enclosure, hands on her hips.
âLady said she was in a hurry, has to catch her plane.â The gravelly voice.
âAre you serious, Walker? Do you know how much trouble youâre in right now?â the woman snapped. âIâll take over now.â
The man shrugged, and eased his gut out of the doorway, and the woman stepped in. âSorry about that, miss.â
But it was too late. By now Grace was shaking almost uncontrollably. Hot tears blurred her vision. She put out a hand, feeling for the glass wall, trying to steady herself as the woman completed the pat down, up and down her legs, even her hips and crotch area.
âYou may step out,â the woman said.
Grace felt faint. The tears spilled down her cheeks. The glass wall seemed to tilt. She tried to take a step, but the next moment she crumpled to the floor, right on top of the yellow footprints, gasping for breath as loud, uncontrolled sobs shook her whole body.
Never! Never!
Sheâd made a vow sheâd never let anyone touch her like that ⦠ever again!
Chapter 5
The taxi headlights shone momentarily on the sign that said No Outlet as it turned into the darkened residential street on Chicagoâs north side, then crept slowly down the block and pulled to the curb in front of a tidy brick bungalow. âThis it, missy?â asked the driver in a heavy accentâIndian or Pakistani or somethingâpeering at the numbers under the porch light.
Grace croaked something she hoped sounded like yes and struggled to open the backseat door. She was so tired she could hardly function. A limo driver would have hopped to and opened it for her, but by the time her standby flight had finally landed at OâHare, well after midnight, the car Samantha had arranged from Lincoln Limo Service had long been deployed elsewhere. A week earlier, Grace wouldâve called Roger to come pick her up, to hold her in his arms while she poured out the humiliation sheâd suffered at the hands of the TSA ⦠but she couldnât very well do that now.
Her brother in Arlington Heights, a suburb northwest of the airport, mightâve picked her up if sheâd begged, but he drove for UPS and had to be at work by six a.m. It would really be out of his way to take her all the way to her neighborhood in north Chicago and back home again. Besides, he had a wife and two kids. Why ruin the night for him too?
When she finally managed to get out of the taxi, the driver had her bags out of the trunk and was dragging them up the short walk through two inches of snow. Grace followed, stepping carefully in her high-heeled boots, hoping there were no icy spots lurkingbeneath the unshoveled walk. Thatâs just what she needed, a nasty spill only a few yards from her front door.
Fumbling with her key ring, Grace got the door open and the man pulled the bags inside, snowy wheels and all, right over the mail that had accumulated on the floor beneath the mail slot. Almost in a stupor, she handed him her business credit card but he shook his head. âDonât take credit. You got cash?â
Gritting her teeth, Grace pulled the last two twenties from her wallet. The man grunted and headed out to his cab. She shut the door and locked it, sliding the safety chain into place, then turned and leaned against it with a moan, as if making sure it stayed shut, keeping everything and everybody out.
O Lord, O Lord ⦠what am I going to do?
The antique schoolhouse clock on the living room wall had stopped weeks ago, but her cell phone said 2:10. She needed sleep, though her stomach pinched with hunger. All sheâd had to eat at the airport was a banana muffin and a large paper cup of tea while waiting long hours for her name to be called. Traveling standby, sheâd had to ride in economy. They didnât even call it âcoachâ anymore. No perks. No hot meal. Not even peanuts.
Pushing away from the front door, Grace shrugged out of her
âLady said she was in a hurry, has to catch her plane.â The gravelly voice.
âAre you serious, Walker? Do you know how much trouble youâre in right now?â the woman snapped. âIâll take over now.â
The man shrugged, and eased his gut out of the doorway, and the woman stepped in. âSorry about that, miss.â
But it was too late. By now Grace was shaking almost uncontrollably. Hot tears blurred her vision. She put out a hand, feeling for the glass wall, trying to steady herself as the woman completed the pat down, up and down her legs, even her hips and crotch area.
âYou may step out,â the woman said.
Grace felt faint. The tears spilled down her cheeks. The glass wall seemed to tilt. She tried to take a step, but the next moment she crumpled to the floor, right on top of the yellow footprints, gasping for breath as loud, uncontrolled sobs shook her whole body.
Never! Never!
Sheâd made a vow sheâd never let anyone touch her like that ⦠ever again!
Chapter 5
The taxi headlights shone momentarily on the sign that said No Outlet as it turned into the darkened residential street on Chicagoâs north side, then crept slowly down the block and pulled to the curb in front of a tidy brick bungalow. âThis it, missy?â asked the driver in a heavy accentâIndian or Pakistani or somethingâpeering at the numbers under the porch light.
Grace croaked something she hoped sounded like yes and struggled to open the backseat door. She was so tired she could hardly function. A limo driver would have hopped to and opened it for her, but by the time her standby flight had finally landed at OâHare, well after midnight, the car Samantha had arranged from Lincoln Limo Service had long been deployed elsewhere. A week earlier, Grace wouldâve called Roger to come pick her up, to hold her in his arms while she poured out the humiliation sheâd suffered at the hands of the TSA ⦠but she couldnât very well do that now.
Her brother in Arlington Heights, a suburb northwest of the airport, mightâve picked her up if sheâd begged, but he drove for UPS and had to be at work by six a.m. It would really be out of his way to take her all the way to her neighborhood in north Chicago and back home again. Besides, he had a wife and two kids. Why ruin the night for him too?
When she finally managed to get out of the taxi, the driver had her bags out of the trunk and was dragging them up the short walk through two inches of snow. Grace followed, stepping carefully in her high-heeled boots, hoping there were no icy spots lurkingbeneath the unshoveled walk. Thatâs just what she needed, a nasty spill only a few yards from her front door.
Fumbling with her key ring, Grace got the door open and the man pulled the bags inside, snowy wheels and all, right over the mail that had accumulated on the floor beneath the mail slot. Almost in a stupor, she handed him her business credit card but he shook his head. âDonât take credit. You got cash?â
Gritting her teeth, Grace pulled the last two twenties from her wallet. The man grunted and headed out to his cab. She shut the door and locked it, sliding the safety chain into place, then turned and leaned against it with a moan, as if making sure it stayed shut, keeping everything and everybody out.
O Lord, O Lord ⦠what am I going to do?
The antique schoolhouse clock on the living room wall had stopped weeks ago, but her cell phone said 2:10. She needed sleep, though her stomach pinched with hunger. All sheâd had to eat at the airport was a banana muffin and a large paper cup of tea while waiting long hours for her name to be called. Traveling standby, sheâd had to ride in economy. They didnât even call it âcoachâ anymore. No perks. No hot meal. Not even peanuts.
Pushing away from the front door, Grace shrugged out of her
Similar Books
Delirium
Jeremy Reed
The Lovebird
Natalie Brown
SweetHeat
Jan Springer
Days of Rage
Brad Taylor
Until I Find You
John Irving
Songbook
Nick Hornby
The Book of Transformations
Mark Charan Newton
Camp
Elaine Wolf
The Hanging Garden
Patrick White