“Yes, ma’am,” he said. “This is closer to work for me.”
By this time the baggage carousel had finally started to turn, and bags began sliding down the chute to thump against the metal wall before being carried gently around the bend. “Keenan, would you help me with the bags?” Rose asked.
“Sure,” he said.
They threaded through the crowd to a clear spot by the carousel. “For the record,” Rose said, “I don’t need help with the bags. I thought you’d need a break from the Inquisition Team.”
He shot her another one of those veiled, amused looks.
“You can blame Jack for that,” she said, purposefully not looking at him. “He used to make up the most ridiculous stories about what he did, where he’d been. Right before he started BUD/S he had Grannie convinced he’d washed out of the Navy and was working the shake machine at a Mickey D’s in Virginia Beach.”
An actual smile broke free. “How’s he doing?”
The fact that Keenan asked that question wasn’t a good sign. Jack and Keenan used to be best friends, in the weird way men were best friends—nicknames, beer, hours of Call of Duty and watching sports. But Keenan was in Turkey and Jack was back in Lancaster, and Rose had no idea what it all meant. “Well,” she said carefully, “he’s not here, and he won’t talk about why he left the Navy. All we know is that a mission went south, and another SEAL died.”
Keenan’s face closed off. “Any of these yours?”
“They’ve all got rainbow straps around them,” she said. “Those two coming, and another one just came out of the chute.”
“I’ve got this,” Keenan said when she reached for the first bag. “How many bags each?”
“One,” Rose said, distracted by her lagging email download. She was down to thirty percent battery life. “They’re pretty experienced travelers.”
More and more bags slid down and were claimed. The number of people waiting dwindled. Rose stood on tiptoe and peered around the room.
“What are you looking for?”
“The lost baggage room,” she said.
“You don’t know your bag isn’t going to come out,” he pointed out reasonably.
“It’s best to be prepared,” she said, her brain spinning up hours-long delays while she attempted to fill out paperwork that was probably in the Cyrillic alphabet. “Do you speak Turkish?”
Keenan nudged her with his elbow, then pointed. A bag trundled toward them, black, bound with a rainbow strap. “That’s mine,” she said.
He heaved it off the carousel. “Don’t go borrowing trouble, Jetlag.”
She waited with the luggage and her charges while Keenan brought the Land Rover around from the parking garage. He left it idling while he loaded the rear compartment. Grannie and her friends climbed into the backseat and buckled up. Rose used the running board to lift herself into the passenger seat, and looked at the dash. A GPS device was affixed to the windshield, flashing a route to their hotel, while a cell phone was charging in the console. As the luggage thumped into the rear compartment, she dug out her charging cable and adapter. When the driver’s door opened, she turned expectantly to face him, the phone in one hand, the cable and adapter in the other.
Keenan slid into the seat, and it hit her. She was going to spend the next two weeks in a vehicle that seemed enormous when she rented it but with a Navy SEAL sitting next to her now seemed small. Intimate.
Grannie, Florence, and Marian were conscientiously buckled into the backseat, knees pressed primly together, booted feet lined up in a row, travel backpacks on their laps. Keenan’s dark blue gaze held a knowing amusement.
They were all staring at her, waiting for her to snap out of her starry-eyed daze. She cleared her throat. “Is there an outlet available for me to keep my phone charged?”
“Sure,” he said, and unplugged his phone. “We’ll just have to share.”
Keenan merged into traffic as she jammed the charger into the outlet and plugged in her phone. The WiFi signal disappeared, leaving her with no connection at all. “Damn,” she muttered.
“Did you reboot it?” he asked.
“Yes. I’m supposed to have international access, but it doesn’t seem to be working. I’ll just wait for WiFi at the hotel,” she said brightly, and turned her attention to the scenery passing by.
Silence of the politely disbelieving variety greeted this optimistic statement.
“You do know we’re driving straight to Cappadocia,” Keenan said.
“I designed the itinerary,” she replied.