The Blue Bar (Blue Mumbai #1)(85)

Arnav made introductions. At this moment, scrubbed clean of all makeup, wearing a pair of jeans and one of his shirts, Tara was a beleaguered mother, but not defeated. Tukaram seemed to warm up to her.

“The culprit is secondary,” Tukaram began the discussion. “Our priority is to bring your daughter back. We have to tell the constables we’re going to rescue a little girl.”

Naik agreed. Over the early dinner, Naik, Tukaram, and Arnav picked men for the evening’s operation to storm Pia’s abductors, once Arnav received confirmed intel. Zoya had promised to call with more information, and so had Ali.

They couldn’t recruit too many constables without alerting Commissioner Joshi—not at such short notice, for an unauthorized raid.

“If all else fails, I must go to wherever they call me. It is”—Tara glanced across the room at him—“our daughter.”

“You may not need to,” Arnav said. “We’ll receive Pia’s location soon.”

For the first time since he’d woken up in the hospital bed, he saw Tara smile. It was wan, faded, but it was real. He pictured this smile on Tara as their daughter laughed between them. Mentally, he crossed his fingers for Ali to come through once again, with Pia’s whereabouts this time.

As they finished dinner, Tara’s phone chimed its musical notes. Everyone sat up straighter. An unknown number. Arnav set up the recorder, and Tara snatched up the phone, putting it on speaker.

“They’re taking Pia to a warehouse in Andheri.” Zoya’s whisper sounded hoarse and disembodied. “They’ll wait for further instructions. They’ll be there soon, Rasool says. I’ll send you the info now. Hurry.”





CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX


TARA

Tara fretted in the rear seat of the car, Arnav by her side. The thin old Sub-Inspector Tukaram had driven like he was in one of those loud races in small cars, then melted into the night to join Naik. They were parked close to the Andheri address Zoya had given them, and from the conversations she heard on Arnav’s phone, Naik’s constables had the place surrounded.

The car stank of stale food and petrol. Its air-conditioning whirred but did not work, making the interior sultry. Tara sweated inside the saree blouse chosen at the last minute. The blouse hung loose where it was supposed to be tight, and bit at her armpits. It was already soaked through. Arnav had told her they wouldn’t need it, but she’d disagreed; what if they did? What if Pia wasn’t at the location? Tara couldn’t wear a pair of jeans. The jackal had a thing for women in sarees.

She wiped her leaking eyes. Pia loved her hair. Cutting it that short, along with her scrunchie, they would have yanked at her head . . . Tara stamped that thought down. Pia was all right. Safe. It was hair.

Tara stared at Arnav’s profile—his bruised jaw, his bandaged shoulder, all stiff, the veins on his forearm, and his grip on her hand as he spoke into the Bluetooth—he hadn’t let go of her for a moment all the while they’d been in the car. She’d been angry with him, but he might have been right, after all.

The kidnappers had not mentioned Arnav’s investigation this time. Why the change of plans? Who was behind it all? Was it Taneja? Had he noticed her at the movie set and changed his mind?

“You should have stayed at the dojo,” Arnav said. “I could have gone with them—only Naik and Tukaram have guns. We have no police radio.”

I could go with you, Tara wanted to say, but knew his answer. She was not a trained officer like Naik. Arnav had been nothing but kind to her, and in his gaze she’d seen a mixture of accusation, guilt, and suffering each time she’d insisted on preparing to meet the abductors. He didn’t understand—for her, Pia was her very breath. Not just her daughter, but her savior from another time. She wouldn’t hesitate for a second if she could save Pia’s life by giving up her own. Pia had another parent now.

Tara let her glance linger on Arnav—the shadows under his eyes, the sling and cast on his arm. Beyond him, the alley stretched dark. Distant Diwali lights twinkled on balconies, but she could only see Pia in her mind’s eye—the entire day it had taken to deliver her, how she was torn apart when Pia came, holding that tiny squirming body in her arms, counting the minute little fingers and toes, at her breast, suckling, how she’d laughed when her sleeping daughter had smacked her lips, like an old woman after a hearty meal.

She held on to Arnav’s firm hand on hers, trying to fight off her panic. What if they couldn’t get Pia?

The phone buzzing on her lap made her start. It was again an unknown number. Arnav pushed the phone into her hands.

“Lower the volume and put it on speaker,” Arnav said, so she did.

“Tara?” a woman’s voice, barely a whisper.

“Zoya?”

“The place I told you. Don’t let anyone in there. It is a decoy, rigged with bombs.”





CHAPTER SEVENTY-SEVEN


He dressed with care for Choti Diwali. He would celebrate with the Item Number tonight.

The right clothes put you in the mind space you wished to be in. In his white shirt paired with dark jeans, and his favorite blue cap, he was the king of calm. Of control. He wasn’t scared, because he had prepared well. Bilal was on his way, and so was she, all agog for those papers. He pictured the Item Number, sitting in her car, phone in hand, scrolling through rubbish.