“Yessir.” Emma nodded and hovered over serving Dimitri and me oatmeal laced with dried apricots and thick cream. Sweetened with brown sugar, this treat was my favorite food. A fact Emma knew well after nearly a year of cleaning and cooking for us. Had she missed us the three days we went missing?

“Our flight to Buenos Aires leaves at one o’clock. The limo arrives here at ten. I’ll return at nine. Be ready.” My father’s words erupted hard and fast.

The growly staccato rhythm hurt my ears, but I fought the urge to cover my ears.

“Do I need to remind you of Tivoli?”

“No.” My fingers tightened around my spoon. What was his message? That the Finns who had snatched us from Tivoli still posed a danger? What about the fortune he’d paid for our return? Did the money explain why he bristled with such anger?

Across from me, Dimitri swallowed and made a production of patting the white linen napkin against his lips. The bruises inflicted by our three kidnappers purpled the right side of his face. Swollen skin stretched across his Slavic cheeks. His right eye remained half-closed. My father glared at him, compressed his lips, and then pivoted into the hallway.

Emma, Dimitri, and I held our breath until the front door slammed. We exhaled in unison. She sniffled and dabbed her eyes with the corner of her starched white apron. “Dimitri, shall I get you more ice?”

“Tak, Emma.” He took the ice pack from his lap and held it against his cheek. “I’m fine.”

“I’m going to miss you boys so much.” Emma’s fingers brushed my shoulder, jerking back as if burned from the contact. “Are you ready for the kringle I made this morning? It will be your last Danish food for months. Your father says you won’t return until December or January.”

Tears softened her voice. Would she miss Dimitri and me? Or would she miss the expensive sweets we lavished on her to ensure her loyalty? Did she have no suspicions we sneaked out every night while she watched TV?

Of course, I knew the answer. Manipulating her, though, cost me nothing. I smiled. “I’d like a glass of milk with my kringle.” I added please. That single word encouraged her view I was a sweet, polite, normal, twelve-year-old boy.

While Emma worked in the kitchen, I whispered to Dimitri what we had to do before we left for the airport. A letter to Simon Lund, day-to-day manager of our small porn enterprise would ensure its continued well-oiled operation during our absence.

Dimitri snorted. “A letter? Reading’s not Simon’s strong suit. And … anything in writing can come back on us.”

“Thank you for pointing out the obvious.” I slammed back into my chair. Acid burned my gut. Bitter recollections spewed into my veins. Arguments. Facedowns. Veiled threats. Insults hurled at each other during our kidnapping.

Dimitri smirked. “Glad to be of help.”

“Tell me your superior idea.” My clipped tone reminded him I was the brains. He was the brawn.

“You’re counting on Emma’s help?” he countered. “Emma the twit?”

“We’ll make helping us worth her risk.”

“The Finns nicked my money.”

“I thought you kept a stash here at home.”

“Some unexpected expenses came up.”

What kind of expenses? The question flickered in my mind, but I let it go. We wanted Emma’s help. We didn’t have time to spar.

“Fine. I’ll pay Emma. You’ll pay me back in Argentina.”

“Deal. Let’s forget a letter. Spell out for Emma exactly what to tell Simon. Something cryptic she won’t understand, but something he will.”

My fingers buzzed with annoyance. I wanted to throw my empty oatmeal bowl in his face. His suggestion was perfect. Why had I overlooked the obvious? I snapped, “What does that cryptic message sound like?”

“You’ll come up with something.”

My chest swelled. So he hasn’t forgotten all his limitations.

Emma returned with the buttery kringle, but refused my invitation to sit at the table. What if my father returned? He’d be furious. Perhaps fire her. Refuse to give her references. Taking the chance at her age … She nattered on. And on. And on.

Repressing a sigh, I got up and pulled out the chair where she sat when my father went away on business.

“We’ll hear if he returns early. If he fires you, I’ll refuse to go to Argentina. I’ll stay here with you. He’ll have to pay you to take care of me along with the house.”

I didn’t tell her he’d threatened to turn me out on the street if I remained in Denmark. My porn earnings were more than pocket money, but they wouldn’t pay for tuition at Krebs’ Skole or for the biology tutor prepping me for medical school. What a father.

Looking over her shoulder, she clasped her hands between her breasts and perched on the edge of the chair. A muscle spasmed around her mouth. She gnawed her bottom lip, laid her hands on the table and stared at them as if expecting them to spout words of wisdom.

Of course, she didn’t meet my gaze. She’d made that mistake once. Had Dimitri and I not plied her with candy and gifts and had her housekeeping duties proved difficult, I think she would have left long ago. Instead, she stayed and peered always to the right of my left shoulder whenever she spoke to me. Likewise, she avoided all physical contact—flinching if either of us accidentally brushed against the other. Emma never forgot her lower-class Danish upbringing.

I took my seat again and patted her folded hands. Quivers jumped under her skin like fleas. From extensive reading about the brain, I suspected an involuntary tremor.

Another pat increased the tremor’s intensity. A smile pulled at the corners of my mouth. Careful. Careful. She’s not a complete fool. I tightened my facial muscles. My bland face, practiced every day in front of a mirror, should reduce the chances of raising her suspicions.

Time to test her loyalty.

“Now, Emma.” I spoke in a sweet, warm, voice, letting it glide over the three syllables like hot chocolate over ice cream. “I need your help.”