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“I should have stuck with the gun,” I whisper behind my coffee cup.
“We still have time,” Danny whispers back. “He’ll get his suitcase and move to the back of the group. That’s when you go.”
I swallow, forcing the acid rising in my throat back down the way it came. “You should head back to the car. If I’m caught, I don’t want you around.”
“You’re not going to get caught,” Danny says firmly, his confidence clearly not as shaken as mine. “Look, he’s got his bag. Get ready. I’ll bet you dinner tonight he’ll start checking his phone in two seconds. You’ll be able to swing by and make the exchange without him looking up from Instagram.”
I nod, heart racing as I set my coffee down and get ready to slide off my stool.
As Scott drags his black roller suitcase off the carousel, he turns to one of his friends and laughs his donkey laugh, the one that showcases his wide, blunt teeth. I thought I had control of my anger, but seeing one of the men who attacked me and lied about it going about his life like he has every right to health and happiness makes me want to kill him with my bare hands.
Heat creeps up my throat to burn my cheeks and the backs of my eyes begin to pulse and throb.
The open air baggage claim is shaded and a cool breeze stirs the air, but I feel like I’m in the middle of one of those broiling Miami days, when I would emerge from my boxing class into one hundred degree weather with one hundred percent humidity feeling like a tomato in a frying pan, so overheated I was about to split my skin.
I literally see red, my vision blurring as Scott reaches the edge of his group and keeps walking, headed toward the far side of the room.
I’m so lost in my anger it takes a beat for panic to penetrate my rage.
“Where’s he going?” I ask, voice shaking. “Where’s he going?”
“The bathroom. I’m going after him.” Danny pulls his ball cap lower over his face and grabs the briefcase by my feet.
I snatch a handful of his tee shirt and hold tight. “No. You can’t. I told you, I won’t let you put yourself in danger.”
“I’m not going to be in danger,” Danny says, speaking low and fast. “I’m going to get this done and we’re going to get out of here. Go stand by the security phone. If I touch my hat on the way out of the bathroom, make the call. I’ll head out the right side of the baggage claim, giving the rest of them a wide berth and meet you at the car.”
I shake my head. “Danny, no, I—”
“There’s no time for a fight, Sam,” he says, pressing a kiss to my cheek before he whispers, “If we’re going to pull this off, we have to be prepared to improvise. See you in a few minutes.”
Before I can find words to stop him, he’s pried my fingers from his shirt and is headed toward the back of the baggage claim with the briefcase. He’s nearly half a foot taller than Scott, with much longer legs. By the time Scott reaches the curved hallway leading into the men’s bathroom, Danny is just a few steps behind.
Which is a good thing, because no sooner has he disappeared than the police officer with the German shepherd appears at the top of the elevator.
Instantly, my throat closes up with panic.
I spin to face the bar, wondering if the smell of the coke is strong enough to draw the dog into the bathroom. Just in case, I fumble my phone from the burlap purse slung across my body and stab out a quick text to Danny—
Dog back. In baggage claim. Don’t come out with bag.
—and hit send, only to be rewarded with a hum from the stool beside me. I glance down to see Danny’s phone resting on the metal seat.
It must have fallen out of his board shorts again.
Shit.
Shit, shit, shit.
Doing my best to appear calm and in control, I slide Danny’s phone into my purse along with mine, leave a few hundred colones by my coffee cup for the harried woman manning the counter alone, and start across the room to the emergency phone.
I keep my pace slow and even, ignoring the sweat beading on my upper lip and the hair rising on the back of my neck. The return of the policeman and his dog are bad news for calling in a report, too. I planned to make an anonymous tip and don’t want to be seen, but getting caught with the phone in my hand is far better than Danny getting caught with the drugs.
Stomach cramping and my pulse fluttering unhealthily in my ears, I lean against the concrete wall a few yards from the phone, gaze fixed on the exit to the bathroom, willing everything to be all right.
