The Last Flight by Julie Clark Read Free Book Online Page A

light flashed, Eva felt pressure building inside of her, anxious to get to the other side.
    Finally, the man removed a handful of change from his pocket, counting it carefully before dropping it into a tray, and successfully passed through.
    Eva shoved her coat and shoes into a tray and tossed her bag onto the conveyor belt, holding her breath as she took her turn. On the other side, she scurried to put everything back together again and grabbed her phone and duffel bag, searching the concourse for the pink sweater. But Claire had vanished.
    Eva felt the loss like a swift kick. Anything else she might try—buy another plane ticket, a bus ticket, a rental car—could be traced. It would lead the people tracking her straight to wherever she went.
    Eva scanned the crowds, slowing down in front of every restaurant, looking into every corner of every newsstand. Up ahead was a bank of monitors. She’d find the departing flight to San Juan and locate Claire at her gate. She couldn’t have gone far.
    But as Eva passed a bar, she saw the pink sweater, sharp against the gray window behind her. Claire, seated alone, nursing a drink, her eyes scanning the crowded terminal, alert, the way an animal scans the horizon for predators.
    Eva let her eyes slide past and kept walking. Claire wasn’t going to open up to a stranger asking if she could help. Eva planned to come at this sideways. She wandered into a bookstore and grabbed a magazine, flipping through it until Claire had time to settle.
    Across the way, she saw Claire lift the drink to her lips.
    Eva replaced the magazine, exited the shop, and walked toward the large plate glass windows overlooking the tarmac before veering left and heading toward Claire. When she was close enough, she lifted her silent phone to her ear and infused her voice with a touch of panic and fear, making sure to let her duffel bump against Claire’s stool as she sat.
    â€œWhy do they want to talk to me?” Eva asked, lowering herself next to Claire, who shifted sideways, irritation rolling off her in waves.
    â€œBut I only did what he asked me to,” Eva continued. “As soon as we learned it was terminal, we discussed it.” Eva covered her eyes with her hand and allowed the last six months to come crashing back. How much she’d risked. How much she’d lost. She needed all of that emotion now, to craft her story and pass it off as the truth. “He was my husband and I loved him,” she said, grabbing a napkin across the bar and pressing it against her eyes before Claire could notice there were no tears. “He was suffering, and I did what anyone would have done.” Eva paused, as if someone on the other end was talking, before finally saying, “Tell them I have nothing to say.” She yanked the phone away from her ear and stabbed at it, disconnecting her fake call and taking a deep, shuddering breath.
    Eva signaled the bartender and said, “Vodka tonic.” Then, more to herself than to Claire, she said, “I knew this would catch up to me. I just had no idea how quickly.” She took a sip of the drink the bartender deposited in front of her, while next to her, Claire shifted on her stool, away from Eva, the rigid set of her shoulders enough to silence most people. But Eva pinched her eyes closed and worked her hysteria a notch higher, letting her breath grow ragged and uneven. She tried to grab another napkin from a stack just beyond her reach, bumping her shoulder into Claire again, forcing Claire to hand her one.
    â€œThanks,” Eva said. “I’m sorry I’m such a mess, bursting into your quiet corner. It’s just…” She trailed off, as if gathering courage to say the words. “My husband recently passed away. Cancer.”
    Claire hesitated, still not looking at Eva, before finally saying, “I’m sorry.”
    â€œWe were together eighteen years. Since high school.” Eva blew her nose