I close the door to my home office and slump in the armchair that faces the cold and black fireplace. The mantel has a framed photo of me and my siblings, taken while we were exiled to fancy European boarding schools. People call it "education," but that's just a euphemism. There aren't any pictures of Ava and me together. We never took any, and I don't remember why. I wish we had.
For what? To burn them? Delete from your phone's memory? Would that have made it clear that she's gone?
I tug at the little red-tipped section on the corner, and the envelope comes apart. Glossy photographs spill out, landing in my lap. I pick one up.
A young female pedestrian on a stone bridge crossing a river. Wind tosses her long and wavy platinum blond hair. The color of her eyes is ice blue, which never seems to fit because they're too warm. Her facial bones are delicate, her lips soft. She's always been frail looking: just a tad too thin, as though she grew up without enough to eat. I can tell that hasn't changed from the way the pale pink dress fits her, a slim white belt cinching her small waist.
My fingers go numb. Ava.
Heart hammering against my ribs, I flip the picture over. Nothing on the other side. I pick up the rest of the photos, but none of them have a message for me or anything on the back.
Suddenly a thought bleeds into my mind. All of the photos are candid shots. Someone's been watching her.
Stalker?
My gut goes cold. My sister Elizabeth has had her share of problems with assholes who didn't understand the meaning of no. But this feels different. Why would a stalker send me Ava's photos?
I dig inside the envelope for clues. My hand grasps a piece of paper.
Le Meridien Chiang Mai, Thailand, it reads. Underneath the name of the hotel are dates-today, tomorrow and the day after-and an itinerary for a flight from Chiang Mai to Osaka via Seoul on Korean Air. The flight doesn't leave until almost midnight two days from now.
If I leave immediately, I can be in Chiang Mai before her departure.
I pick up the photos again. I didn't see them before, my focus being on Ava, but the signs around her are in Japanese. I still remember a few hiragana and katakana characters from back when I spent a semester in Tokyo.
So why Chiang Mai?
I toss the photos on the floor and lean my head against the back of my chair. I never, ever go after exes. Never. Not like some lovesick fool with my heart on my sleeve. I might as well cut off my dick and carve LOSER into my face with a rusty nail.
But I'm entitled to closure. It won't be begging if that's all I want … and maybe a pound of flesh for all I've suffered in the last twenty-four months.
On its own volition, my hand reaches into my pocket and pulls out my phone. My fingers move across the smooth surface and dial my pilot, who's ready to go twenty-four seven.
"Sir?"
"Chiang Mai," I say. "ASAP."
I head straight to the garage. No time to pack.
Chapter Two
Ava
The job is yours.
Four simple words that represent a new opportunity.
I walk across the chic, modern lobby at the hotel and step into the waiting elevator to my room on the seventh floor. The school's paying; I would never spend this much on lodging. They're also paying for my flight back to Osaka.
My phone rings with a call from Bennie. I answer and slip into my room.
"Hey," I say. "Sorry I couldn't talk earlier. I was still at the school."
"Don't worry about it. I just couldn't wait, and forgot you're two hours behind. How did it go?"
I kick off my pumps and flex my toes on the cool, smooth floor. Ahh. So much better. "Got the job! Mr. Liu offered on the spot."
Bennie's whoop is ear-splitting. "I knew it! I knew it the minute he offered to fly you to Chiang Mai and put you up in that swanky hotel. You know it isn't normal for them to do that."
That's true. Most schools aren't that generous with recruiting, and usually they expect potential hires to pay a lot of the expenses. But the school owner is very interested in having me work for him.
"Bet he thinks you walk on water," Bennie says.
I chuckle. Bennie's my roommate and my best friend, and always has my back. "Not quite."
"Sure he does. His son was a total psycho when he first arrived and didn't want to speak any English. Then a semester with you, and voila! He improved so much I almost didn't recognize him. I mean, before, he would barely say hi."
"He was just shy." And rebellious. And angry that his father got a new wife. Nicky didn't care that his mother was dead or his father had a right to be happy. The second marriage was a betrayal as far as the boy was concerned. It took me six weeks to make him see that it wasn't. He returned to his family after the exchange program, but he kept in touch.
"Nicky adores you. He never liked English much and had behavioral issues, but those seem to have been resolved," the Chinese billionaire from Hong Kong had said in lightly accented but otherwise impeccable English when we met for the interview. "I think it speaks to your ability as a teacher."