Free Twisted Shadows by Patricia; Potter Page B

profile visible as he smiled at the customer service agent.
    Again she shook her head, this time at her odd lapse into imagination. She must really be desperate for diversion from worry and fear to let herself be distracted by a face in a near-empty airport.
    â€œHey, pretty lady,” someone said in a low voice behind her.
    She spun around. A fellow passenger. Tall. Good-looking. Nonthreatening. He’d sat in the seat in front of her and had offered to help her with her carry-on bag.
    She tried a brief impersonal smile that usually put off unwanted Romeos.
    He apparently didn’t get the message. “You looked as if you were looking for someone,” he continued in the same low, intimate voice. “If someone isn’t meeting you, perhaps we could share a cab if you’re going downtown. It’s late, and you shouldn’t be alone.” He put an arm around her.
    She realized he was a little drunk.
    Sam knew her smile was fading. “No, thank you,” she said as she released the handle of her wheeled carry-on and faced him, instincts developed in self-defense class kicking in. “I’ve made arrangements.”
    It was a lie, but he seemed to accept it. “I’ll walk with you down to baggage claim, then.”
    She turned toward the stranger with the interesting face, but his attention had wandered from her to another woman deplaning.
    What had attracted her attention, anyway? He was probably just a pilot or a businessman who spent too many hours settling for a few casual words with acquaintances rather than conversation with friends or family. She’d met men like him when she’d done a lot of business traveling for her former employers. They made their living in the cockpits of airplanes or in first-class seats, and spent much of their time in hotels.
    Several of her coworkers used to speculate about people in airports, but she never had. But she’d never before been going to meet a mobster father and brother she’d never known existed.
    Any diversion was welcome. Even a drunken stranger.
    She started down the concourse, only too aware of the persistent man striding beside her. She didn’t want a scene, but she would stop in the next rest room and get rid of her unwanted companion.
    Staring straight ahead, she missed a foot in her way and stumbled. She caught herself, but in doing so, she stopped and glanced backward. The man who had so unexpectedly interested her was still there, one hand resting on the counter, the other holding a cell phone to his ear. And for a moment, he seemed to slump—just a little—as if he’d suffered a momentary lapse into weariness.
    His gray-green tweed sports coat was unbuttoned and had fallen open, his gray slacks and white shirt were rumpled and the knot of his tie had been pulled loose.
    What struck her, though, was the intensity of his vivid green eyes and the energy radiating from his body as he spoke into the phone. His foot tapped; his hand moved as he talked. His eyes, she thought, didn’t seem to miss anything, and now they seemed fastened on her.
    She turned back to see her companion charging ahead without her, evidently finally getting the message.
    She relaxed, realizing only then that her body had become stiff with tension. It wasn’t exactly fear she felt but something more like wariness. Caution.
    Was this how her mother had lived—never allowing herself an unguarded moment, always having to watch and suspect everything? Would she feel that way every time she encountered a stranger? She turned back to the concourse, her pace quickening as she passed closed stores and a bar with one lonely-looking patron.
    But as fast as she walked, others were keeping pace. Most people at this time of night were on automatic pilot, going their own way. She followed the signs leading to the baggage area and transportation. She would grab a cab there.
    As she reached the luggage area and saw all the people