what she’d done.
Twenty minutes later, Brittany drove toward the airport, my untouched suitcase in the trunk. I sat silently with my phone close by.
“You seem nervous,” she observed.
“Just thinking.”
“About what?”
“Trust.”
Her grip tightened on the steering wheel.
At exactly six, my phone vibrated. Daniel confirmed airport law enforcement had received my report, secured the footage, and arranged for officers to meet us at a designated entrance.
Brittany remained unaware.
She was occupied sending messages whenever traffic stopped.
Before we entered the airport terminal, two uniformed
