Against the Wind

by Kelly, Virginia

  Becoming a teacher and living within that income didn’t erase the differences between herself and Michael. The cultural differences were nothing. Yes, he had an entryway into a culture foreign to her, ease with a language she didn’t understand.

  His need for excitement was what really set them apart. No, this wasn’t the type of excitement he loved. But the truth was there: he would never want a job devoid of risks.

  Michael turned from the stranger, looked up and down the street, and walked back to the car.

  “Here’s your new ID Your ticket’s waiting for you at the ticket counter. You’ll be home by this afternoon.”

  Blair blinked back a rush of tears. She didn’t want to go home. She wanted to stay here and help.

  But with no skills or knowledge to contribute, she could do nothing but make it harder for him.

  ***

  They parked the car in the short-term parking lot and walked into the terminal, the morning heat already building. Inside the crowded airport, they found the ticket counter and lined up to check her in.

  “Shouldn’t you leave now?” It was the last thing in the world she wanted, but it wasn’t safe for him.

  “I should be okay until you’re ready to go through security.” Michael wore dark sunglasses and a Marlins cap, backwards.

  “What are you going to do?”

  Behind the glasses, Blair could make out the fact that Michael was studying the faces of anyone who looked like a security officer. “I’m going to clear my name.”

  His certainty made her smile. And gave her hope. “I’ll be waiting.”

  He turned his gaze toward her.

  She didn’t like his silence, the wary stillness of his body.

  They approached the counter in silence and checked the single bag he’d forced her to bring. Then they made their way toward the concourse from which her plane would take off. Michael stopped as they approached the metal detectors.

  “I don’t think it would be a good idea for me to get any closer to security.”

  She turned quickly. “You’ve got a gun?” Dumb question. Of course he had a gun. “You’ll get to the bottom of this mess, I know you will.”

  “I sure as hell plan to try.” He looked toward the security officers manning the metal detectors. “Thanks, Blair.”

  When she looked surprised, he continued. “For taking care of me during my recuperation.” His eyes shone with teasing humor. “My stamina hasn’t been what it should be.”

  “Oh, you did all right.” Blair felt a flush of heat on her cheeks at how her words had sounded.

  He smiled, a devilish smile on his lips. “Yeah, well, I hope you were satis—”

  “Don’t!” She clapped her hand over his mouth, looking around. “Someone might hear you.”

  “And who would know what I’m talking about?” he asked around her hand.

  The movement sent jittery pleasure down her arm. She moved back. “I should go.”

  “Take care of yourself.”

  “You, too.” Drumming up her courage, she reached out and touched his chest. “When will I hear from you?”

  He looked down at her, his dark eyes hidden behind the glasses, his angular features tight. “You’ll hear.” Then he bent and kissed her, one quick, hard kiss, his hands gripping her upper arms.

  Blair wanted to get closer, to feel his arms around her, to have him gentle the kiss, but Michael held her away.

  “You’ll understand then.” With that, he turned and walked away.

  Chapter 12

  She’d understand what? Blair stared after Michael. That he had no intention of contacting her?

  That she wouldn’t see him again?

  That it was really over?

  She nearly stumbled as she made her way to join the end of the line for security. She spun around, searching for him in the crowd. But he was gone. Just as surely as he’d vanished from her life six years ago. She’d been twice the fool this time, because she’d grown to harbor the hope that they had a chance, secretly believing that this time around, they’d make it.

  She wouldn’t cry. She’d done that before and it hadn’t made her feel any better, hadn’t made any difference. The only thing that had made any difference was finally taking control of her own life.

  Well, she’d done that. The wreck she’d made of her relationship with Michael six years ago had resulted in Blair Davenport becoming who she was today.

  To quote Scarlett O’Hara: tomorrow was another day. She’d deal with it all then. Because it wasn’t over between her and Michael. She wouldn’t let it be.

  Once through security, her mind still whirling with a mixture of hurt, confusion and determination, she walked down to her gate, at the very end of the concourse. There she sat in numb silence until she realized she’d better go to the bathroom before she boarded.

  Coming out of the bathroom, she saw him. An FBI agent. He had to be, dressed as he was in a suit, red and blue tie, and white shirt. He scanned the crowd, searching, looking. For Michael.

  No, she was being paranoid. No one knew Michael would be here.

  But just in case, Blair swung her backpack onto her back and walked into a bookstore. Moments later, a University of Miami baseball cap on her head, she tiptoed to look out and search for the agent. A jolt of alarm ran up her back. Drew had joined the agent. Soon, two more agents joined them.

  Torn between staying out of sight and a burning need to warn Michael, Blair hid behind a tall magazine stand. She could try to get to a phone and call Selma’s to see if she could contact him.

  She sneaked another look at the gate area. Drew was talking, pointing as if to direct two of the men to search another area. They fanned out, except for Drew and the first agent. They moved toward the check-in counter. Blair searched the crowd for the other two agents. They’d each gone in opposite directions, searching the nearby stores.

  The first call for her flight came over the speakers. Drew nodded at something the other man said, spoke to one of the flight attendants, still checking in passengers, then picked up the telephone behind the counter. The other agent, a short blond, entered the jet-way leading down to the plane.

  Blair walked quickly toward a bank of telephones situated away from the check-in counter. Positioning herself to lean well in toward the phone, she opened the phone book, only to close it in frustration at the number of Sanchezes listed. She couldn’t call Selma. Besides, Michael didn’t seem to be going back there. He had brought his few things with him in the car.

  Trying not to panic, she walked away from the phones. She’d go back to the main terminal. She couldn’t afford to be found here. Drew would know she’d been with Michael. She wouldn’t allow that to happen.

  She wanted to run, to get away from what was a dead end, Gate 60 at the end of the concourse, but a quick glance over her shoulder told her that Drew and one agent had fanned out and were looking in each store along the concourse, Drew on one side, the other agent on the other.

  A golf cart carrying those passengers unable to make the walk down the concourse came toward her, ringing its bell. She moved behind it, hoping Drew wouldn’t see her, and set off walking at what she hoped was an unhurried pace.

  At Gate 30, she entered a coffee shop and glanced back.

  Drew and the agent were still searching, shop to shop. They scanned each gate area, then moved on. The blond agent she’d seen go down the jet-way now walked straight down the center of the concourse. If she didn’t move quickly, they’d find her.

  Three pilots, tall men, walked toward the terminal. She positioned herself directly in front of them, careful to move at their same leisurely pace as they exchanged what sounded like wild stories about a party they’d attended.

  Finally, she passed the security area and turned toward the exit to short term parking. But Michael had probably already left. She’d have to wait it out. The bathroom seemed like a good place.

  She stepped into a stall, but was too nervous to stay. Again back
in the main terminal, she walked into a bookstore and stood behind a heavyset woman who perused some recent magazines. She leaned to one side to look over the woman’s shoulder into the terminal, scanning for Drew and his agent.

  “What the hell are you doing?” The whispered words from next to her nearly made her jump.

  Startled breathless, Blair turned and saw Michael, back turned toward the terminal, his dark eyes furious.

  “Drew’s here, with other agents.”

  “I know,” he bit out, glancing toward the terminal.

  Blair felt him stiffen. The blond agent came into view.

  “I’ll be damned,” he said quietly.

  “Do you know him?”

  The last call for her flight came over the speaker. Drew came into view and he and the blond agent moved to stand in front of security, each facing a different way. Blair felt the ridiculous urge to giggle, to yell and tell them they were right under their noses.

  Long minutes later, after the final call for her flight, the two other agents joined Drew and the blond agent. Michael wandered slowly toward the cash register, his head bent.

  Blair watched him, then glanced toward the terminal. Drew and the agents spoke, then each walked quickly in different directions. Drew headed toward the main entrance.

  “Go to the ladies’ room,” Michael said when he walked back to her.

  “I’d rather stay with you.”

  “Damn it, Blair. Go and stay there until I get you.”

  “But—”

  “Go! And don’t go looking for Drew.”

  Michael took off behind the blond agent. Blair watched him, itching to go after Drew and explain what a mistake he’d made.

  ***

  Michael blessed his decision to wait until he knew Blair’s plane had taken off. If he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have known that James Meyer had led Drew here.

  James, who also used Manuel, must have gotten word from the Colombian and given away his location to Drew. James owed him a big favor because of a case the younger agent had screwed up, so Michael had asked him to look into the Hector Ramos case when he’d first found that Hector was skimming more than the usual amounts. James had an accounting degree, and while Michael had been trained for the bank job, a second look never hurt. While he didn’t expect James to be derelict in his duty, he was still surprised he’d led Drew here.

  That didn’t mean that Drew wasn’t responsible for setting him up. It did prove Michael wasn’t a very good judge of character. He hadn’t thought Manuel would contact James, nor that James would give him up.

  The crowded airport provided plenty of cover for Michael, but also for James and Drew. Michael reached the security area for another concourse and didn’t see them. Doubling back, he checked the stores and snack bars, carefully keeping an eye out for any agents. Then he heard excited talking, some yelling, and saw people milling about the area around the bathroom where he’d left Blair.

  Forgetting caution, he ran down and pushed through the crowd gathered in front of the women’s bathroom. Security officers were trying to hold back onlookers, but Michael managed to get through in the confusion. At the entrance to the bathroom, he asked a woman what had happened.

  “A man in a suit came in here and shot at a pretty young woman.”

  Cold fear calmed Michael. “Where is she?”

  “Oh, she ran. Good for her, I say. I just hope he doesn’t catch her. Where are the police?”

  Michael put one hand on the woman’s shoulder and pushed her aside.

  “Hey, you can’t go in there. It’s the women’s—”

  Trying to remain composed, Michael looked around the bathroom. Wide-eyed women, some holding children by the hand, stood frozen in place, staring back at him. No one was in any of the stalls. One of the sinks had a hole in it. The impact of the bullet had cracked the porcelain. Another bullet had struck the mirror above, shattering it.

  “I told you, Mister, she ran,” the woman who’d spoken to him said from behind.

  “Which way?”

  “I didn’t see.”

  Where would she go? What would she do?

  Drew couldn’t have anything to do with this. He wouldn’t hurt his sister.

  Michael jogged through those gathered around, passersby too caught up with watching the confusion to take any notice of him. Standing in the busy terminal, Michael looked both ways. How could he find her? Would she go to security?

  Scanning the crowd, he found a group of three airport security officers standing next to a bank of phones. He walked to the phones and tried to listen to what they were saying.

  “Man, that FBI agent was pissed. He was saying that this woman was with a guy they’ve been chasing for over a month. Says the guy—remember that agent they’ve been looking for?—tried to kill her to cover up something. They’re after him big time.”

  “What about the woman?”

  “Would you believe she’s the sister of another Fed?”

  “Shit, that’s a mess I’m glad we’re clear of.”

  Michael hadn’t seen Eddie and company. Maybe they had a different crew in Miami. It didn’t matter who had done this. It only mattered that they had.

  Where are you, Blair?

  Cold sweat trickled down Michael’s back. In a moment of stark panic, he wanted to run up and down the terminal yelling her name. Then sanity took over.

  Where would she go?

  Back to me.

  He sprinted toward the door that led to the short term parking lot, trying to concentrate, picturing, over and over, where he’d parked. Pulling his Glock and keeping it down at his side, he slowed, alert, looking for any sign of danger.

  Fear, heat and humidity plastered his shirt to his back. He wiped his forehead with his arm. Concentrated calm made him approach each support beam as if it were the one place where the shooter was hiding. Waiting.

  As he got closer to the car, Michael began to have doubts. What if she’d run to Drew? She might be safe if she made it to him, but if she didn’t… If something had—

  He wouldn’t think that. He would find her. Even if he had to risk running into Drew.

  His rental car sat among the other cars in the lot, just as he’d left it. Mouth dry, Michael looked around the area. No one in sight. Pulling the pistol up, he approached the final beam.

  Nothing.

  Circling from the outside, well away from the rental, his eyes always checking, he moved around, circling his car.

  Crouching down, he checked beneath the cars.

  Nothing.

  Where are you, Blair?

  A bank of elevators lay to the right. He and Blair had taken one of those down. He’d run up the three flights of stairs this time, knowing not to risk entrapment in an elevator. But Blair didn’t have his survival skills. She wouldn’t know to avoid the elevators.

  He fought off the fear. Fear would cloud his judgment.

  The elevator door swung open and a couple stepped out. Michael lowered the Glock and kept walking around. His car lay to his left now. One final support beam stood in his way.

  Pistol at the ready by his side, he approached. Scanning the area around his car, he saw a movement so small and so quick he wondered if he had seen it. No one lurked behind the support beam. Michael concentrated his attention on the cars parked around his. Something had moved.

  There.

  The pickup truck two spaces down from his rental. He crouched, looking beneath the truck.

  Nothing.

  A trickle of sweat rolled down his temple. Michael moved quietly toward the truck, watching and listening for anything that might indicate that the shooter was near.

  He passed his own car, carefully making his way toward the pickup. There was something in the back end. A tarp or some sort of drop cloth crumpled enough for something to be beneath it.

  Raising his pistol, he jerked the tarp up.

  Blair stared up at him with wide, panic-filled, green eyes.

  Michael looked all ar
ound before jumping up into the bed of the truck. Blair was silently sobbing, hugging her knees, lying on her left side, watching him.

  “Blair, it’s me.”

  She nodded, but kept her death-grip on her legs. The uncomprehending look in her eyes scared him.

  “Let’s go, Blair.”

  She took a ragged breath. “I can’t move.”

  The sound of her voice, so broken, made his heart shatter. God, how frightened she must have been. He pushed his pistol into the back waistband of his jeans and knelt before her. With one hand, he smoothed her hair from her face. With the other, he wiped drying tears from her cheeks. “It’s okay, I’m here.”

  “He shot at me, Michael. In the bathroom. There were children. Lots of them. There was this mother who— I ducked. He shot the sink.” Choppy breaths punctuated her words. “Then the mirror. I was going to find Drew.” She grabbed her knees tighter. “You told me not to, but—”

  Surely Drew hadn’t shot at her. Michael fought the reaction he felt coming. He rubbed her right arm, from shoulder to wrist.

  “When I came out of the bathroom, that blond agent saw me. He didn’t say anything. He just," she took a breath, "shot.”

  “James shot at you.” Cold fury kept Michael’s voice low.

  “That’s his name?”

  Michael felt some of the tenseness leave her limbs. He continued rubbing, gently, trying to soothe her trembling. “Yes, that’s his name.”

  She pressed her face into her knees. Michael looked around the lot again before touching her cheek. “We have to go now, Blair.”

  “Okay.” She said the word with utter calmness, but she didn’t move.

  “I’ll take care of you,” he murmured with a silent prayer, bending to put an arm around her.

  “I’m not brave, Michael.” Her voice wobbled. “I was so scared. I wanted you there.” She bit her lower lip. “And I didn’t want you there. He’s the one who wants to kill you, isn’t he?”

  “It’s okay. He can’t hurt you now.”