9 Chapter 9

Calgary, Canada, Two years and four months later

"Delivery for Trish Portman."

Tasha jumped in her office chair, smacking her knee against the unyielding wooden desk. She blinked several times, her heart pounding at the sound of an unknown male voice. She had been so absorbed in her task that she barely noticed the man approach. She silently chastised herself for her inattention. She knew better than to lose focus. She'd gotten sloppy lately, settled and content. She needed to get her edge back. With a small sigh, she turned toward the delivery person, curving her lips into a professionally cool smile.

The delivery person had certainly noticed Tasha, for at least a few minutes, before making himself known. Her pixie-like features, dark mahogany hair falling across her shoulders and back, and perfectly curved body were so flawless they'd enslaved him from first glance. Over the past few months, Tasha had begun to dress more like the other agents to garner sales. Thus, she was wearing a slim pencil skirt, tight button up top and red lipstick. She called the look slutty professional, but it paid for her small apartment.

Flicking the nameplate on her desk he said with a wide, flirtatious grin, "If I buy tickets to paradise from you, do you promise to fly with me?"

Tasha rolled her eyes and held out her hand for the slip. "Never heard that before," she said sweetly in flawless English. She darted a glance at the other two women seated in the travel agency office. They were watching with unabashed amused interest.

Signing the slip, she reached out to accept the package. It was a long, slim box, tied off with a red bow. She set it down and laughed as the delivery guy pretended to ogle her and walk dramatically into the doorframe at the same time as he tried to exit. He gave her a goofy wave and sauntered away.

"What is it, Trish?" Regan asked, perching daintily on the edge of Tasha's desk while peeking over Tasha's shoulder at the package.

Tasha shrugged and swatted at the other woman. "Stop polishing my desk with your butt!" she scolded giving Regan a small shove. "I'm sure it's nothing. We get so much promotional material around here, it's probably another sun destination poster or something. You know me, I sign us up for everything."

Regan stood, smoothing her skirt and grinned cheekily, "Such a little keener Ms. Portman!"

"Hey!" Tasha defended herself with a light laugh, "I'm just trying to draw in those commissions."

"And I do love you for it, sweetie-pie. We all benefit from your keeneristic tendencies, but some of us do have a life outside of our work," Regan said with a smile to take some of the sting out of her words and smoothed a manicured hand over her thick honey brown hair. "Hey, do you have any plans after work? It's Friday night, you know. You should come out with me and some friends later. You wouldn't even need to change, you look super hot just the way you are. We're going to have a few drinks at the Point and Feather and then maybe go dancing after."

The other girls at the agency thought Tasha was kind of boring, a home-body. They didn't get why she never went out with them, especially because she was an attractive twenty-three-year old woman that garnered her fair share of male attention. She shook her head at Regan and gave the same refusal she did every week. "I'm going to the gym tonight."

Regan laughed and patted Tasha on the head. Tasha swatted her hand away with a laugh. Despite an almost decade age difference, the two women had become friends. Regan was young at heart and Tasha had become more mature than her years.

"Don't you ever do anything on the weekends Trish?" Regan asked rolling her eyes because she already knew the answer. "Like, go on a date or something? You're too young to be hiding yourself away from life. With all that gorgeous dark hair and curvy little body, guys would die to go out with you. Or they would be if you got out once in a while!"

Tasha laughed and shook her head. "I like staying at home!" she protested. "Netflix and ice cream won't break my heart or give me a hangover."

Regan and Layla who was sitting a few desks over burst out laughing at the glare Tasha levelled at Regan. The one ladies' night she'd agreed to had finished with three bottles of wine, a drunken cab ride home and a very sick Sunday for Tasha. She'd also spent the entire miserable day terrified that, in her drunken state, she'd revealed too much about herself and her past. Luckily, when Monday had rolled around the other women had treated Tasha no differently except to tease her about her inability to hold her alcohol. Tasha had been more careful in accepting invitations out.

"See you Monday then, call if you change your mind Trishy dishy!" Regan said over her shoulder, tossing out the nickname she knew Tasha despised. She strolled over to her computer to shut it down for the weekend.

Tasha waved good-bye and went back to work, barely noticing when the other two finished and left the office. She completely forgot about the long white box with her name on it.

Two hours later, Tasha completed her work, shut down her computer, locked the office and made her way to the gym where she participated in a Jujitsu class. She didn't have a car and had time on the bus to think about Regan's standing offer of a night out. It had been years since she had been out for a night of fun "on the town" and a small part of her did miss it. She used to love dancing. And Regan was right, she was young, energetic and good-looking. Male clients noticed her all the time. Dinner invitations weren't exactly rare. Maybe she should consider Regan's offer and join her one of these Friday nights.

A dark image crossed her thoughts, sending a shiver of ice trickling down her spine. Fear chilled her, freezing her for a moment. Her fingers clenched around the white box in her lap, creasing the flimsy cardboard. Tasha had to force herself to relax and remember she was safe. She closed her eyes and breathed in and out.

It had been months since she felt even a hint of approaching danger. She learned to cover her tracks well. He wouldn't find her here in this bustling Canadian city where she could remain perfectly anonymous. Where she allowed not even a hint of her original accent to betray her heritage. Where she had so carefully erased every bit of her original self and created Trish Portman instead.

He couldn't possibly find her here.