I manage to drink a gallon of water, pee twice, and keep my mouth totally shut until my attorney arrives at 8am. She turns out to be a statuesque, dark-skinned beauty, her suit pitch black, and her lips scarlet red. She breezes into the room carrying a leather briefcase and a shit kicker attitude. It looks good on her. But probably anything would.
Her sharp brown eyes rake over me, the space, the investigating officers, and Blue—finding them all to be completely and totally within her control.
“We are leaving now,” she says, her attention on me, her accent rich and lush. AssKicker crosses to stand next to my chair. A manicured hand lands on my shoulder, dips down to my bicep and begins to lift me. I stand, as does Blue. And we begin to move towards the door.
“Now wait just a second, this isn’t some civil case,” says Officer Prasad—head of airport security—rising to stand as well. Squat with a serious face and receding hairline, Prasad’s expression is stormy. “You can’t just walk out of here.”
“My client did nothing wrong.”
“You don’t know any particulars of the case.” His voice rises while Attorney AssKicker stays cool as a cucumber—her whole attitude just oozes: I’ve already won.
“Are you arresting her? Did she do anything wrong?”
“We have lots of questions.”
“You’ll have to find answers elsewhere. Try Google.” Damn, burn.
Prasad’s mouth hangs open for a moment as she begins to move toward the door again, Blue and me following like starstruck fans. Prasad recovers, his head shaking a little, as if casting off some spell, and he steps into her path. My lawyer, whose name I still do not know, flares her nostrils and smiles as if she’s a predator and a tasty little bunny just hopped into her way.
Her eyes dip down to his suit and back up to his face. The whole look—which takes but a second—communicates in no uncertain terms that he isn’t shit, but she is the shit.
“Are you blocking my exit?” she asks, her tone implying that such a decision would be demonstrably terrible.
“Your client was involved in an altercation inflight.”
“My client helped to subdue two terrorists inflight. She’s a hero, not a suspect. Now move out of my way before I make you.” A part of me hopes he doesn’t move just so I can watch this woman work.
There’s enough room for us to get around him, but she doesn’t do that. She stares into his eyes and waits for him to step back, which Prasad does because he’s not actually sui-fucking-cidal.
“Come on,” she says, pulling me forward by the arm. Prasad watches us as we walk out the door, and I wave over my shoulder at him. He just scowls.
She doesn’t speak again until we’re out of the interrogation room and have wound our way back to the passenger hall. “Do you need to gather luggage?” she asks.
“No, I’m good.” I hold up my duffel, showing off my worldly possessions. “This is all I have.”
She accepts that without question or apparent judgment.
“Your car is waiting,” she says. “It will take you to the private airport—your jet is ready.”
“Thanks,” I say as we pass a bathroom—which reminds my body that it needs to use the facilities again. “Give me a minute,” I say gesturing to the door.
She nods, granting permission.
When I come back out, she’s on her phone.
“I can take it from here,” I say, eyeing the fast food place across the way. “I want to eat before I get in the car.” My stomach rumbles as if it heard me.
She looks up from her phone. “I was told to take you to the car.”
“And do you always follow orders?” I ask.
“From Mr. Maxim, yes.”
“Tell him I told you to leave me alone.”
Her phone rings and, glancing down at it, she laughs. Then holds it up for me—Robert Maxim flashes on the screen.
“Mr. Maxim, I am with Mrs. Maxim. She is asking me to leave her alone. Claims she can make it to the car on her own.” She listens for a moment and then continues. “Yes, sir.” She holds the phone out to me.
“Hi, Bobby,” I say.
“Sydney,” he says, sounding less sleepy than the last time we spoke. “How are you?”
“Great,” I answer. “My lawyer, whose name I still don’t know by the way, got me out of there in two seconds flat. She’s very good.” I smile over at her. She gives me a tight-lipped smile back. “But she won’t leave me alone now.”
“Her name is Luisa Sologar. And I told her to get you to the car, darling.” I let that endearment slide; at least it’s not baby. “You know how I worry about you.”
“That’s so sweet. And I appreciate all that you do for me.” I mean it to come out teasing and condescending but my voice sounds serious…like I really do appreciate all that he does for me. Clearing my throat, I go on. “But I’m pretty sure I can get some food and get in the car.”
“When did you last eat?” he asks.
“LAX.”
He sighs. “You must eat. Luisa will join you.”
“Seems below her pay grade.”
“Don’t argue, Sydney,” Robert growls, sending a shiver down my spine.
“But it’s so fun.”
He laughs at that. “Give Luisa back her phone.”
“Always nice to hear your voice,” I say, again meaning for it to sound teasing and fake but it comes out all sincere. Dammit.
“I miss you,” he says. “Come back to me soon.”
“Your patience is legendary, Mr. Maxim.”
“As is your ability to try it, Mrs. Maxim.” There is a subtle threat in his tone and I grin. There is the devil I know. I hand the phone back to Luisa and she speaks to Robert for a few seconds while I again eye the fast food place across the way, my mouth watering as my mind imagines the amount of french fries I can eat in one sitting.
Blue’s low growl pulls my attention from the restaurant, and I see Air Marshal Petey heading our way. He smiles at me and I can’t help but smile back—the guy is cute with his sports sweatshirt and superhero jaw.
“Can I speak with you for a moment?” he asks.
“No,” Luisa answers for me.
His gaze flicks to her and then back to me. “Not about the aviation incident.” He smiles at me like that term is our inside joke.
“Give me a few,” I say to Luisa.
“No,” she says again.
I turn fully to her, meeting her gaze. I drop the mask that I usually hide behind—the one that makes me look normal, like a person who is sane and can be fucked with—and I show her my truth. That I am crazy and willing to prove it. That ordering me around is not possible. She swallows and nods. “I’ll be quick,” I promise her. “And I’ll stay where you can see me.”
Taking Petey by the arm, I pull him toward the fast food place. “Talk while I wait in this line,” I say, stepping into place behind six other people.
“You have to let me buy you a drink.” Air Marshal Petey grins, his straight, all-American smile sparkling at me.
I laugh. “This is a pickup? You know it’s not even lunchtime, right?”
“It’s after 1pm in Los Angeles, and it’s not a pick up, just a thank you.”
“I’m not drinking right now,” I tell him. He cocks his head, my syntax confusing. Am I an alcoholic on the verge of a relapse? “I’m pregnant,” I add, the words still strange. Do they ever feel normal? Is nine months long enough to get used to growing a whole new person inside of you?
Air Marshal Petey’s smile falters and his gaze leaps to my stomach—the bulge still invisible under my loose sweatshirt. Blood drops spattered across the bright blue velour look like red wine spillage. The bruising around my throat could be mistaken for hickies. Funny how the markings of a mile-high fight are so similar to those of a mile-high fuck.
“But you can buy my food,” I offer.
He nods, recovering from my revelation. “So, Tara,” he says as we move up in the line. “Will you tell me how you learned to fight like that?”
“You’re an air marshal,” I say. He nods. “How did you learn?”
“Started taking karate when I was a kid, then went into the Air Force after college—I know, weird but how I did it—got out seven years later, and went into the marshals. I like to travel and I like to fly.”
“I did not take karate, nor did I join the Air Force. I’m actually a retired dog walker.”
Petey laughs. “I didn’t know that profession came with a pension.”
“It doesn’t, I just saved.” I grin up at him and he laughs.
“So, a retired dog walker who takes out terrorists; you’re pretty interesting.”
We move up another person in line. Four to go…not that I’m counting.
“What do you think those guys planned on doing?” I ask.
“Diverting the plane to West Papua as publicity for their cause.”
“I’m embarrassed to say I know nothing about it,” I admit.
“Not many Americans do,” he answers.
“Do you?”
“Yes,” he says without elaboration.
“Want to fill me in?”
“You want to know about the cause of the terrorists?”
“Yeah, why not? Know thy enemy, right? Isn’t that why you know about it?”
“But I’m an air marshal who often works in this region and you’re a retired dog walker.” He is grinning down at me like he still wants to buy me that drink even though I’m pregnant with another man’s baby.
We move up another person and I start to build my order in my mind. “I guess you’re right,” I say. “Are you getting anything?”
“Tara isn’t your real name,” Petey guesses.
I glance over at him. “You calling me a liar?”
He laughs. “No, I’m…” He wets his lips, looking at me like I’m a large order of fries. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”
“I hear that a lot. Most people don’t get out of the dog walking game so early. And you never know,” I shrug. “They might drag me back in.”
He laughs. “Can I tell you my theory?”
“On what?” I ask as we get one person closer to the counter.
“On who you really are.”
“If you can do it before I order,” I answer.
“You’re a member of Joyful Justice.”
I look up at him, all confusion. “A member of what?”
“You’ve never heard of Joyful Justice?” he asks, his voice clearly indicating that he thinks I’m lying.
“Sorry…kind of a stupid name, isn’t it?” His eyes narrow because he can hear the sincerity in my voice. That name—a play on my birth name Joy Humbolt—is dumb. I don’t know who came up with it but if they’d asked me it would have been a hard no. Joyful Justice…idiotic.
We are next in line now and I am ready. “So you’re just on vacation,” Petey says, the statement sounding almost like a question. “Just a normal tourist with a huge, highly disciplined dog who’s trained in Inviting Fire.”
“Yeah, keep acting like I’m a liar and this relationship will fall apart pretty fast.”
He laughs. “I like that you’re calling it a relationship.”
“Friends who take out terrorists together, stay together, am I right?”
He laughs again and then it’s my turn to order. And I do so, with abandon, marveling how fast food menus can be the same halfway around the world. Petey orders an equally insane amount of food. We wait in silence and then take our crowded trays to the small eating area. Luisa waits in the hall, talking on her phone and pacing.
Petey and I sit across from each other and I begin to shovel fries into my mouth like this is an eating contest that I intend to win.
“Can I get your number?” Petey asks. I choke, my eyes tearing, and cough. “Jeez,” he smiles. “Women don’t usually have that reaction.”
I take a sip of my water. “I’m sure you’re quite the charmer,” I say. “And you’re very handsome; that superman jaw works for you.”
He grins.
“But I’m decidedly not on the market.”
“I see.” He takes a bite of a fry. “No wedding ring though. And Tara isn’t married, I looked you up. In fact, Tara doesn’t have much history…”
“Trust me,” I say. “My boyfriends are very much real.” Unlike Tara.
“Okay,” he nods. “I’ll give you mine, and if anything opens up, let me know.”
I laugh. “Well, you’ve got balls, Petey.”
“That I do,” he agrees with a grin.
“Maybe next lifetime,” I say.
But I accept his card when we’re done eating. “Amazing to meet you,” he says. “And thanks again.” He glances down at Blue before turning and walking away.
“Ready?” Luisa asks.
I nod, watching All-American walk away…it’s not a bad view.