Runner-up 2

Bonner left the empty bags on the speckled floor, grabbed his own satchel and charged down the concourse.

He didn’t know where Genie had gone, but he was pretty damn sure it wasn’t the ladies room. He ran, scanning ahead for her strawberry-blond hair and the sparkly hot-pink halter top she’d been wearing. She was tall, about 5’10”, and Bonner wouldn’t have any trouble spotting her.

He toyed with the idea of alerting security. She had stolen the flash drive from him, right? That unbelievable fact both stunned and angered him. He decided against it, being in no mood to provide details or answer the questions of a third party.

Speaking of which, who the hell put her up to this? She had nothing with her but her purse, not even the keys to the car out there in the lot. So where was she headed now?

He stopped dead in his tracks. Falco. Had to be. They must have set this up -- that’s why he’d called Bonner’s home number this morning.

He flipped open his phone, noting there still was no text from Ernesto. He dialed the congressman’s number and was shocked when he answered.

“Falco, you moron!”

“What? Who is -- “

“It’s Bonner, you jerk. What’s going on?”

“Like I told you, I thought somebody was following me but -- “

“What’s going on between you and my wife?”

“Geeze Bonner. Nothing! I swear -- “

“Not like that. Look, I’m at LAX. She disappeared. She stole a flash drive from me with all the specs and visuals I need for Cabo. I can’t show up there without it and the freakin’ plane leaves in 40 minutes!”

“Don’t know what to tell ya. Got my own problems after last night. Your missing flash drive isn’t one of them.”

“You better be straight with me on this, Falco. That info means nothing to her -- she’s gotta be helping somebody who wants to screw up this deal -- and me along with it. Stupid broad’s got herself in over her head.”

He closed his phone, jammed it into his pocket, and headed for the nearest exit. Once outdoors he peered up and down along the row of terminals, still looking for Genie’s hair and brightly colored top.

There she was! Getting into a cab four terminals down. Bonner dashed to the first cab in the queue in front of him. He jumped into the back seat, dropped his satchel on the floor, pulled the door shut.

“Listen up, man. This cab -- yeah, yeah, the one just passing here on the left -- you gotta follow it. Now.”

The driver didn’t like the idea, Bonner could tell. He raised both hands off the steering wheel as if in surrender.

“Now, bud. $100 tip in it for you. Over and above.”

As the cab merged into the flow of traffic, Bonner hunched forward between the two front seats, eyes intent on Genie’s cab up ahead. Before they even completed the one-way circuit leading out of LAX, Bonner flipped open his phone, pressed the two buttons taking him to a new text message screen. He keyed in the following:

I’m right behind you. Surprise!

He wanted so badly to press the send button. But even more than that, he wanted to know where his wife was going and why.

Karen Dale works in a university admissions office. She describes herself as “a native Californian, book fan, foodie, and scrabble freak who meditates daily.”