35The only light in the Mercedes came from the open glove compartment. Afa focused on the road sliding beneath the vehicle as Swan fought sleep watching the distant lights of the harbor dance in the persistent distance.
“Why do you need a map?” Osman asked.
“There’s no address where we’re going. Nothing to load into the GPS,” Afa replied.
“Just follow the shoreline,” Osman instructed. “I’ll direct you.”
The glove compartment snapped shut, leaving the car in darkness. Its tires tapped a tiresome tune on the asphalt. Eventually, Swan succumbed to the syncopation and closed her eyes in a dreamy semi-wakefulness that brought troubled images.
Osman observed her with interest and derision. He could not avoid the memory of the first time he saw her. Despite her oppressive imprisonment the sp
