Kyla Anderson was walking briskly, pushing her heavy trolley with as much force as she could muster. Her plane had landed just thirty minutes ago at airport. She was in a hurry. Anyone could deduce that from her gait. Her boyfriend was meant to meet her five hours ago, when she was supposed to arrive. But like all respectable travel lines, Pan Am's plane was four fucking hours late. What was it they had said? Oh yeah, "the flight to Los Angeles has been delayed blah-blah-blah". Fuckers! She looked around, trying to find her guy, to no avail. He had probably left after her call. She sighed and sat down on a chair, away from the commotion near the metal detectors. Some dude was being arrested.
Kyla was so frustrated that she didn't see the nondescript woman approach her. She sat down behind her and quietly slipped a minuscule package inside her purse. Kyla didn't notice her as she was staring at the ceiling, wondering why she had accepted this job. Her purse was lying in the chair next to her and didn't appear to have been moved. The mysterious woman silently got up and left. Kyla got up, took her cargo bag and purse and marched to the toilets. She hadn't had time to make herself beautiful before the plane took off. She spent some time in the loo and looked in the mirror. No, this wouldn't do at all. She liked to be pretty. She opened her bag and took out her makeup kit. When she was finished, she put it back inside her bag and admired her handy work.
She was superb. Long silky honey-blond hair that went to her hips, thin eyebrows, lustful green eyes, an elegant pointed nose, round lips that seemed to be locked in a constant pout and an angular face set on a long neck. She was 5"9, quite tall for a woman, had a 36B chest, a slim and somewhat muscular figure and legs that kept every guy's attention. She was, simply put, statuesque.
She could have been a model. In fact, she had been a model. She had started her career at nineteen. For a while, it was fun. The glamour, the money, the magazine covers, the clothes, the fame... But it was all too easy. She was content with her job when one day she received a phone call. She had acquired a certain reputation in the business and a well-respected cosmetics company had offered her a real job. Not one where she would simply have to be pretty. One where she would use all her talents. Including her head, for she had brains. She had finished in the top ten of her class in high school. Modeling had put her through college, earning her a degree in business management. The job was that of spokeswoman for the company. She had signed on a few months after turning twenty-seven. She looked in the mirror once again, smoothed a couple of wrinkles on her aqua miniskirt and green top and exited the toilets. She was walking towards the exit, feeling calmer. She was almost out when a hand clamped on her shoulder.
"Excuse me, ma'am. Could you follow us please?" The question came from a security officer. Another one was walking towards them. Kyla was puzzled. Why would they want to talk to her?
"What's wrong?"
"We need you to follow us to the post, ma'am."
"I'm not going anywhere until I know what this is all about." Her anger was steadily rising with each passing second. Who the fuck did these two jerks think they were?
"We have reasons to believe that you're carrying drugs."
Kyla couldn't stop herself. She laughed, only for a second, before covering her mouth and stifling her mirth. Drugs! These guys were dumb!
"Excuse me," she said, after regaining her composure.
"I think that's very unlikely. By all means, take me to the post."
They walked to an off-limit part of the airport and led her to a dull gray room. It had black tinted windows through which you couldn't see. There was a single table and three chairs, all metal. There was also a lone pole in a corner, like in those striptease clubs. She dropped her bag on the table and plopped down on a chair.
"Okay, what is it about?"
"We told you, drugs. We think you may be carrying some. We have to search your bags," one of the officers told her.
Kyla shook her head. "No way am I letting a guy go through my things. Sorry, but it's not gonna happen."
The officer sighed. "What about a woman?"
"That'd be okay."
"All right. Wait here," he said as he and his colleague departed.
She looked around. With nothing to do but wait, she tapped her fingers on the table. After five minutes the door opened. She looked up lazily.