She tried to get her mind off the nausea. She used to enjoy watching strangers in airports, making up stories about them, guessing where they were going or where they’d been. Now she saw only faces staring at her, faces that pretended to look away when she caught them. She knew Leandro had spies everywhere. He’d told her so.
Alongside the bench she noticed a newspaper machine. Lately she’d gotten into the habit of reading them through the glass to check the date. Too many hours and days spent in hotel rooms made her lose track of time. But she didn’t even look at the date in the corner. Instead, her eyes fixed on the front-page photo. She recognized the man and his dog from the television talk show: Ryder Creed and Grace. His name sounded like a movie star’s name.
She was reading the article when out of the corner of her eye she saw something running toward her. At first, Amanda thought her stomach pain might be making her hallucinate. How else could she explain the little dog coming her way with the man from the newspaper following close behind?
Her heart started thumping in her ears. Her eyes darted in the direction that Zapata had gone. The old woman was at the conveyor, waiting for the suitcase and glancing over her shoulder to check on Amanda. She hadn’t noticed the man and the dog. They were zigzagging around people and luggage, but somehow Amanda knew the dog was headed straight for her.
She stood on wobbly knees and braced one hand against the bench to steady herself. The man wasn’t dressed in a uniform. Instead he wore blue jeans, a T-shirt, and a long-sleeved shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the tails out, and the buttons undone. His jaw was bristled and his hair tousled. He looked nothing like an airport officer — too young, too casual, way too hot.
He hadn’t noticed her and was still looking around, trying to figure out where his dog was leading him. He hadn’t realized yet that Amanda was the dog’s target.
Drugs, Amanda remembered from the talk show and the few lines she had just read.
Holy crap!
Now she remembered from the TV show. The dog sniffed out drugs. It was headed directly toward her. Could it smell the drugs inside her?
Was that even possible?
She took a few steps and felt dizzy. Glanced back toward Zapata and saw that the old woman had turned and was watching her.
Amanda looked around while the baggage claim area tilted and the floor started to move. Not far away a security officer questioned a man with a cast on his leg. People stepped around them, hurrying to gather their belongings. Everyone seemed in such a rush.
The dog was closer. Less than twenty feet away. Zapata had started back, stopping for a stream of people going by, and Amanda could see the old woman didn’t even have the suitcase. One last look and she could see the anger on Zapata’s face. That’s when Amanda waited for the man with the dog to meet her eyes, and when he did, Amanda willed her feet to move — one in front of the other.
Hurry, she told herself.
The path cleared and she called out, “Uncle Ryder,” as she rushed past the dog and practically fell into the man’s arms. Her heart was pounding against her rib cage as she threw her arms tight around his neck and held on.
“Please save me,” she whispered in his ear.
17
The girl smelled of sweat and French milled soap, the kind that hotels had in little fancy wrappers. As far as Creed could tell, she had no luggage except for a leather bag around her shoulder. Even as she strangled his neck and whispered her pleas, Creed could see Grace sitting very still and staring up directly into his eyes. The dog was alerting. She was telling him that this girl was her target and there were drugs somewhere on her.
He hadn’t realized until almost the last seconds that it was the girl and not the man with the leg cast that Grace had been racing toward. Grace’s intent stare told him there was no doubt. Was this display some kind of ploy to get the drugs in her handbag past security? The girl could have recognized him and Grace. They’d been all over the news, and she’d have seen or heard their names. But how did she know they’d be at the airport today?
He tried to untangle her long, thin arms from his neck, trying to be gentle and not dismantle her act, while his eyes started to search around them.
“She’s there,” the girl whispered. “Don’t let her take me, please. She’s right behind me.”
And sure enough, the woman had cautiously approached them. She looked as if she needed to capture a wild animal without spooking it or alarming everyone around them. She was maybe forty, dressed casually in slacks and a matching blouse, a designer handbag on her shoulder, dark eyes, and dark hair swept up in a matriarch style that made her look older.
“Amanda, dear,” she said in perfect English, but Creed could hear the Spanish accent. And no matter how much the woman pretended, she had not been able to fake the least bit of sincerity. It was enough for Creed to realize that the girl might not just be high or playing a game. That she might actually fear this woman.
“It’s my uncle Ryder,” the girl named Amanda said, without looking back at the woman. “I didn’t realize he was working here today.”
The girl stood back now, and Creed held her shoulders. He felt her body sway as though she would fall backward if he released his hold on her.
“You remember me telling you about my uncle Ryder,” Amanda said, and she squatted down to tap Grace on the head, like someone who had never petted a dog before in her entire life. “And this is his dog, Grace.”
The dog allowed the pats but she didn’t take her eyes off Creed, telling him in her own way that this was what he wanted her to find. He hadn’t released her yet, so she continued to alert, patient, but her hind end wiggled.
“Where are your parents, Amanda?” Creed decided to play along.
“Oh, they’re still at the vacation villa in Colombia.” She looked up at him, meeting his eyes, and now he had dog and girl staring at him, each wanting something from him. “I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if you just took me home.”
“No, they would not like that,” the woman said, barely containing her anger.
“Everything okay here, Mr. Creed?” One of the CBP officers had wandered over.
Both women and Grace now stared Creed down, as though their eyes could make him say and do exactly what they wanted, what they needed.
He took a better look at the girl. Her face was flushed with perspiration, her cheeks almost gaunt, as though she hadn’t eaten for days. She was tall with long limbs, like a gawky teenager who hadn’t grown into her body yet. Although she wore pencil-tight jeans, her blouse billowed out and over her thin frame. He stared into her eyes. They were bright blue and anxious but the pupils weren’t dilated. Her face was painted with too much makeup to make her look older, but Creed guessed she couldn’t be more than fifteen or sixteen.
“Need me to call someone?” the CBP officer asked.
“No, that’s okay, Officer Salazar,” Creed said, glancing at the man’s name tag and noticing that his right hand rested on his gun belt. “I’m just surprised to run into my niece. I didn’t realize she’d be here today.”
Creed watched the woman’s face and could see the spark of anger before she tucked it away. She lifted her chin and shook her head, defiant, as if she wasn’t used to being treated this way. He felt her eyes scan the length of him, settling on the badge hanging from the lanyard around his neck. She was trying to figure out what authority, if any, he had here. He wasn’t dressed in a uniform, and he knew she was contemplating how she could dismiss him, especially now, in front of the CBP officer.