The Heretic’s Treasure. Scott Mariani
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‘Stay with me. Take the next flight.’
‘You know I can’t do that.’
She reached up and gently caressed his cheek. ‘Take care.’
‘You too,’ he said.
‘When will I see you again?’
‘I don’t know.’ He turned to go, tearing himself away.
‘Call me,’ she said as he walked off. ‘Promise you’ll call me.’
He wanted to turn back and hold her again, be with her, take her somewhere where they could be alone. But he kept walking. Just before he pushed through the doors into the terminal building, he glanced back. She was standing there by her car, a small, forlorn figure in the distance. She waved. He sighed and entered the building.
Across the car park, two men had been sitting in a car watching the whole thing. The driver had been about to get out to follow their target inside the airport to find out what flight he was getting on.
Then the BMW had screeched up and the Paxton woman had jumped out. The man had ducked back inside the car, not wanting to be spotted.
He turned to his companion in the passenger seat, who was wearing a white foam neck brace. ‘What’s going on here? What the hell is she doing?’
The passenger looked grim as he watched Zara Paxton with her arms around the target. ‘Christ,’ he groaned. ‘She wasn’t supposed to get emotionally involved with him.’ He glanced at his colleague, wincing at the pain that the movement cost him. ‘You think she’s told him anything?’
The other one sighed. ‘I don’t know. We’d just better pray she isn’t going to fuck this whole thing up for us.’
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