He shrugged. It would do and sometimes on the run, that was all you had. He imagined she’d be pulling out hair dye when they reached the Gunung Mulu National Park. It wasn’t a bad idea and it was all he had or, he amended, she had, at least until he developed some kind of rapport with her.
Erin Kelley Argon.
He had followed her flight halfway across the world and watched her survive despite the odds. Her path hadn’t been as simple to pick up as he’d first thought it would be. He’d been surprised at every turn. At times she’d shown gut intelligence for flight, as if she had done this at some other time in her life. Despite having help and advice from Mike Olesk, alone she had still gone through the steps with a polish that hadn’t left one misstep. That was evident in the fact that the Anarchists hadn’t expanded their search off the continental United States until shortly before he’d been deployed.
Yet nothing in the history he had gone over said she had ever had a reason to run, to hide. Until the murder, she’d led a normal life.
He was still in awe of those initial moments of her disappearance. Her flight had been brilliant, classic even. She’d put everything in place before running. She’d left San Diego and legally changed her name, dropped her last name while still in the country and in a matter of weeks had obtained a passport in her new name and country. And when she’d run, she hadn’t flown but instead had zigzagged north into Canada and taken a train across that country. But what he’d least expected was the creativity that followed. She’d jumped a container ship and taken a convoluted path before finally arriving in Eastern Europe. He had followed her journey as he had prepared for this assignment with an almost morbid fascination. She had kept him awake nights as he’d admired the ingenuity this woman had put into her escape.
A movement caught his eye.
She was at the ticket counter. He took a step forward, his gaze locked on her and then veered left. He had to transform from Josh Sedovich, CIA agent, to just Josh, tourist. He headed to the washroom and his own change of appearance.
* * *
ERIN TOOK A deep breath as she tried to portray a casual traveler. It wasn’t easy considering everything that had happened. This was the third flight since this morning’s tragedy. She was lucky there had been room on the flight to Miri, and now she hoped her luck would hold out again on the flight to the Gunung Mulu National Park and its legendary caves.
“Just made it.”
The voice behind her was male and too close.
She turned to face a shock of dark curly hair and brown eyes that sparkled with humor, yet something more serious seemed to lurk there. He was clean-shaven and attractive in a boyish kind of way. Still, she took an involuntary step back even as she took in his knee-length beige shorts and white T-shirt with Kuala Lumpur’s skyline emblazoned across it. Only an overly enthusiastic tourist would actually wear a T-shirt like that, never mind the socks. Yet in this world, her new world, nothing was a given. Nothing was as it appeared and no one was safe. It had been a harsh reminder, today’s lesson—short and brutal. She blinked back tears. She had to act as if everything was normal, as if she was no different than anyone else.
She offered him a half smile.
“You did,” she agreed as she assessed and discarded the man behind her. She’d never seen him before and his dress screamed tourist. He was no threat.
She turned away as the couple ahead of her moved from the counter and the clerk motioned her forward. She stepped up, dutifully provided her weight and that of her luggage, and within minutes was checked in.
“When do we board?” she asked.
The clerk swung around to where a clock face ticked the minutes. It was two o’clock. “Fifteen minutes,” he replied. “Through that gate.”
Outside the tarmac made this morning’s classroom feel cool. Heat shimmered and distorted the landscape. Even the low-lying shrubs that skirted the edges of the pavement appeared to be wilting in the heat. The distant hills rose in a scalloped frame of shadowed images that were fronted by patches of emerald-green forests and stretches of clay in hues of rust. Ahead of her stood a small prop plane with Malaysia emblazed in red and blue lettering on its narrow metal frame.
As they lined up to board the plane, Erin could feel every breath and her heart seemed to thump loud enough to be heard.
“It’s hot today, again. Odd,” she muttered.
“Excuse me?” the man with the so-uncool T-shirt asked.
“Oh, I... I’m sorry. I was talking to myself. Bad habit.”
“Traveling alone does it to one. Do it myself,” he said cheerfully.
“I suppose.” She tried to keep her attention on him. She eased her hold on her bags.
“A way to self-medicate,” he said. “Talking to oneself. At least, so I was told. Not sure what exactly one is medicating, but there it is—self-help. All I know.”
“Thanks,” she said with what she hoped was a smile. She pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and felt the sweat that she knew must be glistening on her forehead.
“It is unusually hot,” he added.
She offered a half smile and held back as he and the others inched forward, waiting for bags to be loaded.
“Next!”
A bag was thrown onto the scale.
A heavyset man followed the suitcase, stepping onto the scale.
It was a pattern—weigh luggage, weigh passenger.
“Small plane—they have to juggle the weight.” It was T-shirt man, as she’d begun to think of him.
“Next.”
“After you,” he said and accompanied his words with a slight sweep of his hand motioning her forward as they reached the front of the line.
“Thank you.” Her hand tightened on her bags and she blinked and blinked again. She bit her lip and her hand stopped shaking. She turned her attention to him, noticing that he was taller than she’d first thought, but his broad build gave the illusion of a shorter frame. As she’d determined before, he was good-looking, but more than likely a bit of a goof if his souvenir T-shirt, too-long shorts and tennis shoes with socks were any indication. Yet he wasn’t as boyish-looking as she had thought. In fact, he wasn’t boyish-looking at all. In the sunlight, his features were almost craggy in a roguish kind of way.
“No worries,” he said.
“No worries,” she repeated.
She glanced around as she took her seat. No additional passengers, just the same ones she’d already accounted for. There was no one who might pose a threat. The passengers included an older couple with a slight camera addiction, judging from the camera bags that dangled around both their necks. Both carried a few extra pounds that were not the well-toned form she assumed would be required of a hit man. She shuddered at the thought.
She’d come close, too close.
She turned her attention back to the occupants of the small plane. The other couple, both male, was obviously excited about the trip and even more obviously in love. Both were slight and short in stature, and effeminate, one more than the other. Definitely not hit