Apparently, wearen’tgoing to talk about it. I feel a bit of wistfulness, but I push it away. This is no time to fantasize about romance.
“Not yet,” I reply. “I’m sure I’ll find one soon, though. Wealthy families are always looking for a reason to pay someone else to take care of their children.”
“Oh, those horrible wealthy people. How dare they have money?”
I give him a dry look. “I don’t hate wealth, Sean. Perhaps I’m not on the Forbes list, but as you’re fond of pointing out, I have a tidy sum put away myself.”
“Yet you hate money so much. No, don’t roll your eyes, you know it’s true.”
“I don’t hate money. I hate when people think that money allows them to get away with anything they want. I hate that the wealthy can do horrible things, then sweep it under the rug, and no one calls them to account for it.”
“Except you.”
I smile sweetly at him. “And now you.”
He rolls his eyes, and I laugh. He gives me a quizzical look.
“What?”
“I’ve never heard you laugh before.”
Heat climbs my cheeks, but I’m in no mood to dwell on wherethatmight come from, so I ask, “Have you found anything?”
We’ve been in Boston for a week now. I’ve been recovering from my ordeal in Switzerland, but Sean has been working on Annie’s case.
He grows serious. “Actually, I have.”
The heat vanishes from my cheeks. I lean forward, flooded with excitement. “You have?”
Did He nods and pulls a picture from his pocket. He sets it on the table and slides it over to me.
The photograph is old, and the colors are faded. So, I suppose I can't be entirely sure that I'm seeing what I think I'm seeing.
But the woman in the photograph—glimpsed from the side with her head slightly turned away—looks very much like Annie.
"I got this from a friend of mine in Monterey, California. He recently considered purchasing an old hotel there. It appears that this woman arrived in Monterey just about thirty years ago and stayed for a few months at that hotel before moving on.”
“Moving on where?”
“I don’t know that yet,” he replies. “But I know one thing: your sister was alive when she left Boston.”
I look back down at the photograph. A million questions flood my mind, but the loudest thing in my head isn't a question but a statement. Or more properly, a declaration.
I will find you, Annie.
