My eyes slide over to meet his as I tease him. I frequently remind him the only reason I'm back in Sherwood is because he couldn't crack a case by himself, so he had to call in a ringer. The truth is, that case was brutal and complicated. And as awkwardly as it began between us, I couldn't be happier with where it's brought us.
“All the more reason this is the perfect time for you to go,” he offers. “But I want you to promise you're actually going to relax while you're on the island.”
“I will,” I reassure him.
“I mean actually relax, Emma. I want you to enjoy your trip, not spend the whole time thinking about Greg or Leviathan. No work. No investigations. No digging your fingers in cases back home. This is your chance to really rest and recuperate. And I think your therapist would really like to hear you are finally following her prescription,” he tells me.
I roll my eyes as I pick my tablet up again so I can show him the website for the resort.
“Prescribing a vacation is still not medically sound,” I tell him.
“And yet, here you are ready to be a good patient and follow doctor's orders,” he comments. I shake my head and look down at the tablet, but Sam catches my chin and turns my face back to him. “I'm serious, Emma. Have fun. Be silly. Enjoy your time with your friends. Don't let anything follow you there."*****
Those words are still haunting me a little less than two weeks later when Sam drops me off at the airport for my flight. I turn to look at him, and he leans to rest his forehead against mine.
“You really didn't need to drive me all the way out here,” I tell him. “I could have driven myself.”
“I know,” he says. “But I'm about to spend an entire week without you. You better believe I'm going to squeeze every minute out of the time before you leave as I can.”
“Still,” I say. “It's a really long drive for you to bring me here and then just turn around and go back to Sherwood.”
“It's a pretty drive,” he shrugs. “Besides, nowhere is ever too far if it's for you.” He touches his lips to mine with a sweet kiss, and my resolve to leave almost disintegrates. Just before I tell him I can't go, he pulls back and nods toward the doors. “You better go. They're waiting for you.”
I kiss him one more time before getting out of the car and handing the redcap attendant the suitcase I'm checking. I sling my bag over my shoulder and grab my duffel bag, then wave to Sam one more time.
“I love you. I'll call you when I get there,” I tell him.
“You better,” he grins. “I don't like the idea of you being up in the air without me there to cushion you if you fall.”
“Not too late to join us,” I say, lifting my eyebrows at him. “Spontaneous vacation? You could buy a whole new wardrobe when you get to the island.”
My efforts to tempt Sam into throwing caution and responsibility to the wind and joining me fail. He blows me a kiss before pulling away from the curb and driving away. I watch him for a few seconds before following the attendant into the terminal. I've barely stepped inside when his words suddenly go from an annoying whisper in the back of my mind to a throbbing taunt.
“Don't let anything follow you there.”
My eyes sweep through the large space of the airport, digging into the crowds and scanning faces. I catch every movement, taking note of every detail of my surroundings. Paying attention keeps me in control. It makes sure I notice if something is out of place or about to become dangerous. But I can't always tell.
It's not always obvious. People want to think of dangers lurking in the shadows and hiding away, but sometimes the most treacherous encounters are in full view and glowing in the sunlight.
“Ma'am?”
The voice beside me makes me jump. I whip around toward it. The white-haired redcap attendant looks almost as startled as I was.
“Sorry,” I manage, pressing my hand to my heart. “What were you saying?”
“I was just pointing out those are the machines for you to check in for your flight,” he explains, nodding forward toward a bank of computers in front of me.
“Thank you,” I smile.
I dig through my bag for my ID and walk up to the nearest terminal. He sets my luggage beside me and holds up his hand to gesture to another representative.
“Jonathan here will help you the rest of the way with checking your bags,” he tells me.
I offer him a tip to thank him for his help before turning my focus on the man who has stepped up to my luggage. His uniform is neat and pristine; his blond hair cut precisely. He almost looks like he would fit in better in the military than at the airport. He stands by as I go through the steps of checking in for my flight, then puts tags on my suitcase and carries it away.
I check the time and realize I’m early. Way early. Eric and Bellamy probably won't be here for almost another hour. At least it gives me the time to get through security and maybe settle in with a snack to wait.
It's a relaxing thought, but it doesn't convince my brain to stop spinning. I still feel jumpy as I make my way toward the security checkpoint, unpleasant anticipation tingling in my fingertips and along my spine. As much as I try not to, I'm waiting for something to happen. I know Jonah and Anson are in prison. Checking the database gives me real-time updates as to their status, and as of last night, neither of them have been moved or had anything change. The prosecutor also assured me I would be given plenty of notice before anything
