Eliza disembarked the train in Edinburgh. Her head felt fuzzy, her eyes burned from all the salt of her tears, and she had a hard time keeping them open. She dreaded spending the next two days milling about the Edinburgh airport before she caught her departing flight, but hoped that she might be able to catch a flight on standby.
She was so tired as she walked toward the taxi station, she didn't notice the armed officers approaching her until one of them stood directly in front of her. He was an elderly chap, likely in his fifties, but still fit as a fiddle, of medium build, with brown cop eyes.
What now?
"Good evening, miss, might I see some identification?" he asked, his voice more distinguished with less of a Scottish brogue.
"Sure." She dug in her purse and pulled out her passport.
