Page 6 of Keep This Promise
“Okay, Joe . . . do you have a last name?” I keep my voice light and laugh a little at the end to hide my nervousness.
“Webb.”
Joe doesn’t seem to be doing or saying anything out of the ordinary, it’s just . . . I can’t explain it. I’m uncomfortable, and I’ve had a really fucking hard day.
“I’ll let him know, if you can excuse me.” I try to move around him, but again, he shifts.
“I meant to ask you, how was the charity dinner last night?”
Eden tries to let go of my hand, and I use that moment to look away from him. When I glance over her head, I see someone approaching who I’ve also seen at my house. It was about two months ago, and he came to bring Theo a package.
Something is wrong.
This is not a coincidence. For the first time since Theo told me about the danger, I believe it.
Without taking my hand from my bag, I lift Eden into my arms. “I have to go. I’m sorry, but we’re going to miss our flight.”
I move in the opposite direction of the second man approaching me, when I see a third man heading our way. His eyes find mine, and then he jerks his head away as though he doesn’t want me to see his face. They’re closing in, and I have to go . . . now.
As I move in the center of the corridor, I pray I can get out of this.
Theo, God, someone up there must be watching out for me because a policeman walks by. I call out, and he stops. “Yes, miss, can I help?”
I force my breathing to remain steady as relief floods me. “Could you help me? My daughter is ill, and I need to get over to security. I would really appreciate if you could just stay with me in case there’s an issue.”
He stares at me as though I’m bonkers, which I probably am right now, but he reluctantly agrees. When I look over my shoulder, the three men are watching me, and I am grateful I’m leaving.
* * *
“Hello, Mrs. Pearson.” A man walks toward me and Eden, and I clutch her to my chest. No one should know we’re in Las Vegas. After the scare in London, I’ve been losing my mind, and it’s been four very long, very exhausting days of travel.
I shake my head. “I’m sorry, you have the wrong person.” My American accent needs work, but it was my best attempt. It was somewhere betweenThe Sopranosand a pirate.
He smiles. “I’m Jackson Cole. Your husband, Theo Pearson, hired me.” He shows me some sort of identification, but for all I know, he’s one of the dangerous people who were tracking me in London, and this is just a ruse. I shake my head and start to move away, but he speaks before I’m too far away. “He told me to use the phrase . . . ‘goat taco.’”
My racing heart slows a bit. “Excuse me? What did you say?”
“Goat taco.” Jackson shrugs. “I don’t ask why, but he said you’d know what it means.”
I force my trembling jaw to ease. “I do know, and if he told you, then . . . well, it’s something.”
It means that he is trusted. When Theo was in the hospital as a boy, we used to make up games or jokes that were just between us. The hospital was serving tacos for lunch, and Theo and I were being silly, which led to a joke about whether they were serving goat. It then became a running joke anytime one of us was upset. We’d say it, and the other would laugh.
“I am the owner of one of the elite private security companies in America. He hired me three years ago on a retainer in the event this was necessary.”
“What was necessary?”
“Your protection and answers.”
Finally, someone is going to give me those. “What answers do you have, Mr. Cole?”
“When we get to the car, I’ll provide you with what I can. May I help you with your bags first?” he asks.
I appreciate the offer more than he knows. I had to manage them when we arrived in Atlanta and went through customs. Then I found out we weren’t going to Las Vegas, and instead, we were taking a train to Charlotte, where we were actually supposed to catch our flight to Vegas. When we got to the gate, they informed us our flight was cancelled and that we had to go to the service counter for additional information. I hadn’t expected Carol, who was Theo’s work friend in Atlanta, to be waiting there to give us new directions and show us to a car. We were driven to yet another airport where a private jet was waiting to fly us to Las Vegas. It has been a nightmare, and Eden and I have each had at least two meltdowns. We are worn out, and the idea of doing more of this is just too much.
While I would much prefer the answers first, this is a kindness I need. “That would be lovely. Thank you.”
Jackson lifts the bags as I walk with Eden through the airport to the black SUV with tinted windows. My steps slow because I don’t know this man, and I have no idea where we’re going. What if he’s the bad guy?
