I bite my lower lip, thinking. There’s something else. “How did Lattimer get involved, anyway?”
“Keresey told me that,” Franklin says. “Apparently he confessed that Sylvie seduced him, back when he was assigned to the Atlanta bureau. He was sick of government paychecks and she promised him a gold mine. He’s trying to make it all her idea, of course. But that’s why Zuzu acted so hinky when we mentioned Katie Harkins. She’d never heard of her.”
The bleat of the intercom on Kevin’s desk interrupts. “Mr. O’Bannon? Mr. Char…” the tentative voice pauses. “The cab is here.”
Luca gathers his briefcase and shakes hands with Franklin, then me. “I’ll be at the Copley Plaza Hotel. One journey ends, another begins,” he says with an uncertain smile. “I must try to remember that.”
We watch Luca and Kevin cross the newsroom, heading for the front door.
“I’ll get a photographer,” Franklin says, turning toward the assignment desk. “See how fast we can get to the Copley. Maybe we can get Keresey on cam today, too.”
“Franko.” I stand, stopping him.
“What? I’ve got to-”
The rest of his question is muffled by my quick hug.
“Thank you, Franko. You did great. As Mom always says, be careful what you wish for. We wanted a biggie. And we sure got it. And I almost got it in the head.”
“The world of make-believe fashion is not a pretty place,” Franklin agrees. “The bags were phony, but the danger was certainly real.”
“Lattimer tried to tell us it was terrorists,” I say, remembering that day in Lattimer’s office. “And I guess he was right. They took the law into their own hands. They stole millions of dollars from legitimate businesses. They killed whoever was in their way. Sounds like terrorists to me.”
Of course the doorbell rings, right during the good part. Right in the midst of the eleven-o’clock news. Right at the part of our story where Franklin’s undercover video shows me vaulting through the luggage claim, then reveals a furtive Marren Lattimer snaking the black suitcase from the conveyor belt.
I snuggle in closer to Josh, my legs on top of his, our wool-socked feet entwined on the leather ottoman in front of us.
“I’m not budging from this couch,” I say, hitting the pause button on my TiVo remote. I punch another button. “And now, I’m rewinding. That’s the glory of digital recording. You can watch our perfectly perfect story again, uninterrupted, from the beginning.”
The doorbell rings again. Botox leaps from my lap and scampers off to hide in one of her secret cat hangouts.
Josh takes the remote from me with a laugh, and points to the door. “See who it is,” he says. “It might be, just a wild guess, here. Maybe the pizza we ordered from Late Night Sam’s? Or I suppose it could be the Attorney General with some sort of medal of honor. A reward for your first-night-of-the-November-book scoop. Either way, a good thing.”
“Oh, yeah, the pizza,” I say, disentangling myself, briefly, from Josh’s arms. “Of course.”
I pad to the doorway and click the speaker button on the intercom.
“Yes?” I say. Pepperoni, mushrooms and extra mozzarella. Just what I need.
“Velocity Delivery Service,” a voice says. “You lost a suitcase? The airlines found it. We have it here for you. We just need a signature.”
Epilogue
“Please make sure your seat backs and tray-tables are in the full upright position, and…”
Josh unlaces his fingers from mine and unclasps his seat belt. Flipping up the two armrests between us for takeoff, he shifts from his aisle seat into the middle seat next to me, and clicks on his seat belt again.
“You okay, sweetheart?” he asks. He threads his arm through mine, taking my hand again. He leans close to my ear. “This will all be worth it, I promise. You’re a good sport, sitting at another gate, keeping your eyes closed when we boarded. I told the agent it was a surprise.”
“You sure we can’t just drive, wherever it is you’re taking me?” I reply. I’m only half joking. When Josh showed off our plane tickets, I couldn’t decide whether to be thrilled or terrified. “Mystery destination” he’d said. All he’d tell me was I needed a bathing suit, flip-flops and sunscreen. And since it’s almost December, I guess driving is out of the question.
I cinch my seat belt tighter. And pretend. “I’m dandy, really,” I say. I can feel my smile is forced. “I’m just swell.”
The flight attendant walks toward us, counting whatever it is they count, and touching each of the overhead compartments. She smiles down at us. “The weather in Miami is beautiful,” she says as she passes.
I look at Josh. Miami? Maybe the flight attendant just let the cat out of the bag. Curiosity trumps fear, if only briefly.
He raises a palm, twinkling at me. “Not a chance. Connecting flight. And I told the crew about my little surprise.”
“I tried to get Penny to spill it,” I admit, checking my seat belt again. Maybe if we talk about something else, I’ll be distracted. “You know how secrets drive me crazy. But she insisted she didn’t know.”
“She doesn’t,” Josh says. “She’s expecting a postcard from us.”
So much for that idea. I’m not distracted. I’m freaking. Even my darling Josh can’t make my fear disappear. Even a secret romantic trip to a sunny destination won’t work.
I still hate flying. I lean my forehead against the plastic window, looking out as the last of the bags are loaded onto the 757. At least there’s my suitcase, the new one, still recognizable by the D-M baggage tag Luca gave me. What did he write on that note? May every journey end with your heart’s desire? My heart’s desire is to get off this plane.
The baggage handlers back away from the plane, then chug off in their empty cart. The cart, at least, brings a brief smile to my face. My secret weapon. And the clear victor in the cart versus Cessna battle. Guess they had to replace the cart that got mangled. And the plane. Which reminds me of plane crashes. Which reminds me of the lump in my stomach.
“It always feels like I may never come back,” I say, still facing outside. I can feel Josh looking at me, but I’m so apprehensive I can’t face him. “Like I’m taking off into somewhere unknown. Alone. Leaving my…security, you know?”
Josh’s roar of laughter surprises me. “This is the woman who faced down two thugs and a psychopath FBI agent armed with a.44 Magnum? The woman who risked her life for a friend? Yes, darling, I can see how much you crave security.”
He leans close and kisses my cheek, then turns my face toward his with one finger. “And you think flying is dangerous?”
The engines begin that whine, the wheels begin to move. I can feel my chest clench and I have to remember to breathe. For a moment, I can pretend it’s the plane parked next to us that’s actually underway. But it’s us.
Focus on Josh. Focus on Josh. Focus on Josh. And from the look on his face, he’s focusing on me, too.
“We’re together,” he says. “You’re not alone. Not in flying, not in your life.”
I look at him, so earnest and genuine. Devoted. Hilarious. Patient. Maybe, just maybe. A wisp of a thought dances through my mind, so ephemeral it almost escapes. My contract with Channel 3 expires next June. Maybe I should…consider…
“You’re not leaving. You’re arriving,” Josh continues. “And you need to know your journey is toward a new destination. Not away from an old one. You see? When you take off, that’s a beginning. Not an ending.”
“Well, folks, we are next in line for takeoff on runway L115.” A voice crackles over the loudspeaker, almost understandable. “ETA in Miami is two and a half hours, with connecting flights to-” the announcement pauses, and I can hear some unintelligible voices in the background. “More on that later,” the voice turns exaggeratedly jovial. “But we’re told the weather is clear and sunny at all final destinations.”