“Bogdan is the one who went to get her. He tranq’d her and brought her here. Mama was with her when she woke up. She was scared at first—but she’s happy here, Camila.”
I shudder and try to ignore the mental image of Bogdan shooting my daughter with a tranquilizer gun. “You really expect me to believe that?”
“She misses her aunt and uncle,” Isaak tells me. “She talks about her cousins a lot. She even asks after you. But she gets along well with Mama and Bogdan.”
“And you?” I demand. “Has she met you?”
“She has,” he says, but he doesn’t offer any more information.
How was their first meeting? I’m dying to know, but I refuse to ask. He seems to know that because there’s a barely-there smile playing around the corner of his lips.
“Does she know who you are?”
“What have you told her?”
“
