The Stopover (The Miles High Club 1)

Why would she be selling a computer?

My mind begins to race as the two of them haggle over the price. The shop attendant wins in the end, and he hands over two hundred dollars. I watch her disappear out the door, and I wait for a moment and go to the desk.

“Hello.” I smile casually.

“Hey,” the overweight pawnshop man mutters as he counts his till up.

This may just be the craziest thing I’ve ever done, and I’ve done some pretty crazy things in my life. “I would like to buy that computer, please.”

He frowns as he glances up. “What one?”

I point to the one she just sold him.

“Nah, I haven’t cleaned it up yet. Go to the cabinet on the left, and find another one.”

“No, it has to be that one.”

“Not for sale yet. Come back in two days.”

If I come back in two days, it will be wiped. “Name your price,” I assert, feeling brave.

He stills, and his eyes come to mine. “A thousand dollars.” He raises an eyebrow in a silent dare.

“You just paid two hundred for it—are you crazy?” I stammer.

He shrugs and goes back to what he’s doing.

I stare at the computer on the desk, and I don’t know why, but my gut is telling me to buy it. “Damn it, okay, fine. As it is, right now, for a thousand dollars.”

He smiles a slimy grin. “Okay, honey.”

I hand him over my mother’s credit card, the one I have for emergencies . . . sorry, Mom.

I pay the thousand dollars and take the computer and walk out the front door.

My phone rings. Tristan’s name lights up the screen. Perfect timing.

“Hello,” I answer.

“Sorry I took so long to get back to you. That girl’s name is Lara Aspin, and get this—she used to work in accounts,” he blurts out.

“What does that mean?” I frown.

“She had access to the bank account details.”

“Oh my God, Tristan,” I whisper as I look around guiltily. “I just followed her on the train, and she sold her computer to a pawnshop, and I know this is crazy, but I just bought it for a thousand dollars.”

“What? You have it? You actually have her computer?”

I smile proudly. “Uh-huh.”

“Where are you? I’m coming to get you now.”

I walk through the airport with my heart in my throat. I’m pulling my small carry-on suitcase so that I look the part of a tired traveler . . . or perhaps I’m just trying to pretend to myself that this isn’t a bad idea.

Because I know it is; deep in my gut I know that I shouldn’t be playing this dangerous game with him. I should be sitting down and having a civilized grown-up conversation.

But desperation has brought out my weakness, and I’m hoping that tonight Jameson and I can talk . . . and he can apologize and beg for me to come back, and then I can punish him, and we can begin to get back on track.