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CHAPTER FIVE
Olivia watched the plane dip through the blue sky as they arrived at the Bucharest airport. She was relieved to be able to stretch her legs. The flight was long, and although Mr. Stanley had booked her in business class, she’d been unable to get any sleep. Her emotions were running high the moment she got on the plane in Boston. The mixture of excitement and anxiousness she felt about coming to her mother’s home country was too overwhelming to even think of sleep.
She yawned as she got off the plane. The airport looked like any other, with high ceilings, glass windows, and elevators running up and down between floors. People pushed trolleys, talked into phones, and rushed by in order to make their flight. Olivia got into one of the glass elevators that led to baggage claim, watching every sign closely, searching for instructions in English. Grumbling at how slow the elevator was, Olivia leaned against its glass wall and looked down below at the baggage claim area. Suddenly she spotted her bright yellow bag—in the hands of a woman with red hair. Wasn’t that the same woman who was engaging her in chit-chat in front of the lavatory on the plane?
“Wait, what?” She blinked. She wasn’t mistaken; she could spot her bright yellow bag anywhere. It had been a Christmas gift from her mother, and now it was in the hands of a stranger. She watched as the woman with red hair walked away from baggage claim, Olivia’s bag in hand.
“Hey! That’s my bag!” She banged against he the glass before realizing how pointless it was yelling through the elevator walls. “Move faster already!” she demanded, repeatedly pressing her hands on the down button. The elevator finally stopped, but by then, the woman had already disappeared.
Olivia did a little dance in front of the slowly opening elevator doors and squeezed through the crack the moment the doors were wide enough to fit through. She bolted past baggage claim, bumping into a person or two, and headed for customs. She caught the eyes of a tall, bulky customs agent, who was watching her with a surprised look on his face.
“Help!” Olivia shouted. “Someone stole my bag!”
***
Christian noted the odd looks people gave him when they saw his ancient van parked by the cabs at the airport. He ignored it with a smile, and nearly asked them if they needed a ride. He flipped the sign in his hand and stared at it for a moment, at the words printed on it: OLIVIA CARTER.
He wondered what the American lady would look like and how Elena was actually related to her. But then, everybody was a distant relative in Romania. It was custom to talk acquaintances up, even the ones you’d never met or had no real blood connection with.
“She said she’s going to be carrying a bright yellow bag,” Elena had told him, so he looked out for the bag.
The automatic glass doors to the airport opened again and a woman with red hair and a bright yellow bag stormed out. Christian straightened up and watched her.
Bright yellow bag. That had to be her. Why was she in such a hurry? He waved her over when he saw her moving in his direction. Holding the sign, he smiled at her.
“Are you Olivia? I’m here to pick you up.”
The woman peeked over her shoulder then back at the sign. She nodded, smiling, and hastily got into the van with her luggage in hand. Maybe it wasn’t custom to put bags into the trunk in America. He shrugged and closed the door behind her. But just as he stepped into the driver’s seat and started the smoky engine, he heard a woman’s voice yell outside the airport. Only moments later, a very similar-looking woman banged on the side of his van. She looked angry and was breathing hard. She had brown hair and panicked eyes. If not strikingly attractive, she was cute with her red huffing cheeks. She was maybe a few years older than he was. Her black coat had fallen off one of her shoulders, exposing a white wool sweater. Her fiery eyes met Christian’s.
“What the . . .” Christian muttered. He had his hand on the steering wheel when the woman rushed to his side, brows drawn tightly, face flushed. He quickly locked the doors to his van, just in time as the woman grabbed his driver side’s handle and pulled on it without success.
“Where do you think you’re going with my bag, you thieves!”
“Wait, what?” Christian blurted.
“My bag, you’re stealing my bag!” the woman yelled. Shaking his head, he gently tapped his foot on the gas paddle to rev the engine. The van slowly started rolling.
“Step aside, please,” he asked her. “No tours today,” he added, thinking maybe it was a crazy drink tourist. But the woman let out a sarcastic laugh.
“Unbelievable!” she shouted and jumped in front of his van, blocking the way.
“Get out of the way,” Christian shouted as he stepped hard on the brakes and the van screeched to a sudden stop.
“That woman right there,” the hysterical woman shouted, pointing at the red-haired woman. “She stole my bag!”
Confused, Christian stared into the crazy woman’s eyes, held captive for a moment by the green-brown color of them. Then he turned to the woman in the back of the van. The red-haired Olivia Carter shrugged at him with a frown.
“Sorry to ask you this,” Christian said, scratching his neck, “but do you have an ID on you?”
The woman nodded and pulled out a blue leather purse and fumbled through different items and cards in it. Then she smiled and held up an American driver’s license. Her thumb was half-covering the picture, but the name clearly stated Olivia Carter.
Christian faced the hysterical woman again.
“You . . . you stole my wallet too!” the crazy woman yelled. Christian let out an exasperated sigh. He let down the window a crack, just enough for the woman outside to hear him.
“I have a job to do, lady. Please move away from my van.” He was trying his best to remain calm, but the woman quickly fired angry words at him:
“Fine job you have there, stealing from people! Where’s the police!” the woman yelled and stepped, frantically looking around. This was his chance.
