Page 181 of Bound By Fire
The airline attendant by the gate takes a few steps inside, has a quick word with someone I can’t see, then comes back out and starts collecting the rope barriers, pulling them back toward the wall.
“That’s it,” Flint says. “She wasn’t on the flight.”
“No, doesn’t look like it.”
We go to the desk at the side of the gate, where an older male in a navy blazer is logging something into a tablet. He looks up as we approach. I pull my credentials out, and Flint does the same. We hold them up.
“Commander Ridge. This is Flint. We’re from Draig Security. We need to confirm something about a passenger on the flight that just came in.”
The male puts the tablet down. “Of course, sir. What do you need?”
“Layla Hamilton,” Flint says. “Booked on the last flight from the Mainland.” He gives the flight number of the plane that has just disembarked. “Did she board?”
He turns to his screen and types. Frowns. Types again. Pulls up something else.
“Hamilton, Layla.” He runs a finger along a line of text. “She was booked on the flight. She checked in online yesterday, but she didn’t make the gate. She’s a no-show. The seat was empty when they closed the doors.”
Flint and I look at each other.
“Are you sure?” I ask.
“Yes, she’s confirmed as a no-show. The seat number is right here on the manifest. She most definitely was not on board that flight and hasn’t rescheduled.”
“Thank you,” Flint says. “That’s all we need.”
We step away from the desk.
“Fuck,” I say quietly.
“Double fuck.” Flint keeps his voice low. “She’s scared. It must be that.”
“I think so, too. If she’s half as scared as Rachael Da Silver, she’ll be reluctant to return to Draig Island.”
“It’s possible,” Flint says.
“There is no way Layla is an asset. I’m certain that she was threatened. That she’s running scared,” I add.
Flint nods.
“Either way, she wasn’t on that plane,” I say. “Which means she’s still on the Mainland.”
“Now what?” Flint asks. “Do we send human guards to the Mainland to question her? Because she could be anywhere by now. She’s probably in hiding.”
I take my phone out of my pocket, pull up her contact, and tap. The phone rings against my ear.
It clicks through.
“Ridge?” Her voice is small. Stricken. She sounds like she’s been crying.
“Hi, Layla. Please don’t hang up. I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
She makes a small sobbing noise, and then the line goes dead.
