Page 25 of The Last Flight

Eva saw her again, at the gas station directly across from the park exit, as she waited at a red light. That same SUV, and Brittany leaning out of her open window, talking to a man who stood next to a low sedan with tinted windows and government plates. Brittany handed the man a slip of paper, which he tucked into the pocket of his sport coat.

The light turned green, and still Eva stared, her unease from earlier crashing back into her, quickly morphing into a dark panic. Behind her, someone honked, jolting her attention back to the road, forcing her to drive forward. As she drew nearer, she tried to capture as many details as she could. The man’s short brown hair and mirrored sunglasses. The outline of a holster beneath his sport coat. And as she drove away, she wondered what Brittany had just put into play.

* * *

At home, Eva pulled her car into the small garage at the side of the house and closed the door, locking it with the padlock. She was desperate to get inside and call Dex, but her new neighbor was sitting on the front step, as if she was waiting for her. “Shit,” she muttered under her breath.

Relief spread across the woman’s face when she saw Eva. “I fell,” she said. “Missed that last stair and took a tumble. I think my ankle is sprained. Could you help me inside?”

Eva glanced down the street, thinking again of the man at the gas station, of the piece of paper he slipped into his coat. She didn’t have time for this. But she couldn’t leave the woman on the porch. “Sure,” she said.

Eva helped the woman stand and was surprised at how tiny she was. Barely five feet tall and easily into her sixties, she was wiry but strong. She gripped the railing and pulled herself up the steps as Eva supported her, hopping on one foot until she got to the top. Eva gave her a moment to catch her breath, and together they made it to the door and into her apartment.

Warm-colored rugs covered the floor, contrasting with a cream-colored couch. One wall in the dining room had been painted a deep red, and half-emptied shipping boxes cluttered the corners. Eva helped her to a chair, and the woman sat.

“Do you want some ice?” Eva asked, impatient to move things along. She needed to contact Dex, to figure out what was going on and what she should do, not play nursemaid to her neighbor.

“Let’s start with names,” she said. “I’m Liz.”

Eva fought back a growing panic, feeling the minutes slipping away, caught in some kind of a small-talk time warp with her chatty neighbor. But she smiled anyways and said, “My name is Eva.”

“Nice to finally meet you, Eva. Yes, I would love some ice. Straight through there, if you don’t mind.”

Dismissed, Eva entered the kitchen, which was bare except for a few plates and glasses on the counter by the sink. In the freezer, Liz had a tray of ice cubes that Eva broke apart and piled into a dishtowel, winding the top closed. She grabbed a glass from the dish rack next to the sink and filled it with water, noticing how her hands trembled as she carried them both back to the living room and handed them to Liz. She was about to make her excuses and leave when Liz said, “Have a seat. Keep me company.”

With another quick glance toward the window and the empty street beyond, she lowered herself onto a chair that allowed her to keep an eye on things outside.

Liz’s smile grew wider. “I don’t know very many people here yet,” she said. “I’m a visiting professor from Princeton, teaching two classes this semester.”

Eva smiled politely, only half-listening as Liz talked about how much she was looking forward to a California winter, and ran through the encounter with Brittany again. What she’d said. The way her hands shook. How desperate she’d been to make the deal. Any deal. Gradually, Eva’s mind began to slow, the panic subsiding. She’d been in tight spots before, and she reminded herself that she hadn’t done anything illegal. She was safe for now in Liz’s living room, with a clear view of the street, listening to Liz explain why she preferred to rent an apartment rather than subject herself to the politics of faculty housing. She could practically feel her blood pressure lowering.

“Now tell me,” Liz said. “What do you do? Where are you from?”

Eva tore her gaze from the window and delivered her standard reply. “I grew up in San Francisco. I’m a server at DuPree’s in downtown Berkeley.” And then she swung the conversation back to Liz. “So you’re a professor? What do you teach?”

Liz reached for her water and took a drink. “Political economics,” she said. “Economic theory and the accompanying political economic systems.” She laughed. “I promise you, it’s a fascinating subject.”

She pulled the ice off, and Eva watched as she studied her ankle, turning it cautiously. Liz looked up and grinned. “Not a sprain. Which is a relief, because launching a new semester on crutches would have been a challenge.”

There was something about Liz’s voice, deep and resonant despite her small size, that calmed Eva. It vibrated inside of her, causing her to breathe deeper. To listen harder. Eva imagined her at the front of a large lecture hall, her voice carrying into the very farthest corners. The scratch of pens on paper or the quick tapping on laptops, students eagerly recording everything she said.

From her position on Liz’s couch, Eva saw the government sedan glide down the street and slow to a stop at the curb. The same man who’d been talking to Brittany at the gas station got out and walked up their front path.

Her mind began connecting dots she hadn’t even known were there, passing over the question of how he’d found her house to its inevitable answer—there must have been someone else following her. Someone she hadn’t seen.

Eva stood suddenly and moved toward Liz. Away from the window. “Are you sure you don’t need to see a doctor?”

Liz put the ice back on her ankle and said, “I’ll tell you what I need. I need you to dump out this crappy tap water and fill my glass with vodka. Get one for yourself too. It’s in the freezer.” The faint sound of knocking from next door caught Liz’s attention. “I think someone’s knocking on your door,” she said.

Eva peeked through the blinds and saw the man slide something into her mail slot. Every nerve in her body tingled with fear, urging her to run. She glanced through the doorway and into Liz’s kitchen, imagining herself tearing out the back door, through the back gate and down the alley, sprinting all the way to Dex’s, demanding answers.

But she took a deep breath, reminding herself that all she’d done was talk to a woman in the park. She hadn’t sold her anything, or even showed her anything.Play through. Advice Dex used to give her in the early days when she’d get scared.Only guilty people run. That’s exactly what they’re waiting for you to do. So don’t do it.

“I’ve seen this guy before,” Eva lied. “He’s selling subscriptions to an alarm company. You have to pretend like you’re not home, otherwise he’ll talk your ear off.”

“I hate door-to-door salesmen,” Liz said. If she thought it odd he didn’t come to her door next, she didn’t mention it.

Eva stood and said, “I think I’ll go get those drinks for us.” A drink was the very least she deserved.

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