Chapter 3
JUDE
The wheels of the commercial jet hit the tarmac with a dull thud, as the roar of reverse thrusters thrummed through the cabin.
Dawn was just a thin smear of orange over the Burlington runway as I disembarked a few minutes later.
I slung my canvas duffel bag over one shoulder, my brass-embossed Martin leather guitar case over the other, the strap pressing into the ink on my neck.
I was heading toward the glass doors of the baggage claim when a flurry of agitated voices at the Delta ticketing counter caught my attention.
A blonde-haired airline agent was leaning over her terminal.
Her mouth was set in a hard line as she brandished what seemed to be a credit card in the face of a dark-haired younger woman in front of her.
My feet slowed.
Six years in the military had honed my spidey senses to a T.
Heck, I’d become famous for my exceptional ability to identify IEDs before they blew, before the conscious mind even processed the danger.
I was always somehow able to detect when something was wrong, out of place, not quite right, and about to go off.
Now, all my senses were on fire, and I braced, on alert.
The slim, younger woman in the firing line was alone.
From this distance, I could tell she was slim yet had the right curves.
She wore faded jeans, a thin cotton tee, a battered denim jacket, and scuffed leather boots.
She clutched a single worn canvas tote backpack and wrung her hands in agitation.
She also glanced around her in a panic, and I slowed to a stop, moving to the side to let the other passengers behind me pass.
‘Ma’am, you want to purchase two one-way tickets to New York?’ the agent growled, her irritated voice carrying across the tiled floor. ‘Where did you get this card? Did you steal it?’
‘No, I didn’t,’ the younger woman said, her accented voice soft and musical, pleading. ‘I -.’
Her words died in her throat.
She scanned the terminal again as if searching for someone, the panic in her eyes palpable.
I moved towards the pair, not sure how I could help, yet driven by instinct.
The ticketing woman gave the younger woman a rake of her eyes, scanning her, judging her.
‘Sorry, ma’am, you don’t look like you have access to any credit card, let alone this one,’ the agent snipped with some malice as her hand reached for her desk phone. ‘Stay here while I reach the Airport Bureau. There’s something fishy about this.’
The young woman panicked.
She snatched the card from the ticket lady and bolted from the counter, her boots skidding.
With my guitar on my back and my duffel bag, I had no chance to move out of her way; she was racing so fast she scarcely registered the six-foot-three barrier in her path.
She slammed into my chest and rebounded, losing her footing and dropping straight to her knees on the hard floor.
I placed my gear with care on the ground, hooked my hands under her arms, and hoisted her back to her feet, holding her close to me as she stumbled.
‘Hey, you OK?’
I gave her time to straighten as our eyes locked, and for some reason, a wild jolt went through me.
While not my type, she was stunning nonetheless.
She had the most mesmerizing eyes: hazel, amber, and the warmest brown, with the most impossibly long lashes.
I blinked as a current of energy rushed over me.
The hell?
‘You OK?’ I repeated in a growl.
She stared at me in shock, from knocking into me, perhaps also because I sounded like a hoarse, throaty, hot mess.
‘You need anything? What’s wrong?’
She took a breath as her gaze swept past my shoulder.
Two airport police officers had just entered the far end of the concourse, their utility belts clanking.
The woman in my arms jerked her gaze between the approaching uniforms and the ticket desk.
She was hyperventilating, her shoulders hitching as she tried to find oxygen.
‘Hey, stop her! Get her!’ the ticketing agent’s screech shattered the terminal air as she pointed a manicured finger at the trembling stranger in my arms. ‘Guards, go after her!’
The command triggered an instant response from the cops.
The larger of the two guards broke into a full sprint across the polished floor.
He spread his arms out, preparing to tackle her into the floorboards.
My instinct took over before my brain could overthink the consequences.
I pivoted, using my bulked frame as a human shield, stepping into the guard’s path.
As the officer launched himself forward to grab the young woman, I jammed my forearm straight into his chest, checking his momentum.
The guard hit me as if he were lunging into a wall.
With a cry, he bounced back two paces, his boots shuffling for balance as his hand dropped toward his sidearm.
‘Step back, mate,’ I rasped, my timbre dropping into a lethal reverb.
I reached out, wrapping a possessive arm around the woman’s waist, bringing her flush to me, claiming her.
‘She’s my wife.’
I ignored my companion’s gasp of surprise as the guard stared at me.
His eyes widened as he registered the six-foot-three block of muscle in front of him and the cold menace in my eyes.
The second officer caught up, his hand freezing on his utility belt as he sized me up and quickly decided he wanted no part of me.
‘She’s with me,’ I repeated, my timbre cool, calm, and laced with a quiet confidence that broke their resolve. ‘The card is mine, and we’re insulted that the ticketing agent profiled her. You should be talking to her, not us. We’re leaving.’
The guards hesitated, exchanging a tense glance before jerking their chins at me.
The second airport cop offered me a tentative smile. ‘Sorry, boss.’
‘On your way,’ the first guard muttered, clearing his throat to save face as he stepped aside.
I gave them zero chance to change their minds.
Gripping Sofia’s hand, I grabbed my guitar and bag strap with my free hand and pulled her away from the trouble.
‘Thank you,’ she whispered.
Moving fast, I led her along for a few hundred meters.
Once we were well away from the ticketing counter and out of view, I shifted my load and the woman into a corner.
I used a column and my girth to hide us from anyone’s eyes.
The woman gazed up at me, her fingers digging into the fabric of my black hoodie.
‘Talk,’ I rasped, staring down at her.
‘Luisa left me, she’s disappeared.’
She was rambling; I had no fuckin’ clue who she was talking about, but it was clear she was distraught.
‘Luisa?’
‘A - a friend?’
‘One who’s abandoned you? Not sure she sounds like a friend at all.’
‘So now I’m alone,’ the woman whispered.
She had an accent, Italian, Spanish; I couldn’t be sure.
‘You’re not alone,’ I countered. ‘I’m here. Name, babe?’
She jolted, then understood the ask.
‘Sofia. They’ll take me away and lock me up. Please, signore, help me.’
Peering around to make sure no one had eyes on us, I examined her face, studying the raw panic in her eyes.
‘Who’s they?’
‘The mafiosi.’
She lifted her chin and took an inhale. ‘My friend claimed they’re from the Compagni family.’
She shuddered as she whispered the word under her breath, and I arched a brow.
‘The hell?’
Sofia took another hitched inhale.
‘They said they’d harm me if I didn’t do as they said.’
My blood ran cold.
‘Someone threatened you.’
She nodded.
‘Are they here in the airport?’
Again, she nodded.
‘Are they armed?’
My skin crawled as she once again confirmed my question.
‘Damn, you’re in a freakin’ hot water. I can help, babe.’
She shook her head, eyeing me, honing in on my different accent.
‘You can’t help me, you’re not American, or a poliziotto.’
‘Police?’
She nodded.
‘Listen to me,’ I rasped. ‘I sound Australian because I am, but my mother is married to the Sheriff of this county. He’s an honorable man. He can sort you out without these transit cops or worse, ICE putting you in zip-ties and taking you away. Understood?’
She blinked, terror still dancing in her eyes, and nodded once.
I pulled my phone from my pocket and hit the direct line for my stepdad, Sheriff Kian Martinez. He picked up on the second ring.
‘Kian. It’s Jude,’ I grated, my throat on fire.
‘You on the ground, son?’
Kian’s voice was a deep, steady rumble.
He’d treated me as his since the day he met my mother on a Sydney beach twenty years ago.
He was a solid, uncompromising man who’d hauled a fatherless kid out of a future filled with drugs, drinking, and petty theft.
‘Yeah, I’m at Terminal One,’ I rasped, turning my back to screen Sofia from the ticket agent. ‘Look, I’ve got a situation with a woman trying to buy a ticket. She’s panicking because she’s running from someone, I believe; she’s cornered and terrified. Can you help?’
Kian took an inhale. ‘Not my usual -.’
‘She’s being threatened and says she’s got the mob on her back. She claims whoever she was with is also armed. I wouldn’t call you if I didn’t think it was serious.’
Kian trusted my judgment and experience; at least I hoped he did.
He whistled under his breath.
‘The fuck? Mafia, you say? You should have led with that. I’ll send my deputies down from the airport sub-station now. Stay with the girl if you can, son. Meet the guys outside near the Uber pickup. I’m with the mayor right now, but I’ll be at the precinct in a few.’
‘I’ll hang tight with her, thanks.’
I ended the call and rubbed the back of my neck.
I was shattered to the core, keen to get to my mum’s place and crash.
Every muscle in my legs screamed for a hot shower and a bed.
Yet, when I gazed down at Sofia beside me, a sudden knot of compassion tightened in my chest.
I didn’t believe in ever leaving someone stranded just because they were an inconvenience.
Sticking with her until she was safe was a matter of basic human decency.
‘Here’s what’s going to happen. You’re leaving with me.’
Her eyes widened. ‘I appreciate it, but I can’t -.’