by Kim Karr
Quickly, I glanced down at the ticket, and the destination practically leaped off the paper. “Antigua, I hope,” I answered with a smile and then held my arms up.
“Beautiful place. You’ll get there, if not today then tomorrow.” The wand beeped right at the top of my thigh.
I opened my legs a little wider, giving him a peek at the bands of my lacey garters. “Is it nice? I’ve never been.”
“Yeah, or so I’ve heard.” He moved the wand again, this time a little slower, and I could see his tongue practically waggling.
“I probably shouldn’t have worn them,” I whispered.
“Not a problem, Miss,” he said, waving me to the side. “I just have to make certain everything is clear.”
Panic stuck in my throat, and I couldn’t answer. What if he asked for my identification?
“Do you prefer I call for a female TSA agent to come over?”
Already moving toward the blue-painted footprints, I waved a hand and batted my fake eyelashes. “No. I feel silly enough. No need to waste anybody else’s time. You can do it.”
Without hesitation, he bent and slid his fingertips up my thighs. I couldn’t look down. Wouldn’t. I still felt sick. Even sicker. I wanted to run. I wanted to hide. But there was nowhere I could go except right where I was headed.
I had to help that little boy.
“You’re all set,” he said, his voice a little huskier than it had been. And I wasn’t going to allow myself to consider the fact that tonight he’d be taking his cock into his hand and thinking of me.
“Thank you.” I slipped on my shoes and pulled the costume-filled suitcase behind me, leaving the coat and umbrella right where they were.
I didn’t want any reminders of the rain.
SADIE
THE BAR AT THE AIRPORT was packed.
Just as Simon had assured me, there were men everywhere. Single men. All sitting with a drink in front of them. All stranded. And all unaware of what I was sent to do.
I just had to find the right one, or ones. Reading men wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Who looked lonely? Who was seeking companionship? Who seemed like they had money, and on them?
I started to freak out.
I couldn’t tell.
I wouldn’t know.
I was a terrible student.
I glanced around, and that same uneasy feeling fell over me that had earlier. Picking men up in a bar wasn’t me. Stealing wasn’t me. This whole thing wasn’t me. It didn’t matter that Simon had drilled into me what to look for. It didn’t matter that he had mapped it all out.
I was faltering.
Slowly, I laid it out in my head. I was supposed to find someone dressed in an Armani suit or Hugo Boss sports coat. Take a seat beside him, flutter my lashes, cross my legs, show a hint of wispy lace, and then strike up a conversation before purposely spilling my drink so I could steal his wallet while he attempted to clean up the mess.
It didn’t matter that I remembered the plan step by step.
Right then the only thing that mattered was that I knew I couldn’t do this.
Not even for Riley.
Not even so the young boy could walk again.
Walk again.
Oh, God! What was I thinking?
Resolution struck like fear. It didn’t matter that I didn’t want to do this. I had to do this. It was the only way to right what I had wronged.
More astute this time, I glanced around, but all the single men looked the same. And besides, there were no empty seats anywhere.
Feeling lost, my eyes skittered here and there and then landed on the monitor. Most flights were still in the delayed status, but if the storm didn’t let up soon, they would be canceled. Once that happened, the men who were from Atlanta would leave, and the place would empty out.
I would wait.
I had to wait.
While I did just that, I attempted to survey the single men with a little more attention. A man about forty with a nice sports coat. Not designer, but a bulging wallet in his pocket none-the-less.
He’d do.
My gaze wandered. Another man wearing a plaid shirt and khakis with a computer case and a piece of Gucci luggage. A complete contrast of character.
Maybe.
To his right sat a conventionally attractive man with a square jaw, good haircut, and a few lines around his eyes. He was wearing a white shirt and suit pants. Briefcase at his feet, but nothing more. Coming or going, I couldn’t tell.
Pass.
When my phone buzzed, I knew who it was. I pulled it from my purse. The one that Simon had procured at the prestigious Savannah Country Inn, or maybe it was the Four Seasons Hotel.
I couldn’t be sure.
It didn’t matter.
Everything was a blur. The way he arranged to get a keycard. The way he slipped into the rooms. The way he paid off the concierge. For someone who had given up thieving, he certainly knew how to make connections.
I wasn’t naïve.
I found it questionable.
When I asked him about it, he told me the dark web hadn’t changed over the years. It was filled with all kinds of bad, and it provided him with unlimited amounts of people looking to make a buck.
I didn’t ask any questions after that.
Didn’t want to know anything further about the ominous dark web or illegalities that took place on it.
Putting those thoughts aside, I glanced down at my screen. After unlocking it, I removed the security feature. I didn’t have time for entering a code every time I received a text. Sure enough, it was just who I thought—him.
SIMON: You get in okay?
Me: Yes.
SIMON: How’s the fishing?
Me: I’m not sure.
SIMON: Are you using the bait?
Me: Yes.
SIMON: Then it won’t be long until you get a bite. Don’t forget, only the big fish gets the net. And two, not three, not five, not one.
Me: I won’t forget.
How could I not be using the bait?
I was the bait.
Sighing, I went to drop my phone back into my bag but paused and stared at the tin of breath mints in it instead.
The small green candy-coated items inside contained some kind of mild sleeping pill, which Simon had procured from the dark web.
The net, as he referred to it, was the part of the plan where I was to offer the mints to the guy I determined to be a big fish. Once he chewed two of them, I was to pretend to be interested in taking things back to his room and then steal more than his wallet as soon as he passed out. The green mints were only to be used if I knew for certain there were more things worth stealing than a wallet.
Like I would know?
I think that part scared me the most.
Drugging someone to steal what belonged to them. It frightened the living hell out of me.
I wasn’t a thief.
I wasn’t a thief.
I wasn’t a thief.
I thought I might go insane with the need to run.
Once again I found myself questioning if I could actually go through with this. I needed to think. And in order to do so, I had to get away from this place and be alone for a little while.
Closing my purse, I lifted my gaze to scan for the exit, and as soon as I did, not only had all the air rushed from my lungs, but my knees went weak.
No, it couldn’t be.
But it was.
It was him.
Him.
The macro-stock variety hunk I had crushed on. The one who got me fired. And he was sitting at the end of the bar.
Alone.
My heart started to pound with a beat I hadn’t felt in two long weeks. One that told me I was still alive. That somewhere beneath all this bad, I was still the same girl I had always been.
Lost.
Scared.
Good.
And still me.
My crush looked the same as he had in the picture, but different at the sam
e time. Older. Cleaner cut. More professional.
His dark hair was slightly shorter, cropped close on the sides but longer on top. The hint of scruff was exactly the same, though. And just as appealing.
Dressed in tuxedo pants and a wrinkled white shirt, he had a duffle and two other bags in tow.
Stranded.
He was definitely stranded.
But was he coming or going?
My guess—he was going, so this wasn’t a layover. Besides, he’d been on Hunks of Atlanta, so he must be from here.
I lowered my gaze.
Although he was wearing tuxedo pants, I wouldn’t call them designer, and there definitely were no fancy shoes since he was wearing a pair of black and white Adidas.
No high-end luggage, either. Just a bunch of beat-up leather bags.
Sure, then I was able to survey a man. I almost laughed at myself. At how pathetic I was. Still, I liked that he didn’t fit the criteria for one of my marks. It made him off-limits, which was good.
Suddenly, I felt so alone. And he looked so very alone, too. Mad. Brooding. Upset. I watched him. He was reading something. And the more I watched him, the more I wanted to get to know him. Which was crazy because wasn’t he the reason I was here? Or would I have ended up right where I was regardless of the fact that his picture had been in my column?
I had to believe the latter.
Didn’t I?
I had to get out of here. I really was going crazy. Blaming some stranger for my woes. That wasn’t me. Then again, I didn’t look like me or feel like me.
Did I?
Just as I took my first step toward the door, my phone buzzed in my hand. I’d forgotten to place it in my purse after I spotted the mints. I didn’t want to know what the message said, but I read it anyway.
SIMON: Great eye. He’s a good catch. By the size of those camera bags, I’d say what’s inside is easily worth thirty grand each.
Dumbstruck, my head darted around the bar. I didn’t see Simon anywhere, but somehow he saw me.
How’d he know those were camera bags, anyway? Did he have a friend who also worked the x-ray machine, for Christ sake?
I ignored his text and took another step. My phone buzzed one more time. And again, I looked, even though I didn’t want to.
SIMON: You cannot leave. Don’t lose sight of why we are doing this. Remember Riley.
Simon was right, of course. I was losing sight.
Riley needed this.
Needed me.
And I couldn’t let him down.
I wouldn’t.
After all, he was in the situation he was in because of me. But I couldn’t stay here, in this bar, and do what Simon wanted me to do.
I had to leave.
I’d find another way.
I took a small step and froze. Stock-photo guy had an issue of Hotlanta gripped tightly in his fingers.
Hotlanta.
Him.
And me.
It was how this whole thing started.
JAXSON CASSIDY
THE ARTICLE WAS TOTAL BULLSHIT.
Closing the magazine, I slapped it down on the bar and stared at the happily engaged couple on the front.
I couldn’t get away from weddings.
I picked the publication back up and found myself reading the article for the second time. Then again, who wouldn’t reread something when they were the headliner?
WHO’S WHO in ATLANTA
LOCAL PHOTOGRAPHER MIGHT LOOK LIKE SIN IN FRONT OF THE LENS, BUT IS HE SIN FROM BEHIND IT? by Elise Petra and Chloe Carmichael
With a face that once earned him a spot in ads for Marc Jacobs, not to mention a casting in that never talked about Calvin Kelvin sexing campaign, Jaxson Cassidy could have been a model. Don’t believe me? Check out the stock images of him on, “Hunks of Atlanta Stock.com.” To show our support to all things Atlanta, we even posted one of these long-ago taken images in our Love Connections column a couple of weeks back. As the gods have it, our hunky Jaxson gravitated toward the other side of the lens. Photographing weddings A in Atlanta to get his start, he is finally ready to move on. Most recently, he won a chance to photograph this year’s upcoming Swimsuit Edition for Sports Illustrated. The dream of a lifetime for any photographer, but can this pretty boy make the cut? Only time will tell.
What bullshit!
I clutched the issue of Hotlanta tight between my fingers. Okay, so it wasn’t total bullshit.
I had been on the other side of the camera and way more than once or twice. This Elise and Chloe needed to get their facts straight. Do their research more thoroughly. So shoot me, while I was in college it was the best way to earn some extra cash.
But come on, this article made me look like a pussy loser.
To get my start?
“My start!” Those two words had me seeing red.
I’d started seven years ago. Fuck you, Elise and Chloe, very much.
And what the hell was this website she was talking about? Then again, who gave a shit?
Not me.
I downed the beer in front of me and ordered another before glancing at the monitor. Sure enough, my flight had been canceled. Fucking great.
The glossy page of Hotlanta felt like it was leering at me. Fucking great.
I had a choice to make. Fucking great.
Either think about my ex-fiancée, whose wedding I had just photographed, with her brand new husband waiting to go on their honeymoon, or read about myself. Tough choice I had. Not. I read the article for the third time. Each word only making me more pissed by the minute.
“Finally ready to move on!”
Seriously.
What a bitch.
Like it was my choice to shoot two hundred and fifty Goddamn weddings before getting a shot to do what I had longed to do from the very start.
Anger boiled like hot water in my veins. I slapped the magazine down on the bar one more time and stared at it. Stared at the dark black, glossy hair and blue eyes. At myself.
Even with a career-changing legitimate gig on the horizon, my picture was the focus. Not my work. But my picture. That I hadn’t even taken.
Now that really was total bullshit.
I never should have stopped in the airport bookstore. I turned to shove the magazine in my bag.
I wanted to burn it.
Needing to get the hell out of Atlanta, I glared at the monitor. It looked like that wasn’t happening anytime soon.
It was time for the hard stuff.
I’d have to settle for drowning my sorrows in whiskey and getting piss drunk. If I drank enough, maybe I’d forget all about my ex-fiancée and her new husband, and the fact that they were more than likely—
Fuck, I couldn’t even think past that.
Roughing a hand down my face, I sighed. My eyes were burning. I’d been up for more than twenty-four hours straight, and the alcohol was making that fact increasingly apparent.
What I needed was some sleep.
A glass of whiskey, or a bottle even, was probably a bad idea. If I drank anything that strong, there was a very real possibility I’d end up knocking on the newlyweds’ door and confessing God knows what.
Just as I turned back to signal the bartender for the tab, my gaze landed on the sexy woman standing in the middle of the bar like she was lost. I felt the oddest swoosh of adrenaline flood my veins, and other places.
I hadn’t felt this way in a very long time.
Long, slender legs stood there. Big, doe-like eyes seemed to be searching. Damn, she was hot. She might have been dressed all uptight-like, but the way she stood in those heels told me she was anything but. It was more like she was playing dress-up.
I watched her.
Our eyes met for a few short moments, but then she jerked her head down and stared into her purse. Was she avoiding making eye contact with me? What the fuck? I wanted to call her over, but then she took a step. Toward me or away, I wasn’t sure.
Still, I watched some more.
&
nbsp; I was fascinated by her movements.
I’d been around enough runway models to know she didn’t have a clue how to strut in those designer heels. In fact, I started to wonder if she might not fall off of them, that’s how much she was wobbling.
What was her deal?
Intrigue hit me. I wanted to know.
Know her.
It was something I hadn’t felt in a very long time. I couldn’t decide if that was good or bad.
What did it matter?
Captivated, I found myself fighting off a chuckle and decided this could be fun. She could be fun. If nothing else, she could be something to take my mind off the fact that the girl I loved was fucking someone else’s brains out right now.
“Check?” the bartender asked, heeding my call for attention from moments ago.
On second thought . . . maybe I’d stick around.
Why not?
Turning, I shook my head. “No, I’ll have a whiskey. The good stuff, neat. Actually, make it two.”
With the drinks ordered, I twisted back and this time when I caught her gaze, I held it. Her eyes went so wide when she realized I was not only looking at her, but staring.
Refusing to let her go, I grinned and motioned with a hard nod to the empty seat beside me. I was inviting her, no, bidding her, or maybe even daring her, to come a little closer.
What did I have to lose?
SADIE
THERE WAS A DOMINANCE IN his body language I couldn’t deny.
Heeding his invitation, I stopped before him. He stood and his towering height overwhelmed me, but when he pulled the empty barstool out and grinned at me, I felt electrically charged. “Hi.”
Slowly, I climbed onto it. For some reason, I couldn’t stop my knees from wobbling. “Hi,” I tried to respond, but it sounded more like a squeak.
The way he was looking at me made me feel like I was the only person in the room. I opened my mouth to say something more but found no words. Instead, my breath hissed out as a slow leak.
What was I doing? I should have been running in the other direction. I didn’t have time for careless flirting. I had a job to do. One I knew I would never really be able to do, I reminded myself.
Settling myself on the luxurious white leather stool, I crossed one leg over the other. As soon as I did, his heavy stare rolled over my face and then down my body. It felt like he was surveying every inch of me.