Page 26 of Relentless

“I need to board a flight back to California immediately,” Harper demanded.

“You’ll have to speak to the ticket desk, ma’am,” the young flight attendant recited.

Bristling again at being referred to asma’am, she focused on the monumental task ahead. Her legs felt wobbly as her high heels clanked down the metal staircase. She gripped tightly to the handrails while the world around her swayed back and forth like the Davenport family yacht in the deep sea.

The last thing she needed now was to tumble down the stairs like a sloppy drunk in front of a plane full of passengers. Not only would it be humiliating, but a fall like that would be terribly hard on her ivory slacks. Harper suppressed her relief when her feet landed on solid ground. Holding her head high, she crossed the long tarmac to the airport terminal. The doors slid open before her, and she scanned the crowded building.

The bustling baggage claim resembled what she imagined a Walmart would look like.

Instead of joining the sweaty, damp passengers gathering to wait for their luggage, she beelined to the ticket desk. Digging through her purse, she slid her credit card from her wallet and clacked it down on the smooth counter.

“Get me on a plane back to Los Angeles,” she ordered to the young man behind the desk. He had a wisp of a mustache on his upper lip and couldn’t have been a day older than seventeen.

“So sorry, ma’am,” he apologized. “The ticket desk is closed, no more flights out today.” His voice squeaked as though hehad just recently hit puberty. “I can get you a rental car, but that’s about all.”

Her gaze flicked upward while she dug through her purse. Slipping her driver’s license from her wallet, she slid it across the slick countertop.

“Fine,” she grumbled, “then bring a car around.” She propped her elbow on the counter and laid her cheek heavily on her palm. She didn’t want to imagine what kind of seedy country motel she would have to endure for the night. The adrenaline from disembarking the airplane was waning, and the drowsiness from the pills and alcohol was hitting her hard once again. Harper felt like if she closed her eyes, she would fall right back to sleep.

“Right away, ma’am,” he chimed, tapping away on his keyboard. In a smooth swiping motion, he ran Harper’s credit card.

The screen blinked red.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his brow furrowing, “but your card was declined.”

“Then try it again,” she snapped.

He obediently complied, getting the same result. “Afraid not,” he informed, swiping his sweaty palms down his shirt. “Is there another one you’d like to try?”

“You must be some sort of moron,” she mumbled. Whipping her wallet from her purse, she pulled out another one and practically flung it across the counter.

“Please don’t call me names,” he countered, building up the nerve to confront her. “I’m just doing my job.” He tried the new card and again received the same error message. “This one isn’t working either.”

“Of all stupid — get me someone competent,” she demanded. Slamming her hand down on the pile of cards, she swept them haphazardly into her purse. Her words slung from her mouth. “Get — me — your — manager.”

“Sure thing,” he responded. His eyes narrowed, and he slid out from behind the counter. He was only gone for a few short minutes, but it ignited Harper’s impatience.

When she turned at the sound of his voice, she noticed he had an airport security officer in tow.

“That’s the one,” he announced,

“I asked you for your manager,” Harper scoffed. “Not some rent–a–cop.”

“You can call me Deputy Sheriff,” the officer sternly corrected her. “Ma’am, is there something I can help you with?” His tone was friendly, but he scanned Harper as though hoping to catch any blunder.

Feeling his scrutiny, she corrected her posture, straightened her ivory white top, and forced her well-rehearsed, charming white smile. “Everything’s fine here, officer.”

“Ma’am,” he responded coolly. “I’ve gotten a complaint that maybe you’re under the influence of something.”

That was the last straw. She banged her fist down on the counter.

“Don’t you,ma’am,me.” She leaned in close and squinted to read his badge, which was more blurry than she wanted to admit.“Angus.I could have probably guessed that was your name.”

“Have you been drinking today?” he inquired, entirely disregarding her bluster.

Harper backpedaled. “I mean, I had a cocktail on the plane, if you can call thatdrinking,” she rambled, fully aware that she was giving herself away. “It’s just that myonecocktail might be reacting to my medications and —”

“And what medication is that?” Deputy Angus raised an eyebrow. He pulled out a ticket pad and a pen, jotting down information. He squeezed the radio on his vest and rattled off information too quickly for Harper’s muddled mind to track.

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