For an hour, I sat and watched. Every minute or so, I turned a page of my book, just in case someone was watching.
The boarding call came first in French, then in English. I stood and waited in line. My heart beat faster as the line moved, thudding in my temples as I handed the woman my ticket.
“Merci,” she said in a sing-song voice and handed me back the stub.
I resisted the urge to run down the loading tunnel.
Get on this plane, I thought. Fly to Vancouver. Start a new life. Forget everything and everyone back in Ireland.
Easy.
Behind me, I heard the steady, thundering footfalls of a large man walking with purpose. The flimsy tunnel shook with his every step.
Shit! I was so close!
I took a deep steady breath.
Decision time. He sounded big. Too big to fight. Nowhere to run. Only chance was to bluff. Go with the flow.
I let out the breath and prepared myself.
The big man brushed past me and continued speed walking down the tunnel.
“Feckin’ Jaysus,” I sighed.
The flight attendant glanced at my boarding pass and directed me to my row. I slid my small bag into the compartment above the seats. Then I settled into the window seat and pretended to read my book.
A woman and her young son sat next to me. I ignored them.
Twenty minutes later, the plane took off, leaving the lights of Montreal behind.
I tried to sleep. There was nothing I could do if someone on the plane was after me, anyway. If it was the law, there was nowhere to go or anything to do until we landed. And if it were someone from the Cause? Well, I didn’t think anyone was going to hurt me while I was sitting next to a mother and her child.
Sleep was fitful. I kept seeing faces. Sean. Niall. Conor. I saw the flat face of a mummy with dancing eyes. Speeding cars. Shattered glass. Guns.
Blood.
I woke. The woman and her child were staring at me, slack-jawed.
“What are ye looking at?” I snapped.
The woman looked away but the child continued to stare.
I turned my gaze to the darkness out my window.
I needed a new life.
The descent into Vancouver was bumpy, giving the brat next me something new to worry about, but we landed safely enough. I retrieved my small bag and traipsed down the aisle with the rest of the cattle. At the door to the airplane, the flight attendant wished me a good evening. Even though her eyes settled on me, I was sure she didn’t actually see me. The thought gave me some comfort.
Traffic both sped up and spread out once we reached the tunnel. In almost no time, it opened up into the airport proper. I kept pace with the crowd, watching for uniforms. More than that, I watched for anyone looking at me. British Columbia had far more Irish roots than Quebec and the faces in the crowd reflected that. I didn’t think anyone would make a move in the airport — too hard to get a weapon in — but they might pick me up there and tail me elsewhere. The sooner I knew that I was marked, the better.
“Tara Kelly,” a voice announced over the loudspeaker. “Miss Tara Kelly, please come to the customer service kiosk.”
My stomach tensed. A trap? Tara Kelly was the code name that only Uncle Terry was supposed to know. My passport read Angela Quinn. So if someone else knew about Tara Kelly, then maybe the game was up.
Or maybe Terry had left me a message.
Why would he do that? Why wouldn’t he just be here?
I strolled along, thinking.
What was the best play? The smart play?
I was in the country now. No customs to pass through. All I had to do was get in touch with Terry and get to his place in the little burg of Rossland. It might not be a metropolis, but it was safe. It was where my new life waited.
What waited for me at the customer service kiosk? A message from Terry? A cop? A killer?
I didn’t like the odds.
I kept walking.
Outside the airport, I hailed a taxi.
“Where to?” he asked, resetting the meter.
“I need a motel room,” I told him. “Someplace away from the airport.”
He drove wordlessly for fifteen minutes before pulling into the parking lot of the Star-lite Motel. “This suit you?”
“It’ll do.” I pulled out the small roll of cash from my pocket and peeled off several bills. “Keep the change.”
He nodded his thanks and I slid out of the cab.
Checking in was quick, though I got some guff because I didn’t have a credit card. I figured that might be a problem, so I’d undone the magic button on my blouse again. A hundred bucks and some cleavage seemed to be the going rate for a deposit on a motel room in Vancouver.
I waited in the room an hour, making frequent checks out the window into the parking lot. I didn’t see anything suspicious. That sense of having made it started rising inside me again. I beat it back down. Once I was in Rossland. Then I could feel that way. Once I was Tara Kelly, complete with a Canadian birth certificate, a driver’s license and a new life. Not until.
After the hour, I left the room and walked a half block to a pub.
Bar, I reminded myself. Or tavern. Not a pub.
Inside, the late evening crowd created a steady buzz, but it wasn’t overwhelming. Just enough noise to camouflage, not loud enough to be dangerous. Perfect. I’d hidden in plain sight in places like this all over Ireland.
I stepped up to the bar and asked for change.
The bartender laid the coins on the bar. “You want something to drink, too, eh?”
“Sure.”
“What’ll ya have?”
I almost ordered Guinness. Instead, I glanced up at the “Kokanee” neon sign behind the bar. I ordered one.
“Bottle or tap?”
“Bottle.”
He popped the top and set the bottle before me. I paid him, took my bottle and made my way to the pay phones near the restrooms. The cold glass felt good in my hand.
I dialed Terry’s number from memory. The ring in my ear was different than the telephones back home.
Home.
I let myself a slight, ironic smile.
Canada was home now.
Terry didn’t answer. After eight rings, his answering machine clicked on. I thought about what to say while his voice filled the phone. When the beep sounded, I let the sound of the Vancouver bar filter into the receiver. Then I hung up.
“That’s an interesting smile,” a voice said.
I glanced up, prepared to tell the fella to take a hike. Instead, I was struck speechless. I found myself looking at the most beautiful man I’d ever stood next to. He wasn’t handsome in the sense that movie stars were handsome. His hair was a little tousled and he had a rough look about him. A small scar on his chin was accentuated by several days’ growth of beard.
All of that was nothing next to the look in his eyes when our gaze locked. The smoldering passion and the promise of forever radiated from his deep brown eyes. My stomach flip-flopped. My knees trembled.
A slow, knowing smile spread over his face. “That smile says a lot about you.”
I shook myself from my reverie. A rush of heat washed upward from my body to my face. “Is that so?” I asked him, trying to inject confidence into my voice.
He nodded. “It is.”
I lifted the beer bottle to my lips and took a long swallow while I watched him. I don’t know if I did that because I wanted the cold beer to cool me off or if it was part of the seduction dance. Maybe both. All I knew for sure was the something had clicked the moment I saw him. The fear of the chase went away. The fear of being alone left me. I knew in that moment that I would be with him until I died.