James stares at the windshield for a long, long moment. The sunglasses conceal the rather remarkable glare he’s shooting at no one in particular. At least no one who’s in Havana.

“Sarah,” he says after a moment, voice harsh and hissing. He pauses again, considering. “Don’t call this number—”

Unless it’s an emergency? And what if that emergency happened right around the time when silence was the only thing keeping him alive?

“—ever. Don’t call until I call you or until I get back to London. Understand?”