Bedtime Story: The Night Train — Night 18
The Night Train
Copyright 2014 by Barbara Hinske
“Madam—we’re just finishing,” the clerk called as Rachel turned sharply on her heel and hurried to the entrance, leaning into the heavy door of the Police Directorate to force it open against the wind. One thing was certain: she would get out of Vienna as quickly as possible, and away from anyone sporting that tattoo.
Rachel hailed a taxi and settled into the back seat while the driver snaked through traffic on the way to her hotel. She leaned forward and rested her head in her hands, trying to massage away the headache raging between her temples.
As the taxi swung to the curb outside her hotel, she tapped on the glass separating them. “Do you speak English? Good,” she replied as he nodded. “I’m changing hotels. Would you wait here while I check out? You can keep your meter running—I won’t be a minute,” she shouted over her shoulder as she slammed the door.