Chapter 3
The rain finally stopped as the vehicle navigated the slick Portland streets.
Jeez, my whole apartment could fit in here if I just squished it up a little.
Glenna sat in the backseat with her hands tucked between her knees to hide the way they were shaking. She glanced at the dark backpack on the seat next to her.
“There’s a fresh change of clothes, some toiletries, and the travel documents.
” Aria met her gaze in the rearview mirror.
“In the backpack next to you.” Her voice was steady, soothing in a way that professionals used to de-escalate a crisis.
“We’re heading straight to the private terminal.
We’ve managed to bypass the main TSA queues.
Gunnar has people at the airport who handle the high-tier logistics. ”
“Private terminal?” Glenna’s voice was a dry croak. “I’ve never even been to the regular terminal. I don’t... I don’t have a suitcase. I don’t even have my toothbrush.”
“Everything you need is on the plane, Glenna. What isn’t there, you buy in Italy,” Aria replied. She paused at an intersection, hit the turn signal, and took a left. “Right now, your only job is to breathe. You’re under the Four X’s umbrella now. That means you aren’t doing this alone anymore.”
Under the umbrella.
Who or what are The Four X’s?
It sounded like the freaking mob or something, and to her, it was like being swept up by a tidal wave.
She looked out the window as the neon signs of the city blurred into streaks of light.
She saw a bus stop she’d sat at a hundred times, a cold, miserable bench where she’d waited for the 42 line after a ten-hour shift.
Yesterday, hell, even an hour ago, that had been her entire reality.
Now, she was being chauffeured toward a private jet to cross the Atlantic to a country that had always been on her ‘if I win the lottery’ list of places she’d love to see.
Did I hit my head?
Or is this some kind of dream that I’ll wake up from?
Maybe she just wanted her daughter back so badly and hated having to muddle through the shit show that was her world since Dwight died that her mind had finally snapped.
Everything was happening too fast. It was too much.
But then she pictured Kelsey’s face on that video call, her lopsided pigtails and the ketchup stain on her shirt, and every ounce of concern or fear for her own safety was replaced by a cold, hard lump of resolve to get her child back.
They reached the airport, but instead of turning toward the sprawling main complex of PDX, Aria veered toward a gated area marked Private Aviation.
A man in a high-visibility vest stepped out of a small booth, held up a hand, and then caught sight of the credentials Aria flashed. “Welcome back, Snow.” He put his cop-style radio to his mouth as they passed.
Snow? Who the heck is Snow?
Aria pulled the SUV onto the tarmac, stopping beside a sleek, white jet that sat next to the runway. The engines hummed with a low-frequency power that vibrated in Glenna’s teeth. A staircase had been lowered, and a woman in a crisp, navy uniform stood at the base, waiting.
“This is as far as I go.” Aria put the car in park and turned to look at Glenna.
She reached over the seat and squeezed her hand.
“Gunnar and Tyrone are waiting for you on the other side. Trust them. Especially Zorro. He’s a hard man, Glenna, but he’s got a heart of gold.
If he’s on your side, you’re already on the fast track to a place way better than you’re coming from. ”
“Zorro?” Glenna blinked.
“Tyrone. It’s what we call him. He’s got a bit of a hero complex,” Aria said with a wink. “Go. Your daughter is waiting.”
Glenna climbed out of the SUV, the Portland rain soaking through her thin waitress’s shirt in seconds. She ducked her head and ran for the stairs, the wind from the jet’s engines whipping her hair across her face.
As she stepped into the cabin, the transition was jarring. The world of rain, grease, and poverty vanished, replaced by a sanctuary of cream-colored leather, polished walnut, and soft, indirect lighting.
“Good evening, Ms. Harper,” the flight attendant said, taking the soggy backpack from her. “I’m Elena. We’ll be wheels up in five minutes. Let’s get you into some dry clothes and something warm to drink.”
Huh? What?
Glenna followed the woman toward the back of the cabin. Her cheap, holes-in-the-soles sneakers left damp imprints on the plush rug.
I don’t belong here.
“I... I shouldn’t be here.” She looked at a seat that probably cost more than her annual salary.
“You’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.” Elena opened a door to a small, incredibly luxurious lavatory. “There’s a cashmere tracksuit in that bag. It’s far more comfortable for the long haul. Take your time. We’ll be ready to take off by the time you’re done.”
Glenna changed in a daze. She washed her face, and in the mirror, she saw the ghost of the woman Dwight had loved. She saw a flicker of the fire that the DHS social workers had tried so hard to extinguish.
Fuck them. They don’t know how hard I’m trying to get my life together and my daughter back.
God, I hope I’m doing the right thing.
When she emerged, the plane was already moving. She sat in one of the oversized chairs, and as the engines roared into a crescendo and the G-force pressed her back, she watched through the window as the lights of Portland fell away, shrinking until the city disappeared under the clouds.
Elena appeared with a tray. “The chef prepared a light meal. Seared sea bass with lemon risotto, and a glass of Pinot Noir. Tyrone mentioned you might be hungry.”
Jeepers, they’re feeding me too.
This is wild… so freaking wild, I’m not even sure if it’s real.
Glenna looked at the beautifully arranged food and picked up a fork.
The first bite of the fish was so flavorful it made her eyes water.
She hadn’t realized how hungry she was. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a meal that hadn’t consisted mostly of noodles or leftovers which had been about to be thrown out at the restaurant.
Having something freshly cooked and filling was a treat, and she intended to enjoy every bite.
She ate slowly, the wine warming her blood, but not quite able to ease the nerves that warned her that people didn’t do stuff like this for nothing. There had to be an angle, or the cost would be so astronomical that she’d be paying it back for the rest of her days.
Yet there was another side of her that wanted to believe this was all true.
One of Dwight’s teammates was helping her just because it was the right thing to do.
It was almost enough for the constant, low-level panic that had defined her life to begin to recede.
She wasn’t stupid; just because Tyrone was helping didn’t mean she was safe yet.
But for this moment, nobody was yelling at her.
Nobody was telling her she was a failure.
She had a full belly, wine, and most important of all, Kelsey would be there when she got to where she was going.
The hum of the engines was hypnotic, and once Elena cleared away the plates, she showed her how to turn the plush leather seat into a bed, and made sure she had blankets and a comfy pillow.
As Glenna drifted off to sleep, behind her eyelids, she saw Dwight. He was laughing, showing off the tattoo on his shoulder, the one Kelsey had traced.
“Don’t worry, Glenna,” his voice seemed to echo in the quiet of the cabin. “My brother has found you. Trust him.”
God, she hoped with every fiber of her being that it was true.