Danger Deception Devotion The Firsts

by Lorhainne Eckhart

  The man wore a baby blue down jacket. She took a step farther away, circling around him, drawn back by an obsessive need to look closer. Golden threads were woven through his wavy hair. Something about him dumped a simultaneous wave of fear and peace through her. How was that possible? She felt unthreatened by his powerful, kind stance—yet she was terrified. His hands remained deep in his jacket pockets, an observer standing guard. Her mind worked overtime. Dark thoughts swirled faster than she could register. If I turn and run, can he catch me?

  He spoke, but his lips didn’t move. “I came to see how you are, if you’re all right.”

  “I’m fine. Go away.”

  “No, Marcie, I won’t go. I was sent to help you.”

  “Who are you? Who sent you?”

  He opened his hand. A field of daisies appeared in front of her. “A new cycle awaits you. I’m your guide. You’re on the wrong path, Marcie. You’ve turned your back on what’s right, but there’s still time. You’ll soon need to make a choice. Listen and follow where your angels and I take you. Listen, do as we say.”

  “What’s your name?”

  “My name’s Jerome Standford. I’m watching over you. Powerful prayers from your teacher were heard.”

  He didn’t move, but she did, running again, faster, harder, around the corner. She glanced over her shoulder and froze. The light was now gone, and so was he.

  A hand squeezed her arm, and her feet and stomach plummeted in a fifty-foot free-fall. A deep, frigid scream broke through the icy darkness. Who’s there? Wide eyed, she gasped as the sun—the room—and Sam hovered over her.

  “You okay? Another dream?”

  Another dream, all right, one she wasn’t ready to share.

  She sat up, sinking into the small foam cushion. Her vague memory had ebbed now, somewhere between the illusionary dream state and reality. Beside her, the seat dipped. Sam allowed no space between them as he rubbed her shoulder and then her back. She dropped her head into her hands. What the hell was that? Who was her teacher? Okay, she was spooked big time, but she still wasn’t going to share this with Sam, not yet.

  “Marcie?” He gently lifted her long, wavy hair over her shoulder.

  “I don’t want to talk about it because it’s just plain weird and makes no sense.”

  He dropped his hand and stood up.

  She craned her neck. “I’m not lying or holding some memory back. I just need to digest this bizarre thing. Can you let me do that?”

  “Fair enough. We need to go now anyway. Jesse’s arranged for us to see the security video.”

  * * * *

  It was a short drive in Sam’s blue Camaro and a hurried walk through the newly tiled airport to the security offices at the rear of the terminal. A pale, balding security guard buzzed Sam and Marcie in through a secured white door, which led down a long, sterile hall to a small windowless room. Professional equipment filled the austere, square office. Marcie sat in a dark blue armless chair. Sam’s cell phone rang, so he strode outside the heavy steel door to answer it. Bright lighting danced off scads of monitors that captured intrusive scenes of people bustling through the airport.

  Marcie twiddled her thumbs and wondered what it would be like to be cuffed. Those damn doubts and a sick vibe hummed in her belly. Her lost memory had to be filled with something scandalous and illegal. She felt as if her life was spinning out of control in a direction she couldn’t handle. So really, was it any wonder she expected the worst? Could they arrest her for something she couldn’t remember?

  Sam clapped his hands together when he reappeared. “That was Jesse. He got tied up. He’ll get here as soon as he can.”

  He didn’t so much as glance at Marcie; instead, Sam shook the hand of the tall, dark-skinned man with linebacker shoulders and lady-killer dimples. He wore a diamond-studded earring and a well-fitting navy suit. When packaged together with his, off-the-charts, charisma… Wow.

  “Marcie, this is Dev Hamilton, head of security.

  His eyes held some familiarity with her circumstances, along with well-bred compassion. He gave her a sweet touch when he took her hand and asked, “How’s your head, darling?”

  Mesmerized, she touched her forehead. “It’s fine.”

  He smiled so brilliantly that Marcie warmed from inside out. Then he winked. He’s flirting with me. Her jaw loosened, and she didn’t know if she was incensed because of Sam or flattered. Wisdom won out. She slid her chair closer to Sam, and Dev’s attention left her when he leaned down and worked the computer, bringing up the video footage.

  “Jesse and I’ve gone through this a couple times, but I’ll let you have a look before he gets here.”

  Marcie clasped her shaking hands and leaned closer to the screen. Passengers disembarked from an American Airlines flight. Single file, they hustled down a narrow walkway, entering the main terminal. It was watching herself move that twisted her heart. There she was with a backpack draped over one shoulder, swinging the other arm, striding behind a woman wearing a dark pantsuit. What had she been thinking at that moment? For the life of her, she couldn’t remember. She looked confident but kept dropping her head, rounding her shoulders and looking down. Why? She glanced left, to baggage claim, just before a tall man slid in behind her, cutting the strap of her black and red knapsack, snatching it away—all in the blink of an eye. Although she’d swear that was her, she remembered none of it.

  “I have to say, after watching this footage a few times, questions have been raised in my mind. One, and the most vital, is that I’m absolutely intrigued and dying to know what was in your backpack, because something’s not quite right. It smells like you were up to no good there, darling,” Sam said.

  Why didn’t he shove a knife in her heart? It would be kinder than this ugly censure, which pounded self-scorn deeper into every cell of her body. Except he was right, even she had to admit none of this boded well. But whatever had happened to diplomacy? She glanced at Sam, but his eyes remained glued to the replayed image on screen.

  “Whoa, baby, look at that right there.” Sam rose out of his chair, pointing at the frozen footage. “He was waiting for you.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Marcie, you okay, babe?” Sam squatted in front of her. His strong, comforting hands smoothed over her shoulders. Maybe he thought she’d pass out. Maybe she would. The bile rose in her throat, and the room swayed as if she were now sailing over rough seas.

  “Lean over, head between your knees.” He pushed her head down, his fingers sinking deeper into the firm flesh of her back.

  “What just happened? I’m okay now.” She gripped the chair arms and sat up. None of this made sense, and both men were studying her as if she were some weak, hysterical woman. That made her blood boil—because she wasn’t. For some reason, she couldn’t stand to be viewed that way.

  “What happened? You turned as green as the moss on a live oak.” Dev hovered behind Sam, and Sam stayed right in front of her.

  “If either one of you looks at me one more time like that, I swear I’ll…” She didn’t know what she’d do. Those were hurt words spouted in anger because she doubted herself, and to top it off, she felt violated in a way she couldn’t explain.

  “You’ll what? Come on, Marcie, we’re not your enemies here. We’re the ones trying to get some answers.”

  She wanted to cry and wished she could, except something inside of her wouldn’t allow that pathetic despair to surface.

  “Can we watch this again? I want to show you what I saw,” Sam snapped, and Dev shuffled his awkward stance, pretending to ignore them in the tiny space they found themselves crammed in.

  Marcie swallowed the lump jammed in her throat, peering awkwardly at Sam. “Yeah, sure.”

  Sam returned to the high-backed leather chair, and Marcie scooted beside him, leaning closer to the monitor. Dev replayed the video.

  “Okay, freeze. Start right here, and look at the guy in the ball cap by the gift shop.” Sam traced the tall, lanky kid’s
movement with his finger across the screen. “See there? Now watch how he sees Marcie and follows in behind that other older couple. Whoa, wait a second. Did you see that?” Sam shot a swift glance at Dev.

  “Yeah, man, that’s Reggie. He’s a baggage claim supervisor.”

  Stunned, Marcie was afraid to breathe as she watched Reggie, an overweight, white-haired, middle-aged man dressed in dark blue pants and a white shirt, walk past the dark, sure-footed kid and pass something with his left hand. Delivered with such smooth control, it’d be easy to miss. Next, the dark kid stuffed what he had been handed into his baggy pants pocket and sidled up behind Marcie. One hand grabbed the strap of her knapsack; the other flicked open a switchblade and sliced through the black strap. He shoved Marcie hard, and she fell forward onto her knees before smacking her head on the unforgiving tile.

  Her head stung just watching the recap. Sam and Dev faced her again. Were they worried she’d pass out? Or maybe it was her reaction. Was she a victim or somehow involved with her attacker? No one could say for sure. Even she wasn’t naive enough to deny something was at play.

  “You okay, babe?” Even with his gruff, scratchy appearance, Sam destroyed all doubts she had of his credibility. He wouldn’t toss her to the wolves—he wouldn’t abandon her, and he wouldn’t sneak away, and that meant more to her than she could explain. Instead of being comforted by this revelation, she was rattled.

  “Marcie, you okay?”

  She tried to force a smile past the rising lump stuck in her throat. She failed miserably. “Yeah, sure, just peachy.”

  “Is that the beginning of some attitude I’m sensing? Under the circumstances, Marcie, I’ll cut you some slack. But watch it.”

  Why couldn’t she say thank you? Sam stood between Marcie and Dev and leaned in closer to the screen. What was he looking for? The eyes can fool you. Look deeper for your answer. Not all may be as it appears. Her heart beat faster. She looked at both men, trying to figure out what was going on.

  “Dev, what’s the story on Reggie?” Marcie couldn’t see Dev’s face; Sam pulled his chair in closer and sat, then he swiveled the chair around, blocking her view of Dev. She felt hidden, protected.

  “Come on, Dev, what gives? This guy smuggling contraband or is it something else?”

  “Look, Sam, I can’t say. Just know we have our eye on him. But I’m curious about something. See here in the video, you, right behind your girl before she goes down, watching her. And even when she falls, you pause, but you don’t go after the kid who robbed her. Why’s that?”

  “What the hell are you talking about? I just got off the plane after busting my butt for months on an operation that was fucked up. I was tired, and there was a whole bunch of people around. I’m not the only one walking behind her.” Sam waved his hands in the air, making no attempt to lower his voice. Marcie could tell by the way Sam bunched his shoulders that he was well on his way to being in a piss-poor mood. She wondered if Dev was deliberately provoking him.

  Dev crossed his arms and rolled his solid shoulders back. His full mouth tightened so his lips resembled a thin line. “Take a look from my perspective. You walk away from some big undercover operation with the DEA after marijuana’s found stashed in your locker, and from what I understand, it wasn’t a small amount. That was after a tip was phoned into the Sheriff. You claim it was planted.” Dev shrugged his shoulders. His sparkling eyes steeled to something hard and accusing. “So, Sam, how would it look to you that you just happened to be right behind some babe in my airport who’s probably carrying something suspicious. Add in the one guy who works here, who we suspect is involved in smuggling contraband, and he just happens to pass something to a guy who takes what she has—coincidence? I’m sure you’ll agree there’s no such thing. You have quite a history, Sam, not all of it good.”

  “Whoa, whoa, Jesus Murphy, where are you getting all this bullshit?” Sam stood right in Dev’s face, flexing his fists, his back ramrod straight, as if getting ready to take on a street thug.

  “Back off, Sam. I just happened to find out from Seattle PD when I sent a copy of this video segment to help your girl here find out who she is. Someone recognized you, and the detective I spoke with was quite free with his information. Apparently, you’re a hot topic this month.”

  Uneasy tension rippled. “Time to go, Marcie.”

  She had no time to respond. Sam snatched her hand and pulled her up behind him, hustling her out the door. His arm slid around her shoulder and propelled her forward, one step from a jog. Her sandals flopped on the tile floor down the narrow corridor as she struggled to keep up.

  “Sam, what’s going on? What was that about drugs in your locker? I knew you were a cop, but I didn’t know… Hey, wait a second. Why’d he imply you were following me? Sam, slow down.” This was all wrong. Sam wasn’t supposed to be in trouble. It was her—all her. And that awful man, Dev, was trying to turn all this on Sam. “Sam, what’s going on? Why won’t you answer me?”

  Sam pushed open the security door, taking them into the main terminal. “Marcie, we need to get out of here now. Don’t say anything else until we’re in the car.”

  She caught a glimpse of his hard jaw. He looked around, maybe not conspicuously, but he watched for someone or something as he rushed her along. This wasn’t good.

  They were almost at the exit when two uniformed officers marched through the busy sliding glass door. Sam steered her into a crowded tour group and squeezed out the bank of doors a few yards away. Another NOPD car pulled to the curb behind a line of cabs. Sam propelled her into a lineup of travelers waiting for cabs and then crossed over to the parking garage.

  “Keep walking. Don’t look around,” Sam said. Marcie clutched his arm with both hands before she tripped while trying to keep up. He hurried her to the passenger side of his Camaro, opened the door, and pushed her in. “Put on your seatbelt.”

  Her hand trembled while she buckled up. Sam yanked open his heavy door and gunned the engine before his door had closed, backing out so fast that Marcie jolted in her seat. The tires squealed when Sam shifted gears. The speed with which he accelerated pinned Marcie back against the soft leather. She gripped the hard vinyl dashboard and stared through the thick windshield. Sam weaved in and around slower vehicles.

  “Sam, you’re scaring me. What’s going on?” And she was scared. It wasn’t just the questions surrounding what Marcie carried. Speculation about Sam’s own character and his link to drugs had been dumped right in the middle of this. A dirty cop. Wasn’t that what Dev had implied? This wasn’t reasonable, and only now did the implication sink in. His cheek twitched. He held his emotions so tight. His furious glance sliced a hole in her heart. Was she supposed to know the answer?

  “Sam, spill it. What’s going on? What did Dev say about drugs in your locker, and why did we have to leave so fast?”

  He focused on the road, continuing to swerve in and out of traffic. “Let’s start with one of your answers, darling. I suspect the police are interested in talking to you. And two, just so we’re clear, sweetheart, for some reason, I think you may be right. You’re involved in something. The guy on the video expected you, and I suspect the plan changed and you weren’t consulted. My guess, whatever you stashed in your backpack, these guys knew about it and were waiting. If it was drugs or other contraband, how the hell did you get it past security? And three, I’d bet my last dollar you’re a mule, darling. Just so we’re clear, I’m no drug dealer. Those drugs were planted in my locker. How Dev even found out about that…” He yanked the wheel so hard that Marcie’s shoulder bumped the door. Sam cut off a minivan, and the driver responded by blasting his horn.

  Sam’s lips thinned. He was furious. “I was set up. But you weren’t, and I sure as hell wasn’t following you for your backpack.”

  “I believe you. So why’d Dev imply you were somehow involved with trafficking marijuana? He didn’t come right out and say the words, Sam, but just the same, he suggested you’re a dirty cop.”
She could see she had struck a nerve by the way his hard eyes fired back at her. “Don’t get mad at me. I’m just trying to find out what’s going on.”

  Sam shut down. His face could’ve been made of stone, for all the emotion it showed. She may have lost her memory, but she was no fool when someone held on to something. Why wouldn’t he talk? What had really happened?

  “Shit. Hang on. We’ve got a tail.”

  Marcie whipped her head around, searching out her side window at the hundreds of cars all fighting their way down this crowded side street. “Where?”

  “Two cars back, beat-up four-door piece of shit only an underpaid NOPD detective would drive.” Sam turned right and then left down an alley and right again on a busy side road. He weaved in and out of traffic and finally slowed from his erratic speed, blending in with a single line of traffic. Harsh lines deepened around the focus in his eyes, which were divided between the rearview mirror and the road in front of them.

  “Did you lose them?”

  “Maybe.” Beads of sweat popped out on his forehead. His hard gaze was glued to the rearview mirror as if it were their only guide to safety. Sam’s cell phone buzzed from his shirt pocket. “Carre here,” he said. What an odd way to answer. Her stomach gave a little tug when she realized she didn’t know his last name. “Jesse, give me twenty minutes and I’ll be there.”

  Sam clicked off his cellphone and fumbled it back in his pocket.

  “Where are we going?” Their eyes met briefly, but for the life of her, she didn’t know what he was thinking.

  “To meet Jesse.”

  What she did pickup in his brooding silence was some need to ponder the situation quietly. She supposed that was what he did now, as he circled two city blocks three times before reaching the turnoff to Algiers. Her gut burned, and she told her head now would be a good time to bring back her unwanted memory, release all those dirty secrets. At least it could help Sam. Then she’d know for sure if Sam was right. Had she been carrying drugs? She prayed it wasn’t true, except that deep down, her gut pinched, screaming its ugly accusation. Guilty!