Page 18 of Desperate Creed

New messages started pinging. With only a glance, Frankie could see none of them were from Hannah. All were from Angela, and she was getting impatient.

WHERE ARE YOU?

STILL STUCK IN TRAFFIC?

HOW MUCH LONGER DO YOU THINK YOU’LL BE?

The last message was twenty-seven minutes ago.

She sat back, shook her head and released a heavy sigh. She missed Holly. Angela was no Holly.

In her mind Frankie had gone over exactly what she’d tell her new, young assistant. They barely knew each other, which meant she didn’t owe Frankie any loyalty or favors. Her old assistant had worked with Frankie for five years, and with Frankie’s help had recently been promoted to project manager. Holly would have been quick to help come up with ways to delay and distract the men without Frankie needing to prompt her. But on the other hand, Holly knew her too well for Frankie to have ever gotten away with the excuse she was getting ready to use. Holly would have seen right through it and would have wanted to know what was going on.

Frankie tapped:

FEELING SICK. MUST HAVE EATEN SOMETHING BAD AT THAT NEW DELI. HEADING BACK HOME. PLEASE TAKE CARE OF THINGS.

She shut off her phone before Angela responded. The woman would either freak out or recognize this as an opportunity to show off her skills.

One good thing, Mr. McGavin didn’t expect her back until next week. Even if Tyler had set Mr. McGavin on edge with his cereal protest, she knew her boss wouldn’t interrupt her time off. He was a true proponent of working hard but refilling the creative well with time off.

Reluctantly she left her spot to buy snacks, a couple bottles of water and two pre-paid phones, all of which finally made her backpack heavier. And yet, when she returned to her favorite seat she still had an hour and twenty minutes before her flight boarded. All the urgency, all the rush, and now, she had to sit and wait. She tried to relax and sipped from one of the bottles of water, her back to the wall, her eyes watching and observing.

That’s when she saw him.

It wasn’t possible.

It had to be a different man.

He was supposed to be waiting downtown outside her office. But of course, he could have left when Angela didn’t hear from her. Or after Frankie sent the last message. How long ago was that? She glanced at her watch. Tapped the faceplate.

Damn it!

She didn’t need to know how many steps. Just the time.

A little over an hour. Plenty of time to get here. But how did he know she was at the airport?

Maybe it wasn’t him.

And yet, Frankie knew she’d never forget those eyes, that hawk nose, that massive forehead. From thirty feet away she saw him tug at his shirt collar like a man not used to wearing a necktie. When his fingers came away she saw just enough of that ugly scar to know it was the same man.

And yes, he was here! Never mind how.

He hadn’t seen her...yet. He was trying to blend in, but his head rotated like a square block on thick shoulders. He was checking out the passengers waiting at Gate 2.

Her gate!

She needed to get out. Her heart began to pound. Her pulse started racing, and she felt like a trapped animal sitting against the wall. The man was less than thirty feet away. What was worse—he blocked her path. There was no way to leave the terminal without walking by him.

Frankie shouldered her backpack and handbag, keeping both high enough that she could slouch, half her face hidden behind the bundle. She got up, startled to find her knees wobbly.

Stay calm. Don’t look at him.

A sudden swell of passengers separated Frankie from the man. She knew how to slide into a moving crowd without making anyone slow down or take notice, allowing the wave to swallow her. But the crowd was walking in the wrong direction. Away from the terminal’s entrance, toward more gates and deeper into a trap. Somewhere down this way was a women’s restroom. She knew it was close.

Heart still pounding, she eased her way to the other side of the crowd. She moved with the flow and waited until she was exactly at the doorway then she pivoted and ducked inside. She almost collided with an abandoned janitor cart tucked in at the elbow of the entrance.

Frankie found an empty stall, a prized corner unit with extra room to breathe. As she fastened the lock she noticed her fingers were shaking.