Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 62197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 311(@200wpm)___ 249(@250wpm)___ 207(@300wpm)
My phone rang, startling me out of my depressing thoughts, and I snatched it up quickly, only to see the name Unknown on the screen. I debated answering since the last time I’d had an unknown call, it had been weird and creepy, but I needed to know if it was the same person. If I didn’t check, then it would continue to bother me. But then what if it was? I’d had travel, Jellie, and the holiday to keep my mind off the last call. I was leaving today. I wasn’t sure I wanted that weighing on me too.
Deciding knowing was best, I hit Answer.
“Hello?” I said cautiously.
“You’re in as much danger as he is, you know,” the computer-sounding voice said. “Do you know who your friends are?”
I opened my mouth and closed it, not wanting to engage.
“I’ll answer that. No, you don’t know. You are walking in the Devil’s lair and doing it blindly while your fiancé suffers.”
Jerking the phone from my ear, I hit End and dropped it onto the counter. Who was that? What did they want? My throat felt tight as I breathed hard and fast, trying to tamp down the panic.
I was overreacting. That was just someone messing with me. They were hiding their voice so I wouldn’t recognize them. But who would do this? It was sick and twisted. Arden wasn’t suffering. He’d run off. He was fine. Probably on a tropical beach, drinking and tanning.
Shaking my head, I turned on the cold water and splashed it on my face, then took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I wasn’t answering unknown callers anymore. I wouldn’t play this stupid game.
Shopping had somewhat helped get my mind off the weird phone call. Although every time my phone rang, I jumped like it was a bomb about to go off. But now that I was no longer at the Wattses’ or with Jellie, my imagination had free rein.
I grabbed the handle on my suitcase, ready to move it to the scale, while the lady behind the check-in counter at the airport looked up my flight information.
“Wait,” she said, shaking her head. “You don’t check in here.”
I frowned. What was she talking about? I started to show her when she picked up a phone and began to call someone. I was getting on this flight. I had confirmation in my email. Jellie was still in New Hampshire, and Birch had dropped me off on his way to visit friends at their house in Nantucket. I didn’t want to be stuck in Boston for the night.
“Ms. Noa Raines is here at check-in,” the woman said, giving me a polite smile. “Yes. She has two suitcases.” The woman glanced over the counter at me. “And a duffel bag.”
I’d done my Christmas shopping in Portsmouth, and I had to buy a new suitcase to pack it all in. I was a stress shopper, and I’d overdone it today. As for my duffel, I was going to carry it on. I had originally packed it in my suitcase when I went to the Wattses’ for this reason. I’d had luggage delayed before, and I never went without a backup of the necessities in case that happened.
I opened my mouth to tell her that the bag wasn’t going to be checked, but she cut me off.
“If you’ll wait just a moment, Ms. Raines, our VIP transport will be here to take you and your things to the private lounge to await your departure.”
The Sky Lounge? I didn’t need a VIP guide to take me there. I could get there on my own just fine. I always did. And I wouldn’t call an airline’s lounge private. They were normally packed with people.
“Uh, that isn’t necessary,” I told her, wondering if my publisher had asked for this. And if so, why?
“Yes, it is. For you to get through security to the private hangar, you must be accompanied by one of the FBO staff.”
What the heck was FBO? All I knew was TSA.
I just needed to get to my gate and stop in the lounge for a cocktail. She was wasting time.
“I fly a lot, and I’ve never heard the term FBO,” I began.
She looked over my shoulder and smiled. “Ah, here he is. George, this is Ms. Raines.”
I turned to see a tall man with slick hair and wide shoulders filling out a black suit. This was getting more bizarre by the second.
“Ms. Raines,” he said with a head nod, then went to get the handle of the suitcase beside me. “All three of these are yours?” he asked.
“Yes, but could you please explain to me why I’m not checking in here for my flight?” I asked, sounding as frustrated as I felt.
“Those flying by private aircraft don’t go through check-in and security here. It’s in a different area.”