13. Grace
Grace
Garrett had been gone for almost an hour, and I was still standing at the window waiting for him.
Tower Bridge rose in the distance, its towers beautiful against a sky growing grayer with every minute.
The Thames crawled below it, boats cutting white trails through the water.
Somewhere out there, Garrett was “scouting” the Tower of London as if we were about to infiltrate a military compound instead of visiting a tourist attraction.
‘Shouldn’t be more than two hours,’ he’d said.
Glancing at the clock on the little desk in the corner, I let out a sigh. He’d been gone for fifty-three minutes. The whole city stretched out in front of me. It was right there. I could practically touch it all.
I turned away and paced the length of the suite.
Past the purple sofa where Garrett had slept last night.
Past the partial wall separating the sitting area from the bed.
When I reached the bathroom door, I turned around.
The suite was gorgeous. The view was spectacular.
And I was trapped in it like a bird in a gilded cage.
This is ridiculous.
I grabbed my phone, opened my book, and flopped onto the bed. But all I managed was to read the same paragraph three times without absorbing a single word. I set it down. Picked up the room service menu, put it back. Walked to the window. Walked away.
Garrett was the one seeing what I wanted to see.
He’s just being careful, Grace. Two men came to your café. Someone was in your apartment. This is real.
But the part of my brain that sounded suspiciously like Didi when I started doubting myself about anything pointed out that it was broad daylight. That I’d be in public the entire time. That those men had shown up in Michigan, which was thousands of miles and an ocean from where I stood right now.
If she were here, she would say that life was too short to not see London.
I pulled up a map on my phone, searching for a target.
For half a second, I considered the Tower of London.
I could find Garrett and be like one of those feisty heroines from my books and tell him I was a grown woman who didn’t need his rules.
But the look on his face when I’d pushed past him at the Tube station flashed through my mind.
He’d be furious. He’d probably carry me back to the hotel over his shoulder like some kind of medieval knight.
Actually, being carried over his shoulder might not be the worst?—
Stop it, Grace.
I panned around the map some more until I found the Gherkin. The distinctive pickle-shaped skyscraper I’d seen in a hundred photos of London was a ten-minute walk northwest.
Just a quick walk. Stay in public areas. Be back so quick he’d never know I’d left.
The thought pulled a weight off my shoulders.
I could walk toward the Gherkin, get some fresh air, maybe find a coffee shop and learn how London did it.
I’d be surrounded by people the entire time.
I grabbed my purse—leaving the egg secured in the room safe, because I wasn’t that reckless—and headed for the door.
When the afternoon air hit my face, a voice in my head yelled, ‘Freedom!’
I had an hour at the most, so I headed north out of the hotel, in the opposite direction from the Tower.
The streets were busy in a way Brenton wasn’t.
I fell into step with the flow, letting the city carry me.
This. This was what I’d come for. No one smiled at me, no one paid me any attention.
But I was with them. Had Didi ever walked this street?
While I was staring up at the railway as I crossed underneath it, a man in a dark coat heading in the other direction ran into me. He hit my shoulder with his and kept walking, and I spun to watch him go. Not even an apology.
What a jerk!
I shook it off and resumed my walk, reminding myself of where I was and how few days I had here. I had to make the most of it.
The buildings were a mix of old and new.
Ornate stonework on one side, blocky modern buildings with glass and metal on the other.
I took the long way around a shadowy alley, considered stopping into a Starbucks, and passed a pub with hanging baskets of flowers.
The air smelled like exhaust and river water, mingling with fried food wafting out from the pub.
At a crosswalk, I paused to check my map. The Gherkin loomed ahead, closer now, its curved surface reflecting the clouds. I’d walk to the base, take a few pictures, and head back. Simple. The light changed, and I crossed with the crowd. Halfway across the street, I glanced left.
And my stomach dropped.
Dark coat. Was it the same man? He stood on the opposite corner now, facing away from me, but positioned exactly where he’d have a clear view of my path if he turned around.
It’s a coincidence, Grace. London is full of men in dark coats. It’s basically a uniform here. All he’s missing is an umbrella. It’s fine. You’re fine.
Although I was in short sleeves because it was hot out, and a dark coat was a strange choice. I picked up my pace anyway, looking around me. There were a few people in jackets and suits. It wasn’t that odd.
At the base of the Gherkin, I dodged between café tables and chairs. There was a coffee shop inside. Go in. No, if I went in, I’d sit, I’d order, and I’d obsess over whether a man in a dark coat was following me. And if he was, he’d just wait outside.
Oh god. Then I’d have to call Garrett and confess I’d left and face… he’d be so angry.
So I took one selfie of myself pointing at the top of the tower and sent it to my parents as evidence I was fine and in London.
But you’re not really fine, are you?
Well, they don’t need to know that!
I circled the base until I was on the opposite side from where I’d seen the man and kept going.
The next few blocks blurred together. I turned left at random, then right, trying to shake the prickle at the back of my neck.
Told myself I was being ridiculous. Told myself Garrett had gotten into my head with his talk of threats and security and people who’d kill for the egg.
The egg was in the hotel safe. Dr. Caulfield was the only other person in London who knew I had it. Outside of my family and friends, no one even knew I was here.
I ducked into a covered market—Leadenhall, according to a wide red and white sign marking it as a pedestrian area—and wove between the slower-moving people.
Crowds browsed stalls and little shops of cheese, fresh bread, and various sweets.
Tourists photographed the glass ceiling, and as much as I wanted to do the same, I did my best to disappear among them.
When I emerged from the other end, I glanced over my shoulder.
Nothing. You’re fine. Garrett’s paranoia is not?—
Dark coat. Thirty feet behind me. Not pretending to look elsewhere now. Dark eyes. The same eyes?—
My pulse kicked up.
Oh god! It was the man who’d come to the café after I closed.
The one who’d hit the glass door and told me his employer wanted the egg.
He was here. He was in London. And he was following me.
I could barely grab my breath, but I pointed myself in the direction I’d been walking and forced my feet to go.
I pulled out my phone, fingers clumsy as I navigated to my contacts.
Garrett’s name sat there, waiting. All I had to do was tap it.
But that would mean admitting I’d left. Admitting I’d been wrong. Admitting I couldn’t handle a simple walk through London without needing rescue.
Pride is a stupid reason to get kidnapped, Grace.
I tapped his name.
It didn’t even finish ringing the first time. “Are you okay?”
“Hey.” I tried to keep my voice light. “So, funny story. I maybe... left the hotel? Just for a quick walk. I wanted to experience a little of the city, and I thought… I mean, it’s broad daylight, and I was sure I’d be all right, and?—”
“Where are you?” His voice was so flat, carrying none of the anger I’d been expecting. That might have been worse than hearing him yell again.
“I just left Leadenhall Market. But that’s not— The thing is—” I swallowed all the pride that had me hedging in my explanation and confessed. “There’s a man following me. I think it might be the man from my café. The second guy, not the Russian.”
“Where exactly?” he snapped, but his breath changed as he started to run.
“I came out of the market at Lloyd’s of London. I’m coming up on, um, Lime Street.”
“Take your first left.” His voice had gone cold and precise. “Then take a right. You’ll be on Cullum Street. At the end, take another left. Stay in crowds and don’t run. I’m coming.”
“Garrett, I’m sorry, I?—”
“Walk. Now.”
I took the left turn. Then the right.
Garrett didn’t speak, but his breathing was rhythmic. He was coming for me. And he was coming fast. “How far away from you is he?”
“I don’t know.”
“Look.”
I sidestepped around someone heading in my direction, narrowly avoiding a collision. It gave me the chance to look behind me. “He’s still about thirty feet. He’s keeping pace.”
“That’s good.”
How was that good? He wasn’t closing the distance, but not falling back either. Like he was waiting for something.
Or herding me somewhere.
A shiver ran through me, and I had to gulp in quick breaths. “Garrett?”
“I’m almost there.”
I reached the end of the street and took the… “Which way at the end of Cullum?”
“Left. I see you.”
I almost stopped, but forced myself forward. Down the road, past a block of buildings under construction and tall cranes, I kept moving. And suddenly, Garrett appeared and fell into step beside me, his hand finding the small of my back.
“Keep walking,” he said, pocketing his phone. “Pretend we’re out for a friendly stroll.”
I kept my eyes forward, but couldn’t focus on anything, so I let him guide me. We took a narrow, empty alley between buildings and emerged onto another street. It was busier, and Garrett steered me into a recessed doorway barely big enough for both of us.
“Stay here.”
Before I could argue, he stepped back onto the street, heading in the direction we’d come from.
I missed his steady presence from the second he left me.
But the man in the dark coat appeared. Garrett positioned himself squarely in the man’s path, and they exchanged words.
The man’s body language shifted from confident to uncertain.
Garrett took a step forward, and the man in the dark coat turned and walked away.
Just like that. No fight, no chase. He simply... left.
Garrett stood in place, watching the man go for a long minute before returning to the alcove. His jaw was tight enough to crack. “Let’s go.”
“What did you say to him?”
“Nothing important.” He took my elbow again, steering me back toward the main road. “We’re going to the hotel, and then we’re going to pack.”
“What?” I wanted to argue. Wanted to ask again what he’d said, who the man was, how he’d found me so fast. But the look on Garrett’s face killed every question on my tongue.
“We’re leaving London. Tonight.”