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2
I took a step back from the conveyor belt, and bumped into the person passing behind me.
“Sorry,” I gasped, whirling around to find the officer’s hand on my shoulder. He began guiding me away from the line. People were starting to look. Before I knew it, we were in a small area off to the side cordoned off by a folding screen. My head was spinning.
I didn’t understand.
Looks can be deceiving.
Who could’ve written that?
Of course, years of being subjugated to stupid pranks like this made my mind start searching for possible culprits—Elliot, for once, wasn’t one. He got a little pissy just before I left, but he’d hardly touched my duffel. Tara was out of the question. And Vivian …
She’d do something like this. But how?
I was pretty that sure when I saw her getting out of that car, she was returning from a few days at a rehab clinic. It didn’t make sense. Besides, it seemed out of her range to be making violent threats.
Among everyone I knew, it was outside of anyone’s range.
“Sit down here, please,” the officer said, pointing to a foldup chair. I did so without hesitation. He turned around to get something. A drug test. That’s what this was.
Great.
“I’m sober, I swear,” I said, biting down on my tongue as soon as the words slipped out. I swear, my voice whined again through my head. It sounded fucking pathetic—and guilty.
“We don’t go looking for your weed, but if we do find it, then we better be safe than sorry,” the officer said, as if reading my thoughts. He sounded like he was trying reassure me more than anything. “We administer drug tests for individuals who seem intoxicated. Earlier today some kid came through, eyes red, puffy. Turned out he just had gotten any sleep for the past two days. Go figure.”
I let out a nervous, polite laugh. Sure, that kid’s eyes must’ve been puffy—but I was betting he hadn’t had a fucking knife buried in his suitcase.
Go figure.
How did this happen?
“I’m going to ask you to place your finger here, please,” the officer said, holding out a thin contraption toward me.
All of a sudden, I felt my phone vibrate. Rather than following his order, my hand lashed toward my pocket. Taking it out, I glanced down at the screen. It was Elliot.
“I’m really sorry,” I said, more out of breath than I thought I was, “can I take this? It’s urgent.”
The officer nodded. “Quickly.”
I muttered a quiet “Thanks” and pressed the phone to my ear. My pulse had risen over the minutes, and I didn’t seem to realize how anxious I’d gotten until the officer brought me aside.
DO I LOOK FAMILIAR TO YOU?
What the fuck did that mean?
Who wrote that note?
“Kat?” his voice whispered from the other end of line. I could’ve sworn it sounded like he’d been crying, but that image didn’t sit right with his next words. “Look. I’m sorry for acting like a bitch, okay? We good?”
I couldn’t help rolling my eyes. He’d never change, would he?
“Ell, there’s a problem,” I said quickly, softly. Waiting a moment, I heard only silence from the other end of the line. “They found some stuff in my bag. I can’t really talk right now, but—”
“Wait. You’re not on the plane?”
For the third time in what felt like the past hour or so, I froze.
