CHAPTER ONE #2
Clenching my jaw, I hurry out of the room to my backpack and shoes on the counter with my passport laying on top.
Suddenly, no one seems to acknowledge that I even exist. But it doesn’t matter.
I just need to get on this plane. I’m almost to the gate, with less than 10 minutes to spare, when a voice echoes over the speaker.
“Attention passengers for flight 1691 to Denver, please be advised that your departure has been delayed due to a crew shortage. Please stand by for further information.”
I collapse into one of the pleather seats with a groan.
I have a two-hour layover in Denver before catching another flight into Montrose, but every minute that goes by risks throwing a wrench in my entire trip.
Having nothing else to do, I decide to do an Internet search for this dude who caused me to be detained in a tiny airport room—Garrett Halsey.
Seconds later, I learn that he’s wanted in Alabama for robbing a Steak-N-Shake before embarking on a string of highway murders.
However, he is a man who’s 6’2” and weighs 280 pounds.
Typical.
After an hour, I start to get antsy. There have been no updates and if I don’t get on a plane soon, I’m not going to make it to Gunnison today.
But my worry is interrupted by a shrill voice over at the gate desk.
I glance over and immediately roll my eyes when I see the same scarecrow woman in heels who cut in front of me at security.
“This is unacceptable!” she shrieks. “There’s a pilot right there, why can’t he fly the plane?” She points at a crew member at the next gate who may or may not actually be a pilot.
“Ma’am, that’s their crew, not ours,” says the gate agent. “And we need a whole crew for the aircraft to leave the gate.”
“I have never experienced this level of incompetence while flying!”
If she’d stuck around longer at security, she might change her mind. In any event, it dawns on me that I need to make a decision before all options disappear. I rise and reluctantly approach the other agent at the desk.
“Hi,” I greet the younger guy who looks relieved that his more senior coworker is dealing with the Scarecrow. “Can I switch to a different flight? I’m afraid I won’t make my connection.”
He asks my name and starts typing and clicking.
“Get me on another flight!” the Scarecrow bellows next to me, making me flinch.
“There’s nothing until tomorrow,” her agent sighs. “I can check a different airline if you’d like.” Clearly, they just want her out of this terminal. “It looks like there’s one seat left on the next United flight that leaves in 25 minutes.”
“Fine!” she shouts, slamming her palm down on the counter.
She purses her lips so hard that not even her inch-thick makeup can hide the years of unbridled loathing and disdain.
The agent starts clicking, but then lets out an exasperated huff. “Devin, is the system giving you problems?”
Devin steps away from his screen and glances at hers, furrowing his brow. “Why isn’t it letting you select another carrier? I was about to book another flight for this customer, too.”
“That seat is mine!” the Scarecrow snaps.
“Well, ma’am,” her agent swivels around with no shortage of attitude, “it’s not anyone’s since we can’t book it from our system. You’ll have to go directly to the gate and book it there.”
“This is utter bullshit!” the Scarecrow shrieks. “I’m going to sue this goddamn airport into oblivion!”
I peel my eyes away from the scene in time to see Devin looking right at me. He makes a triangle with his hands and then follows it up with four fingers.
Gate A4.
With an appreciative smile, I slowly start backing away from the desk.
But the Scarecrow senses my movement and locks onto me like a T-Rex onto Jeff Goldblum.
In a flash, I turn on my heel and sprint out of the gate, tearing into the concourse with the Scarecrow screeching after me.
She looks like she’s in relatively good shape, so I don’t take any chances.
Then again, those heels might slow her down.
I focus on finding a clear path to the United terminal, dodging people and suitcases left and right.
I’m almost to the Chili’s when something whizzes past my head, bouncing off the marble in front of me.
A six-inch stiletto ankle boot rolls across the floor as I sprint past, followed by a cacophony of screaming and cursing.
I pick up the pace, rounding the corner of Chili’s into the next straightaway.
She’s faster than I thought. What am I going to do when I get to the gate?
She’s clearly unhinged and out for blood.
But I don’t have to wonder for long. There’s a commotion followed by more shouting.
I look over my shoulder just in time to see no less than three security guards in hot pursuit until finally, she chucks her other shoe at them and another one cuts her off, sweeping her into the crowd.
More screams follow and a crash as she breaks free and knocks over a rack in front of the bookstore before they manage to tackle her again.
Fleeing the scene, I finally make it to the counter at gate A4.
“Please!” I gasp, startling a gate agent with tight black curls. “Please let me on the plane!” Gasp. “I just beat some psycho lady here and I have to get on this plane!”
After finally explaining myself, I keep glancing behind me as she books the ticket to make sure the Scarecrow hasn’t escaped custody.
With my luck, she’ll probably have the whole airport on lockdown.
Even when I sit down in the last seat on the plane and fasten my seatbelt, I’m still not sure I’m in the clear until the plane lifts off the ground.
I don’t even bother taking off my parka until we reach cruising altitude.
I just hope my luggage made it on board.
I’m still thinking about it when my flight lands in Denver and I make my connection to Montrose by the skin of my teeth.
After staring out the window, watching to see if my suitcase gets loaded onto the plane, I can’t bear to think about it, so I shut my eyes and try to escape into a coma to the white noise of the jet engines.
I don’t know how long I’m asleep, but I’m jostled awake with a violent thump right before screams erupt in the cabin.
Suddenly, my belt pulls at my lap and it feels like the plane’s dropped out from under me. I grab the armrests right before my ass slams back into my seat and I see some random woman near the front of the cabin go airborne and then disappear behind the seats.
“Everyone, please fasten your seatbelts!” a flight attendant shouts from the front of the plane. “Please remain calm!”
No, ma’am, I think not.
I let out a shriek as the plane jerks up and down and we’re all thrown around like ball bearings in a tin can.
Thin clouds whip past the window and I catch a glimpse of the mountaintops for the first time.
We have to be descending. Through what? I don’t know.
It feels like the plane is on tumble dry mode and we’re seconds away from crashing into a mountainside.
“WE’RE GONNA DIE!” the man across the aisle bellows into his phone as the earth gets closer and closer.
I grit my teeth and clutch the armrests with renewed resolve. If I don’t die in a magnificent fireball, I’m landing in Montrose no matter what. Even if the body of the plane gets torn off, at least I’ll still be strapped into my seat.
The wings toggle from side to side as the jagged terrain becomes clearer.
It feels like the plane is rotating until, finally, there’s a collective gasp and it touches down with a crunch.
The tires bounce off the runway and then slam back down, throwing everyone forward amid the chaos.
I brace against the seat in front of me as the plane screeches across the tarmac, trying to slow down.
Images flash through my mind of planes reduced to twisted metal after sliding off icy runways and annihilating cars and electrical poles in their path.
Maybe the fuel tanks are empty enough by now not to devour us in a massive explosion.
But to my utter surprise, the plane continues to slow down and we eventually make it to the gate.
As soon as the seatbelt light goes off, the cabin erupts again in angry shouts and wails.
Soon, it becomes clear that there will be no orderly exit.
I need to get off this plane, but the tiny aisles are jammed with angry and frightened passengers.
And the man across the aisle in a business suit is still shouting into his phone.
“We almost died, Angela! And now they’re probably going to swarm this plane and transport us to some black site and execute us before we can talk! Corporate scum!”
Says the man in an Armani suit with an immaculate fade.
My eyes round when I see him reach for the emergency exit and start twisting the handles. He tries to jerk it free, but it doesn’t budge. I’m about to call out that we’re at the gate, but then he grabs the edge of the overhead bin and draws one knee up.
“SPARTA!”
My jaw drops as he slams his heel into the hatch and it flies off the plane, simultaneously engaging the inflatable slide. More chaos ensues as a gust of frigid air rushes through the cabin and he grabs his briefcase and hurls himself out of the hole, disappearing into oblivion.
I hope the slide inflated all the way…
It must have, because another man peeks out and then motions for two women to follow. I don’t hear any screams as they rush out, so I grab my parka and backpack and scurry across the aisle before I’m stuck in the crowd. It’s kind of like going down the slide of a two-story bounce house.
By this time, airport staff have rushed to the impromptu evacuation to prevent anyone from killing themselves. I wouldn’t normally choose to jump out of a commercial jet onto the tarmac in the middle of winter, but at this point, I’m desperate to get away from anything resembling an airplane.
I don’t even stick around to see what happens.
I don’t care about any vouchers the airline might offer as a bribe and if Armani dude is right and there’s a cover-up afoot, then I’d rather be long gone by then.
As soon as I’m inside, I bypass all the passengers congregating and head for baggage claim, unsure whether my suitcase even made it onto the plane.
As soon as I get to the carousel, I collapse onto a bench to catch my breath. I should probably let Brett know I’m here—alive. But when I turn my phone back on, the first text I see is from an unknown number. And my stomach immediately drops while I read it.
UNKNOWN (3:18PM): Barrett, this is getting ridiculous.
Not only was it incredibly rude for you to take advantage of my generosity the other night, it also screams entitled and ungrateful.
I don’t know who you usually spend your time with, but maybe you should raise your standards because men today aren’t going to put up with your “feminist” delusions and unreasonable expectations.
You seem like a good person and I feel a real connection to you, so I can look past our differences because I can see a promising future with you if you’re willing to put in the effort.
“What in the ever-loving fuck?”
I give myself a free pass on this one. Because, seriously, what the fuck? But as I’m reading it, another text comes through, which immediately makes me see red.
UNKNOWN (3:44PM): However, if you’re still hung up on “equity”, you’re welcome to find out how a man would be treated if he showed the same level of disrespect as you are.
What does that even mean?
Thoroughly unsettled, I tuck my phone back in my coat pocket and take a deep breath.
Why is Caleb still texting me after I blocked him?
Total creep behavior. But I’m 1,500 miles away and I don’t need to think about this right now, at least until I can tell Brett about it on the 45-minute drive to her house.
Soon, there’s a groan from across the room and the baggage carousel creaks to life. I try to forget Caleb’s insidious communiqué for the time being and focus on trying to locate my suitcase, but my stress level only rises as everyone else’s seems to appear except mine.
Tears of frustration begin to well as I’m about to head to the customer service counter in defeat.
But just then, there’s another thud and five more suitcases tumble off the chute, including my black one with the gold luggage tag.
Awash with relief, I drag it off the belt when it comes around and start zipping my coat.
“Excuse me,” a deep voice rumbles over my shoulder.
“Oh, yeah,” I mumble and step out of the man’s way as I fumble with my zipper.
In the aftermath of Caleb’s veiled threats, I totally forgot to text Brett.
I’ll do it as soon as I get outside. She must be wondering where I am at this point.
I reach for my suitcase, but my hand only swipes the empty air.
And when I look, my suitcase is gone. I whip around, my eyes darting across the room in panic. But then I see it.
A tall—very tall—man with broad shoulders, a blue puffer jacket, and two long, blonde French braids trailing down his shoulders. He’s a veritable Sasquatch heading toward the glass doors, and he has my suitcase in tow.
“Excuse me!” I break into a run after him. “Hey! That’s my suitcase!”
He doesn’t seem to hear my shouts and his stride is so long that I can barely catch up. I’m too exhausted and he might as well be a mighty Sequoia. So, in a moment of pure insanity, I do what tiny dogs do.
I grab him and hang on like a deranged koala.
He drags me for a few feet as I cling to his waist, until he stops abruptly and I tumble onto the tile. My last burst of energy dissipates and all I can do is stare up at him from the floor, studying me with curiosity. Then I hear a deep, baritone voice from up above.
“Barrett, yes?”