the traitor, and he would be hard put to replace them. This was going to be expensive.
But his mind was too occupied for planning. Filled with filthy, sweating fantasies that made his crotch ache with eagerness.
Fantasies of fucking Tamara, over and over. While the whole world watched.
Andrea first noticed the curly-headed toddler curled up, thumb in her mouth and sleeping like an angel next to her dad, while passing out the ear phones in the first class cabin. She was the same size as Andrea’s two-year-old Liliana back home, currently being spoiled rotten by Grandma. These long runs out and back to Frankfurt were hard. By the time Andrea got back, she was longing for her Lili.
Funny, that the little cutie was already sacked out even before they took off. Usually, the noise and bustle of boarding revved kids up. If they calmed down at all, it was during that high altitude drone of midflight over the Pole. Portland-Frankfurt was a long flight for a toddler, but Andrea had tricks for the kids, over and beyond the usual crayons the airline provided. She’d be ready when this one woke up.
She beamed at the little girl and smiled at her father, a big, bearded dark man. “What a doll,” she enthused. “How old?”
The guy blinked a few times before answering. “Two,” he said.
“I have a two-year-old at home, too,” Andrea confided. “It’s a beautiful age. No matter what anybody says.”
The man smiled briefly and accepted the beer she’d just poured for him, and looking away as he sipped. Not the chatty type.
Andrea glanced at the kid every time she walked past 10A and 10B. She slept like a rock, in the exact same position, skinny legs curled up, thumb in mouth, arm flung over her head.
Hours later, the little girl had not moved. Her father gazed into space or read a newspaper. Andrea served him his meal. He ate it, folded his hands, dozed without ever touching or looking at the child.
Seven hours into the flight, Andrea served the man a drink and nodded at the little girl. “My, she certainly is a sound sleeper,” she commented. “You’re lucky, on such a long flight.”
The man’s eyes flicked up to hers and away. “Guess so,” he said.
“Let me know when she wakes up and I’ll get her some yogurt and juice,” she offered.
He mumbled something and looked back down into his paper.
After ten hours had gone by, Andrea began feeling nervous. She checked the passenger manifest, not even sure exactly why. John and Melissa Esposito. Well, of course, he was her father. What else?
Maybe the little girl had been dosed with antihistamines so that she’d sleep. Some parents did that when they wanted a hassle-free flight, but she was awfully small for that. Maybe she was a heavy sleeper, and this was her full night stretch. Maybe she was jetlagged from a previous leg of their trip. Or maybe Andrea should just mind her own beeswax.
Even so, an hour later when the man got up to stretch his legs and stroll to the bathroom, she slipped over to 10B, and took a peek.
Same position. The kid did not look good. In fact, Andrea was unpleasantly reminded of that bout of rotavirus that had landed Lili in the children’s hospital last Thanksgiving, an IV in her tiny arm. That pinched, pale look, the pale, wrinkled skin, sunken eyes, the dry, colorless lips. Dehydration. Her cheek was cold. Her hand felt like ice. Andrea smelled pee. She slid her hand down under the child’s body.
Yep. Wet, as was the seat beneath her. No wonder she was cold. At least that meant the dehydration couldn’t have gotten to a critical point yet. Still, Andrea was tempted to check her pulse. Just to see if she had one.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
The man’s low voice made her jump. Andrea spun around and faced him. “Ah. Sorry. I was just, ah, checking on your little girl—”
“That’s not necessary,” the man said.
“But she’s wet,” Andrea protested. “She’ll get chilled. And she—”
“Her mother will change her when we get to Frankfurt.”
To Frankfurt? Andrea stared at him. That was three hours from now. Four, by the time he disembarked, got through the lines and slogged through that enormous airport.
She glanced down at that poor little girl and flagrantly broke airline regulations with her next words. “If you give me a diaper and fresh clothes, I’ll change her for you,” she offered.
“No, thank you. Don’t worry about it,” the man growled.
“It’s no trouble. She really should wake up anyway, just so she can take in some fluids,” Andrea said earnestly. “The air in here can really dry out a little—”
“Miss?” The man leaned right up to her ear and murmured, “Why don’t you fuck off and leave us alone? That way, I won’t have to make a formal complaint to the airline about your inappropriate questions, and the fact that I found you touching my daughter’s private parts when I got back from the rest room. Hmm?”
Andrea jerked away. Her heart thudded, her face reddened. She scurried away, tears of shock and hurt indignation clogging her throat.
She conferred with her colleagues, but it was almost time to serve breakfast, it was a very full flight, everyone was waking up and stretching their legs, and none of the rest of the flight crew wanted to tangle with a crazy guy. Certainly not when they were all so close to landing the plane and letting the problem just walk away.
The next two and a half hours crawled by. Andrea ignored him, but she felt his eyes on her. Hot, nasty little pinpricks, burning into her neck. The little girl did not move, even during the shudder and roar of landing. When the doors opened, John Esposito tossed the child over his shoulder so that her head and arms dangled limply down his back, and waited in line to exit, impassive. He held only a briefcase.
A briefcase? He didn’t even have a baby bag. What kind of father took a two-year-old on a fifteen-hour flight with no bag? Not a book, not a toy, not a snack. No wet wipes, bottle, sippy cup, nose tissues. To say nothing of diapers, a change of clothing. Like, what the hell?
Something was off. Something was really wrong with this picture.
Her stomach fluttered. She stood with her colleagues as the passengers filed out, chirping “Buh-bye! Buh-bye!” like a trained parrot. She didn’t look at John Esposito as he walked by with his limp burden, but she peeked as he unfolded the stroller in the icy cold jetway and dropped the child in it. He did not fasten the little girl in. Or tuck any sort of cover over her.
He turned, looked. He’d known she’d look. He was ready with a triumphant smile that said, I won, you cowardly, ineffectual bitch.
“Buh-bye,” he taunted softly, with a waggle of his fingers.
He disappeared down the jetway. Andrea wrenched her faltering smile back into alignment and longed for Lili so hard it hurt.
She needed to grab her little girl. Hug her and snuggle her. Right now. But Lili was on the wrong side of the world. It was night back in Portland. She couldn’t even call. It would be
