You saw me before I saw you. I’m sure of it. In the airport, that day in August, you had that look in your eye, as though you wanted something from me, as though you’d wanted it for a long time. No one had ever looked at me like that before, with that kind of intensity. It unsettled me, surprised me I guess. Those blue, blue eyes, icy blue, looking back at me like I could warm them up. They’re pretty powerful, you know, those eyes, pretty beautiful too. Surely I’m not the first girl to be frozen up by them. You blinked quickly when I looked at you, and turned away, as if you were nervous…as if you felt guilty that you’d just been checking out some random girl in an airport. But I wasn’t random, was I? And it was a good act. I fell for it. It’s funny, but I always thought I could trust blue eyes. I thought they were safe somehow. All the good guys have baby blues. The dark eyes are for the villains…the Grim Reaper, the Joker, werewolves. All dark.

I’d been arguing with my parents. Mum hadn’t been happy about the dirty jeans I’d chosen for the flight, and Dad was just grumpy from lack of sleep. So, seeing you … I guess it was a welcome diversion from that. Is that how you’d planned it; wait until my parents had a go at me before you approached? I knew, even then, that you’d been watching me for a long time. There was a strange sort of familiarity about you. I’d seen you before … somewhere … but who were you? My eyes kept flitting back to your face.

You’d been with me since London. I’d seen you in the check-in line with your small carry-on bag of clothing. I’d seen you on the plane. And now, here you were, in Bangkok airport, sitting in the coffee shop where I was about to order coffee.

I ordered the coffee. I waited for it to be made. I fumbled with my money. I didn’t look back, but I knew you were still watching. It probably sounds weird, but I could just feel it. The tiny hairs on my neck bristled every time you blinked.

The cashier held onto the coffee cup until I had my money ready. Stan, his name badge said; strange I can remember that.

“We don’t take British coins,” Stan said, after he’d watched me count them out. “Don’t you have a note?”

“I used it in London.”

Stan shook his head and pulled the coffee back towards him. “There’s a cash machine next to duty free.”

I felt someone move up behind me. I turned.


From Stolen. Copyright © 2009 by Lucy Christopher. All rights reserved.