SADIE
THE BAR AT THE AIRPORT was packed.
Just as Simon had assured me, there were men everywhere. Single men. All sitting with a drink in front of them. All stranded. And all unaware of what I was sent to do.
I just had to find the right one, or ones. Reading men wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Who looked lonely? Who was seeking companionship? Who seemed like they had money, and on them?
I started to freak out.
I couldn’t tell.
I wouldn’t know.
I was a terrible student.
I glanced around, and that same uneasy feeling fell over me that had earlier. Picking men up in a bar wasn’t me. Stealing wasn’t me. This whole thing wasn’t me. It didn’t matter that Simon had drilled into me what to look for. It didn’t matter that he had mapped it all out.
I was faltering.
Slowly, I laid it out in my head. I was supposed to find someone dressed in an Armani suit or Hugo Boss sports coat. Take a seat beside him, flutter my lashes, cross my legs, show a hint of wispy lace, and then strike up a conversation before purposely spilling my drink so I could steal his wallet while he attempted to clean up the mess.
It didn’t matter that I remembered the plan step by step.
Right then the only thing that mattered was that I knew I couldn’t do this.
Not even for Riley.
Not even so the young boy could walk again.
Walk again.
Oh, God! What was I thinking?
Resolution struck like fear. It didn’t matter that I didn’t want to do this. I had to do this. It was the only way to right what I had wronged.
More astute this time, I glanced around, but all the single men looked the same. And besides, there were no empty seats anywhere.
Feeling lost, my eyes skittered here and there and then landed on the monitor. Most flights were still in the delayed status, but if the storm didn’t let up soon, they would be canceled. Once that happened, the men who were from Atlanta would leave, and the place would empty out.
I would wait.
I had to wait.
While I did just that, I attempted to survey the single men with a little more attention. A man about forty with a nice sports coat. Not designer, but a bulging wallet in his pocket none-the-less.
He’d do.
My gaze wandered. Another man wearing a plaid shirt and khakis with a computer case and a piece of Gucci luggage. A complete contrast of character.
Maybe.
To his right sat a conventionally attractive man with a square jaw, good haircut, and a few lines around his eyes. He was wearing a white shirt and suit pants. Briefcase at his feet, but nothing more. Coming or going, I couldn’t tell.
Pass.
When my phone buzzed, I knew who it was. I pulled it from my purse. The one that Simon had procured at the prestigious Savannah Country Inn, or maybe it was the Four Seasons Hotel.
I couldn’t be sure.
It didn’t matter.
Everything was a blur. The way he arranged to get a keycard. The way he slipped into the rooms. The way he paid off the concierge. For someone who had given up thieving, he certainly knew how to make connections.
I wasn’t naïve.
I found it questionable.
When I asked him about it, he told me the dark web hadn’t changed over the years. It was filled with all kinds of bad, and it provided him with unlimited amounts of people looking to make a buck.
I didn’t ask any questions after that.
Didn’t want to know anything further about the ominous dark web or illegalities that took place on it.
Putting those thoughts aside, I glanced down at my screen. After unlocking it, I removed the security feature. I didn’t have time for entering a code every time I received a text. Sure enough, it was just who I thought—him.
SIMON: You get in okay?
Me: Yes.
SIMON: How’s the fishing?
Me: I’m not sure.
SIMON: Are you using the bait?
Me: Yes.
SIMON: Then it won’t be long until you get a bite. Don’t forget, only the big fish gets the net. And two, not three, not five, not one.
Me: I won’t forget.
How could I not be using the bait?
I was the bait.
Sighing, I went to drop my phone back into my bag but paused and stared at the tin of breath mints in it instead.
The small green candy-coated items inside contained some kind of mild sleeping pill, which Simon had procured from the dark web.
The net, as he referred to it, was the part of the plan where I was to offer the mints to the guy I determined to be a big fish. Once he chewed two of them, I was to pretend to be interested in taking things back to his room and then steal more than his wallet as soon as he passed out. The green mints were only to be used if I knew for certain there were more things worth stealing than a wallet.
Like I would know?
I think that part scared me the most.
Drugging someone to steal what belonged to them. It frightened the living hell out of me.
I wasn’t a thief.
I wasn’t a thief.
I wasn’t a thief.
I thought I might go insane with the need to run.
Once again I found myself questioning if I could actually go through with this. I needed to think. And in order to do so, I had to get away from this place and be alone for a little while.
Closing my purse, I lifted my gaze to scan for the exit, and as soon as I did, not only had all the air rushed from my lungs, but my knees went weak.
No, it couldn’t be.
But it was.
It was him.
Him.
The macro-stock variety hunk I had crushed on. The one who got me fired. And he was sitting at the end of the bar.
Alone.
My heart started to pound with a beat I hadn’t felt in two long weeks. One that told me I was still alive. That somewhere beneath all this bad, I was still the same girl I had always been.
Lost.
Scared.
Good.
And still me.
My crush looked the same as he had in the picture, but different at the same time. Older. Cleaner cut. More professional.
His dark hair was slightly shorter, cropped close on the sides but longer on top. The hint of scruff was exactly the same, though. And just as appealing.
Dressed in tuxedo pants and a wrinkled white shirt, he had a duffle and two other bags in tow.
Stranded.
He was definitely stranded.
But was he coming or going?
My guess—he was going, so this wasn’t a layover. Besides, he’d been on Hunks of Atlanta, so he must be from here.
I lowered my gaze.
Although he was wearing tuxedo pants, I wouldn’t call them designer, and there definitely were no fancy shoes since he was wearing a pair of black and white Adidas.
No high-end luggage, either. Just a bunch of beat-up leather bags.
Sure, then I was able to survey a man. I almost laughed at myself. At how pathetic I was. Still, I liked that he didn’t fit the criteria for one of my marks. It made him off-limits, which was good.
Suddenly, I felt so alone. And he looked so very alone, too. Mad. Brooding. Upset. I watched him. He was reading something. And the more I watched him, the more I wanted to get to know him. Which was crazy because wasn’t he the reason I was here? Or would I have ended up right where I was regardless of the fact that his picture had been in my column?
I had to believe the latter.
Didn’t I?
I had to get out of here. I really was going crazy. Blaming some stranger for my woes. That wasn’t me. Then again, I didn’t look like me or feel like me.
Did I?
Just as I took my first step toward the door, my phone buzzed in my hand. I’d forgotten to place it in my purse after I spotted the mints. I didn’t want to know what the message said, but I read it anyway.
SIMON: Great eye. He’s a good catch. By the size of those camera bags, I’d say what’s inside is easily worth thirty grand each.
Dumbstruck, my head darted around the bar. I didn’t see Simon anywhere, but somehow he saw me.
How’d he know those were camera bags, anyway? Did he have a friend who also worked the x-ray machine, for Christ sake?
I ignored his text and took another step. My phone buzzed one more time. And again, I looked, even though I didn’t want to.
SIMON: You cannot leave. Don’t lose sight of why we are doing this. Remember Riley.
Simon was right, of course. I was losing sight.
Riley needed this.
Needed me.
And I couldn’t let him down.
I wouldn’t.
After all, he was in the situation he was in because of me. But I couldn’t stay here, in this bar, and do what Simon wanted me to do.
I had to leave.
I’d find another way.
I took a small step and froze. Stock-photo guy had an issue of Hotlanta gripped tightly in his fingers.
Hotlanta.
Him.
And me.
It was how this whole thing started.