Page 28 of Past Due

Chapter Eight

Mom!

Message or call me!

Please!

I just heard about the raid and Spider.

Please let me know you’re safe!

Mom?

Mom???

Wherever I wanted ended up being the nicest hotel in the city. Not that I cared whether it was the nicest or not. I only wanted some place to shower, eat and sleep. Besian, on the other hand, wouldn’t even consider some of the perfectly nice hotels we passed. Only the best for him, after all.

Or maybe it’s only the best for me.

As he handled the tab for our lunch, I noticed how the tension had left his face and shoulders. I couldn’t decide if it was because he was surrounded by the familiar sounds and smells of his childhood or because he had finally gotten some food in his belly. He definitely seemed more relaxed after our simple meal.

“I think you were just hangry,” I remarked as we left the cozy café a few blocks down from the hotel.

“Excuse me?” He frowned down at me. “Hangry?”

“Yeah. You know. Hungry. Angry.”

He snorted. “Maybe.”

“Definitely,” I replied, certain I had figured it out.

“Do you need to stop anywhere on the walk back to the hotel?” He placed his hand on my lower back and gently steered me around a couple of men smoking and bullshitting outside the café. His touch burned through my shirt and jacket, and I wanted to pout with disappointment when he removed his hand.

“I need to buy a new phone charger. I left mine at Agnesa’s farm.”

“Is that why you haven’t been answering Aston’s call and texts?”

“There was hardly any service in the mountains. Once I got to Valbona, my phone was dead. Luckily, Andres had a charger he let me borrow.”

Besian made an annoyed sound at the mention of Andres. I waited for him to ask the obvious question, but he never did. Maybe he didn’t want to know. Strangely, I found myself wanting to reassure him that, despite the chaste kiss at the bus stop, there was nothing between us but flirtation and friendship.

“He works in The Woodlands,” I said, wondering if he would take the bait.

“Who?” he asked, playing dumb.

“Andres.”

“Oh.”

“He’s with Repsol.”

“Good for him,” Besian muttered. “Up there,” he said, gesturing toward a shop. “You can get a new charger there.”

I let the discussion of Andres go and stepped into the shop ahead of him. The man behind the counter greeted us, and Besian took the lead. I enjoyed the sound of his language, the way it rolled off his tongue in that melodic way. Albanian was a curious, perplexing language with some words that were familiar and similar to Spanish. I wanted to learn it, but it seemed daunting to say the least.

Besian glanced back at me. “Apple or Android?”

“Apple.”

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