Baggage Claim (Tru Exceptions - Christian Romantic Suspense Book 1)
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Authors: Amanda Tru
Baggage Claim
Written By
Amanda Tru
Copyright © 2011 by Amanda Tru
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any format, either written or electronic, without the express permission of the author or publisher. The only exception is brief quotations in printed reviews.
This novel is a work of fiction. Although places mentioned may be real, the names, characters, details, and events surrounding them are the product of the author's imagination and therefore used fictitiously. Any similarity to actual persons; living or dead, places or events is purely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or publisher.
All brand names or products mentioned in this book are trademarks, registered trademarks, or trade names and are the sole ownership of the respective holders. Amanda Tru is not associated with any products or brands mentioned in this book.
Acknowledgements:
Special thanks to the exceptional people in my life. To my husband, my parents, Flane and Connie Walker, and my sisters, Cami Hammon and Janna Frazier--whose help and faith made this book possible. To my friend, Samantha Bayarr, whose help and advice has been invaluable.
This, my first book, is dedicated to my parents. I knew that if I ever published a book, it would have to be dedicated to my parents, whose footsteps led me, prayers saved me, words encouraged me, dreams motivated me, and unwavering belief sustained me.
And to Him. Ephesians 3:20
"We are having some trouble locating your luggage, Miss Saunders."
"I realize that," Rachel replied dryly. "And that is why I'm here at the Lost Luggage counter."
Rachel's bad attitude and impatience didn't seem to register with the dark-haired attendant as she stared at the computer screen with a furrowed brow.
"You came from Helena, Montana. Had a layover in Cincinnati. But neither of those places has record of your suitcase."
This was taking forever! They had already been over all of this! Did this airline send people who couldn't cut it in other departments to man Lost Luggage? This was ridiculous!
She would say that she had the worst luck ever, but that wasn't necessarily the case. She was, after all, here in New York on an all-expense paid trip that she had won through a nationally syndicated talk show.
Rachel glanced nervously at the clock and the front door of the airport. The shuttle to her hotel was scheduled to leave at any time. If she missed this one, she had no idea when another one would be available.
"Look, Stacy," Rachel said, reading the attendant's name badge and trying to get her attention off her computer and on to Rachel's situation. "I'm in a big hurry. The shuttle to my hotel is leaving right now. Can you just have it delivered to me there when you find it?"
"Oh, yes!" Stacy brightened, as if this was a great idea that had never occurred to her. "What hotel are you staying at?"
"The InterContinental at Times Square."
"Great. Okay, let me just run in back and get a form for you to fill out." She quickly scurried through a door.
Seriously? Rachel wanted to beat her head against the counter. To make matters worse, Stacy was gone an exceptionally long time. After impatiently tapping her foot for five minutes and feeling adrenaline course through her veins, Rachel finally sighed and gave up. She knew she'd missed the shuttle. Now she'd have to hire a taxi to take her to the hotel. That pretty penny would definitely not be included in the "free trip."
To make matters worse, Rachel was not the only one waiting. Four other people, probably also with lost luggage, were in line behind her. They were growing increasingly impatient as well, whispering, shifting their weight back and forth between their feet, and sending accusatory glares in Rachel's direction. Rachel knew that, in their minds, she was at the head of the line, therefore any delay must be her fault.
Unconsciously, Rachel began impatiently drumming her fingers on the counter. How long was this going to take? This was her first time in New York, and she really didn't want to miss any of her group's planned activities.
"Excuse me," Rachel felt an insistent tap on her shoulder and turned around to find a strikingly handsome man in line behind her. Under the Wikipedia definition of 'tall, dark, and handsome,' Rachel was sure she'd find a picture of this man.
"I'm sure you drumming your fingers ad nauseam on a counter is considered highly entertaining for everyone back on the farm, but here in the real world, it is considered highly annoying to anyone with an IQ above 40."
Rachel felt her face warm up. She was embarrassed. She hadn't even realized she had been incessantly drumming her fingers. But, she was also angry. He could have been nice about it, but instead he'd just earned the title of "The-Rudest-Man-Rachel-Had-Ever-Met." In the battle between her embarrassment and anger, anger won.
Pointedly, Rachel looked the man over from his dark, wavy hair to his expensive shoes. "Well, sir, if you are the finest male specimen New York has to offer, I think I'll stick with those 'back on the farm.' I'll have to remember to mark in my travel guide that along with some of the tallest buildings, unsuspecting tourists can also encounter The Rudest Man."
"Sweetheart, if you are naive enough to think me intolerable, then you'd better get right back on a plane and go back to the farm where you belong, with or without your luggage."
Now, Rachel didn't feel she'd gain any points by clarifying that she lived on a ranch, not a farm. How did he even know she was from the country? She hated to think it was that obvious. She'd taken pains to dress stylishly, wear her medium blonde hair loose in a current style, and not look as obvious as one of the Beverly Hillbillies.
Rachel opened her mouth to tell the man exactly what she thought of him, but the airline attendant came back through the door with a paper in hand.
"Just fill this out, Miss Saunders, and we'll have your suitcase delivered as soon as possible.
Rachel began filling out the information. She mentally kicked herself for even checking that suitcase. She had wanted to wear something nice to the Broadway show and hadn't wanted to stuff it into a carry-on. But right now, rumpled clothes would be far better than none at all! Stacy went back to her computer, showing no inclination to help the other people in line.
"Excuse me," The Rudest Man said to the attendant. "Do you think you could help someone else while she's filling that out?
"I'm sorry, sir," Stacy replied. "Let me finish with her, then I'll help whoever is next."
There were obvious groans and snorts of indignation from the others in line. As terrible as it was, Rachel felt a surge of pleasure that the jerk was going to have to wait a little longer.
Finishing, Rachel handed the form back to Stacy. "I'm only in New York for the weekend. Exactly how long is it going to take to locate my suitcase?"
"I'm not sure," Stacy replied, her brow furrowed once again. "I have another guy on a computer back there trying to locate it. Let me just run back real quick and ask him what he thinks."
"No, no!" Rachel tried to protest. The rest of the people in line would probably just lynch her right there if, because of her, the attendant disappeared indefinitely a second time. "You don't need to…"
As Stacy started through the door, a man came through holding something black in his arms.
"That's my suitcase!" Rachel squealed.
The man, unsmiling, came around the counter, plopped the suitcase down beside Rachel and disappeared back the way he came.
"Thank you, George!" Stacy said, beaming at what she probably felt was her own success in locating the missing luggage.
Graciously overlooking the drama and thanking Stacy for her help, Rachel pulled out the handle to wheel the suitcase to the door.
"Maybe you should look inside to make sure everything is there," The Rudest Man offered. "You don't want any surprises."
Stacy bristled. "No one at this airline would ever open a suitcase without serious cause or permission. It's strictly against policy."
"I'm sure it is," The Rudest Man replied. "Nevertheless…"
"This is my suitcase. I'm sure it's fine." Rachel said, addressing Stacy and completely ignoring the man. She was not about to follow any advice from him, if just for the sake of principle. "I'm in a big hurry. I'll look it over when I get to the hotel. If there's anything wrong, trust me, I won't be shy about it."
Hurrying away before she received any more unwanted comments or advice, Rachel went through the sliding doors. She was relieved to see several classic New York yellow taxis parked at a curb. This country girl had never even ridden in a taxi before. Hopefully there wasn't some kind of unwritten protocol, or rules she didn’t know about hiring a taxi. Her education on taxis and New York in general consisted of what she had learned from TV shows.
As she walked toward the cars, one of the cabbies jumped out.
"Here, Miss," he said. "I'll stick that suitcase in the trunk for you and then you can tell me where you're headed.
Relieved, Rachel slid into the back seat, told the driver the name of her hotel, and prayed the ride wouldn't cost all of her spending money.
She had been so excited to be one of four lucky winners to win the contest and get to go to New York to see a filming of the sponsoring talk show, a Broadway production, and other tourist destinations. She had always had notoriously bad luck and hadn't won a single contest in her life. Yet, when she had actually won this free trip, she thought her luck had changed. But, after being randomly selected twice by security for full body screenings that seemed to include everything but a blood test, she had been seated on the airplane between two very large men, at least one of which spent the flight passing some very unfortunate and possibly toxic gas. Follow that up with lost luggage and a missed hotel shuttle, and suddenly her luck wasn't looking so good.
Thankfully, other than a few pleasantries, the cabbie wasn't overly talkative. Rachel was glued to the window, feeling very much like a country hick in the city for the first time. She did appreciate the few times the cabbie pointed out interesting landmarks. The ride took longer than Rachel expected, and, when the cab finally pulled up in front of the impressive InterContinental Times Square Hotel, she tried to appear very calm and collected as she handed the cabbie his wad of cash. How could people in New York afford to regularly hire taxis?
Rachel got out of the car, and the cabbie popped the trunk for her to get her suitcase. She lifted it out and stepped to the curb as the cab pulled away.
"Rachel!"
Surprised, Rachel looked up from battling to get her suitcase set on its wheels. Before she could even move, a dark-haired man ran up, grabbed her close, and kissed her passionately on the mouth. Rachel went completely numb, too shocked to even think. He finally pulled away, continuing to hold her close and grin at her like she was the absolute best thing in his life.
"Sweetheart! I'm so glad you're here!" he said joyfully.
Recognition hit. This wasn't a complete stranger. She knew this man! He was 'The Rudest Man' from the airport, only now, he obviously wasn't acting so disagreeable. Indignation rose in her. How dare he! Her hand itched to slap him full in the face. As if he realized her intention, he blocked her hand and held it firmly in his continued embrace.
Bending close and smiling, he whispered in her ear. "I'm an agent with Homeland Security. If you want both of us to survive the next ten seconds, you'll play along and do exactly as I say."
Rachel's brain was too shocked to put together any reasoning or coherent thought. Her first instinct was to not believe him. As his gaze briefly flickered downward, her own gaze followed. He was holding his badge pressed firmly between their clasped hands. However, it was the urgency in his eyes, and maybe even a trace of fear, that drew her certainty. This man was not lying.
Rachel’s thoughts fumbled with confusion and stark terror. Fortunately, her body seemed to take over, switching to a highly competent autopilot.
As the agent released his vise-like grip on her hands, Rachel smiled, reached up, and wrapped her arms around his neck. If her life depended on her playing this part, then she was going to aim for an Oscar.
Rachel was tall, but she had to stand on her tiptoes as she snuggled closer and kissed him lightly. Responding, he kissed her back, his fingers tangling in her long, wavy hair and his lips seeming to thoroughly savor hers.
Rachel was lucid enough to realize this agent was very accomplished in the art of kissing. She was left breathless and with heart palpitations, which of course she attributed entirely to the danger they were in.
"I'm taking you to dinner right now," the agent said, taking her suitcase in one hand and holding her hand in the other. "You can check into your hotel later."
He quickly urged her into a waiting taxi, sliding in beside her with her suitcase on his lap.
As he shut the door, the driver immediately pulled out and began weaving through traffic.
"We're being followed," the man said. "Sit close and act like we're still enjoying each other."
"Who is following us?" Rachel asked, fighting the urge to turn around and try to spot the enemy. She obediently scooted closer to him and inclined her head towards his.
Instead of answering her question, the agent wasted no time in propping the suitcase on his lap and unzipping it.
"What are you doing?" Rachel demanded. Still, the agent didn't answer
"That's my suitcase!" Even Rachel realized that she was starting to shriek. "Who are you? Would someone please tell me what's going on!"
"My name is Dawson Tate," the man replied simply and calmly as he lifted the lid of the suitcase.
Dawson reached in and moved aside a few of Rachel's clothes and undergarments. Rachel's protests died on her lips. Beneath the top layer of clothes was nestled a complicated looking contraption. The only part she could identify was what looked to be a blank display, like on a digital clock.
Shocked, Rachel stammered, "Is that a… a…?"
Understanding her unfinished question, Dawson answered calmly, "Yes, it's a bomb."
