“Miranda,” he blurted, pulling out onto the street. “I can’t talk right now.”
“Have you talked to Astrid? She’s leaving. For Norway. Right now.”
“I know. I’m on my way to her apartment. I’m hoping to stop her.” He shot a look over his shoulder and changed lanes to get around a slow driver.
“She’s already on her way to the airport.”
“What? No.” Dammit. He was pointed in the wrong direction, and so much of downtown San Diego was one-way streets. “Are you sure?”
“She was just here. She came by to tell me she was giving her shares of Sterling to the baby.”
It was so much worse than he thought. That did not sound like the action of a woman who was planning on coming back. “I have to go to the airport.”
“Of course you do. That’s why I was calling.”
Despite the urgency of the moment, he had to laugh at the absurdity of it, and that his sister was just as invested in this as he was. “You’re sure you’re okay with Astrid? Did you two have a chance to talk things through?” He impatiently waited for the light to turn green, drumming his thumbs on the steering wheel. “I need to know that right now. Because I have a lot to tell Astrid as soon as I find her.”
“I can’t believe you would even ask me that. Would you really let my happiness stand in the way of yours?”
What kind of question was that? “Of course I would, Miranda. You are the one person who has always been there for me. I would do anything for you.”
“Okay, then. I want you to stop worrying about Delia and me and start worrying about yourself. You can’t make Delia happy if you’re not happy, and you sure as hell can’t make me happy either.”
Somewhere in his brain was that same bit of information, but he’d been unable to reach it before. “I hate it when you’re right.”
“I’m sorry it happens so often.”
“Very funny.” He was finally headed in the right direction, but he realized he’d forgotten one important detail. “Dammit. I was supposed to pick up Delia from school. Can you do it? I’ll come right over to your house when I’m done at the airport.”
“If you do it right, you should not be coming to see me after you find Astrid.”
“Miranda. Are you seriously trying to talk about sex right now? Because I’m not discussing that with you.”
“Don’t be an idiot. That’s all I ask. Now go.”
“Hold on, Miranda. One more thing. I found out the source of the email you got on Monday. It came from Andrew’s company up in Seattle.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I don’t either, but we’re going to need to sort it out. I think he’s trying to sabotage Sterling Enterprises. As to why, I do not know, but I think there’s a chance he was behind our problems with the Seaport project.”
“So Astrid was right all along? All the more reason you need to get to the airport.”
“Yeah, I know. I’m on it.” He bid goodbye to Miranda and focused on the road. As he ran through yellow lights and made a few risky maneuvers with his car, all he could think about was that he had no idea where to even start with Astrid. There were fifty different things going through his head, all of which started with a long string of apologies.
As he pulled up to the terminal, there were dozens of cars stacked up to drop off passengers. He’d stupidly whizzed right past the valet, and if he tried to circle back around, he could lose at least fifteen minutes. Maybe more.
He was just going to have to make a sacrifice—his car. He zipped around the thick of the traffic jam, then angled between two cars and squeezed into an impossibly tight spot. Not only was the security guard standing on the curb, he was watching him. Of course. Clay hopped out and started to run inside.
“Hey! You can’t leave your vehicle,” the officer said as he jogged past.
“Tow it if you want,” Clay shouted back. “I have to find the love of my life.” He kept going, not waiting for a response. Consequences were for later. He’d already suffered plenty from his own bullheadedness. Inside, Clay was confronted by the chaos of hundreds of travelers, dragging suitcases behind them and absentmindedly blocking traffic while they stared up at departure boards. He zigged and zagged around people, quickly scanning the baggage check-in lines. There was no sign of Astrid. Hope was evaporating with every second. If she was here, she was getting closer and closer to getting on her plane. And then it occurred to him—he was doing this all wrong.
He pulled out his cell phone and called her number. It rang. And rang. The buzz of the line was about to drive him nuts, when she finally answered. “Clay? What do you want?”
“Where are you?”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because I love you and I’m an idiot and we have to talk.”
“This is horrible timing, Clay. I’m at the airport. I’m about to get on a flight to Norway.”
“I know that. I read your letter. I’m at the airport, too.”
“I didn’t leave that for you so you’d follow me. I was just trying to explain myself. Are you crazy?”
“Probably. Actually, definitely. Just tell me where you are.”
“In line for security, about to turn over my passport.”
“Don’t move an inch. I’ll be there in one minute.”
Security had taken forever. Astrid was typically able to take the line for first class, but they had closed it today. Something about a shortage of agents. Astrid wasn’t about to complain. She was fine waiting as long as everyone else did, but it had dragged on and on forever. Her fellow passengers were all
