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“Can you pull up the ticketing information? Where is she going?”
Trace shook his head and looked at me with a sad face, muttering ‘it’s your funeral.’ With a few keystrokes he was in.
“Looks like she went to the end of the line.”
“Where?”
“City of Angels, dude.”
I grunted in acknowledgement. That was fucking appropriate. Since she was an angel. An innocent girl I had to save from herself, the world, and most dangerous of all, her own father.
“When’s my flight?”
Trace sighed and shook his head.
“I’ll book it for you, but you are going to need to take a fucking computer. And put tracking on it.”
“Fine. Load up an iPad and put the apps on my phone.”
“Fucking finally,” Trace said as I slapped my phone into his hand. “All it took was a pretty face and a death wish,” he said with a sour look. Trace had sworn off women years ago. He was glued to his computer or on the road, riding way too fast to be safe.
If anyone had a death wish, it was him, not me.
But I refrained from mentioning any of that.
I waited while he set up an iPad and my phone, then grabbed my go bag. I always had one stashed in my desk with passport, and a basic change of clothes for just such an occasion. I could have gone home to pack but I didn’t want to wait.
I was on the next available flight to Los Angeles, a tight feeling in my chest for the entire trip. It was unfamiliar but I knew what it was. Fear. I knew it wouldn’t ease until I knew Anastasia was safe.
It wouldn’t ease until she was safe in my arms.
CHAPTER FOUR
Anastasia
I was barely inside the room before I had the hot, greasy sandwich unwrapped and halfway in my mouth. I had waited as long as I could to go out. Thankfully, there were plenty of fast food restaurants within a two block radius of the hotel I was staying in. One, in particular, I had really started to enjoy.
I really liked the hamburgers, something I had eaten a couple of times as a child, but not tasted again since. It was a far cry from the healthy, high end food they had served us at school, I thought as I nearly moaned in ecstasy. Filet mignon and steamed broccoli was a favorite of the chef. Perfectly cooked and seasoned lightly with a side of rice.
There was something to be said for greasy meat, and whatever the secret sauce was, and the tart, hot, little pickle in the center of the delicious monstrosity that was a Big Mac. I reached into the bag for a crispy French fry, rationalizing that like the pickle slice or thin bits of tomato that had nearly dissolved into the sauce, French fries were technically a vegetable.
I’d ordered a bit of everything, then extra of that, trying to keep my excursions to a minimum while I laid low and tried to figure out what to do next. I even had a milkshake, thanks to the young server who had quickly realized I had no clue what to get and loaded me up on my first journey into McDonalds the day before.
Just like that, I was addicted.
The milkshake was my absolute favorite. Frothy, sweet, and the perfect counterpoint to the salty fries and savory, greasy delight of the sandwich. They weren’t quite as good at Burger King, but the burgers were better, I mused as I snacked. I wondered idly if I could eat McDonalds or Burger King every day for the rest of my life, alternating day to day, or even getting both on the same day to get the best items from each menu.
I flopped to lay back on the lumpy bed and stared at the ceiling. A crack ran from one corner of the room, nearly to the other. It was an old building, with a faded but clearly once stylish lobby. I could almost imagine old Hollywood stars slinking through the hallways in their silks and satins, on their way to somewhere glamorous, or coming home to rest slightly bedraggled after a night on the town.
So far, I liked it here just fine.
If only I had a clue of what to do next.
I couldn’t simply live in this hotel and snack on fast food forever.
Dye my hair, maybe. Go for a Jean Harlow platinum bob. We weren’t exposed to much pop culture at school, but they did show us old movies every Saturday night. Sometimes the older girls got a double feature. I had seen many, many old movies over the years. Jean Harlow was a personal favorite of mine, as was Marylin Monroe.
I swallowed, suddenly feeling a lump in my throat. An ache of loneliness and home sickness washed over me. I immediately squashed it down.
