The Last Flight by Julie Clark Page A

a flicker of hope. Dex was throwing her a lifeline, and she’d be stupid not to take it. “How?” she asked.
    â€œI have a place near here,” he said, “with a spare room you can crash in for a while. I help you, you help me.”
    â€œHow would I be helping you?”
    â€œYou’re exactly the kind of person my boss is looking for. Smart, and off everyone’s radar.”
    Eva wanted to say no, but she was broke. She had no place to live. No skills with which to get a job. She imagined herself slinging her duffel bag over her shoulder and heading down to Telegraph Avenue, positioning herself among the other panhandlers, begging for money. Or returning to St. Joseph’s, the weight of Sister Bernadette’s disappointment, Sister Catherine’s curt nod, as if she’d always known Eva would turn out like her mother.
    Eva had always been a survivor. But it was easy to be fearless when you’d already lost everything. “Tell me what I have to do.”
    * * *
    Dex’s voice pulled her back to the present. “A bunch of us are going into the city tonight to hear this new band, Arena, play. Come with us.”
    Eva shot him a sideways glance. “Pass.”
    â€œCome on, it’ll be fun. I’ll buy you Diet Cokes all night long. You need to get out more.”
    She studied the way his stubble was beginning to turn gray near his jawline. The way the ends of his hair curled up near his collar. She sometimes had to remind herself that Dex was her handler, not her friend. This was his attempt to keep an eye on her, not give her a fun night out. “I get out plenty,” she said.
    â€œReally?” he pressed. “When? With who?”
    â€œWhom,” she corrected.
    Dex gave a soft chuckle. “Don’t distract me with a grammar lesson, Professor.” He nudged her arm. “You need a social life. You’ve been doing this long enough to know that you don’t have to hide from the world. You’re allowed to have friends.”
    Eva watched a mother sitting under a tree with her son, reading a book. “I’d spend all my time trying to hide things from them. Trust me. This is easier.”
    But it was also what she preferred. She never had to explain anything, or answer the get-to-know-you questions that people always asked. Where did you grow up? Where did you go to college? What do you do now?
    â€œIs it easier, though?” Dex didn’t look convinced. “What’s that saying about work?”
    â€œI never met a dollar I didn’t like?”
    Dex grinned. “No, the one about all work and no play.”
    â€œAll work and no play makes Eva a rich girl,” she finished. When he didn’t laugh, she said, “Thanks for worrying about me. But really, I’m fine.” She pulled her coat tighter. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m meeting that new client in a half hour, and then I’m working a shift at the restaurant.”
    For years, Eva had worked two shifts a week at DuPree’s, an upscale steak and seafood restaurant in downtown Berkeley. The tips were great, and it allowed Eva to pay taxes, which kept her off the IRS’s radar.
    â€œI don’t know why you bother with the charade,” Dex said. “You don’t need the money.”
    â€œThe devil is in the details.” Eva rose from the bench. “Have fun tonight. Don’t do any drugs.”
    As she walked away, Eva glanced again at the playground. A small girl was standing at the top of the slide, frozen, fear plastered across her face. As tears began to fall, her cry grew into a loud wail that sent her mother running to help her. Eva watched the woman lift the little girl from the slide and carry her back to the bench where she’d been sitting, kissing the top of her daughter’s head as she walked.
    The girl’s cries echoed in Eva’s mind long after she closed her car door and drove