8
STEFAN RANG THE buzzer to the flat upstairs and waited. Early morning rays warmed the crisp autumn air. He’d flown directly to Copenhagen on an overnight flight. This wasn’t his usual style—flying after a woman—but Penelope Plessen wasn’t just any woman. He’d made a few mistakes in his life, and she was one of the largest ones. The other was Monica.
The intercom crackled. “Who is it?”
It was her. He cleared his throat. “Stefan.”
The line went silent, and then popped again. “What?”
“It’s Stefan Armstrong.”
Penelope’s voice sputtered through the line. “What are you doing here?”
He leaned in. “We need to talk—”
“I asked you not to contact me.”
“It’s important.”
Silence.
“Second floor.” The intercom buzzed.
Stefan breathed a sigh of relief and opened the door. He bounded up the i
