Chasing Carly (Holiday Cove 3)

Apparently, it had been a slow morning.

I smiled to myself, wondering what that would be like. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had a slow day. The only reason I was able to escape to the airport was because Cindy, the lady who ran the gift shop next door had offered to watch the shop for a couple of hours. Cindy wasn’t an experienced barista, but I’d taught her the basics, and had been prepping my regulars—which was almost my entire clientele—that they were to take it easy on her when she filled in for me. I approached the coffee cart and cleared my throat to get the attention of the zoned out teen standing on the other side. At my prompt, she turned, pocketed her phone, and offered me a smile. “Sorry about that.”

I waved. “No worries. Can I get a medium house blend? Costa Rican, right?”

The girl nodded. I gave a smug smile of congratulations to myself for identifying the blend only by scent.

Then quickly reminded myself that I needed to get a life outside the walls of The Siren.

Moments later, coffee in hand, I wandered across the aisle and lowered myself into a vinyl chair. The minutes ticked by and I started getting antsy once a burst of people started walking by, luggage and rolling suitcases in tow. I stood up from my seat and popped up onto my tippy-toes, straining to see through the crowd. No sign of Alesha. Knowing our dad, he would have put her in first class, and as the crowd thinned, my heart rate spiked. Where is she?

I fired off a couple of text messages, trying to keep from sounding like a paranoid lunatic. Maybe she’d just gone to the restroom. Alesha was a full on girly-girl who compulsively checked her hairstyle, makeup, and took more selfies in a day than anyone should be allowed to take in a lifetime. It wasn’t far-fetched that she had found a mirror in which to primp. I rolled my eyes at the idea and checked my phone.

Nothing.

I tapped my finger impatiently against the glass screen, trying to resist the urge to dial her number. I’d give her five more minutes before going full-on bossy big sister.

Those five minutes evaporated and then another five after that.

“That’s it,” I hissed under my breath. I dialed her number and listened to it ring all the way through to her voicemail system. Dammit, Alesha, where are you?

My hands were tied. I could call my dad but there wasn’t much he’d be able to do to help me either. He was likely at his office, back to work considering his part done, he’d put her on the plane. Nope, I shook my head. I was on my own.

After another searching glance in a three sixty spin, I went to the customer service desk for the airline she flew in on.

There were a few people ahead of me in line, but things moved quickly, and within a few minutes I was standing in front of a polished woman in a dark blue pantsuit. I collapsed against the counter. “Hi, this is probably a strange request but I was wondering if there was any way you could track and make sure that a passenger was on a flight?”

The agent behind the counter raised an eyebrow, probably wondering if I was some kind of psychopath stalker. I was fairly used to this reaction.

My pink hair and nose piercing were usually what got people a little guarded. I’d recently gone from having a bleached-out pixie cut to long, blonde waves, thanks to the help of some pretty killer extensions. In the process of getting the hairpieces put in, I spotted a gorgeous hair model in one of the hair style brochures, and insisted that some of my newly added locks be dyed a faint pink and put in as highlights against the bleached blonde strands. The result was gorgeous and made me feel like a punk rock princess. Sadly, not everyone was a fan. And watching the woman’s expression across from me, I had the feeling she was not.

I leaned in and gave her a friendly smile. “See, the thing is, my baby sister is flying in today. Here’s her flight information,” I flipped my phone around to show her the displayed information. “I’ve been waiting and she hasn’t gotten off the plane yet. She is a little bit of a wild card, and I’m afraid that maybe she didn’t make it on the plane to begin with.”

The customer service agents alternated her cool glance from the phone in my hand to my pink hair and then back again. “I can run a search.”

“Thank you so much.” I found it helpful to be as polished and professional as possible—especially when dealing with people who had already assigned me some kind of label based on my appearance.