Chapter One

The first thing they took away was the daylight.

At a quarter to six, a man Kryzia had never seen before came through the Lantern Room with a brass-hooked pole. He caught the rings above the windows and dragged the curtains shut.

Outside, Nassau was still bright.

Inside, someone switched on a row of purple lights.

“Are we closing?” Kryzia asked.

Imani stopped cutting limes.

“No, sweetheart.”

The man went to the platform at the far end of the room and removed its black cover. Beneath it was a narrow runway.

Kryzia put down the cloth.

Tessa had said the night bartender was sick. She had said it would be easy money. She had stood in the doorway of the bedroom Kryzia was borrowing and called her a lifesaver.

“What did they tell you?” Imani asked.

“That somebody needed covering.”

“About nights.”

“Nothing.”

Imani looked towards the office, then back at her.

“Come here. Before anybody comes in.”

By seven, Kryzia understood the room.

The women were ordinary women at work. One wanted a charger. Another had a headache. Imani complained that the air-conditioning was too cold, then asked Kryzia whether she had eaten.

It was the customers who unsettled her.

The one who asked how new she was.

The one who thought buying a drink entitled him to her number.

The one who left money beneath his glass and became irritated when she returned his change.

At seven twenty, Kryzia found Tessa outside the office.

“You said this was a bar.”

“It is.”

“You know what I mean.”

Tessa glanced over her shoulder.

“You’re bartending, Kryzia. Nobody’s asking you to dance.”

“That isn’t the point.”

“Then what is?”

For a moment Kryzia could only stare at her.

Eight months of messages. Photographs of meals. Voice notes sent after midnight. Tessa listening while Kryzia explained how her brother had taken her savings to cover another shortfall in the family business.

You need somewhere you can breathe, Tessa had told her.

Now she stood beneath a flickering corridor light, looking impatient because Kryzia expected her words to have meant something.

“I’m leaving.”

Tessa’s face changed.

“Come inside a minute.”

Dorian Rusk was eating from a takeaway container at his desk. He listened while Kryzia explained that there had been a misunderstanding. The word gave them room to apologise.

“Certainly,” he said. “We’ll settle your account.”

“My account?”

He turned his laptop.

Her name sat above a column of numbers.

Flight. Transport. Accommodation. Groceries.

She read the accommodation charge twice.

“Tessa said the room was free.”

“While you were working.”

“I am working.”

“And now you’re leaving.”

Kryzia looked at Tessa.

Her friend folded her arms.

“You weren’t supposed to quit after three weeks.”

On the screen was a charge for groceries purchased on the Sunday after Kryzia arrived. She remembered that morning. They had eaten cereal from mugs because Tessa said she never bothered buying bowls.

They had laughed.

“You charged me for breakfast?”

Tessa’s mouth tightened.

“Food costs money.”

Kryzia turned back to Dorian.

“I haven’t been paid.”

“Friday.”

“You said that last Friday.”

“We can apply it against the balance.”

The total was eighteen hundred and forty dollars.

She had two hundred and seventeen in an envelope beneath her suitcase.

Dorian resumed eating.

That was the part she would remember later: the unhurried movement of his fork.

* * *

Her mother’s number was pinned at the top of her phone.

Kryzia stood beside the ice machine and opened their messages.

Let us know you reached safe.

She had replied.

Nothing since.

Calling home would mean telling her mother that she had trusted the wrong person immediately after accusing her family of treating her like a fool.

Caleb might answer. Caleb, who had used her savings and then told her she was selfish for caring more about money than family.

She locked the phone.

When she returned to the bar, a man sat at the end nearest the wall.

She had seen him during two afternoon shifts. Water first, one drink afterward. He never called her sweetheart or touched her hand when she gave him change.

Tonight his jacket occupied the stool beside him.

“Are you serving?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“What would you recommend?”

“Somewhere else.”

The words escaped before she could stop them.

His gaze moved briefly towards the office.

When he looked back, she noticed the grey at his temples.

“How much did he say you owe?”

Kryzia went still.

“I didn’t say I owed anything.”

“No.”

“Then why would you ask?”

“Because I’ve seen that expression before.”

She reached for a glass.

“Maybe you should stop coming.”

He absorbed that without answering.

At the other end of the counter, Imani looked towards them. The man caught her eye.

“Would you mind giving us a moment?”

“Yes,” Imani said. “I would.”

Something almost like approval touched his face.

“Fair enough.”

Kryzia put the glass down.

“What do you want?”

“My name is Adrian Bethel. My younger sister is visiting for three months. I need someone to clean my condo, handle laundry, keep groceries in it.”

“You’re offering me a job.”

“I’m asking whether you want to discuss one.”

“At night. Here.”

“Yes,” he said. “The setting leaves something to be desired.”

Imani made a quiet sound that might have been a laugh.

Kryzia studied him.

“How young is your sister?”

“Twenty-two.”

“And how old are you?”

“Forty-four.”

She had not expected him to answer.

“My mother was considerably more optimistic the second time around,” he added.

Against her will, Kryzia smiled.

Then she remembered the spreadsheet.

“I can’t leave.”

His face became still.

“You can. The question is what it will cost you.”

He placed a card on the counter.

“Breakfast tomorrow. Somewhere public. Bring someone if you want.”

Kryzia did not touch it until he had gone.

Imani came over and read the name.

“You know him?” Kryzia asked.

“Enough to know he pays what he owes.”

“That doesn’t tell me much.”

“No,” Imani said. “It doesn’t. Ask more.”

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