Lost Distinction

by Rachel Sharpe

She held up a fuchsia, v-neck dress with spaghetti-straps. I stared at it, trying to determine if it was a size zero or two. It was gorgeous, but definitely too small. Ugh. Figures. Shaking my head, I replied, “I really don’t think I’m gonna need a dress, but if I do, I have another one in my bag.”

  She frowned, but nodded as she hung it up. Grabbing two pairs of jeans, she muttered, “I really wish I could go.”

  “Yeah, that would be fun,” I agreed as she handed the jeans to me. “Maybe sometime we could plan to go there, if I could ever afford it.”

  She gave me a quizzical look. “Afford it?”

  “Yeah, afford it. Not everyone can drop a couple grand at a moment’s notice for a holiday across the Atlantic.” She looked hurt by my sarcasm. I immediately regretted my comment. “I’m sorry. I’m just kind of frazzled. When I agreed to this weekend, I didn’t know I’d be leaving the country.”

  “I can imagine that would be a little stressful. Plus, spending more than an hour with this family could leave anyone needing some serious psychological treatment.”

  I laughed.

  “You’ve seen them.” She piled four designer shirts atop the jeans I was holding. “You know what I mean.”

  “Family keeps things interesting.”

  “That’s one way to put it.” Michelle laughed. “Okay, so we’ve got two pairs of jeans, one dark and one faded, and three shirts, two short-sleeved and one long-sleeved. They’re not formal, but also, not so casual that people won’t take you seriously.”

  I glanced down at the outfits in my hands. I estimated I was holding approximately two thousand dollars worth of clothes. “These are great, thanks. I’d better get going.”

  “Yeah, I guess you’d better.”

  “Any advice for a first-time overseas traveler?”

  She narrowed her gray eyes and stared at her plush slippers, thinking. “Um, do you get air-sick?”

  “No.”

  “Good, because you should expect a nine-hour flight. That can be kind of rough. Also, you’re going to a different time zone. London is, like, five hours later than Eastern Time. Keep that in mind. If you’re leaving now, it’s almost ten in the morning over there right now.”

  “Gotcha.” I nodded as I made a mental note. “Anything else?”

  She smiled. “Nothing except good luck.”

  “Good luck?”

  “You’re about to spend more than twenty minutes in a confined area with Gatlin Cross. I think that merits well wishes for anyone.”

  Chapter 11

  I thanked Michelle again before heading down the long hallway to the guest room in which I’d stayed. Once inside, I decided to wear her light-colored jeans and burnt-orange shirt. I packed the rest of the clothes she loaned me as well as my own into my small suitcase. Despite my reservations about the sizes, I was actually able to squeeze into the outfit with only a little difficulty. Looks like that gym membership is paying for itself, I thought.

  I went into the bathroom and washed my face with the fresh bar of petunia-scented soap that replaced the rose-scented one from the night before. I glanced around the bathroom and realized all the towels were clean too, which suggested the staff had cleaned both the guest room and the bathroom as if I were staying in a five-star hotel instead of someone’s private home.

  I left the bathroom after brushing my hair. I took one last look to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything before hauling both my purse and luggage down the hall toward Arthur’s. I knocked quietly on the door and within moments, Rick answered.

  His appearance literally took my breath away. His brown hair, although technically a mess, managed to look as hot as his rugged stubble. As usual, his blue eyes lured me in with their tantalizing gaze despite the purple tint surrounding one of them. Although I would have been blind to have not been affected by these features, they were not what caught me off guard.

  Rick stood in the doorway wearing a tight, navy-blue T-shirt with the word “YALE” in white lettering across the chest. The shirt not only accentuated his muscular chest but also offered a glimpse of his perfect abs. Since he rarely wore form-fitting clothes, I forgot just how ripped he was. He cleared his throat and the trance was broken.

  I felt my face flush. I hoped he didn’t notice. He opened the wooden door further and I walked inside, stealing another quick glance. Clearing his throat, he crossed his arms.

  “Sorry,” I laughed self-consciously.

  “No, it’s my fault. I must look like an idiot in this. I didn’t bring anything else, so I had to grab a few things from Arthur’s closet.”

  I stared at Rick. Somehow, he had mistaken my desire for disgust. Suddenly, I remembered the threatening note scrawled on the news article that was folded carefully inside his jacket pocket. “Where’s your jacket? The one you were wearing tonight. It had that article from Arthur’s dorm room in it.”

  His eyes lit up with understanding and he unzipped his large, hunter-green luggage case. He rummaged through the jacket and extracted the article and the envelope. He handed both to me and I carefully placed them inside my purse. He then lifted his two bags and mine and tiptoed down the hall and toward the stairs. At the base, he placed the luggage on the floor and reached into his jeans’ pocket. He pulled out my cell phone.

  “It’s half charged,” he said as I accepted it. Staring at the ceiling, he added, “You might want to let your parents know.”

  “My parents?” I frowned until I understood his meaning. He wanted me to call them. I glanced at the phone then at him. “That may not be the best idea.”

  At the sound of muffled voices, we both turned toward the front door. When no one entered, he persisted, “Jordan, I don’t know your parents that well, but I think it would be a bad idea if you left the country and didn’t tell them.”

  I frowned. He was right, naturally. Letting them know would be the considerate thing to do, but I was never one for confrontation that could be avoided. I gazed up into his beautiful eyes. “I know I should call them, but it’s so early there right now. Wouldn’t it be better to wait until we get to London? That way they’ll know we’re safe and won’t worry.”

  Rick crossed his arms. Finally, he shook his head and laughed, “You should have been a lawyer. You could argue your way out of anything.”

  I grinned triumphantly and watched as he opened the massive front door and then carried our luggage out. His concern filled me with guilt because I knew it was wrong not to notify them. I suddenly remembered Jon. I took a deep breath as I typed the text message that I hoped he wouldn’t read for several hours: “Took the case. On my way to London. Yes, London. Will call u later. J.”

  I hit “SEND” and then placed the phone in my purse. I glanced up and saw Rick walking toward me.

  “Ready?”

  I nodded and he offered me his hand as we walked outside. It was still dark, but the moon provided enough light to behold the incredible sight before me. Parked in front of the house was a sleek, black vehicle. Drew, the ambassador’s assistant from Martha’s Vineyard, carefully stored our luggage in the trunk while Mr. Cross paced back and forth with his cell phone affixed to his right ear.

  “What kind of car is that?” I whispered to Rick.

  Before he could answer, Drew closed the trunk and said, “It’s a Rolls Royce Phantom Limo. The ambassador prefers to be picked up in this when he and Mrs. Cross return to the States.”

  The ambassador sighed and shoved his phone in his coat pocket. He was no longer wearing his evening attire but had changed into a navy-blue, double-breasted suit with a white shirt and light-blue tie. He turned toward us and inquired, “Are you ready?”

  Before we had a chance to respond, a cherry-red convertible roared into the driveway, screeching as the driver applied the brakes at the last minute, narrowly missing Edward’s car.

  I was not surprised to see William behind the wheel, laughing and clearly drunk. Beside him sat the slinky blonde from the country club who tried flirti
ng with Rick. William stumbled out of the car and wobbled as he headed to the door. It was only when he was mere feet from his father that he noticed him. The ambassador’s jaw was clamped tight and his temple pulsated as he glared at his son.

  “Morning, Father,” William slurred, swaying side to side. He sneered when he noticed Rick. “Nice eye.”

  “Nice nose,” Rick countered.

  At this, William leapt at Rick, but the ambassador’s reflexes were quicker. He grabbed William by the collar, nearly lifting him off the ground.

  “I’m not dealing with this again.”

  William swallowed hard.

  The ambassador placed him on the ground and turned from his son, who was literally shaking. He looked back, more composed, and glanced at the blonde in William’s car. “Get her out of here.”

  Without a word, William stumbled back to the car. The ambassador grabbed his shoulder, smelling the younger man’s breath. “On second thought, you’re not going anywhere. I’m not taking any more chances on drunken sons.”

  The ambassador marched in the house. Moments later, he emerged with Walter, the house servant. He whispered something to the elderly man and nodded at the girl in the car. Walter nodded back and the ambassador gave him some money, which the man carefully placed in his pants’ pocket.

  With that, he walked to the car and drove off before the girl had a chance to utter one word. Ambassador Cross smoothed his golden hair unconsciously and strode up to William.

  “Dad, I—”

  “Not a word. We’ll deal with this when I get back. Now get inside,” he barked. “And sober up.”

  William scratched his ear before shoving his hands in his pockets and climbing the steps. He quietly opened the door and walked inside. The ambassador didn’t look at the house. Instead, he walked to the car and waited for Drew to open the door to the back seat.

  Drew motioned at us and Rick and I climbed inside. Rick took the middle seat between the ambassador and me. Drew closed the car door and jogged to the driver’s side. Once inside, he glanced at us through the rearview mirror.

  “Does anyone need anything before we get going?”

  I shook my head in response as Rick answered, “No, thank you.”

  Drew stared at the ambassador and I suddenly realized the inquiry was not directed at us. Ambassador Cross had his right elbow leaning against the door and was staring at the house. Finally, he became aware we were not moving and snapped, “Let’s get going!”

  At this, Drew closed the window between the front seat and the back. The car slowly made its way down the long, winding driveway. Charlie waved as we drove through the giant gates that separated the Cross estate from the rest of the exclusive neighborhood and before I knew it, we were on the highway. As we drove, I considered how to approach investigating this cryptic case in a foreign country.

  A horrible thought crossed my mind and I turned to Rick. “Uh, I don’t have a passport.”

  “What?” he replied, leaning closer.

  I glanced at the ambassador nervously. “I said I don’t have a passport. How am I supposed to leave the country?”

  Rick’s naturally tan complexion turned pale white as he realized the implications of my statement. Looking around the vehicle, he stammered, “Never? You’ve never had one?”

  “No. I mean, I meant to get one someday, but so far, I’ve never needed it. What am I going to do?”

  Rick glanced at the ambassador, who was still staring out the car window. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “Uh, sir?”

  “Yes?”

  “We may have a little problem. You see, Jordan, uh, well, she, uh, doesn’t have a passport,” he finished, calmly. Rick glanced at me with an unreadable expression. It was as if Rick and the ambassador were in the midst of a high-stakes poker game and neither man wanted to tip his hand. We sat in silence for what felt like an eternity.

  Finally, when I could no longer stand it, I spoke. “I’m sorry about this, sir, but I’ve never had the need for one. Since I know I can’t fly without it, I suppose we should head back.”

  The ambassador looked at Rick. “Do I look like the kind of man who doesn’t consider all possibilities before executing a decision?” When neither of us responded, he continued. “I considered it likely that Miss James would not have her passport with her when I booked the flight.”

  I looked at Rick and then at the ambassador. This game was maddening. “How did you expect me to get there then, sir?”

  He smiled wearily. “Miss James, in my lifetime, I have made many connections, some good, and some bad. All you need to know is that I was able to secure you a passport and, to insure we didn’t encounter any other issues, I chartered a private plane for the flight.”

  With that, he turned his attention back to the ocean view outside his window. I looked at Rick curiously. He shook his head. The discussion was over. While it should have relieved me that such a catastrophic and embarrassing event was avoided, all I felt was uneasy. We sat in silence for the rest of the thirty-minute drive.

  When we arrived, Drew did not park as I expected him to, but instead drove up to a small security building located along the left side of the airport property. Through the tinted glass, I could see him hand something to the guard. After carefully inspecting the badge, the guard walked back to the building. Three minutes later, he handed the badge back to Drew and waved us through.

  Drew drove across the tarmac and stopped in front of a sleek, white jet. Three men in charcoal uniforms and bright-orange vests were busily working, fueling the plane and checking the engine and tires. A fourth man in a pilot’s uniform exited the jet and jogged over to the limo.

  I felt completely out of my element, sitting in someone’s personal limo that was parked in front of a private jet. This entire weekend seemed like a scene from a movie and I doubted anyone would believe me if I shared the details.

  Drew opened his employer’s door. The ambassador exhaled through his nose as he stood up and was immediately greeted by the pilot. The two walked together several paces and stopped. Drew left the door open and hurried over to join the conversation.

  The roar of a passing airplane’s engines was deafening, making it impossible to eavesdrop. I glanced at Rick. He was staring past me, his attention focused on the three men. His stoic expression revealed little, but it was clear he was not pleased with our current situation. I wasn’t sure what bothered him the most, but decided now was not the time to pry.

  I watched a 747 slowly taxi up the runway and pause. Less than a minute later, it started moving. Rapidly picking up speed, the nose pointed skyward as the wheels receded and the plane became airborne.

  A sudden rap on the window grabbed my attention and I turned back toward the open door. Drew leaned into the backseat and extended his left hand. “Are you ready to go, Miss James? Everything’s set for departure.”

  I accepted Drew’s hand. He helped me out of the vehicle. Rick followed me. I stared at the jet and watched the ambassador grasp the railing on the rolling stairs as he carefully climbed into the plane. Rick put his hand on my lower back and guided me to the steps.

  “When he said we were flying to London, did you know he was taking a private jet?” I yelled over the roar of our plane’s engines.

  “I didn’t know, but I suspected it.”

  “So he owns his own plane, too?” I asked, incredulously.

  Rick shook his head. “No, he charters them. Never wanted to deal with the headache of maintaining a jet.”

  “Oh yeah, it’s such a hassle,” I said, trying not to smile.

  Behind us, Drew carried our luggage to an attendant who promptly threw them into the cargo compartment with little regard for our possessions. Shaking my head, I shifted my purse and grabbed the metal railing of the rolling stairs and ascended the platform.

  Stepping on board the aircraft, I was enveloped by the sweet scent of roses and crisp, frosty air. The main interior cabin was more spacious than
I imagined, offering enough places for eight people to sit comfortably.

  There was a long, beige-leather couch and four, beige-leather recliners. Affixed to the plush, tan carpet in front of the couch was a low-profile, oak coffee table and beside each recliner was a compact, oak end table. Despite the evident luxury of this aircraft, it was tasteful and understated in a classy way. The attention to detail was so minute that the overhead illumination danced upon the mahogany walls in a manner that allowed for optimum, pleasant lighting.

  Sitting in a recliner beside one of the back windows was the ambassador. In his left hand was a glass of scotch and in his right was a newspaper. He looked up just as Rick stepped inside the cabin. He noticed my surprise with an amused expression. Putting down the glass, he removed his eyeglasses and began to clean them with a silk handkerchief he extracted from his coat pocket.

  “Well, Miss James, what do you think?”

  I glanced around the cabin. “It’s amazing.”

  He folded the handkerchief before placing it back in his pocket. “It’s a nice plane,” he agreed. “There’s a full bath, a small kitchen and a bedroom down that hall in case you are in need of anything during the flight. We have one flight attendant on board. I hope you find the accommodations acceptable.”

  “It’s very nice, thank you.”

  “What do you think, Richard?”

  Rick exhaled through his nose. “It’s impressive. As usual, you managed to take a basic situation and make it extravagant. Instead of wasting all this money on chartering a private jet, why not put those funds toward trying to find Arthur?”

  The ambassador flinched, but maintained his composure. He took one last sip of scotch and carefully placed the glass on the side table. He then stood up and straightened his jacket. I prepared myself for another blow up.

  “For your information, son, I chartered this jet because all flights out of this airport are booked until this afternoon. I didn’t want to waste one single minute. I wanted to get over there as soon as possible because I want Arthur found and found safe.” He paused, his gaze shifting to me. “Also, like I said, I predicted Miss James would be without a passport and, Richard, I assumed yours has expired.”