Secrets: Web of Sin Page 6

  As the plane taxied closer to the gate, the memory of him, the wall, the intensity of his gaze, and his body against mine came back with a vengeance. Looking down at my traitorous breasts, I wished for not the first time that I’d worn a bra under the silk dress.

  After turning down the air vent from above, I crossed my arms over my chest.

  Outside the small window, the airport was alive with lights. Men and women scurried about with orange vests and red wands, directing planes as small vehicles pulling trailers filled with or ready to be filled with luggage rambled around the tarmac.

  It was still the middle of the night, or should I say early Friday morning. I wasn’t sure of anything other than that the sun was still asleep and I wanted to be too.

  How could I?

  It was Friday, and in a week, I was supposed to be back in Chicago.

  “Miss Hawkins, are you all right?” the flight attendant asked from her perch near the exit.

  Her question using my name startled me. And then I remembered that I’d confirmed my name with her after boarding. “Yes, I’m surprised we’re here. I guess that’s what happens when you sleep for most of the flight.”

  “It’s only been two hours.”

  “Two? I thought it took longer to get to Boulder.”

  She shook her head. “I’m sorry. Didn’t you hear the announcements?”

  “What announcements?”

  “We have a traveler with a...situation. I really can’t divulge any more, but we had to make an emergency landing in Wichita.”

  “Wichita? As in Kansas?”

  “Yes, we’ll all need to deplane. The customer service desk is working on helping everyone make it to their final destinations.”

  “No, I need to be in Boulder.”

  “This wasn’t in any of our plans,” she said. “I’m sure they’ll be able to help you.”

  I sighed, thinking how I should be asleep in the hotel in Chicago, or even still on my way to Boulder. What I should not be was in Wichita, Kansas. Through the window across the aisle, the walkway moved like a giant snake, its mouth open as it came close to the door of the plane.

  I pulled my phone from my purse and turned off the airplane mode. It was barely two in the morning in Boulder and yet I still wasn’t there.

  One advantage to flying first class was being one of the first to deplane. That was after the airline staff assisted the traveler with the situation. I was beginning to distrust that word. As the older man was escorted from the back of the plane, everyone stared. He didn’t appear ill or belligerent.

  After he passed onto the walkway, the bell dinged and like the trained animals we all were, the cabin filled with the unclicking of seat belts as we all stood to retrieve our carry-ons. I turned to the man from the row behind me. “What’s wrong with him?”

  He shrugged. “All I know is that I need to be in Denver for an interview. Boulder was the closest I could get, and now because of him, it’s not going to happen.”

  Immediately, I felt bad for the young man with blond hair and a slight but solid build. His shirt was rumpled as I was certain was my dress. The Sinful Threads prototype was not meant to be traveling attire. Once again, I had been left without a choice.

  “Going to a party?” he asked with a grin, scanning me from my head to the toes of my high heels.

  “Coming from one, I suppose.”

  “Yeah, well, this won’t be one.” He turned toward the rising crowd of sleepy travelers behind us.

  “You’re probably right.”

  A few minutes later, my new friend and I were in line for the customer relations. I held his spot while he commandeered two cups of coffee. Step by step, I moved toward the one attendant at the desk, the one who appeared less than thrilled with her new assignment of helping a planeload of disgruntled passengers.

  “Cream, no sugar,” he said with a smile as he handed me the paper cup and slipped into line with me.

  “Thank you.”

  A second agent came to the counter and nodded my direction. “Thank you, again,” I said as I moved to the counter to explain my dilemma.

  Looking at her computer screen, the agent said, “Our first nonstop to Boulder is at 6:45. In less than four hours.”

  “I’ll take it,” I volunteered.

  She shook her head. “I can put you on the standby list; you’ll be number thirty-four. The 8:25 and 12:58 flights are also booked. For certain, I can get you on one at 5:30 tonight.”

  I looked at my phone. “You can’t guarantee me a flight for over fourteen hours? How about to Denver?”

  She shook her head.

  I couldn’t help but hear that my new friend was having the same problem.

  All at once he turned my way. “You’re going to Denver, too?”

  “Boulder, but it’s near.”

  “The only way for me to make my interview is if I rent a car. I could get you to Denver if you can go the rest of the way.”

  I looked to the attendant. “No chance of a flight until five tonight?”

  “Five-thirty. Landing at six-nineteen.” She shrugged. “There’s always a chance. Everyone in this line is in the same situation. Please decide what you want to do.”

  What I wanted to do and what I was doing were polar ends of the spectrum.

  I wanted to wake in my bed in my apartment in Boulder and have the last twenty-four hours be a dream—nightmare.

  “Excuse me,” my new friend said. “How rude of me to ask you to share a car without offering you my name.”

  Immediately my mind went to another man, a domineering man, who had done more than offer to share a car without the luxury of his name.

  “I’m Mark,” he went on, extending his hand. “I just pulled up Google Maps. It’s a seven-and-a-half-hour drive.”

  Even considering this stranger’s offer was craziness. Then again, everything was. If I accepted, I could be home before eleven instead of spending the day in the Wichita airport. “I could rent a car myself,” I volunteered.

  “You could,” Mark agreed. “Two cars heading the same place. Two tired drivers.” He shrugged. “Let’s head on over to the car rentals and see what we can get.”

  “What about my luggage?” I asked, turning back to the agent at the counter.

  “It will need to go on to Boulder. You can fill out a claim form, and it can be delivered to you.”

  “Can it get an earlier flight?”

  “Ma’am, I don’t know.” She handed me the form and another slip with a web address. “Once that form is completed, you can track your luggage using the number from the tag when you checked in.”

  I sighed. “Okay.”

  “Kennedy,” Mark said, tilting his head toward a wall. “I’ll be over there while you do that.”

  “All right. I also need to call my friend and let her know what’s happening.”

  “Hurry, we probably aren’t the only ones thinking about a car.”

  It wasn’t until I was nearly done with the form that I considered that Mark had just called me by my name. Had I introduced myself? I was most certain I hadn’t.

  My phone buzzed: DRIVER on the screen.

  Seriously?

  Every stubborn bone in my body bid me to not answer. After all, Patrick had betrayed me by handing me over to that person. On the other hand, my driver was the only real connection I had to what could be my future—to the mystery man.

  Handing the agent back the form, I stepped to the side and answered my phone.

  “Patrick, why are you calling?”

  “This isn’t Patrick. Why the fuck are you in Wichita?”

  Equal parts indignation and apprehension rose up inside of me, the bubbling concoction fueling my exasperation. “Why I’m in a damn airport in Wichita instead of in a nice bed in a hotel in Chicago is because of one person. Venture to guess who’s to blame?” I didn’t give him a chance to answer. “You.”

  “The picture of your business partner wasn’t motivation enough to entic
e you to follow my instructions? I overestimated your empathy. The next photograph will include her family. I hear her little sister is lovely.”

  I fought back the nausea as I pictured Lindsey, Louisa’s younger sister. Nevertheless, I wouldn’t allow that fear to come through my voice. “If you think I’m here of my own doing, you’re crazier than I thought. And believe me, I think you’re as fucking crazy as they come. It wasn’t like I could just say hey, let’s change the course of this flight. Someone on the plane became…well, I don’t know why, but the airline had to make an unplanned landing. I didn’t choose to disembark in Wichita. Who would do that? And I’m working to get to Boulder as soon as possible. Just to make it clearer for you, I haven’t willfully not done as you asked. Okay, asked isn’t the right word. Nevertheless, my being here isn’t my doing. It’s yours.”

  “Stay there. I’ll send a plane.”

  “Wait. No, you aren’t sending a plane. And you still don’t understand the asking part of a request. Don’t tell me what I’m doing. I’m renting a car.”

  “And driving alone for eight hours? No, you’re not.”

  “Fuck you. I’m doing what you said—or at least considering it. I won’t be driving alone. I met someone heading the same direction.”

  The mystery man’s voice cooled to below freezing, the icy tone coming through like a killing frost through the phone. “Araneae, there is more that you don’t understand. Coming back to Chicago put you on the radar. Who is this person?”

  I hesitated. Should I say it was a man?

  “Araneae, answer my fucking question.”

  “Just a man, a kid really. He was seated behind me on the plane.”

  “Can you casually take his picture?”

  I looked up to see Mark standing against the wall, looking at his phone. “Yes. Why?”

  “Stop asking questions and do it,” he said, restraint keeping his words clipped. “Send the picture to this phone. Then make up an excuse or don’t. Just get away from this person. Now. Patrick will call you back with instructions. You’ll have a private plane shortly.”

  I switched my phone to camera and snapped the picture. “Before I send it, tell me your name.”

  “In time.”

  “Why should I believe you?”

  “Because you know I’m right.”

  As I let his answer sink in, the call disconnected.

  “Kennedy?”

  I looked up at Mark.

  “Are you ready?”

  With the softest boy-like features, there was nothing about this young man that appeared dangerous. My mystery man on the other hand—everything about him seemed dangerous.

  I hesitated, looking back down at my phone, expecting some sort of new information.

  “Because you know I’m right.”

  My instinct told me that I hadn’t introduced myself to Mark, and yet he’d used my name twice. I hit send on the picture to the number I had marked DRIVER. Somehow Patrick and this man had pulled me into a web I didn’t understand.

  I’d let them figure out that Mark was not a threat.

  “Yeah, I’m ready,” I said, feigning a smile. “I’m sorry, but first I need to use the restroom.”

  “I’ve gone ahead and rented a car. It’ll be waiting for us.”

  “How did you do that?”

  He held up his phone. “Rental car app. They have an app for everything.”

  “May I ask you something,” I asked as we walked toward the restrooms. “How did you know my name?”

  His cheeks reddened. “I noticed you when you boarded, and I was one row back. I heard the attendant verifying your name. I was working up the courage to talk to you, but you fell asleep.”

  “It’s been one of those days.”

  “Well, now we’re talking.”

  I laid a hand on his arm. “I’m kind of…” What the hell was I? “…it’s complicated.”

  We continued walking and talking, dodging the few other travelers wandering the Wichita Eisenhower Airport in the middle of the night. “That’s all right. I’m just happy to talk to you and not drive to Denver alone. I’m a little nervous about this interview.” He tilted his head with a grin as we stopped walking. “Here’s the ladies’ room.”

  “You didn’t fill out the form for luggage.”

  “No.” He held up his carry-on. “Everything I need for my interview is in here.”

  “You can go on without me. I’ll meet you at the rental cars.”

  “And let you walk around by yourself in that party outfit? My father raised a gentleman. Maybe my good deed will help the karma for my interview.”

  Nodding, I went into the bathroom.

  Kennedy

  This was crazy.

  Everything since last night had been unbelievable. I had to stop my overactive imagination. But was it my imagination? Why did the mystery man call? How did he know I wasn’t on my flight? Was Mark really a threat? What kind of threat? I was on whose radar?

  Questions came faster than answers.

  It seemed like the person I shouldn’t trust was not the nice young man waiting for me but the one who ambushed me last night or Patrick, the one who led me like a lamb to the slaughter.

  The bathroom was uncharacteristically empty, nine stalls all available. That never happened. Then again, this was a night for firsts. As my high heels clipped over the tile, I pushed each door, half expecting someone to be waiting inside. Every mystery or thriller movie I’d ever seen ran a reel in my head. All I needed was a scary soundtrack to play behind the echo of my footsteps.

  Wheeling my carry-on into the stall, I let out a relieved breath. Maybe they were wrong. After all, I still wanted to know how my mystery man knew I had an unexpected stop. He’d said my devices were monitored. Did that mean they were also being tracked?

  A moment later as I washed my hands and splashed water on my face, my purse again buzzed. I recognized the tone as a text message. I wanted to ignore it, but curiosity was a strong motivation. If only it could give me strength too.

  * * *

  Driver: “ANDREW WALSH, 24. CONSIDERED ARMED AND DANGEROUS. DO NOT UNDERESTIMATE HIS ABILITY TO CARRY SIMPLY BECAUSE HE WAS ON A PLANE. WEAPONS ARE MISSED BY TSA MORE OFTEN THAN THEY ARE FOUND.”

  * * *

  Second text, from same number.

  * * *

  Driver: “PRIVATE HANGAR LOCATED AWAY FROM TERMINAL HAS WAITING PLANE. SENDING CAR.”

  * * *

  None of this made sense. I was tired of taking commands. This deserved conversation. Instead of texting, I stepped back into the stall and hit the call button.

  “Ms. Hawkins?” Patrick’s voice came through the phone.

  The familiar tone shouldn’t have disappointed me, but it did. “I thought I would reach…Never mind. Listen, his name is Mark, and he’s waiting outside the bathroom.”

  “Ma’am, that’s not his real name and he’s dangerous.”

  “He sure doesn’t look or act—”

  “Do you remember how I answered your question?”

  I thought back. Just before I entered O’Hare, I’d asked Patrick what he’d do if he were me, if he would return to Chicago. He’d said that if he knew what he knew, he wouldn’t leave Chicago. “Yes, I remember.”

  “Car rental office is in the parking garage. Wait five minutes and the car that has been sent will be on the street between the airport and garage. Do not go into the garage.”

  “This is crazy.”

  “The optics in a parking garage makes it dangerous. Threats can be everywhere. More than likely there’s a car waiting there for you, too. Not a car you want to be in. The driver’s name you should be expecting is Scott. He’ll be driving a black Suburban, and he won’t be alone. His helper is armed.”

  “Where will they take me?”

  “To the hangar where your plane is waiting.”

  I was afraid to ask the next question. “Where will the plane take me?”

  Please don’t say Chicago.
I wasn’t ready for Chicago. I needed to see Louisa.

  “Boulder, ma’am. That was the boss’s word. He keeps his word.”

  I sighed. “I still don’t know.”

  “Please get in Scott’s car. Any other decision could have deadly consequences.”

  I took a deep breath. “If anything happens, keep Louisa safe...and her baby…and Sinful Threads. Please.”

  “Nothing will happen if you follow these instructions. You’ll be in Boulder in less than two hours.”

  “This wasn’t me. Tell him that. Louisa shouldn’t be punished.”

  “Ma’am, get to that Suburban.”

  “Patrick?”

  “Yes?” he answered, no doubt impatient with my apprehension.

  “How can I trust you or him after last night?”

  “How can you afford not to after right now?”

  “Black Suburban?”

  “Kansas plates.”

  I didn’t say goodbye or anything else. I simply ended the call as I heard a woman and small child enter the bathroom. From the crack beside the door, I watched them in a mirror until they disappeared into another stall, the small child asking a million questions.

  This night had me mistrusting everyone, even a mother and child.

  Walking out of the stall, I took one more look in the mirror. The reflection was nothing like the woman at the hotel last night. She’d been confident and in control, the CEO of a growing company. This reflection staring back at me was of a tired woman with a paling complexion, smudged makeup, falling hair, and above all, fear in her brown eyes.

  It was then that I remembered that there was a change of clothes in my carry-on. I hadn’t had the chance to change in Chicago, but if I did now, it would buy me a few minutes.

  How long had Patrick said?

  Five minutes.

  Three minutes later, no longer in my dress or heels, I exited the bathroom wearing jeans and a long top. My heels were replaced by a pair of Toms. I figured flats would help me run—if I was given that chance. Besides, I didn’t have any other options. The pins were out of my hair, and now it was in a low ponytail.