“There is no need for thanks,” Petra says. “I did nothing for you.”
Yeah, don’t think I’m getting a hug.
“Thanks anyway, thanks for being you.” Her nose twists as if she’s smelled something bad. “Say hi to Lenox for me.”
Petra nods and turns, leaving the room quietly. “We better get going too,” I say to Blue.
He doesn’t respond. I glance down at my phone, run my finger over the screen unlocking it and pull up Declan Doyle’s number. No, I have nothing to say to him.
That’s not entirely accurate, I have a lot of things to say to him including you’re an asshole of the first order and next time I see you I’m going to fucking kill you, you lying sack of shit.
Instead I reply to my mom. Doing great. Baby’s wonderful. Robert is…you know him <laughing emoji>. Can’t tell you where I am. But I love you.
I send the text and stare down at the blue bubble—all true…and yet one big lie.
CHAPTER SIX
Flying in private planes no longer feels odd to me. But commercial…when did I get so used to being treated like a queen? I’m standing in Heathrow airport with Blue close to my side. High above us skylights ping with rain. The light is gray and dreary—classic English weather. The giant space feels both airy and quiet—so much room overhead and yet I’m standing in the check-in line with what appears to be a hundred people.
I lived in London for three years right after I fled New York—once Mulberry pulled my drunk ass off the beach in Mexico and gave me my new identity, Sydney Rye. I worked for him as a private eye. The memories are happy ones for the most part. I had a great apartment. A boyfriend. A life that didn’t orbit around vengeance and justice—at least on the surface. Though my mind never strayed far from those old stomping grounds.
I knew even then that I’d never be normal, but I also didn’t understand how irrevocably I’d transformed my life after avenging my brother’s murder and fleeing New York City. Deciding my pain justified killing another human being—that my brother’s killer and so many like him deserved to die—is the moment I became Sydney Rye, even if I didn’t start carrying her passport until later.
The world still didn’t know my transformative act of vengeance was a failure. I doubt anyone would believe me now. It’s not like I’ve tried to hide the truth: when I strode into Mayor Kurt Jessup’s office, gun blazing, I shot a corpse. Poorly.
Robert Maxim, protecting his own interests, had already killed that corrupt, insane, dangerous man.
When I lived in London, I loathed Robert Maxim. I spent many nights seething that he stole my revenge from me. If only I’d killed Kurt Jessup, then I wouldn’t have this incredible, searing pain. My grief wouldn’t feel like drowning. If Robert Maxim had just stayed out of my business, everything would have been fine.
I huff a laugh as I move up in the check-in line. Naive much? Robert always said he understood me the way no one else could because we are so alike. The thought terrifies me. If I’m like Robert Maxim, then I’m a monster. If Robert Maxim is like me, then maybe he’s not a monster. Why can’t the world just be black and white—why must it be so fucking gray?
“Hi.” I smile at the woman behind the airline counter, putting on my best I’m a totally normal person face. Oh, this giant dog. Let me explain, I’m a totally normal person with a lot of anxiety…which is actually pretty normal. The world is a hot mess. It’s crazy AF out here, and I need a giant dog sitting next to me in First Class to deal.
She smiles back at me, her eyes never meeting mine as she takes my passport. There is a blue and white scarf around her neck—a sporty neckerchief. It harkens back to a time when airline travel was still glamourous. When people dressed up for the occasion. When it was largely reserved for upper-class white people in tie-and-jacket or dresses and pearls.
“I have you all set in a first-class pod; you have a layover in Los Angeles, and then onto Nadi on the Fijian island of Viti Levu.” She clacks on her computer. “How many pieces of luggage to check?”
“None,” I say. She glances up then, finding my gaze. Her eyes are deep brown and sharp. Oh, right, no luggage on commercial means terrorist. I hold up my duffel. “I have a house there,” I explain. “And my Paris wardrobe isn’t appropriate for the island.”
She nods and smiles, as if she understands this made-up life I’ve created. My anxious rich lady with giant dog and small duffel persona is working. Her gaze drops to Blue. “You have all his paperwork?”
“Yes.” My gaze catches on her name tag. “Sarah.” I smile as I pull out the veterinary forms, the microchip information, and his blood tests. Sarah smiles back as she slides them off the counter.
“He’s beautiful,” she says.
“Thanks.”
“How old?”
“Still young,” I say, weirdly defensive.
Sarah ignores my strange tone and enters all Blue’s information into the computer. “He will have to quarantine when you arrive,” she says, glancing up.
“I’ll just be passing through,” I say. “My house is on a private island. We have our own rules.”
Her eyebrows shoot up and her gaze rakes over me again. My hair is pulled back into a ponytail that when I left the hotel was not messy but I can feel wisps of hair flying around my head as she notes them with her gaze. I’m not wearing makeup…I live out of a small duffel and feel like clean underwear matters more than a chic appearance. Though Petra’s go bag has inspired me to invest in some new essentials.
I dumped the black sweatsuit and purchased a blue velour one at a shop in Paris before heading to the airport. The saleswoman said it brought out the blue in my gray eyes, and Blue’s…so I don’t look like a total disaster, I’m pretty sure.
Do I look like a woman who has her own island? I straighten my shoulders. “What?” I ask Sarah, forcing her to meet my eyes again.
“Nothing,” she says, dropping her gaze quickly.
I lean forward, placing my arms on the narrow counter between us. “Sarah.” She looks up. “I know it’s not normal to encounter a single woman in a velour tracksuit, wearing no makeup or fancy jewelry, accompanied by a giant dog, who has enough money to fly half way around the world in a pod to her private island. But not everyone who’s successful flashes it. And not everyone who flashes is successful.”
She blinks a few times, my wisdom appearing to have no impact at all. Then she smiles and rolls her eyes. “Trust me, this job has taught me not to make assumptions.” Sarah leans forward so that the space between us becomes intimate. “You can learn a lot about people in a job like this. I love paying attention.”
“You are a unique person, Sarah.”
Her smile is subtle. “We are all unique, Tara,” she says, using my alias.
“Touché.”
Passing through security with Blue proves to be fun. People coo over him. He draws all the attention. Blue pretends like he doesn’t care, but I can tell by the tapping of his tail that he loves the extra pets. When we both prove to be free of explosives and weapons...well, weapons they can detect, they release us into the gate area. I can kill with just my hands. Also, I’ve got a leather leash—a workable garrote.
The two hours before our flight drag on in the way that time in an airport does—every minute an hour until it’s time to board and suddenly time speeds up and presses into a mass of people crowding around the entrance, ignoring instructions to wait till their zone number is called. We make it to our pod and the flight attendant brings me a sparkling water. Takeoff proves rough, the dreary rain carrying some punch.
