At the last junction before the city, she turned east and crossed the Willamette River, following the US-26 until it bisected the War Veterans Memorial freeway where she turned left. Not going downtown then? Here the traffic became much heavier and he had to switch lanes in order to keep her in sight. Overhead, the sky was crisscrossed with fine white lines thanks to the multitude of passing planes. Was that where Sarah was headed? The airport? It was either that or she was going to Washington over the Glen. L. Jackson Memorial Bridge – his neck of the woods. His cabin was only an hour drive to the east, along the Columbia River. Intrigued, he picked up the pace.
Up ahead, the Merc turned onto SE Powell Boulevard. He overtook a couple of cars in order to stay on her tail. It was looking more and more like the airport. The question then became, was she going somewhere, or collecting someone? Either way, his mind was put to rest when she turned left onto Airport Way.
Mount Hood stood silently in the distance, its snowy peaks glinting in the sunlight. It was a majestic sight and one he always paused to admire when he left on a trip. Portland International Airport, or PDX as it was known, was a joint civil-military airport and when he’d been in the Special Forces he always knew he was home safe when he saw the familiar peak welcoming him back from the airplane window.
He followed Sarah into the five-story indoor parking lot making sure he was several cars behind her going up the ramp. She turned off on the third level, which had several empty spaces and parked fairly close to the entrance. Crane lagged behind and finally parked two aisles back behind a station wagon which would obscure his car from her view. He didn’t think she’d realise it had been following her since she left home but he wasn’t taking any chances.
Sarah got out of the car. She wore a smart navy-blue dress that stopped above the knee with heels that showed off her shapely calves. Crane had never seen her dressed so smartly. She looked amazing. Her legs were bare, smooth and tanned, like in a billboard ad when you wondered if they’d been airbrushed or not, except this was for real. Sunglasses hid her eyes, but her hair hung soft and wavy around her face. Even though she was fairly tall – he’d put her height at about five foot eight – she looked fragile, like a stiff breeze might blow her over. There was something so vulnerable about her, despite the stylish attire and perfect legs. He watched her open the trunk and take out a small travel case.
Shit. She was getting on a flight. Now what?
There were only two options here. One: follow her onto the plane, but in order to do that he’d have to know where she was going, which he didn’t. Two: let her go and inform his client he’d lost her at the airport. To be honest, taking a flight was a bit beyond the scope of this assignment. Sure, he owed Kaz for saving his life, but a surveillance job didn’t necessarily mean leaving the State, or the country, depending on where she was going. He decided to play it by ear until he knew more.
Portland International Airport was a sprawling building of steel and glass surrounded by open air parking lots, hangars and runways. The indoor parking garage was connected to the main terminal via two cable-suspended walkways from which one could look down on the passenger drop-off area below. Crane waited until Sarah had wheeled her suitcase across before he followed. She took the elevator to departures. He took the stairs. There were enough people milling about to prevent him from being noticed, but it wasn’t so crowded as to completely obscure him from view. He’d have to be careful.
Inside, the long concourse and number of people made it difficult to keep her in sight, so Crane edged closer. He didn’t have luggage so he had to pretend he was fetching someone rather than embarking on a flight himself. About half way down the concourse she stopped and turned around. Crane dropped to tie his shoelace. She was looking for the departures board, and having located it, she moved off again.
Unexpectedly, she veered off to the left and Crane realised she was heading for the restroom. No problem. He took a seat opposite, between a sporty teenager in a ski-jacket playing on a mobile device and an elderly man reading the Financial Times. He estimated he had at least five minutes.
He took out his phone and dialled Kaz’s number.
“She’s at the airport.”
“You sure?”
“Okay, you got it.”
He hung up but didn’t move. Kaz’s orders were to let her go. She was visiting her family in Oakland, California.
“Thanks for letting me know, buddy,” he murmured, pocketing his phone. He could have gone kayaking this morning, the conditions were perfect. The river was fuller than it had been all year. Instead, he’d been sitting in his pick-up outside Kaz’s estate twiddling his thumbs, and now he was at the freakin’ airport. The only consolation was he was much closer to White Salmon – where he lived – than he’d been at seven o’clock that morning.
There was something strange about the way Kaz had told him, which made Crane hesitate.
She’s gone to see her family.
Something in his voice. Was it resentment?
He shrugged. It was none of his business. He should just walk away and pick up her trail when she got back. What did he care if Kaz didn’t want his wife visiting family? Their domestic issues had nothing to do with him.
Yeah, that was probably best. Still, he didn’t get up.
She’d be out any second now. He kept his eyes peeled on the restroom entrance. There. She walked out, suitcase behind her, glasses pushed up on her head sweeping back the hair from her face.
He had a pretty good view, despite the people between them. Her gaze was at head level, so she didn’t see him sitting there studying her. In fact, she was looking for the luggage check-in counters, her eyes moving from left to right until she found the right one.
Actually, her right eye looked red and puffy and there was a dark patch beneath it, like she needed a good night sleep. She turned to the left giving him a better look at the right side of her face. Yup, that was a bruise all right. She had a black-eye, but had tried to cover it up with make-up. Faint purple discolouration was visible along her cheekbone as well. He hadn’t noticed before thanks to the sunglasses.
Kaz?
Crane clenched his fists. That bruise was not there yesterday, he was sure of it. He would have noticed when he bumped into her at the gym. This was a recent assault. Since yesterday.
A cold chill ran down his spine. Was this his fault? Had Kaz beaten her up because of what Crane had told him? That she’d gone to Astoria and met a man? It was the most obvious explanation. He felt sick to his stomach.
Sarah checked her ticket, then looked up at the gates again. It was a bad bruise. Her eye was almost swollen shut. That must have hurt.
Bastard.
Suddenly, she flicked her sunglasses down over her eyes and glanced around nervously, checking to see if anyone had noticed. No one had. Except him. Everyone else was too busy making their flights.
He regretted calling Kaz now but in all fairness, how was he to know the guy would beat up on his wife? Judging by the bruise, Crane didn’t blame Sarah for wanting to get away. The longer she stayed away the better, in his opinion.
She walked to an American Airlines check-in desk. Crane stood up and studied the departures screen for American Airline flights leaving in the next hour. There was one to Oakland departing in forty-five minutes. Was that her flight?
He wasn’t within earshot, but he watched as Sarah handed the desk clerk her passport. The woman, smartly dressed in an American Airlines uniform, checked it and nodded to the suitcase. Sarah shook her head. She wasn’t checking her bag. The woman tapped a few commands into her computer and then smiled and handed Sarah her passport and boarding pass. It was all over in under two minutes.
Crane knew he’d lose her now. As expected, she walked straight towards the boarding area, slender shoulders back, head held high. He could sense a strength in her, a quiet resolve he admired.
What to do? His orders were to let her go, but something made him hesitate.
He couldn’t ask the check-in clerk what flight she was on – they didn’t give out personal information. Data protection, and all that.
He could take a chance and buy a ticket for the same flight, but what if she wasn’t going to Oakland? How would he know for certain? This woman had a way of doing the unexpected. He was still smarting over how she’d given him the slip on the first day. No, he couldn’t blow four hundred bucks on a ticket when he wasn’t sure of her destination, despite what Kaz had told him. After all, she’d lied to her husband before.
Give it up, the voice in his head told him. Let her go. But part of him felt bad about her banged up face. That was his fault. It had to be. Why else would Kaz beat her? He felt responsible. Damn it. What had he gotten himself into?
While all this was going through his brain, Sarah hoisted her case onto the conveyer belt. The security guard gestured to her sunglasses. She hesitated, then removed them and placed them, together with her handbag, onto the conveyer belt. Then she walked through the metal detector.
Crane watched as she picked her bags up off the end of the conveyor belt. She rifled in the tray for her sunglasses. He was about to turn away when she glanced up and stared directly at him. Caught unawares, he held her gaze for an instant, the way two strangers might if they accidently locked eyes on the train, except the hair on his arms stood on end. Then she put her sunglasses back on and broke the spell.
Crane made his way to the nearest coffee shop and sat down.
Damn! She’d definitely clocked him. Looked right at him, like she knew he’d been following her all along.
Had she? Nah. It was impossible. There was no way she knew he’d been trailing her yesterday. Today, maybe. Especially since Kaz had obviously let on he knew about her little rendezvous with Mr. Copeland. She must have been on the lookout for a tail.
Once again he’d underestimated her. He shook his head. Whether she knew he was following her or not, the point was he’d been made. She’d recognise him again. His cover was blown.
Doug would say he was losing his touch. Perhaps he was. Normally, he was an expert at watching people. He’d spent hours in the bush, unseen, watching, silently waiting for a chance to move in and take out the opposition, or in some cases, simply observe and send intel home. But that was out there. This was urban reconnaissance, an entirely different ball game, and one he was still getting used to, even after four years in the business.
Something nagged at him while he sat there drinking his coffee. Not Kaz’s heavy hand, or Sarah’s unabashed gaze, but something else. A niggling feeling that he shouldn’t have let her out of his sight. What was in Oakland? Her parents? Or something else?
Her track record wasn’t exactly stellar. How did he know she was telling the truth now? Perhaps she’d lied to her husband again.
It wouldn’t hurt to find out.
On a whim, he pulled out his phone again and scrolled through his contacts. When he found the number he was looking for, he hit ‘call’.
A man answered.
“Gabe, it’s Crane. Yeah, I’m good. Listen, I need a favour.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Crane eased his body out of the kayak and sat on a large, flat boulder breathing heavily. The river was running strong today on account of the added flow from the aqueducts underneath the surrounding orchids, and his arms burned from manoeuvring around swirling eddies and submerged boulders. It was a good burn though and he exhaled loudly, forcing his body to relax so the adrenalin would clear. He felt pumped up, as he always did after a paddling session. The dangerous activity helped clear his mind too – perhaps because once he was charging down the creek there was no time to focus on anything else but getting to the end in one piece.
Crane hoisted the kayak onto his right shoulder and hiked up the bank to where he’d left his pickup. The path was well worn by extreme kayakers who travelled from far and wide to try their luck at Little White Salmon. The exit path further down river, after the Horseshoe was far less well-travelled. Only the best, or craziest, paddlers made it that far. Crane had done it himself a few times, but only when the river was low, never in conditions like this. It would be a suicide mission. As much as he enjoyed the buzz, he wanted to live to appreciate it.
He wondered how Gabe was getting on in California. Would he have any feedback on Sarah’s whereabouts?
Gabe Campbell was an old army buddy. They’d gone through basic training together and had remained friends. Gabe had gone into the armed forces and completed four tours in Afghanistan before he retired, also due to an injury. Unlike Crane, Gabe had trod on a mine while on a reconnaissance mission two miles south of Kabul and got half his leg blown off. That was three years ago. Now he ran his own security company in LA.
Every now and then they got together for a beer and reminisced about the old days. Gabe had once made Crane an offer – partners in his firm – but Crane had turned him down. He was happy here in Oregon. For now.
Back in his cabin, Crane switched on his laptop. The screen buzzed to life and he waited for it to connect to his Wi-Fi – a process which was tenuous at best, given where he lived. The internet connectivity issue didn’t bother him. He preferred it that way. He wasn’t big on communication. That’s why he’d joined the military. Socialising around the water-cooler didn’t appeal to him, neither did barking commands from behind a desk. He shuddered at the thought. Nope, he was an outdoors guy through and through. That’s why the forces had suited him so well. He was never happier than out on a mission, adrenalin pumping through his veins, nature all around him – whether it be the harsh, dry conditions of the Middle East or the lush tropical rainforests of south-east Asia.
Spirit and Blaster, his two Golden Retrievers, loped into the cabin, tails wagging, and came say hello. They both nudged him with their wet noses.
“Hello boys.” He stroked their furry heads as he waited for his email software to open. There it was… An email from Gabe. Crane clicked it open and read the short paragraph in the body of the email. Gabe wasn’t a great one for words either.
Located your girl at the airport and trailed her to the suburbs. Photos attached. Address: 1548 Pacific Ridge Rd, Oakland, CA. Relatives?
Crane opened the attachments. There were several photographs of Sarah outside what looked to be a normal residential property in the suburbs. They were great pics. Clear, with a high resolution. Gabe must have had a great vantage point. They looked like they were taken metres away. There was one of Sarah hugging a young boy who’d come outside to greet her, her face wet with tears. A nephew? Her son? Another of her lifting him up, and one of them holding hands, going indoors. In the background stood a middle-aged women with blonde hair tinged with grey. Her mother?
He flicked through the rest. There was no sister or anyone else who could be the boy’s mother or father. It was possible they were inside the house, or the grandparents were babysitting for the day. Possible, but unlikely, especially given the tears running down Sarah’s face.
Crane sat back in his chair, the dogs at his feet. So Sarah Erkel lived in Portland with her husband, but her son, if it was her son, lived in California with her parents.
Why didn’t Kaz just say she was going to visit their son? He’d mentioned family – but family is very different to ‘our son’.
Crane leant forward, startling Spirit who looked up and Blaster who cocked his ears.
“No, it’s not walk time,” murmured Crane, as he opened a browser window. He Googled the address Gabe had given him and found it belonged to a Mr. and Mrs. Robertson of Oakland, California. They’d owned it for thirty years.
Following a hunch, he Googled Sarah Robertson and lo-and-behold there was a much younger Sarah graduating from university with a Journalism Degree. So she was in Oakland visiting her folks – as well as the boy.
He couldn’t help but notice how happy and carefree she looked in her graduation picture. Her hair was tied up in a long ponytail, the end falling forward over her shoulder. Her face was alight
with happiness, her brown eyes sparkled, and she was grinning from ear to ear. The whole world was at her fingertips.
“What a beauty,” he murmured out loud. Blaster thumped his tail in agreement.
Crane thought back to the moment she’d looked straight at him at the airport. She was still beautiful, no doubt about that, but there was a fragility about her now, like life had been hard and she hadn’t quite recovered. He put that down to marrying Kaz.
There must be an announcement of their wedding somewhere. After much searching he finally found it. They’d got married in Los Angeles, and from the looks of things it was quite a society wedding. He studied the bride’s face. She looked happy, radiant even, in her long white dress which fell off the shoulders exposing her elegant neckline. Her hair was lose and she had her head back, laughing into the camera, an expression, not unlike the one at her graduation, on her face. Crane wondered how long it had taken for that look to fade. When had she realised what a bastard her husband was? A year later? Five years later?
According to the date on the article, they’d been married six years now. Crane flicked back to the photographs attached to the email from Gabe. Yeah, the boy she’d met looked like he could be around six years old. He shook his head. Why on earth did she stay with Kaz when he treated her so badly?
He sent the man in question a message asking when Sarah would be back in town. Sunday, he was told. He could pick up her trail on Monday.
Kaz didn’t know his cover was blown and Crane didn’t feel like telling him. In fact, Crane didn’t feel like doing much for Kaz anymore, except perhaps reporting him to the authorities for beating up his wife. But a deal was a deal, so he’d follow Sarah from afar, just for a few more days, although he doubted she’d go see Mr. Copeland again. Not after what happened the last time.
Undercurrent: A P.I. Munro Crane Romantic Suspense Thriller Page 6