A plunge away from the Aegean Sea, the town of Oia hugged the Santorini cliffs of the caldera, a haunting reminder of a volcanic past ever present in Helen Hu’s mind as she parked the ATV and set off on foot down the pedestrian walkway.

Her iPhone told her where to go through the mishmash of cliffside buildings and tourist-packed lanes meandering around painted fences, containers of brightly colored flowers, and tiny blue hotel pools. The pastel-colored buildings looked like interlocking Lego blocks glued to the side of the rocky mountain.

Every now and then, Helen spotted blue domes, mushroom caps reaching toward the afternoon Mediterranean sky, portending bright days ahead—

Not!

The signal grew stronger. Helen spotted her mom in the crowd.

Mom was way ahead but slowing down now as she pretended to weave in and out of souvenir shops, stopping to touch a postcard or two, as if to leave fingerprints in case something happened to her.

What, Mom? What?

Swept into a wave of tourists and their multilingual tour guides, Helen quickened her steps across the uneven lanes sandwiched among shops and restaurants, villas and guest houses, private properties and potted bougainvilleas—all the while trying to keep an eye on Mom.

Mom had a distinct walk. Helen could spot her a mile away, always in one of her many identical pairs of five-inch-heeled jacquard boots. Those boots added inches to the diminutive woman and brought Mom to about Helen’s height.

And those boots slowed Mom down enough for Helen to catch up to her in the crowded lanes and paths.

Helen suspected Mom wasn’t here on Santorini on a quick weekend getaway—without her signature luggage when she had gotten off the ferry from Athens an hour ago.

So what is she here for?

Mom had made no attempt to hide. Her fuchsia blouse was bold and matched some of the flowering plants contrasting the surrounding white and blue architecture.

Every now and then, Mom would glance back, as if searching for something, looking for someone.

Meeting someone?

Helen looked away, just in case Mom spotted her. Even at sixty-eight, Mom’s eyesight was way better than Helen’s. And she had often said that she could identify either one of her daughters from miles away.

Helen wasn’t about to test that now.

Not after all the trouble she had taken to get here. The notification had arrived while she had been in the middle of hunting down a fugitive passing through Frankfurt.

While Helen’s Hu Knows, Inc., private investigative firm specialized in recovering lost art and missing persons, the company had grown and expanded into tracking down fugitives—since the day they had successfully helped the FBI apprehend an international terrorist who had abducted Helen’s Mom and sister.

Her sister had gone on to marry and have kids.

But Mom.

Mom had retreated into her own little world after that episode.

Sometimes Helen wished that Mom would be more forthcoming with her. Since Dad had passed away so many years ago, Mom had tried to carry on with her life in fits and starts. As the years had gone by, she had withdrawn more and more into the recesses of her own thoughts and memories.

And now?

Was this a part of Mom’s multiyear introspection?

Helen felt a burden to care for her mom. At thirty-four years old and with no prospects of marrying and having children, Helen felt that she had more time than her sister to take care of Mom. In fact, Mom was already living with her back in Savannah.

Helen wouldn’t mind if Mom lived with her the rest of her life. She wanted Mom to know that her daughters really wanted the best for her and that it was time for Mom to be transparent.

Yeah, right.

Helen pushed through the crowd toward Mom, as more people swarmed around Helen, down the steps and narrow walkways, looking for balconies to park themselves and set up video cameras and smartphones for their sunset viewing.

Sunset would be in two hours.

When Dad had been alive, they had come here often during summer vacations, only to see the sunset and to cruise on the Aegean Sea. Dad had been quite a yachting enthusiast. Helen and her sister, Sabine, hadn’t taken to the water as much as Dad and Mom had. Sometimes their parents would take their own vacation.

The two of them would end up in Santorini—also known as Thira—or they’d sail to Crete, across the water, where they would stay in a villa owned by an old family friend.

Helen stopped.

Her iPhone signal showed that Mom had been inside that souvenir shop for over a minute.

Helen held her breath and ran, her black boots pounding the cobblestones beneath, the summer sun above her baking her baseball cap and shoulders.

Before Helen reached the souvenir shop, she heard the noise of a motor overhead. A drone in the sky hovered.

Someone taking photos?

She heard a popping sound.

Then another.

And another.

Pop! Pop! Pop!

Someone screamed, and the crowd went berserk.

The racket of screams and shrieks turned into a stampede as the tourists scattered like ants in the narrow lanes, any way they could to get out of the bottleneck, pushing and shoving Helen and everyone else in their paths.

Children and babies crying, people jumping over the low fences into hotel pools, people falling down as they were mowed over by shoes and knees and a mob gone wild.

Helen elbowed her way toward a low iron gate, thinking she could climb over it to safety.

Before she could get there, something whizzed past her ear—

And she went flying to the ground, sacked like a quarterback, sandwiched between the dirty cobblestone-and-cement lane and someone on top of her. All around her were hot wafts of stinky shoes from the maddening crowd, the odor of sweat and fear—

And a sudden, distinct, clean smell of fresh soap.

“Get off me!” Helen’s elbows and torso twisted this way and that to get the man off her back. She almost hit him with her iPhone, which was still in her grip.

He barely moved.

“Get off me!” she repeated, thinking he couldn’t hear her in the concert of loud and chaotic footfalls.

“Shhh. It’s still above.” His voice was calm. Accented.

And definitely male.

The summer sun continued to beat down on them. The man’s weight pushed Helen’s backpack against her spine, probably crushing her iPad and magazine inside.

Police sirens blared in the distance, and the drone sounds eased away.

“We have to get out of here,” the man said.

“Then get off me!”

As soon as the man eased off her, Helen wiggled out from underneath him as quickly as she could, her right hand reaching into her waistline pistol pouch—

“Helen!”

She heard the familiar sharp tone above the roar of the crowd.

She looked up. Squinted in the shifting sunlight and shadows. She realized then that her sunglasses had been knocked off her face. “Mom?”

Mom tapped the ground with her boots. “What in the world are you doing here?”

Instead of giving Helen a hand, Mom leaned toward the man who had rolled off Helen.

He was trying to get up. He clutched his chest. “What sharp objects do you have in that backpack?”

“You okay?” Mom asked.

Helen scooted back against the gate to prevent herself from getting kicked by the rushing crowd.

“I think I’m okay.” She brushed dirt and grime off her clothes.

“Not you. I meant him.” Mom picked some grass off the man’s hair. “I see you two have met—or shall I say, made contact.”

Helen’s eyes widened. “Please tell me you’re not dating a man half your—”

“No, no. He’s not my type. In fact, I think he’s more your type.”

“Mom!” Helen rose to her feet too quickly. The world swirled around her.

But strong arms caught her before she fell.

She smelled a whiff of clean, fresh soap again.

Male cologne.