an early meeting tomorrow,” Grace said in a normal voice when she picked up the other phone.
“Sorry,” Bethany said and meant it, but this was such a disaster and who else was she going to call? Grace was always so together. She would offer wise counsel and advice.
“You cannot back out at this point, Bethany,” Grace said after hearing Bethany’s abbreviated summary of events so far. “I don’t care what the current situation might be. What’s the problem? Does the son have two heads?”
“No, one quite gorgeous one with a body to match.”
“Not that you noticed,” Grace said, stifling something that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle but finally came off as a yawn.
“He’s taking me to Arizona,” Bethany said.
There was a pause on the other end that told Bethany that Grace fully understood the significance of this. “Arizona?”
“Arizona,” Bethany confirmed and knew there was no need to add the obvious. Arizona, where Nick died.
“Well, honey, it’s a big state.”
Bethany knew she was doomed. Any time Grace called her honey it meant she was at a loss to offer advice. “Not big enough. The ranch is near Phoenix, which puts it near the mountains, which puts it—”
“Got it.” Grace was quiet for a long moment.
Bethany saw Cody looking around for her while the porter waited patiently. “He’s spotted me,” she muttered. “What am I going to do?”
Grace took a deep breath. “You are going to go with him to the ranch and in the morning you can remind Erika why this setting is difficult for you. She’ll understand and make sure you’re on the first plane back to Chicago.”
“You mean D.C.,” Bethany corrected, not liking Grace’s solution but knowing it was the only choice.
“I mean Chicago. Surely you can handle everything from there, and the change of scenery will do you good.”
“Gotta go. My captor approacheth.” Bethany shut the phone and turned to face Cody.
“Thought I lost you there for a minute,” he said. She supposed that his smile made a defibrillator standard equipment for any woman within range of it. At least her heart was not in need of a jump start. It had died a year earlier.
“Let’s go,” she said in a tone that no one could mistake for enthusiasm. She waited for Cody and the porter to lead the way.
“I think we need to go up one flight if we’re going to recheck the luggage,” she said as they zigzagged through crowds of travelers and past the last escalator toward a long corridor that seemed to lead away from the main terminal.
The porter slowed and glanced at Cody. Cody spoke to both of them as he explained, “We have to drive across town. My plane is at Midway.”
His plane? Did he say his plane?
Chapter Two
While Cody and the porter solved the puzzle of how to fit Bethany’s mountain of luggage plus two people in the small sports car, Bethany walked around the parking structure hoping to find a decent signal on her cell and trying, without success, to reach her aunt Erika.
After all, she reasoned, this man calling himself Cody had offered no credentials—not that she had requested any. He could be anybody. He could have found the little sign and decided to see who would answer to his call. The fact that the license plate on the car read ID—as in Ian Dillard—meant nothing. The fact that a kidnapper wouldn’t have the patience to retrieve her luggage and work up a sweat loading same into said vehicle… Okay, so he was probably who he said he was.
Bethany hit the speed dial for Erika once again. An impersonal recorded voice told her that the number she had dialed was not available. She could leave her number or a message. Bethany hung up. What was she going to say?
She heard car doors slamming and the murmur of an exchange between Cody and the porter as Cody handed him several bills. The porter laughed at something Cody said then trundled his now-empty cart down the aisle to where she stood. “All set, miss. You have a nice trip now.” He tipped his hat and headed back toward the terminal.
Wait! She considered shouting, but knew there was nothing the poor man could do to help. She turned and saw Cody leaning against the car. He was wearing a cowboy hat, and she couldn’t help noticing that it looked terrific on him.
“Any time you’re ready,” he called.
Was that sarcasm?
Bethany snapped her useless phone shut and strode back to the car, feeling fully in control until she got within two feet of where he still lounged against the trunk. Then she hit something on the uneven pavement and her ankle gave way. For the second time that evening he reached out and caught her.
“You might want to rethink those shoes,” he said as he set her back on firm ground with no effort.
Bethany made no comment, but walked—admittedly with more caution and a slight limp—to the passenger side of the car. Problem. Her overlarge bag-slash-handbag already occupied the seat.
“’Fraid you’ll have to hold that or stuff it on the floor under your feet. We kind of ran out of room,” Cody said as he climbed in, turned the key and backed out of the spot using the side-view mirrors. “Okay over there?”
“Just dandy,” Bethany replied.
He stopped the car and glanced at her. “I’m asking about the car next to you. Are we clear on your side?”
“Would you like me to get out and direct you?”
“Nope. Just look out that window there and tell me if I’m going to miss the guy’s rear bumper.”
When he stopped to pay the parking tab, she took the opportunity to study him again. She couldn’t help noticing how he had the bored teller laughing and jabbering away with just a smile and a compliment.
“I like what you’ve done with your nails,” he said as he handed her the money.
Bethany caught a glimpse of fingernails that were at least two inches long and painted in great detail.
“Let me see the full effect,” Cody said.
The teller punched in the time on his card and then spread both hands for him to see.
“That’s really something. Did you see this?”
This last was directed at Bethany so she leaned in for a closer look. “Amazing,” she said politely as the teller revealed the silhouette of the Chicago skyline under a full moon spread across her two hands.
“You did that yourself?” Cody asked as the woman took his money and made change.
“My son,” she replied. “He’s a tagger—got himself in trouble a couple of times so I told him, if you’re gonna paint, then make it useful.”
“He’s
