“No, which is the other strange thing. He is listed as ‘unmarried’ and ‘without children’. But I do think it is unlikely a sex trafficker would use the corporate domain for email.” Athena closed the laptop. “It sounds very unusual, Hanna. If something looks too good to be true, it often is.”
Hanna thought of a vacation on the French Riviera, all expenses paid if she would watch the children while their parents enjoyed themselves.And if I’d help the kids’ father cheat on their mother. Definitely too good to be true.
“I guess so,” Hanna said, and moved on to another job search site.
When the screaming started at one in the morning, full of the confusion and terror of bold college boys who had sworn they weren’t afraid of ghosts, Hanna reconsidered. Her resume was in the email before the college boys’ car pulled out of the long driveway and into a less-haunted portion of the night.At least I can get more information about the position. It’s got to be better than staying on a haunted property.
* * *
One week,two international flights. Hanna’s internal clock had handed in its resignation and sulked off to monitor saner travel schedules. A too-sharp consciousness held her eyes open, one that left her unnaturally alert but brittle, as if she would shatter if she toppled. The naps she’d caught on the plane couldn’t counteract the exhaustion of the last seven days, valiant though those tiny sleeps were for their efforts.
I need a week of sleep, punctuated by hot food I can shovel into my face without thinking too hard about it.She adjusted the strap of her carry-on bag so it sat higher on her shoulder, then trekked toward the receiving area where friends or family awaited the passengers disembarking from the plane.
Manchester Airport seemed like any other airport she’d landed in, full of people and covered in a fine layer of well-traveled dirt. Her tired mind wandered off on that tangent as she walked. Where had all these specks of dust come from? What had they seen? French dirt, maybe even Riviera dirt, dirt that knew her secret shame and waited here to remind her of it…
She all but ran into the man in the neat grey suit, which would have been both appropriate and ironic, since he held a sign that read, “Hanna Sparrow”.
“Oh!” she said. “That’s me. Hanna Sparrow. I’m sorry. My brain’s a bit mushy after the flight.”
The man smiled at her, and she woke right up again. A bright smile, warm enough to reach his green eyes and light them up with humor. His dark hair, a deep enough brown to nearly count as black, and grey suit conspired to bring out the brightness of his eyes, and to brighten that smile as a plain setting might enhance a diamond’s sparkle.Am I staring like an idiot? Please tell me I’m not staring like an idiot.
“It’s all right,” he said, as he folded the posterboard sign in half once, then again. His accent was surprisingly American, where she’d anticipated British. “My brain always feels like mashed potatoes after a long flight. Can I take your bag, Miss Sparrow?”
“You don’t have to do that. I’m grateful enough that Mister Pierce sent someone to get me, and that you’ve taken the time to do so. You shouldn’t have to carry my bag on top of that.” She smiled back at him, hoping it looked smarter than she felt just then.
“I don’t mind. After all, I’ve only had the drive from the estate today. You’ve been on a plane for hours. Please.” He held out his hand. A strong hand, attached to a tall frame whose dimensions said he kept up with his exercise.
Relieved, she passed the bag over. “Thank you. I really do appreciate it. I just don’t like to assume people should cart around what I’ve packed.”
“You’re thoughtful, then. Here. This way. I’ve asked porters to fetch the rest of your bags from the baggage return. They’ll bring them to the car.” He gestured for her to follow.
She fell in behind him as he walked.He looks familiar. Why does he look familiar?Her travel-flattened brain refused to cough up the answer, or at least, the right answer. It thought the man might have driven for either one of the families she’d nannied for, or was a disgraced celebrity whose tastes ran towards the underaged. Neither made much sense, and neither would make for good conversation starters anyway.
“How long is the drive to the estate?” she asked instead.
“It’s just over an hour to Greenhill House. Then you can meet the whole, crazy bunch.” Through the doors, out to an area of curbside parking. Exclusive curbside parking, if the expensive cars lined up along the sidewalk were any indication. He indicated a silver Rolls-Royce. “This one, Miss Sparrow. Let me get the door for you.”
Her skirt was wrinkled from the plane. The lines of her blouse had seen better days, and her hair drooped flatter than Athena’s attempt at pancakes that morning.And here I am, climbing into a limousine as a chauffeur holds the door open for me. When my luggage gets here, we’ll drive off to a manor in the English countryside. This doesn’t even feel real.
The porters worked fast. No more than fifteen minutes saw them speeding out of the city towards the beautiful lands beyond. Hanna leaned her head against the window to watch as the blend of old brick architecture and modern facades shrunk, petered out, and disappeared in favor of green.If they’re going to murder me messily and bury me where no one will find the body, at least it will be in pretty grounds. Though I have to admit, this doesn’t seem like a sex trafficking operation.
“Nervous about your interview?” the chauffeur asked.
“I should be,” she answered. “The advertisement wasn’t very clear. We thought it might be sex trafficking, at first, but the people who called to set up the background and drug screenings seemed professional enough.”
He barked a laugh. “Ah. No. Not sex trafficking, Miss Sparrow. Mister Pierce isn’t known for his ability to write good advertising copy. Or any copy, for that matter.”
“Whatishe known for, then? The papers didn’t have much for me to read about him.”
“He likes his privacy that way. Mostly? He’s known for his ability with technology. Building it. Programming it. Pushing it to its limits.” He chuckled under his breath. “He’d tell you he’d like to be known for doing his best with whatever life throws at him. Especially lately.”
Hanna frowned. “I heard about his grandfather. That had to be hard on him. Is he the sort who’d mind if I expressed my condolences? Or would he rather just not talk about it?”
“He’d be all right with your condolences, I think.” The chauffeur glanced into the rearview mirror to flash her a comforting smile. “Like I said before, thoughtful.”
“Losing family is hard. He doesn’t need strangers blundering around on his grief, making it harder.” She returned the smile in the mirror. His manner made it so easy to want to smile. “Maybe I’m just too wiped out to be nervous. I’ve had two international flights this week, and a few really non-restful days in between.”
One of his eyebrows went up. “Two? Where were you before?”