Page 3 of S.O.S. Billboard

What the fuck?

Luckily, she’d tossed all her “must-haves” in her backpack, which lay between her feet, so her teeth weren’t in danger of getting fuzzy. But still it sucked. Her best baggy mom-jeans and her favorite raggedy sweatshirt were in her luggage, and she’d been looking forward to getting to her hotel, putting on her comfy shit and chilling out after her flight.

She tapped her foot and looked around.

There were only two other people standing around the belt; one looking as frustrated as she was, and one looking…cocky?

Cocky? What the hell was up with that?

She’d just about given up on her belongings, and was looking around for someone who could point her in the direction of a place where she could make a complaint, when two bags slid onto the conveyor.

Yes! It was about fucking time. She waited while her coveted possessions made the trip down the chute, then around, until—

A commotion started up several yards behind her. She pivoted to see a young man coughing. After a few seconds, he bent over at the waist, clutching at his throat. A woman stood next to him looking panicked.

“He’s choking,” she cried, frantically grabbing at the guy’s shoulder, but… The man’s color looked good, and if O’Shea wasn’t mistaken, his back rose and fell with shallow breaths.

She narrowed her eyes. Something smelled funky.

It had to be a set-up.

She astutely turned her gaze back to the luggage roundabout, where—goddammit—the cocky dude had grabbedhersuitcase and the other from the moving belt before swiftly turning away with the purloined goods.

Oh, hell no.

“Security!” she yelled at the top of her lungs, hoping there was an airport cop nearby. “Security!” she cried out again, frustration setting in.

Her perp turned momentarily, looking…smug.

Fuck it.

After a few seconds with no one responding, O’Shea had to take action.

Not stopping to remind herself that she was no longer in her hometown Opeloosa jurisdiction, O’Shea leapt over the one rope barricade that separated her from the perp, and raced after him as he began to pick up speed.

Not fast enough, prick.

One flying leap and she tackled him, full-on, stopping him mid-stride and taking him down.

The asshole hit the floor, hard, and the two pieces of luggage went flying, but O’Shea would deal with those later. She had things under control. She’d surprised the hell out of the guy, and already his hands behind his back, securing him with the zip-ties she always carried in her fanny-pack.Yeah, she’d had to leave her gun behind, but luckily, the TSA never had a problem with plastic.

The thief gave a piss-poor, half-assed struggle to rise, but once he realized how tenacious O’Shea was, he smartly gave up. From her position astride his back, O’Shea looked behind her and saw that the man’s two cohorts had fled the scene.Typical.There really was no honor among thieves.

A small, pointing, and picture-taking crowd had gathered by this time, and it was starting to look like she was theentertainment of the day.Great.She was about to become a YouTube sensation.

Groaning to herself, she glanced around to see if anyone had alerted the proper authorities, when she spotted a cop headed toward the commotion.

O’Shea let out a shrill, practiced whistle.

“Over here,” she yelled.

The officer glanced her way, then hotfooted it to her position before standing stony-faced over her, showing…annoyance?

“Well?” O’Shea prompted.

“Ma’am. I’m going to have to ask you to get up. Slowly.” The cop’s hand was on his service weapon, so… What? He was going to shoot her?

Huffing and giving him her best eyeroll, O’Shea complied, easing off the perp and rising to her feet. “Good afternoon to you, too, officer. But just to let you know, this isn’t exactly the Boston welcome I was imagining,” she drawled, letting her southern accent come out in full force. “Y’all need to serve up some better hospitality around here.”

---