The Innocent: A Vanessa Michael Munroe Novel by Taylor Stevens Page B

of the missing documents shoved away for the time being. How to explain what she herself barely understood? She said, “I have a unique skill set, Heidi. I’m doing this because I can.”
    Sliding doors opened to the shock of chill, and following the others, Munroe stepped from the terminal into the overcast midmorning at Ezeiza, Argentina’s largest airport.
    The hours in flight had taken them from the soggy heat of New York to the middle of a Buenos Aires winter, and Munroe inhaled deeply, taking in the mixture of diesel fumes, exhaust, and cold, misting rain: the fragrance of an airport, the same mixture of smells that preceded every job, the perfume of assignment, of focus and concentration.
    During the trip Logan and Gideon had mapped out an itineraryand, now that they were on the ground, had assumed a shared command of the little group. Heidi seemed to have no problem allowing them to lead, so Munroe nodded assent and, in apparent quiet acquiescence, said little.
    How Logan could possibly believe that her skill was best served by taking orders from someone who hadn’t even a fraction of her knowledge or experience was difficult to comprehend, and performing as a lackey, marching to someone else’s pattern, was out of the question. She’d come on board to bring the little girl home, and her expertise had been called on because she could do a job that nobody else could. Any perceived compliance was only temporary and would never be genuine.
    The others tossed luggage into the trunk of a taxi. Gideon, due to his size, rode shotgun, the three remaining sharing the backseat.
    Unlike the rest, who had packed appropriately for the trip, Munroe had brought only a single change of clothes and a jacket barely warm enough to keep out the penetrating chill. She carried these in a small backpack that she now kept with her.
    Traveling light came naturally after years on the job. Things had to be carried, concerned about, fussed over, and since they would only slow her down, were usually abandoned anyway. She would procure and shed as she went, holding on to only that which was critical to get the job done.
    The taxi pulled away from the curb, careening directly into traffic. The driver sped forward, merging with kamikaze-like aggression in the direction of the airport exit and the freeway that would run them toward the heart of the country’s capital.
    Munroe gazed out the window, the cityscape passing in rapid flashes. Square block apartment houses and residential districts swapped with shopping areas and advertisements several stories high, and traded again. At its heart, the forty-eight districts of the city proper composed an urban area of three million people, but in reality the metropolitan mass stretched outward to the suburbs, tying together ten million more.
    Half the population of Argentina lived in this vast urban sprawl,and when it came to needle searching through haystacks, Buenos Aires was one of the largest in South America or, for that matter, the world. Somewhere out there, among those millions, was a child, and in one of those many houses and high-rise apartment blocks, the Haven that hid her.
    In the city proper the scene shifted yet again. It was for good reason that Buenos Aires had been called the Paris of South America. Old World–inspired architecture, tree-lined avenues, and sleek, modern designs bespoke not only the city’s current sophistication but also a culture steeped in European history.

Chapter 9
     
San Telmo, Buenos Aires
     
    T heir hotel wasn’t a hotel but rather a hostel, a small single story of shared and private rooms, a common kitchen, and a small living area, located south of the city center in the oldest neighborhood. The area was made up of colonial buildings and cobblestone streets, cafés, and
milongas
, all of it vibrant and alive with color, and here they would stay until Munroe had a better grasp of what the job entailed and the length of time required to pull it off.
    Like