Chapter 18
Derrick looked out the window and watched the scenery slide by.
He could have wished for a speedier journey, he supposed, but there was only so much a man could demand of the British rail system.
It was definitely faster—and less stressful—than driving.
Unfortunately, it gave him far too much time to think.
He imagined Samantha was enjoying the scenery.
She had been stunned by the camera, still a little gobsmacked by her newfound wealth, and rather pleased with her rendition of Lord Epworth’s hedge.
Her life, at least, was definitely looking up.
He wasn’t sure what his life looked like, but he didn’t think it was pretty.
He knew he should have checked his email or texted Peter to inquire about discreet business enquiries or called Sunny to thank her for saving his arm, but all he could do was stare out the window and wonder why it was his life was just not quite so interesting when it was missing a certain textile historian who would rather have been an artist.
No, interesting wasn’t the word.
Sweet was the word.
His phone cheeped at him. He sighed, then pulled it out of his pocket to check the text.
Call me.
He frowned. Oliver tended to send short, pointed messages.
The only reason he ever wanted to actually pick up the phone and engage in conversation was if there was something disastrous on the horizon.
Derrick sighed, then grabbed his pack and made for the end of the car where he might have a modicum of privacy.
He dialed Oliver, who picked up on half a ring.
“Hey, mate, you know those two lads?”
“Ah,” Derrick said, finding it difficult for some reason to switch gears back to spy mode, “which two lads?”
“The pair we saw in London.”
Derrick frowned. “Bald one and skinny one?”
“That’d be them.”
“Haven’t seen them. Have you?”
Oliver made thinking noises. “I haven’t, but I got to wondering why they looked familiar.”
Derrick felt something slide down his spine and it wasn’t a tingle of pleasure. “Did you? Fascinating.”
“Isn’t it,” Oliver said. “You know, it’s funny they should be following our Yank.”
“I almost hate to ask why.”
“I did a little snooping into their habits.”
Derrick was unsurprised. It was, after all, what they all did best. “And what did you find?”
“Well, this is the interesting part. They don’t deal in cloth.”
Derrick leaned back against the wall. “What do they deal in?”
“Jewels.”
“Odd,” Derrick conceded. “Maybe they were off on another assignment.”
“Possibly, but strange that they should be following our girl for a scrap of lace. It’s not like they would have been able to tell the difference between real lace and a Nottingham knockoff, what?”
Damnation, he never should have let her go off on her own. “I don’t suppose you’ve seen them recently, have you?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing.”
“I haven’t,” Derrick managed, “but I haven’t been looking all that hard.”
“They weren’t around when I delivered that embroidery yesterday. Peter didn’t see them, either. The other two lads were there, the ones shadowing us down by the Globe, but they left soon enough. The jewel thieves . . . don’t know where they are.”
“Hell,” Derrick said, blowing out his breath. “I sent her off hours ago.”
“And you can’t call her?” Oliver asked, sounding surprised.
“Her mobile is destroyed.”
“And you didn’t buy her a new one?”
“Is she too feeble to get to a Tesco?” he asked impatiently.
“I assumed she would manage. I did actually book her a hotel.” He dragged his hand through his hair.
“I’ll call the desk and get her. Perhaps she can at least stay put until I get there.
” He could hardly believe where his thoughts were taking him. “She can’t be carrying something else.”
“Stranger things have happened.”
“I’m finished with strange things.”
Oliver was silent for a moment or two. “Think she knows?”
“What?” Derrick demanded. “That she’s carrying something else? Impossible.”
“If you say so.”
“The woman is beyond innocent and she’s no thief. Where are you?”
“In London, on the way to your garage.”
“You don’t have a key to the Vanquish.”
“Don’t need a key, mate.”
Derrick rolled his eyes. “One of these days . . .”
“So says you always. Can you get yourself to Leeds? I’ll have Rufus pick you up at the station.”
“Why is Rufus anywhere near Leeds?”
“I had a feeling he should be.”
Derrick rubbed his free hand over his face. “I’m about five minutes from Doncaster and it’ll take me another half hour’s train time to get back up there. I’ll get there as quickly as Her Maj’s rails will allow.”
“Where’re we headed?”
“Ambleside.”
“I’ll find you.”
Derrick imagined he would. “Thank you.”
Oliver made some noise of dismissal, though Derrick wasn’t entirely sure there wasn’t some bit of censure as well for a boss who couldn’t keep his mind on his business.
Nay, Oliver wouldn’t. It was his own conscience damning him. He’d kept an eye out for potential ne’er-do-wells, true, but not as close a one as he should have. He’d been convinced that they had been after the lace. More the fool he, obviously.
He considered rail lines and schedules and routes, then found the number for Samantha’s hotel.
He waited to ring them until the next station in spite of what that cost him because he simply didn’t want to be overheard.
He hopped off the train, then dialed as he was walking to catch one going the other way.
He spoke briefly to the concierge and found that Miss Drummond wasn’t answering her phone and they weren’t at liberty to tell him anything more.
It was almost three. If it took him half an hour to get to Leeds, then another three hours to get to the Lake District . . .
He could only hope Samantha would have the good sense to look over her shoulder.
Or lock her door.
· · ·
Rufus was waiting for him at the station and did his best to break every speed limit on his way north and west. Derrick had nothing to do but curse, which he did, just to keep himself awake.
Rufus seemed content to make do with the Beeb on the radio, which Derrick supposed he might have appreciated at another time.
If he had let her walk into danger . . .
“Almost there.”
Derrick looked at Rufus. “I should have been more careful.”
Rufus glanced at him. “Derrick, my lad, she’s an adult. She won’t do anything foolish.”
“The woman is a girl who I’m sure thinks everything bad that can possibly happen to a person is limited by what’s found in a Nancy Drew novel.”
Rufus smiled. “You booked her a decent hotel, didn’t you?”
“Of course.”
“With decent security?”
“I don’t think it matters,” Derrick said grimly. “We aren’t dealing with nice people here.”
“I’m not sure we ever deal with nice people, Derrick.”
“Aye, but that’s you and me and the lads,” Derrick said. “This is a brainless Yank we’re talking about.”
Rufus shot him a look. “Brainless?”
Derrick rubbed his hands over his face. “Very well, she isn’t brainless.
Her marks at university were embarrassingly high—I checked a couple of hours ago because I had to do something—which left her parents not needing to pay a bloody cent for anything she did and if I ever see the pair of them, I’ll have something to say about not having taken that money not spent and setting it aside for her use, but that is perhaps not a useful thought at the moment. ”
“Perhaps not.”
Derrick pursed his lips. “The point is, I don’t think she could protect herself from a pensioner poaching her pocket money, much less a lad with more serious business on his mind.” He shook his head. “I should have taught her something before I turned her loose.”
“And how were you to know?”
“Because I am supposed to know,” Derrick said. He didn’t add that part of the reason he’d put her on that damned train so quickly was because he hadn’t wanted to have to look at her fresh-faced self a moment longer.
He would have kissed her otherwise.
“I want a Scottish lass.”
The words hung out there in the car, innocent and unassuming, for far too long.
“Well,” Rufus said finally, “that seems reasonable.”
Derrick looked at him. “I don’t want to get involved with her.”
“Never said you had to, did I?”
“But it will be my fault if she’s harmed.”
Rufus glanced at him. “Then you’d best rescue her, hadn’t you?”
Derrick didn’t say anything, because there was nothing to say.
He had allowed a defenseless woman to go off into the wilds of England alone because he’d been so unsettled by her that he hadn’t provided her with the rudimentary security he would have provided for a perfect stranger in similar circumstances.
He hoped she didn’t pay a steep price for that neglect.
He called Oliver. He was put on speakerphone, which allowed him to quickly determine exactly the rpm rate at which his beloved Vanquish was traveling.
“What gear?” he demanded. “Fourth or fifth?”
“I’m not sure.”
“You ruddy bastard.”
Oliver only laughed, which led Derrick to believe he was going far faster than he should have been.
“I don’t imagine we have equipment,” Derrick said, not daring to hope that might be case.
“Usual setup,” Oliver said. “All on our very own supersecret frequency.”
“You’re chatty.”
“Mate, I’m doing a hundred, not a sheep in sight, and Peter’s sitting here sweeping for cameras and bobbies. What’s not to love?”
“My car wrapped around a . . .” Derrick shook his head. He couldn’t think of anything dire enough. “Be careful with yourselves.”
“Touching, Derrick, truly. We’re less than an hour out, but I’ll have to slow down soon. We’ll be there by dark. Cheers.”
That was too long, but there was nothing to be done about it. He wasn’t going to be there any sooner himself.
He only hoped that wouldn’t be too late.
· · ·