“Yes, thank you. I’m sorry I was rude?—”
“Nonsense. You weren’t rude,” he said. “I imagine that wasn’t easy, giving all that up.”
Did he mean my career, or Jason, or both? “No, it wasn’t.”
When Elsie served dinner, he shut his computer and took the chair across the way from me, making it clear he’d like to have dinner together. And after two glasses of wine and the emotional rollercoaster I’d been on, I had no issue answering any question he asked.
And it felt good to talk about it. A much-needed release.
I told him about the theater shooting, my first encounter with Frey, and the moment I’d seen Jason get shot. I described slamming my fist into the neck of the man in the back of the van, fueled by furious revenge. The frozen pavement under my bare feet and the gun shaking in my grip when I’d escaped from Frey a second time. My heart hurt when I told him about the helicopter.
“But he went with you?” he asked.
“Yeah, that was when the decision was made to run. After the helicopter landed, we drove straight to your house.”
That wasn’t technically true.
We’d spent time getting sleep, and there were those twenty minutes beforehand in the car where Jason had put his hand down my pants...
I had to focus on something else because the memory flooded my face with heat. “Thank you for the flowers. Really, thank you for all of this.”
He smiled, pleased. “You’re more than welcome. It’s nice to be able to do something for him. He barely touches his bank account.”
I swallowed the last sip of my wine. He had access to Jason’s bank account?
Probably so he can put money in it.
The memory resurfaced of Caroline asking Jason how the hell he afforded the rent on his place.
The tall, German man was charming and a good listener, but my thoughts often strayed to his younger brother.
As time dragged on, my eyelids grew heavy. I wanted to fall asleep, only to be woken by him an hour later, telling me Jason had just called to tell him it was all over. That Frey was in custody, and he’d catch the next flight out to join us in Germany.
But Shawn’s phone never rang.
“It’s six a.m. in Munich,” he said. “I’ve got some things that need to be handled before we’re on the ground.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?”
He thought for a moment, then said something in German. Elsie appeared instantly, and there was a brief discussion between them. Then the flight attendant popped open a compartment and produced a large, white pillow. The discussion continued while she pulled the pillowcase off and closed the edge of it in the compartment, so it hung like a drape.
“Please stand here,Frau.” She gestured to a spot in front of the makeshift backdrop.
I did so, not understanding why until the cabin lights brightened and Shawn stood, holding his phone up.
“You aren’t allowed to smile in passport pictures,” he said.
That was easy enough. I didn’t feel much like smiling right now.
He took several pictures, a few without the flash, and when he lowered the phone, Elsie worked to return the pillowcase.
“Do you want something to help you sleep?” he asked. “When we land in Munich, it will be mid-afternoon.”
Sleep didn’t seem like it’d be a challenge. “No, thank you.”
He said something to his employee, prompting the attendant to go to the couches and tumble the backs down flat into a bed. Compartments opened and clicked closed. Sheets, blankets, and pillows were installed, and a rather comfortable-looking bed appeared from almost thin air.
He lowered into his seat at the desk, his back turned.
