“No, thank you,” she said into her phone. Disconnecting, she thought, Take it as a sign. It wasn’t meant to be.
She got in the security check line, listlessly tugging her roll-aboard behind her and staring absently at all the cities in which U2 had performed on their world tour. The itinerary was printed on the back of the t-shirt the young woman in line ahead of her was wearing.
“That’s her.”
As did most of the people around her, Beth turned in the direction of the authoritative voice. Her stomach dropped.
John Bowie, looking grim and intimidating, was pointing her out to a TSA agent. “The one in the blue jacket.”
Had he been in an accident? What had happened to his face?
The TSA agent asked those in line to move aside as she made her way forward. When she reached Beth, she said, “Beth Collins?”
Beth dragged her astonished gaze from John Bowie’s unflinching stare to the uniformed woman. “Yes.”
“Would you come with us, please?”
“What for?”
“A police matter. ” Bowie opened the right side of his sport coat so that everyone nearby could see the badge clipped to his belt.
“Ms. Collins, if you’ll follow me, please.” The TSA agent motioned for Beth to step out of line.
But she stayed where she was, too appalled to move. By now, everyone was gawking at them. Those in line ahead and behind her were craning their necks to get a better view. She shot John Bowie a murderous look. “Why are you doing this?”
He sighed as though put out. “Thank you, Agent Gorman. You’ve been very helpful. I’ll take it from here.”
He reached behind the agent and closed his hand around Beth’s elbow. “This way.” He gave her arm a tug, which she resisted. In a silent threat, he arched an eyebrow and wrestled the handle of her roll-aboard from her grasp.
Damn him! She couldn’t defy him without making a scene. More of a scene. If it should get back to Winston Brady that she’d been apprehended… It didn’t bear thinking about.
Resentful and fuming, she went along as the TSA agent opened up narrow avenues in the queue for them to squeeze through. When they were clear of it, Bowie propelled her forward and again thanked Agent Gorman for her assistance.
“You’re welcome, but, if you don’t mind me asking, what did she do?”
Over his shoulder, Bowie replied, “She cut in line.”
Chapter 5
He herded Beth through the exit and toward an SUV she recognized from the beer joint’s parking lot. It was parked at the curb, an airport police officer guarding it.
Bowie opened the passenger door and practically heaved her inside. He shut the door, shook hands with the guard, and thanked him. In back, he opened the hatch and put her roll-aboard inside, then came around and climbed in.
As he started the car, she launched. “You had better have a damn good reason—”
He interrupted. “There was a blood moon the night Crissy Mellin disappeared.”
The sudden statement took her aback, but after a few seconds she bobbed her chin.
“And you think that’s significant?”
Again she gave a curt nod.
He didn’t immediately look away from her. She held his gaze. Then, after a quick glance over his left shoulder, he gave the steering wheel a sharp turn, entering the stream of traffic to the chorus of a dozen protesting horns. “Buckle your seat belt,” he said, and wrestled with his until it clicked.
Nothing more was said until he turned into the drive-through lane of a fast food chain no more than a mile from the airport. “I’m starving. You want something?”
He pulled up to the backlit, multicolored menu and lowered his window. Her head was still spinning over the rapid series of events. All the brightly colored pictures of high-calorie meals blurred. She couldn’t isolate a single item. “Diet Coke.”
“That’s it?”
“Yes, thanks.”
By the time they reached the pickup window, the order was ready. He set the sack in his lap, their drinks in the cup holders, then steered into a parking spot in front of the building. It faced the runway across the boulevard where a jet was landing.
He switched off the car engine, dug into the sack, and took out a cardboard tray piled with French fries and breaded chicken tenders. He extended it toward her.
“No thank you.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. What happened to you?”
“What do you mean? Oh, this?” He looked in the rearview mirror and gingerly touched the bruise on his cheekbone beneath a vivid black eye. “After you drove off, I went back into the bar and got into a scuffle with those rednecks.” He picked up a piece of chicken and took a bite.
“More than a scuffle, I think. What provoked it?”