Page 2 of Coming Home

I take a drink of my whiskey, feeling the burn all the way down, and turn my head to once again to look at the mystery woman across the aisle. I don't know who she is, but boy do I want to find out. Not sure if I should approach her or not, my thoughts are interrupted by the pilot's voice over the intercom to welcome us aboard and to advise us that we are set for take-off.

The woman across the plane hasn’t stirred, most likely asleep and not wanting to be bothered.

I will wait until she wakes and then make a move.

I will let her sleep for now.

3

Scarlett

This is the longest day ever!

I can't wait to land in Boston. I am tired, emotional, and I’m pretty sure I smell like rotten fish after not having showered for 24 hours. My legs ache so badly, and I’m desperate to move my body; to run or do some yoga stretches, not be cooped up on a plane seat. I didn’t wear much makeup, so at least I don’t have mascara smudges under my eyes or lipstick smeared across my cheeks. I get up from my seat to stretch my legs and stand in the aisle of the plane so I can get some motion in my limbs.

I have a car collecting me from the airport to take me to Uncle Ray’s house. At the advice of the Federal Police in Australia, Uncle Ray has taken care of all the necessary security for me. He also needs a layer of security due to his business success, so an additional crew for me isn’t a stretch.

When I first approached the police about leaving Australia and moving to Boston, they thought it was a positive move, given that no new information has come to light and there has been no evidence to say that the crime was related to international borders. They still have no leads, and at this stage, are chasing ghosts. We believe they must have been disgruntled clients or business associates, but we don’t know for sure; we can’t think of a motive.

Given how well reported the crime was in the Australian media landscape, I have changed my surname. Scarlett Sullivan has now changed to Scarlett Foster, to make it easier for me to assimilate into my new life. I couldn’t begin a life in Boston with everyone knowing my history. A quick Google search would have everyone knowing my life story and I need a clean slate.

My Uncle Ray, his wife Emily, and my cousin Stephen are the only family I have left, and business is in our DNA. I know that being near them is where I have to be if I ever want another chance at family life and career success.

In Australia, I was groomed to one day lead my family business, and I started working in dad’s office when I was only ten years old, grabbing his coffees and opening his mail.

In my teenage years, I learned the phone system and supported the administration team. My favorite task was minute taking as it gave me a chance to be involved in every meeting, so I could watch business deals, negotiations, and learn how to manage people.

When I was in college, I worked across all departments. The marketing, finance, legal, and HR teams welcomed me, and I learned everything from the ground up. Upon graduating with a Degree in International Business, I started working with my father full time on the finance team, because I have an uncanny ability to read numbers better than anyone I know.

I have stretched myself to prove that I have what it takes in the world of business, despite it consisting of mainly middle-aged white men who look down on me and expect very little. It makes it easy for me to excel and exceed their expectations, which I do often.

Taking a few steps back and forth in the plane aisle, I think about what my long-term future holds. The thought both delights me and gives me a shiver of fear. It is one thing to fear for my safety—it is something I have done for the past 12 months—but fear of the unknown, fear of what to do with my life and how I was going to live it. That is something else entirely.

After stretching my legs, I start to make my way back to my seat just as the plane makes a turn, and I stumble into a hard body, strong hands catching me before I tumble onto the floor in the aisle.

Embarrassed at my incoordination, I feel my cheeks heat and my eyes look at the chest of the most perfectly sculptured man I have ever seen.

He is tall, broad, and muscular. It has been a long time since I have been so close to a man—if you don’t count the endless policemen I have been escorted and monitored by daily for the past year. Don’t get me wrong, some of those officers were mighty fine, but none took advantage of me or me of them. After 12 months, perhaps I have even lost my touch.

Can I even remember how to flirt? Before the murders, I had been a happy, healthy, twenty-three-year-old woman. I went on dates and had a boyfriend throughout college; however, for the past year I have lived like a nun on the run.

But now, with his strong, large hands on my body and my hands holding his arms, it makes my insides curl and butterflies flutter in my stomach. My eyes wander over him, and I can see his muscles bulging underneath his crisp white business shirt.

He looks solid, strong, and gives off an air of power that I have not experienced before. Our bodies are close, and I can smell him. Musk and sandalwood mixed with confidence and a little arrogance overpower me, and I can feel his breath on my skin, his lips mere centimeters from my head.

I haven't yet seen his face, but I don’t want to move, my face mere inches from his chest. Standing here so close to one another, him holding me, breathing in the same air, our hearts beating together, has to be the most erotic thing to ever happen to me.

Just as I start to lift my head, to look at his face and to apologize for literally falling into him, the pilot comes onto the speaker to announce our descent into Boston, and the flight attendant, who was hovering nearby, positions herself next to us. With a hand on my elbow, she begins to pull me away from him and escorts me back to my seat. I don’t look back. Which is a good thing because my knees are shaking at what I just experienced, and I would probably fall over again.

For the first time during this flight, I look at my clothes. I’m wearing a loose t-shirt, jeans that are sagging around my butt, and Birkenstocks.

My god, I am a mess. My hair is everywhere, I’m pretty sure my skin looks as bad as it feels, and I desperately need sleep.

Back in my seat, I put on my seatbelt and take the opportunity to look over at him. The attention he is getting from the flight attendants seems overwhelming and over the top. He clearly has a healthy appetite for beautiful women and beautiful is not a word I would use to describe myself, certainly not at this point in time.

I make myself busy so I don’t look up at him again by getting ready for landing, stuffing my belongings into my bag so I can bolt out of the plane door as soon as it opens. I need to be off this plane! I need fresh air!

But my mind and eyes soon wander back to the man. He is extremely attractive. Dark hair with a chiseled jaw and sexy five o’clock shadow. I wonder what his hair would feel like as I rake my fingers through it?

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