You’re standing in my row, blocking my light and bothering my neighbor. That makes it my business. Derek’s smile was back, but it was tighter now, harder. Whatever, man. Just being friendly. He raised his glass towards Sarah. Think about it, beautiful. First class is a lot more comfortable than this. He walked away, but not before his hand brushed Sarah’s shoulder as he passed. She shuddered.
Thank you. she whispered to the man beside her. He was already pulling a worn paperback from his jacket pocket. Don’t thank me yet. Men like that don’t give up easy. An hour later, Sarah understood what he meant. Derek Lawson didn’t approach again. He didn’t have to. He had other ways of making his presence felt. First came the champagne.
A flight attendant appeared at row 14 holding a glass of golden bubbles like it was a peace offering. Compliments of the gentleman in 2A. He hopes you enjoy the rest of your flight. Sarah’s stomach turned. Send it back. The flight attendant’s smile faltered. Ma’am, it’s already been paid for.
I said send it back, she did. But 15 minutes later, there was another offering. A note, this time handwritten on first class stationary. I like a woman who plays hard to get. Makes the chase more interesting. Seat 2A is waiting whenever you’re ready to upgrade. DL. Sarah crumpled the note in her fist. Problem? The man beside her, Marcus.
She remembered he’d said his name was Marcus, had lowered his book. His pale eyes tracked her hand, the crumpled paper, the tension in her shoulders. It’s nothing. Didn’t look like nothing. Sarah hesitated. Every instinct told her to handle this herself. She’d been handling things herself for years. Since Eric left, since her father died, since the world made it clear that nobody was coming to save Sarah Mitchell, so she’d better learn to save herself.
But something about Marcus’ steady gaze made her reconsider. He sent me the note. The guy from before. What did it say? She handed it over, watched his eyes move across the words, watched his jaw tighten almost imperceptibly. This is harassment. I know what it is. What am I supposed to do about it? We’re 30,000 ft in the air.
Marcus folded the note carefully, tucked it into his jacket pocket. Mind if I keep this wipe us evidence? The word sent a chill down Sarah’s spine. Evidence for what? Before she could ask another flight attendant appeared. This one looked nervous. Apologetic. Ma’am, I’m sorry to bother you, but the gentleman in first class has made a request.
I don’t care what he’s requested. He’s asked if your daughter might like to come up and see the cockpit. He says he knows the captain personally and could arrange a special tour. Sarah was on her feet before she knew it. Her voice came out louder than she intended. Are you out of your mind? You want me to send my 8-year-old daughter to first class with a strange man? What is wrong with you people? The flight attendant blanched.
Ma’am, please. I was just relaying the message. Relay this. If that man comes near me or my daughter again, I’m filing a formal complaint the second we land. I’m a nurse. I’ve documented worse than this for assault cases. Tell him that. The flight attendant fled. Sarah sank back into her seat, shaking with anger and fear.
Lily stirred beside her, murmuring something in her sleep. Mommy, go back to sleep, sweetheart. Everything’s fine. But everything wasn’t fine, and it was about to get much worse. The next hour passed intense silence. Sarah couldn’t sleep, couldn’t read, couldn’t do anything except watch the aisle waiting for Derek Lawson to appear again.
