grab her arm, my ingers digging into her delicate skin, and the room spins around me, fading in and out. What if Ella had returned to San Francisco after we checked her passport and Ava had killed her to spite me? It seems impossible, but then so does Ava really killing Rebecca.

“Sara.” Chantal’s voice rattles along my raw nerve endings, her very existence a reminder of Ella’s sweet, trusting nature, and neither of them would stand a chance against Ava.

My gaze darts to Chantal and I blurt, “I need to know if the investigation involves Ella. I need to know if they mean Ella.

Ask them now.”





Fifteen


Is Ella dead?

I hug myself, trying to control the shaking my adrenaline rush has created, holding my breath as I listen to the French exchanges erupting around me. For an eternal moment, I listen to the murmurs, understanding nothing but a random reference to “Ella”, and still I don’t get an answer to my question. IsElla dead? Is she dead? No one is talking to me. No one is talking in English. I can’t take it. My heart is going to explode in my chest.

“Is Ella dead?” I all but shout. The room is instantly silent, all eyes on me, and I think maybe I actually didshout, but I don’t care. “Is she dead?” This time I whisper. This time I have their attention.

The irst man I’d spoken to leans across his desk, ists pressed on the steel surface, to bring himself eye level to me.

“We don’t know who Ella is, but we intend to ind out.”



The accusation in his voice is pure acid, but I process only what is important. They have no clue who Ella is or where she is. Ella isn’t dead. The men in this department don’t know who she is.

“We have questions for you, Mademoiselle McMillan,” the man adds, and I swear the other three men are hovering behind him worse than Rey does with me.

Before I can stop myself, I reply, “And I have questions about the missing-persons report on Ella.” It’s been weeks since Blake contacted the embassy about her. Weeks!

He gives me a piercing look before glowering at Rey and Chantal, speaking to them in French. I have the overwhelming urge to yell again. I’m really getting damn tired of people speaking French when they know I don’t understand it.

Rey glares at whatever the man has said, responding in a rough, fast rampage of French. I might not know the language but I recognize “pissed of ” when I hear it.

Chantal’s hand comes down on my shoulder; a gentle, comforting touch. “They say we have to wait outside, Sara. I don’t want to leave you.”

These men have told her they want to question me regarding an investigation I’m attached to in some way, and she doesn’t want to leave my side. I can only hope that means they didn’t use the word “murder.” Still, she should be running. I’d be running. But she, like Ella, is too na?ve to know this. She, like Ella, could too easily end up vulnerable and in trouble.

Protectiveness rises in me and I rest my hand on her shoulder, promising myself I will soon do the same with Ella. “I’m okay. You go with Rey and get out of here. Thank you for all you’ve done today.”

“We’ll be outside the door,” Rey states, and I ind him in a glare with the man behind the desk. “Right outside the door if she needs us.” His attention shifts back to me, his tone softening for my ears only. “I can’t risk being escorted out of the building by refusing to leave or I would, but don’t talk to them until Chris gets here.”

“I won’t,” I assure him, and my phone rings. “That’s probably Chris now.”

“Mademoiselle—” the man begins, and Rey immediately cuts him of with some sharply spoken statement in French, and, intended or not, he’s created a window for me to take my call. I climb through.

I dart toward the opposite side of the room and perch in an empty chair. “Chris,” I answer and glance up to watch Rey and Chantal being escorted from the room.

“Stephen says not to talk to anyone.”

“Does he know what’s going on?”