Meet Me in Barcelona (18 page)

“Give him some space.”

“You paid him?”

“We might need to ask him more later.”

“I thought your wallet was stolen.”

“It was. I keep cash in my pocket too just in case.”

“We need to find out everything he knows.”

“He said the American guy beat him up and then left. For right now that's all we know.” He turned, crossed his arms, stared at Grace.

“What?”

“Carrie Ann is married?” He sounded upset.

So Grace was right. Jean Sebastian did have a thing for Carrie Ann. So much for thinking he liked her. Not that any of that mattered—then or now. “Was. They're separated—I think she even filed for divorce. She said she came here because she was afraid he was going to kill her.”

Grace put her hands on her hips and looked up and down La Rambla. As usual, it was swarming with activity. She had filled Jean Sebastian in on Stan with as few details as possible. She just wanted to get to the police station. Jean Sebastian told her there was one nearby.

“Lead the way,” Grace said.

“But they could be up in Carrie Ann's flat.” Jean Sebastian gestured back toward the apartment. “If their drugs have not worn off, they might not have heard me knocking.” Shoot. That was a good point. She wasn't thinking. And did Spain have that missing-twenty-four-hour rule? She hoped not. That was way too long to wait. Either way, they needed to gather as much information as possible. Once at the police station, they were going to have to know exactly how many people were missing. It was so strange. Grace knew she had passed out—that was her last memory. Just before that she had been making out with Jake on the dance floor. No wonder she'd felt so free to be so intimate in public—the drugs had been working their way through her system. She remembered Carrie Ann's saying “Stan” or “plan,” and then she remembered falling and Carrie Ann's trying to hold her up. Did Grace regain consciousness after that but she couldn't remember? Carrie Ann wouldn't have just left her in a crowded bathroom. Then again, maybe she would have. But the club had still been packed at that point. Somebody would have helped her. Oh, why couldn't she remember? Grace turned back toward the building. “We need to get into their apartment. And a phone—we need to get to a phone. We'll call Jake, Carrie Ann, Rafael—we have to know if their cell phones are on.”

“You have all their numbers?”

“Just Jake's. The others were in my phone.”

“Carrie Ann's was in my phone too.”

“Okay. Well, we have to get to a phone and call Jake. Maybe he is somewhere and he's been trying to call me. He must be worried to death.”

“I sure would be.” Grace glanced at Jean Sebastian. He was looking at her intensely. She didn't know what to make of the comment, and even if he was hitting on her at this totally inappropriate time, she didn't have time to analyze it. “I'll bet Stefano has the key to Rafael's apartment. Wait. Rafael is a street performer. We can look for him out on La Rambla.”

“Okay. Try to get in the apartment. Find a phone and try calling Jake. Look for Rafael.”

Grace and Jean Sebastian hurried back to the apartment building, dashed through the lobby, and headed up the stairs. It did feel good to have some sort of plan. “And then go to the police,” Grace said.

“And tell Jake to call his mother,” Jean Sebastian said.

 

They banged on the door. No answer. Grace tried the knob. She even tried ramming the door with her body while turning the knob. It was locked, and if anyone was inside, he or she was still too heavily drugged to answer. Grace remembered that Rafael had climbed down to their window, so it was within the realm of possibility that they could climb upstairs. But she'd had enough of that with the dance club ledge, so she kept her mouth shut. “I have to find someone's phone,” Grace said.

“Why don't we just buy a disposable?”

“I need more money,” Grace said. “I'll check the room and meet you downstairs.”

“Why don't you send Jake an e-mail?” Jean Sebastian said.

“An e-mail?”

“E-mail, Facebook—whatever he might be able to check.”

“Okay,” Grace said. She didn't think Jake would stop to check his e-mail, but she guessed it didn't hurt to cover all bases. She ran into the apartment. Her money was still in the drawer near the bed. But her debit card was gone. Instead, there it was, Carrie Ann's credit card. Damn it. Carrie Ann's ID, her ring, her credit card. Was this all another Carrie Ann plot? If she was messing with Jake, she was going to be sorry. Grace left Jake a quick e-mail.

She didn't want to waste time saying much more. Jake never checked Facebook anyway, and she had resisted posting their every step on her own page, so Grace skipped that part. A hundred euro would be enough for a disposable phone and then some. She still had Jake's warning in her ear about carrying all her ID. Not that it had done her much good—

Her passport. Oh, God. She hadn't seen her passport in the drawer. She ran to the drawer and pawed through it. Gone. Her passport was gone. Jake's was too. Did Jake move them? She was going to have to toss the apartment. But all she wanted to do right now was get a phone and call Jake. There was a kiosk right on La Rambla.

“Anything?” Jean Sebastian asked when she came down to the lobby.

“No. Except my passport is gone. Jake's too.”

“My God,” Jean Sebastian said. “This is a thought-out plan.”

This wasn't part of the plan
. . . .

“Let's go get a phone.” They found the nearest kiosk, and Jean Sebastian helped her negotiate. They paid forty euro. Grace called as fast as she could. Thank God they'd had that conversation about memorizing each other's numbers. Jake's phone immediately went to voice mail. That wasn't good. Usually there were a few rings before voice mail kicked in. Did it mean the phone was turned off? “Jake. Jake. It's me. Where are you? I have a phone.” Grace left the number, twice, in a clear voice. “Call me. I'm going to the police.” By the time she hung up, tears were streaming down her face. Jean Sebastian pulled her in and hugged her, and she didn't stop him. She thought of her second day in the square, how Jake had gone to hug her and she wouldn't let him. Now here she was hugging a total stranger. Who, she'd already admitted to herself, she had a chemical attraction to. She'd been a selfish girlfriend, and she was a selfish girlfriend. She pulled out of the embrace.
Please, God. Help me find Jake. I'll never hold anything back from him again as long as I live
.

“We'll find them,” Jean Sebastian said, rubbing her back. “Try Carrie Ann.”

“Right.” Grace stared at the phone. “Her number is in my other phone,” she said. “I don't have it memorized.”

“We have to get into that apartment.”

“Let's look for Rafael. He dresses like some kind of black bird with a white face.”

“Really?”

“It's totally creepy.” Grace suddenly remembered her drug-induced dream. The thing chasing her down the street, knocking her over, pulling off its mask to reveal a laughing Carrie Ann. Maybe Grace knew deep down inside this was a Carrie Ann game she was playing. She almost hoped it was. Carrie Ann certainly might scheme and manipulate, but she wouldn't physically harm anyone. Stan, on the other hand—

That was only if Carrie Ann was to be believed. Grace was going to have to try and look up Stan's number. Call him. She had no choice. But not now, and not in front of Jean Sebastian. She appreciated his help, but that didn't mean he needed to know every dirty detail. Grace and Jean Sebastian took opposite sides of La Rambla. Grace moved down the line of street performers. Medusa with the snakes. The white man was back on the toilet. She wondered if he changed his newspaper every day or pretended to read the same one. The head was sticking out of the table. She no longer cared whether or not it had kneepads. She just wanted to find Jake and get out of Spain. She wanted to go home. She reached the end of the line on her side. From here there were art dealers and musicians lining the rest of the way to the beach. She tried Jake again. Voice mail kicked in immediately. “This voice mail is full. Please try your call again later.”

No. No. No. Grace wanted to hurl the phone down the street. Would texts go through if voice mail was full? She texted him.

Call me ASAP.

 

She left the number for the new phone even though it probably would show up with her text. She kept doing things that didn't really matter, but she had to do something. The police. She had to go to the police. She crossed over and began to scan the street for Jean Sebastian. God, what if she lost him too? What would she tell the police?
I don't know why, but everyone who hangs around me seems to disappear.

Grace wiped her brow. It was slick. The sun was brutal. She was still wearing the clothes she had worn to the dance club, slept on a bathroom floor in. She was going to have to shower and wear something presentable. Otherwise the police might think she was some kind of drug addict; they might not take her claims seriously enough. And she wouldn't blame them. Grace wouldn't have believed any of this either if it weren't for the fact that she knew Carrie Ann. And Carrie Ann was capable of almost anything.

Just as Grace was about to turn into the alley to go back to the apartment, she saw Jean Sebastian waving at her from across the way. She waited for him to catch up.

“Hey,” he said. “I thought we were going to meet up.”

“Sorry. I didn't see you, and I have to shower and get to the police station.” She looked at him. “Unless?” Had he spotted them? He shook his head. “So we're missing Rafael, Carrie Ann, and Jake.”

Jean Sebastian put his hand on her arm. “I need to get my things,” he said. “I think I should stay with you.” Grace hesitated. Jake probably wouldn't like it if less than twelve hours after he went missing she was already shacked up with another guy. A very good-looking guy from Belgium who used to be the director of an international rescue agency in the Congo. Then again, Jean Sebastian probably had some skills that would come in handy. Plus he spoke Spanish. Lastly, she was terrified of being alone. What if the psycho husband did exist and decided to go after her?

“Okay,” she said. “I'll take a shower, get dressed, and wait for you at the apartment.”

“You won't go anywhere else. You promise?”

“I promise. You should shower too.”

“I am European.” At her look, he laughed. “I will shower,” he said. “But it won't take long. I am going to buy a phone too—let me write down your number.” Neither of them had a pen, so he borrowed one from a passerby and wrote the number on his forearm. His muscles bulged. Strong. He was definitely an asset. That was the only reason she wanted him along. Jake wouldn't want her to face this all alone, would he?

“Check your e-mail, check your Facebook, everything,” Jean Sebastian said. “Any way someone might use to communicate.”

“Okay. But we're going straight to the police, right?”

“I don't like it. But I guess we don't have a choice.”

“See you soon.”

“Lock the doors,” Jean Sebastian said. She hesitated. Should she ask him to come up now and check the apartment to make sure no one was in there? After all, someone, Rafael most likely, had climbed in before just to move things around. No. She wasn't going to start sounding like someone who was afraid of her own shadow. Besides, she would be thrilled to see Rafael climbing around her apartment right now. But what if it was Stan? She wouldn't be thrilled to be alone and in the shower with him roaming about the apartment.

“Jean Sebastian?” He had only gotten a few steps away. He stopped, waited.

“Someone broke into our apartment before. Moved things around.”

“So maybe it is this husband?”

“Can you just give a sweep of the apartment before you go? Make sure I'm alone?”

Jean Sebastian hit his forehead. “Of course. God, I'm in such a hurry.” He stopped, grabbed her hand. “This is why we have to take our time,” he said. “We have to be able to think.” She nodded. Together they headed back to the apartment. They had gone a few steps before Grace realized they were still holding hands. She pulled away. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn't even realize.”

Grace gave a nervous laugh. “I didn't either.”

“Felt natural,” Jean Sebastian said very softly. Grace didn't acknowledge it. What was happening? Cheese and crackers. Jake wouldn't like this one bit. But her safety came first; they would both agree on that. The sweep of the apartment showed no one was hiding in closets or under the bed or in the shower. Jean Sebastian locked every single window and pulled all the shades.

“I'm not leaving,” Jean Sebastian said. “I'll wait out here while you shower. Then we'll go to my place.”

“No. I feel better now that you've checked.”

“I don't. Three of your friends are missing. Until we find them, I'm with you.”

Grace opened her mouth to argue. He was right. She really didn't want to be alone. “I won't be long.”

She had an awful, guilty feeling while she showered, and she didn't know why. Maybe just the thought of being naked while another man was just outside the door. A man she was attracted to. Was he thinking about her in here? Imagining her naked body in the shower? She was the girl next door according to Marsh Everett. She certainly wasn't having a girl-next-door experience. Did lusting for someone else in your fantasies count as cheating? Surely Jake fantasized about other women. Including Carrie Ann. He wouldn't have been human if that little red dress of hers hadn't prompted some sort of secret fantasy. Although there had to be a special room in hell for a girl who was having lustful fantasies about another man while her boyfriend was missing. Bad, Grace. Bad, bad, bad. To think, just a few days ago she was ready to spontaneously marry Jake in Spain. Maybe all of these thoughts were some sort of side effect of the drug's wearing off. It made her feel less guilty to think so anyway.

She ran the water as cold as she could stand it. She cupped her hands and gathered water and splashed it on her face. A memory flashed into her mind. Last night. Carrie Ann propping Grace up, bringing her into the bathroom.

“I think you drank mine,” she had said. “I think he was trying to drug me.” Carrie Ann had sounded truly panicked.

“Who?” Grace had said. She had begun to slip down the wall. “Where's Jake?”

“Oh, God.” Carrie Ann had pulled her up. She had turned the water on. Splashed some on Grace's face. “I have to get you home.”

“I feel funny.”

“I'm sorry. I'm sure it was meant for me.”

“Are you lying? You were always such a liar.” Had she really said that to Carrie Ann? “You even lied about library books.” Oh, God. She had said it. Carrie Ann's eyes, kind a few seconds before, had flashed.

“Library books?”

“I let you have my library card,” Grace had slurred. Why wasn't the wall holding her up? “You took out like ten books. And then weeks later the librarian was calling me, asking where they were. What did you say? ‘I took them back, Grace. I swear I took them back.' And where did I find them?”

Under her bed, where Carrie Ann stashed everything.

Grace had been on the floor again. Carrie Ann had squatted down so that they were eye-to-eye. “Is that why you thought I was lying about Mr. Gale?”

“How many times do I have to tell you? I didn't tell! I didn't tell!”

“I know you didn't tell, Grace. My question is—why? Why wouldn't you tell something like that?” If Grace could trust her memory, Carrie Ann had been leaning over her.

“Because you're a liar!”

“You have no idea how much you hurt me,” Carrie Ann had said.

What happened then? Grace couldn't remember. Had Carrie Ann stormed off? Had she just left her there?

Did you strangle Brady, Carrie Ann?

Grace turned off the shower even though she was still soapy. “Stop,” she said out loud.

There was a knock on the bathroom door. “You okay?”

Grace's heart pounded. Was it because of the memory, because the knock had startled her, or because in another world it would be so tempting to say, “Come in”? “Fine. Water just got too hot.”

“Be careful.” God, that accent. She'd better hurry and find Jake because he was not going to like her hanging out with Jean Sebastian. She turned the water back on and proceeded to rinse off.

If she had really said all those things to Carrie Ann last night, then Grace could see Carrie Ann leaving her on the bathroom floor.

Why? Why wouldn't you tell something like that?

A realization, as cold as the water blasting her, hit Grace. Carrie Ann might have been telling the truth about Lionel.

It had honestly never occurred to her. And Grace had done nothing. Said nothing. And Carrie Ann had hated her ever since.

Oh, God. Grace turned the water off, but leaned her head against the shower wall. Lionel Gale. Carrie Ann. Stan. It was all so painful. Time hadn't done anything but make the memories worse. And they were coming back to haunt her. She had to squelch her emotions. She had to think.

She had been drugged first. Where had Jake been when they were fighting in the bathroom? What had happened next? And if she was remembering things, was Jean Sebastian? She glanced at the bathroom door. She wondered what he was doing out there. She trusted him, and yet he was a complete stranger. She didn't have much of a choice. And if he did start remembering things, she prayed whatever those memories were, they would help lead her back to Jake.

 

Jean Sebastian was standing over Jake's laptop when she came out of the shower. Wrapped only in a towel, she hurried to the bedroom to change. She slipped on a yellow sundress and slid into her comfy flip-flops. She brushed her hair out and stuck a band around it. She almost called out to “Jake” in the other room. She sat down on the bed, suddenly aware of how fatigued she was. Jake was missing. Where the hell were Carrie Ann, Rafael, and Jake? She wanted him more than she'd ever wanted anyone in her life. Why had she lied to her parents? What was she supposed to do now? She just wanted Jake, and she wanted to be on a plane back to Nashville. Tears came easily, and hard. Soon she felt a presence in the doorway.

“I'm sorry,” Jean Sebastian said. “Don't worry. We'll find them.”

“You don't know that.”

He walked closer. “We know someone is deliberately doing this, right? They drugged you; they drugged me. So this is not an accident. Whoever this is will have to start communicating with us.”

“What if they hurt him?”

“Before we even know what they want?” Jean Sebastian said. “This is not very likely.”

“When you were in the Congo, did you ever face anything like this?”

“Yes. Twice armed men with masks and guns took us hostage in the center. The first time for two days; the second time for twelve days.”

“My God. Was anyone hurt?”

“I don't want to talk about it.”

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I've just—never dealt with anything like this before.”

“No, I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to be rude. It's just—not something I like to talk about.”

Grace looked up. “Believe me, I know what you mean.”

“You do?”

“Carrie Ann. Carrie Ann is someone I never liked to talk about.”

Jean Sebastian took another few steps. “You might have to. If you think she's the reason this is happening.”

Grace sprung from the bed. “I know she's the reason this is happening. She lured Jake and me here under false pretenses. She left little clues—a matchbook, writing in another book, tickets under the door—”

“Why? What did she want?”

“She said she wanted to see me. She said her husband was after her. But I remembered something from last night when I was drugged. It came to me in the shower. Are you starting to have any flashbacks?”

Jean Sebastian shook his head. “What did you remember?”

“I had a little fight with Carrie Ann in the bathroom. About our past.”

“Okay. You're going to have to tell me everything. But for now—do you think Carrie Ann is doing this, or is her husband doing this?”

“I don't know. When I Googled Carrie Ann, I couldn't find a single thing. And all her ID—which I have, by the way—has her last name. Gilbert. Not Gale.”

“So she could be lying about being married? She could be doing this all on her own?”

“I don't know. Manipulating, playing games—sure. But drugging and kidnapping? It seems a little out of her scope.”

“Even if she strangled your cat?”

And drove Lionel Gale to his barn with a rope in his hand
—“I don't know. I don't know.”

“It's okay.”

“It's not. None of this is okay. And if Jake is hurt, it's my fault. It's all my fault.”

“Gather everything you need. We're not coming back here until we find them.”

“Why? This is exactly where Jake will come the minute he's able.”

“We'll leave him a note with your new mobile number. I think we need to buy two more phones. One for me and another one for you. The phone you already have will just be the number for Jake. Only give the other phone number to Carrie Ann or anyone else you get in touch with. That way—if she is behind this—you know the first phone number won't be compromised.”

“Okay. That's good. That's smart.”

“Besides Jake, have you made or received any other calls on the phone we just bought?”

“No.”

“Not to your parents, not to anyone?”

“Just Jake.”

“Okay. Pack whatever you need and leave him a note with the number.”

“After we buy the phones, where are we going?”

“I have to stop by my place. Then we'll go to the police. I don't think they're going to be much help. But I can see it will make you feel better. After that we'll hit social media, then at seven o'clock tonight we'll be back at the club.”

“Oh, God.”

“We have to talk to bartenders, bouncers—anyone who might have seen anything.”

Grace nodded, threw a few things in her bag, and left Jake the same note she'd left on his e-mail and voice mail. Once outside, Grace couldn't help but check her map for the police station. “It's on La Rambla,” she said.

“You want to go there before going to my place, don't you?” Jean Sebastian said.

“Yes. I think we need to report this right away.”

“Okay. I will not worry about my smell.”

“I didn't even think to offer you my shower,” Grace said.
Because I was too worried about sharing one with you.

“That's okay. I need fresh clothes.”

“If it helps, I think you look fine. I'm the one going in with wet hair.”

“You look beautiful.”

The compliment hung in the air. Grace waited a few beats too long to thank him. “Lead the way.” She said it with extra volume as if that would negate her awkwardness. On the steps of the police station, a discarded poster caught Grace's eye.