Flying to San Diego

{if investigateSailboat > 0}I followed Agent Gomez' instruction and ended up in front of McDonald's, then, just to prove a point, I bought lunch at the Subway nearby and returned to the shade of the car, lest my new, even paler, skin burn in the sun. I was diligently people watching, purely as a defensive measure, you see, and certainly not staring at the Alfonso Herrera look-alike, fantasizing about making him my rebound relationship after my {if husband==true}divorce{else}breakup{endif} from The Asshole.

Which is why, I dropped the last two bites worth of sandwich as I jumped at the sound of a hand slamming on the roof of the car, just behind my head. Startled nearly to the point of peeing myself, I fumbled to pull the knife from my bag as someone opened the door, which I'd forgotten to lock, and pulled me from the car by the still-damp waistband of my shorts and proceeded to slam me against the side of the car not-so-gently. As he let go of me, I drew the tiny kitchen knife from and spun around to face the second man to grab from behind in as many days.

Rather than confronting another mangy street thug like Miguel, the figure towering over me was looked like Eduardo Verástegui with prematurely salt-and-pepper hair earned in a demanding profession. As I nervously raised the tiny blade that I was increasingly sure wouldn't so much as pierce the rippling abs that my, apparently sex-deprived, mind began picturing under his fitted shirt, he casually quirked an eyebrow, as though flippantly dismissing my implied threat.

When he said, "You owe me for the trouble you've put me through."

I just nodded unconsciously, causing him to stare at me while my libido-addled brain caught up to the situation and I asked, "Agent Gomez?"

"Agent Javier Gómez. And you must be Alex Douglas."

"Yes, that's me," I said, lowering the knife and he took a step back, so as to not loom over me.

"I see that you are uninjured and able to walk on your own, which will make my job easier," he said, causing me to scowl. He continued, "So, please give me the knife and let me drive you to the airport," and it was obvious that he was speaking slowly and deliberately, so as to get the English right.

At this point, I considered the fact that I had left my suitcase and many belongings at he Parker's house along with all my sister's effects, so I said, "I need to go back to the house and collect my things."

Agent Gomez shook his had and said, "No. You are to leave immediately. I am authorized to detain you and escort you to the America, even if I must sit beside you on the plane."

Which, if true, and I figured it might be, given the way my boss sounded on the phone, meant that I really was out of options.

With a sigh, I said, "Fine. But I'm going to San Diego, California."

"San Diego is okay, just don't try to come back through Tijuana, we'll be watching for that," which was a good bit of advice, as I did want to come back and look for my sister.

"I will follow you to the airport. Get back on Highway One and follow it until you see Highway Ten to the airport."

"Fine," I said and slid back into the car, slowly resigning myself to a detour back to the United States.

The way to the airport was basically straight ahead, so there was no way that I could lose Agent Gomez and we reached it fairly quickly. Once there, I parked in what I thought was long-term parking and got out as Agent Gomez pulled up beside me.

"The car you are in is registered to Miguel Gutiérrez. Since you are not Miguel, I assume you are leaving it here for its rightful owner," he said and I wondered if there was supposed to be that much sarcasm in the statement or it was simply an effect of Gomez' English.

I felt weird arriving at the airport with nothing but my purse, sans knife, as Gomez had suggested. When I requested a flight to San Diego, I was told that there was one flight out tonight at 7:10 PM, which I booked.

To my great consternation, Gomez flashed his ID and was let into the airport to sit in the departure lounge, where we waited impatiently until the time of the flight and I finally boarded the plane.{else}The taxi picked me up from the the gate to Boca del Salado and whisked me down the road at questionable speed and through San Jose to the airport. Where I found a ticket waiting for me. Surprisingly, it was business class, rather than the economy class that I was used to, but the flight was shorter than the one from New York to Denver or Denver to here, so I didn't get to enjoy the luxury for long.{endif}

Once I landed in San Diego, I looked up the number to the local FBI office and called the front desk. Then, I waited as I was bounced from one automated service to another until I got a live person, named Dana, who told me that the agents I wanted would be in on Tuesday morning, since tomorrow was a holiday. I angrily thanked her and hung up.

With nothing better to do and not wanting to report my failure to the boss just yet, I headed off to find a restaurant with a bar.