Chapter 25
CHAPTER
TWENTY-FIVE
It’s late in the evening by the time we’re about to reach Calais.
While still too close to Paris for my liking, it was the only choice if we wanted to get on a ferry the next morning and land on British soil. We may be wildly outgunned and outmanned, but at least we’ll have Graham’s home turf advantage.
He’s been awake for an hour by the time I pull into a petrol station outside the city.
I slow to a crawl, inspecting the lot—one car at a pump, another outside the shop, presumably the attendant—before parking at the furthest stall, facing the exit to the road.
My eyes scan what they’re able to see through the shop windows.
One employee with teal hair, a teenage girl, and what looks to be an empty store.
It’s a rundown building with a faded sign and neglected landscaping, so I’d bet my remaining kidney that the security cameras are fake.
“I’ll head in and put some cash on the pump,” I say absentmindedly.
Some shuffling and the sound of fabric folding, then Graham presses a thin stack of Euros in my palm. “This is all the money I have to my name at present.”
“What?” I glance at my hand with a frown. It can’t be more than €50. “You couldn’t have informed me of this earlier?”
He lifts a shoulder. “I’ve gotten by quite well without money when I’m in a jam.”
“This isn’t about bespoke suits and private jets, Graham, this is life-or-death,” I reply testily.
With a groan, I slump back into my seat and cover my face with both hands.
“So now we’re a hair’s breath away from England, but with no place to stay for the night and no way to pay for a ferry tomorrow.
We could sleep in the car, but we’ll just be sitting ducks?—”
“I never said that I don’t have a plan,” Graham interrupts. He’s grinning when my hands fall to my lap. “I always have a plan, Agent.”
“I thought you had a fortune tucked away for a rainy day. How else did you pay Josef?”
His throat bobs. “That’s of no consequence at the moment.”
“Graham… what did you do?”
My stomach begins churning. All manner of broken laws flash in my mind—robbed jewelry stores, stolen Ming vases—he slipped away twice in our time together, how much damage could he have done? The very last thing we need right now is a manhunt over some diamonds.
He gazes into the distance, rigid, and I’m not sure I’ll get a straight answer. “My watch,” he says quietly. “I gave him my watch.”
I remember the one he’s been wearing since I picked him up from the supermax in Colorado. It’s not on his wrist anymore. The change should’ve been stark, but I’d been dealing with more pressing issues than his choice of accessory.
“I’m not sure I understand.”
Graham’s mouth curls into an easy yet unconvincing smile.
“My great grandfather was close friends with a man named Jean Adrien Philippe—a famous watchmaker. So, for his silver wedding anniversary, Jean gifted him the first-ever, solid silver Patek Philippe wristwatch. It ended up being the last watch he ever made himself.”
“A family heirloom,” I conclude.
“Something of the sort.”
I shake my head in disbelief and angle myself toward him. “Why would you give a family heirloom away?”
My anger surprises me. Maybe it’s because the thought of having a piece of my parents—or Noah—and relinquishing it, is completely unfathomable. All I have are their criminal records and the memory of his blood soaking my clothes and staining my hands.
“I’m not sure if you remember,” Graham replies, words dripping with sarcasm, “but there wasn’t a cashpoint at the Consultant’s estate.” A laugh falls from his mouth next. “That would be something, wouldn’t it?”
Of course he’s deflecting. This isn’t a touching bonding moment. We’re not friends, I remind myself, or anything else, for that matter.
Why does that feel like a needle between my ribs?
“Stay here,” I snap, wrenching the door open and slamming it behind me.
I want to close my eyes and scream. I’m frustrated at Graham, at myself, at this trainwreck. But I can’t look away. I can hardly afford to blink as long as the Consultant is hunting us down.
Except Graham makes me want to blink.
Now in an awful mood, I storm toward the shop, focused on keeping my head down as I slip with a light tread through the aisles and pick up a few items. Thankfully, the employee hardly looks up from her phone, handing me a paper bag and the oversized key for the public toilet in the back.
After maneuvering through a maze of unopened deliveries, the bathroom door clicks shut behind me and I swiftly lock it.
“Oh my—” I hold my sleeve to my nose and glare at myself in the mirror.
Half the fluorescent lights are broken, leaving me in an odd and deeply unsettling spotlight. I try not to reflect too long on the black spots spattering the ceiling or the smell emanating from the toilet.
“Alright,” I mutter to myself, ripping the bag open and dumping the contents into the sink. “Now or never.”
The car’s pumped full of gas by the time I make it back. My trip to the bathroom took me an embarrassing amount of time—what with trying to use the sink without contracting some sort of disease—and the back of my turtleneck has tiny stain spots, but I’m in a slightly less foul mood.
Graham’s got a weird glint in his eyes as I start the engine.
“What?” I hastily pull away from the petrol station, eager to get back on the road.
“Your hair. It’s dark.”
“Yes, I’m aware.”
“No, I—” He clears his throat. “—firstly, I thought you’d died there for a moment—or perhaps stuck in the toilet, you never know. Then you appear, looking like, well?—”
“I know it’s shoddy,” I cut him off, touching the ends, wet and slicked back from my face. There wasn’t enough time to fully develop the color, and I’ve never had to dye my own hair before—let alone in a public bathroom. I hardly glanced at it before deciding I’d been gone long enough.
Graham sighs. “You assume a great many things. Perhaps one day you might stop.”
I send him a sidelong glance, my eyebrows pulled together, but shake it away and focus on getting us to England safely. One foot in front of the other.