“There are several airlines inside the main terminal.”
“I don’t fly commercial for this route.”
“Then your charter provider should have given you the correct facility.”
“They did.”
“What company?”
The woman looked directly at her.
“Skylark Executive Aviation.”
Vanessa almost laughed again.
They were standing at Skylark Executive Aviation.
“That’s us.”
“I know.”
Vanessa’s expression hardened.
“Your reservation name?”
The woman did not answer immediately.
Something in Vanessa interpreted the pause as weakness.
“There isn’t one, is there?”
The woman’s face remained perfectly composed.
Vanessa stepped closer.
“We get this sometimes.”
“What exactly?”
“People see the aircraft from the access road. They come over for photos.”
The woman looked at Violet One.
Then at Vanessa.
“You think I came here for a photograph?”
“I think you are somewhere you should not be.”
The woman lowered her sunglasses.
“Run the registration.”
Vanessa frowned.
“What?”
“The aircraft registration.”
“I know the aircraft registration.”
“Then run the ownership record.”
Something changed in Vanessa’s eyes.
Not recognition.
Annoyance.
“Ma’am, I do not have time for whatever game you’re playing.”
The woman glanced toward the open boarding stairs.
“Neither do I.”
She moved around Vanessa.
Vanessa grabbed her handbag strap.
The woman stopped instantly.
Not because Vanessa pulled particularly hard.
Because the touch changed the situation.
Her eyes dropped toward Vanessa’s hand.
Then lifted slowly.
“Take your hand off my bag.”
Vanessa did not.
“You need to leave.”
The woman’s voice remained quiet.
“You are touching my property.”
“And you are trespassing.”
“I am not.”
“Security can determine that.”
Vanessa pulled the bag away.
The gold chain slid from the woman’s fingers.
For one moment Vanessa held it.
Then, perhaps because three ramp workers were watching again and she needed to demonstrate control, she threw it onto the concrete.
The handbag struck the ground.
A lipstick, small leather notebook, and pair of wireless earbuds spilled out.
Marcus stopped walking.
Another employee whispered something.
The woman stared down at the scattered belongings.
Vanessa felt a small surge of victory.
“There.”
She pointed toward the terminal.
“Now leave.”
The woman bent slowly and picked up the notebook.
Vanessa reached toward her shoulder.
“I said—”
The woman stood.
“Do not touch me again.”
There was something different in her voice now.
Still controlled.
But harder.
Vanessa heard it.
Ignored it.
“Then stop making this difficult.”
She put one palm against the woman’s upper arm and shoved.
Not violently enough to knock her down.
Just enough to move her backward one step.
That second step never came.
The woman planted one boot firmly against the tarmac.
Vanessa withdrew her hand.
For perhaps three seconds, neither spoke.
Then the woman picked up her handbag.
Placed the notebook inside.
Recovered the earbuds.
Dusted the leather once with her palm.
And reached into the side pocket.
Vanessa smiled coldly.
“Calling someone?”