CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Sitting patiently on the bench where Alex had left her an hour before, Rosa watched the busy people pass her by as if she were a shade. Having grown accustomed to the indifference, it surprised her when a man, whom she pegged as working for the secret service, approached her.
“Rosa Cutler?”
“Yes,” she adjusted her posture.
“This is for you.” He handed her an envelope, and once firmly in her grip, disappeared into the wash of activity.
She examined the envelope from all sides. Sealed. Normal white. Her name written in ink; Alex’s handwriting.
Without any definitive reasons to worry, her hands trembled as she tore it open.
Quickly unfolding the letter, she made it through the first sentence before she released the paper, covered her face, and sobbed.
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