Page 6 of Veiled Fantasies

“Sssst!” A sharp hiss hit her like a poison dart.

Feinting disinterest, she kept her lips in the cool stream while her eyes traced the sound right to the handcuffed criminal, standing not three feet away and staring straight at her. Jill backed away, water dribbling down her chin.

“You must help me! I am being held illegally!”

Jill glanced at the plain-clothes policeman. Why wasn’t he paying attention? He was on the far side of the criminal, as far as the handcuffs would allow, half-shouting into a cell phone and oblivious of his charge.

“I have been falsely accused!” the dark-eyed man continued in that staccato, accented Russian of his. “You must help me! Go to Yuri in the spice souk! Tell him Grisha needs his help!”

Jill was already backing away. She didn’t want to see him, hear him, or get involved in any way.

“Tell Yuri…”

“Hey!” snapped the second officer, just emerging from the toilet. He shoved the prisoner around by the shoulder and shot Jill a black look. As if she was guilty of something. Her! Jill hurried back to the luggage belt, making sure to keep an advertising board between her and the three men. Trouble, nothing but trouble. She’d stay well clear.

An hour later, she stood in yet another line, thinking of Dante’sInferno. Which of the circles of hell did the lost luggage counter qualify for? Limbo, probably. Her day was rapidly going from bad to worse. First the insane criminal, now this.

“I want my luggage now!” A red-faced German thumped the counter.

The baggage lady smiled politely, but Jill caught the strain in her voice. “We will notify you the moment the luggage is located.” Watching the woman smooth a loose loop of silk that covered her hair, Jill squirmed on her behalf.

The man grew louder. “I want my luggage!”

Control, Jill thought. This is all about control. She wasn’t good at giving it away, herself. Like this passenger. But at least she didn’t entertain the delusion that berating airline employees accomplished anything. She quietly steamed away and kept herself under control. That part, she was good at.

But the passengers around her stirred, latching onto his tone. An ugly mood was brewing, wavering in the air like bands of heat over the desert.

Then a smooth tenor rang out, resonating through the room. “I’m sure the airline can’t be responsible for a volcano in Iceland.” Jill, the angry man, and the rest of the passengers whipped around.

It was Gorgeous. He flashed the airline representative a winning smile, then fixed the German with an unwavering look. “I’m sure they’re doing everything possible to locate the luggage.” It was a statement and an order at the same time. “Next please!” he added, making a barely perceptible motion toward the door.

The German grumbled, snatched his luggage tags and his wife, and left in a huff. The line shifted forward and settled down, already more placid.

Jill squirmed. Mr. Perfect was right behind her. What was that accent? A hint of British but underlying that, something Scandinavian. Whatever it was, it worked. Her blood pressure was already dropping. She wished she could do that, the alpha male thing. A couple of words and the sheep go tamely to their pens. No argument, no fuss.

And still no luggage.

She plodded down a level to the information counters, where thousands of stranded passengers waved useless boarding passes at a handful of overwhelmed airline personnel. Another hour of waiting, and she was handed a voucher and directed to a bus. At least the airline was providing accommodation until things could be sorted out.

The hotel was chaos on a smaller scale. The lobby was milling with new arrivals, some with vouchers, most without. Apparently many passengers, even some from her very flight, hadn’t received vouchers, just a list of hotels where they could try to find a room. All of them had been abandoned to their own devices. Jill was one of the lucky ones who happened to get in the right line back at the airport—the one handing out vouchers. None of it made any sense.

She squeezed into the packed elevator and watched the doors close. Her eyes wanted to do the same—just slide shut and tune everything out.

A ping summoned her attention as the doors parted, admitting Gorgeous. His work bag was slung over his shoulder, a compact rolling suitcase in his hand. The passengers promptly huddled closer, making room for him, and the doors shut once more. At each floor, a few passengers seeped out, giving the others breathing space until they were only the two left, Jill and Gorgeous, in a very small, enclosed space that felt warmer and warmer by the minute.

Ping! Fifth floor. She stepped out, as did he. She could see his sculpted jaw line in the hall mirror as she scanned the signs. Even numbers on the left. She turned that way, listening as his rolling suitcase followed her down the hall. She counted room numbers, 510, 512, and 514. There it was, 516. She stopped and fumbled with the key, then opened the door and paused. She glanced left, too tired to think.

Gorgeous was at the door of 514, lining up the key with the slot. Just as his door clicked, he turned and threw her a light smile. This time, she managed to get one off, too.

Then he disappeared into his room, and she into hers.

Goodnight, Perfect.

She closed the door on the outside world and leaned back on it, eyes closed, before taking in her room. Camel-colored curtains hung motionless in the stale air. There was one sagging bed that would barely pass as a twin, plus a desk and a natty chair that might not collapse if she eased into it carefully enough. She stood by the light switch for a full minute, considering. Even with the sound of her foot twitching against the floor, the room felt empty. In that way, it wasn’t so different from the apartment she called home.

And anyway, free is free.

There were two more doors. One was for the bathroom, and the other seemed to lead to the next room, 514. Apparently the rooms could be booked in pairs and joined for families. But the door was firmly bolted from her side, and presumably from his.

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