If you go to this “unclaimed baggage” place and can identify it, will they give it to you? Cian had pressed.
I don’t know, she’d replied.
We’ll have to take the chance. I’ll not leave any records of our travel. If you can but get into the same room with my crate, and say the spell, I can break free and use Voice to get us out of there. Jessica, lass, I’m sorry ’tis not a foolproof plan. You’ll have to improvise.
Improvisation hadn’t seemed such a daunting task back in Indianapolis. But then she’d been feeling weirdly invincible walking along beside him, and they’d both mistakenly thought the crate would be somewhere that she could see it, if not actually collect it.
She groaned, wishing she had a single ounce of Cian’s incredible powers of Voice to use on Ms. Erase-My-Face at the Special Items Claim Desk.
Then again, she mused, she wasn’t entirely certain she would want that kind of power, if given the opportunity. It would certainly be a test of just how good a person really was deep down.
Shaking her head, she pushed to her feet. She would kill a bit of time grabbing a cup off coffee and a croissant, then she would trudge back down the long silent corridor and try again.
Maybe by then the woman would be on break and somebody else would be working.
The woman was not only not on break by the time Jessi got back to the Special Items pickup window; she got an expression when she saw Jessi walking toward the desk again.
It was hard to pick up on it, unnoticeable as it was from more than a few feet away, but if Jessi peered really hard, she could see the faintest pucker of a muscle trying to contract between the woman’s brows.
Not good.
“Could you just bring it out here and let me see it?” Jessi asked the woman. “Just let me make sure it’s okay and it’s really here, then I swear I’ll go away and leave you alone. I’ll fill out your forms and go through the red tape. Just let me make sure it actually got here. I’m worried about it. Please? Could I please just see it?”
“There are no exceptions,” the woman said with a sniff.
“But I—”
“Which word didn’t you understand? It must have been the ‘no.’ You are so typical. People like you always think they should be exceptions.”
Jessi blinked. “People like me?” she echoed, stymied as to just what kind of “people” this woman thought she was.
“Yes. People like you.” The woman’s gaze dropped to her breasts. “I’m sure you’ve gotten used to manipulating men to get them to do whatever you want, but you can’t manipulate me. And no men work this desk, young lady, so don’t even think about trying to come back at another time. I’ve already warned my coworkers about you. No one is going to fall for your shenanigans. You’re going to have to follow the rules for a change, little missy, just like everyone else.”
Jessi blinked, rendered speechless by the unfair attack. She’d never used her looks to get anywhere in life, and if they’d ever helped her, she’d certainly not been aware of it.
Without another word, Stone-face inclined her pinched nose, moved away from the window, and made a big show of dismissing her. After a moment, she began typing busily away at a computer terminal with lethal-looking orange nails.
Jessi swallowed a little growl. Focus, she told herself, and not on Stone-face’s unwarranted nastiness. She is not your problem. Getting the mirror back is.
Backing up a few steps, she scanned the counter.
The mirror had to be nearby. It just had to. If one came to this window to claim special items, logic dictated the items would be stored close at hand for the purpose of expediency. One would present their ticket and the item would be brought to the counter. Which seemed to imply that the items had to be somewhere behind the counter.
She pushed up on tiptoes and glanced over the desk. Stone-face was still making a big show of ignoring her, which was just fine with Jessi. There were no crates stacked back there that she could see, and the little room, which was about twenty feet wide and maybe ten feet deep, didn’t look as if it was large enough for more than three or four employees to stand lined up at the desk.
On the left wall hung a gaudily framed, turbulent seascape, adjacent to a phone marked SECURITY. The rear wall was dotted by small paintings of ships at sea, interspersed with various official-looking certificates in utilitarian black frames.
Aha—there! On the right wall, a half-opened door revealed a long, brightly lit corridor stretching off into the distance.
“My crate is down that hallway, isn’t it?” Jessi exclaimed. She didn’t expect an answer from the woman. She knew she’d have to get it from her face.