Chapter Twenty-Four #2
“I’m not, but I’m sure Gordon is,” I said truthfully.
I gave myself a mental pat on the back, because I was finally learning to stay out of trouble. If Jensen wanted to pursue my idea, he could do it through Gordon, and I would have no part in it.
I hurried up the gangplank, ignoring Henrik’s muted protests, because boats didn’t just shoot away from docks. I’d once joined friends for a day trip on a canal boat, and even the smallest maneuver had taken us ages.
Except, oops. This crew proved a lot more adept, and we zoomed away from the dock faster than you could say, Watch out, Switzerland.
“Just to the other side of the river,” Jensen said, catching my wild-eyed expression. “Go on, then.”
I continued my spiel as we rounded a bend in the Thames. Minutes later, the boat bumped up against the dock in Greenwich. I chased Jensen off the boat in the same hurried manner as I’d boarded, desperately making suggestions and fielding questions.
Amazingly, he actually paid attention. He even eschewed his waiting limo (because who didn’t keep at least two limos in each city?) in favor of walking, and I tagged along, trying to keep pace with his long, clipped strides.
It was only when we were four blocks inland, approaching a row of swanky townhouses on a side street, that he dismissed me.
“Well, thank you, Miss Durand. A fascinating proposition.”
I pursed my lips, tempted to correct him. I wasn’t proposing anything — nothing that involved me anyway. I was just…er, insistently suggesting.
“I’ll let Gordon know if I decide to get in touch with such a foundation,” he finished.
“Just one thing,” I blurted.
Jensen waited impatiently.
I flashed my meekest smile. “I was just wondering… As a person who admires your success in the world…”
A lie, but heck. My soul was probably already on its way to the devil.
“…why go with a middleman in this instance? Given your oft-cited advice of avoiding them, I mean.”
Jensen flashed a smug smile that said how adorable I was for hoping to learn from him.
I tried not to gag as I waited.
“I was tempted, believe me.” He shot a glance Celeste’s way.
And oh, if I’d only had a body cam to report that to Gordon! That was proof — okay, strong circumstantial evidence — that she was working behind her boss’s back.
“But one has to consider whether certain middlemen might prove useful on a later occasion,” Jensen finished.
That meant the prospect of future collaboration with Gordon was worth more than the seventeen-million-dollar commission. Yikes. That said a hell of a lot about what my dear godfather was capable of.
My mind spun around that terrifying thought like a hyperactive bumblebee, and I slumped in defeat. What chance did a person like me have to do any good in the world, no matter how modestly?
“Goodnight,” Jensen called, disappearing into the building with his entourage — and Celeste, who left me with a sneer.
“Goodnight,” I echoed quietly.
A long minute later, I was still standing there, processing it all.
Henrik shuffled behind me. “All right. Enough saving the universe for one day. It’s time to say goodbye to London.”
There was nothing I wanted more. I turned away from the building and headed toward the river.
“Do you think Celeste will spend the night there?” I asked a few steps later.
Henrik made a face, no doubt reliving the night he’d spent with her.
“She’ll try.”
I walked on, thinking. Celeste was definitely operating behind Gordon’s back. But what was her endgame?
I stumbled over a cobblestone, then looked around. And oh. It was dark and quiet. Uncomfortably quiet.
A creepy feeling set into my bones, and I walked faster, eyeing every dimly lit cross-street. Greenwich wasn’t a bad neighborhood and I had Henrik with me, but neither was of much comfort.
Henrik hung back as I stormed on. “You’re not going back to Jensen’s boat, are you?”
“Absolutely not. There’s a stop for the public ferry by the Cutty Sark.” I pointed to the masts towering over the row of buildings closest to the water.
I knew, because I’d stopped by the tall ship on my last trip to London, revisiting a sight from a family vacation we’d taken when I was ten.
We had a lovely family photo of the occasion, showing my sister, my mother, my father, and me, all happy and blissfully unaware of what the future would bring.
Like the car accident that had killed my father, I couldn’t help thinking. Like my recent discovery that my doting godfather was deeply mired in criminal activity.
“Does the ferry run at this hour?” Henrik asked.
I picked up my pace. God, I hoped so.
Henrik pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed — Roux, I imagined.
Everything will be okay, I told myself. No reason to panic.
But the square beside the Cutty Sark was empty, and creepy strands of mist drifted over the cobblestones. Worse, my skin prickled in warning.
“Dammit, Roux…” Henrik muttered when no one answered.
I ran my finger down the posted boat schedule, noticing the chilly night air for the first time. Then I checked my watch.
The good news was the next stop was Docklands, where our friends waited.
The bad news was the next ferry was forty minutes away.
I swore and looked around. There was no reason to freak out and no sign of trouble.
Until footsteps sounded, and a shadow stretched from a streetlight behind us. I froze, watching a tall man approach calmly. Confidently. Quietly.
Henrik hissed, recognizing him.
“Szabo,” he grunted as his eyes burned bright red.
My knees wobbled, and I backed away.
Szabo and friends, I thought, when more figures separated from the shadows.
Henrik scanned the area in alarm. I did too, then pointed.
“There! The tunnel!”
A small pavilion marked the entrance to a century-old river crossing from Greenwich to the north bank of the Thames, where we’d started.
I took off at a sprint and charged into the pavilion, then down a wide flight of spiral stairs. Around and around, around and around. We were nearly four stories down when feet clanged over the steps above us.
I stopped, staring up in fear. Then Henrik shoved me. “Go! Get moving!”
I jumped down the last few stairs, then raced down the long, sloping tunnel.