Feng Shui Assassin

  *

  Natalie Kelly sat in the business class section of the trans-atlantic flight, her laptop on her knee, earphones slung around her neck. She delved around in her bag for her medicine bottle, but gave up after five minutes of frustrated searching.

  The laptop pinged and Kelly deleted yet another email sent by her assistant at the London office. The subject line read like the other two deleted a few hours ago - Urgent. Detective needs to talk to you as soon as you touch down. The first email gave a telephone number, contact name and sketchy details of what the police, a Detective Morgan, wanted to discuss.

  Kelly suspected the urgent nature of the email was connected with the very reason she was on the trans-atlantic flight to New York in the first place.

  She was in the London office, enjoying a morning croissant and juice, when the overnight news report hit her desk. She was horrified with the name associated with the 'Walthamstow Warground' headline leader. The victim was Daniel MacDonald, one of the fellow trustees on the board of the Valentine Trust, and already the newsfeeds were hot digging up his past.

  Fear ruled her actions. With MacDonald's death, she knew that someone or something was killing off the trustees. It was a fight-or-flight response and she looked to escape London until it had all cleared over.

  She told the office she was off to research an article, basing herself in the tiny New York office whilst she was out here. A pretence that was treated with mock surprise. They thought her trip a flimsy excuse for a last minute Christmas shopping trip. In reality, she was scared and wanted to escape the Valentine Trust, London and England. Escape to another country to lie low and wait until whatever was happening to the other trustees led its course. Until it was all over.

  The seatbelt lights blinked and Kelly prepared herself for the landing. Seat belt buckled. Vodka downed. Tray in the upright position.

  The plane landed at JFK and taxied to a standstill. Kelly filed out of the plane along with the rest of business class.

  The line for passport control was long and slow, even in the express line of the privileged. Every person was being questioned in depth, and the queue was agitated even as Kelly joined its end.

  She looked about her and stared at a man who walked down the hall behind her. She barely caught his eyes as he looked away. It was not the shy downcast eyes of a flirty glance, but the furtive actions of someone who does not want to be caught. Kelly whipped around and stared straight ahead, her breath quickening and a cold line of sweat pricking her skin. Was she being followed? Had the troubles of London followed her to America? Her heartbeat quickened and her palms moistened and she prayed for this line to quicken and allow her to escape her follower.

  She raked her eyes left and right. Were there others following her? Were there murderers creeping up on her to stab her in the back? Kill her in some gruesome way?

  Nervously, her heart palpitating and pounding hard within her chest, she stepped into the gap before her as the line shortened. She looked around again, unable to shake the feeling that she was being watched.