CHAPTER THREE
The following morning Rory stepped onto the escalator leading from the tube station into Paddington Station and wondered why the hell Sky had suggested eight thirty. It was the worst time in the world to be traveling in London, the time when all those going to be late for work turned rabid. It was every man for himself. Getting through Paddington Station during the morning rush-hour commuter chaos was his idea of hell.
Right about now he’d usually be traveling to work on his motorbike. He only hit the tube when absolutely necessary—or, in the case of the day before, if he might need to shake someone off in the crowds. He’d always done everything within his power to avoid the morning rush hour, including getting up before dawn broke. Now, he was stuck in his own personal hell because he’d trusted his stepsister to hide a crucial piece of data he couldn’t risk losing.
Frustrated with the crush of bodies, he sidestepped the queue of people standing on the escalator and jogged up the left-hand side with the fitness freaks, eager to get his bag back.
What if Sky didn’t turn up? It’d occurred to him as soon as he awoke that morning. She probably offered to swap out of mischief, but maybe she’d suss out his bag was worth more than hers and decided not to turn up. He didn’t have any contact numbers. Outside of using Facebook, or getting in touch with mutual friends in Cadogan, which he didn’t want to do, he was reliant on her fulfilling the deal.
Weirdly, the prospect of not seeing her again irritated him as much as the thought of losing his bag of tricks. He pushed through the crowds at the top of the escalators and walked through the vast station foyer, scanning the area for coffee kiosks.
Then he saw it, the Coffee Hut, all decked out in shades of gold and brown. Evidently it was popular. The line of people waiting was at least a dozen strong. Presumably she picked up a coffee here at eight thirty on her way to...where? He frowned when he realized he didn’t even know what Sky was doing in London.
Rory stationed himself close to the coffee kiosk and looked across the approaching crowds for the face he wanted to see. Sky wasn’t tall. It was going to be tough to pick her out of the crowd during rush hour. After a few moments he grew impatient and walked out in front of the coffee kiosk, standing off to one side to avoid being mistaken for one of the desperate caffeine addicts waiting in line. Half of them were hunched over and looked as if they’d been out on the lash the night before and needed a hit to get them to their desks. Not bad for a Thursday morning.
“Hey.” His attention was drawn to the voice behind him. “What can I get you?”
Rory turned to decline service, and did a double take. It was Sky. The rendezvous was here because she was working behind the counter.
She leaned toward him and winked. “It’ll be on the house.”
“In that case, yes.”
She assessed him. “Are you still an espresso man?”
Nowadays Rory’s morning beverage was a spoonful of whatever gravel was in the cupboard at the motorcycle repair shop where he worked. If he was lucky, George, the owner of the workshop, had restocked. More often than not he went without until the local greasy spoon cafe opened up and then it was hot, sweet teas all round.
The guy at the head of the coffee queue eyeballed him accusingly, like he’d jumped queue.
Rory eyeballed him back. “Sure, espresso man, that’s me.”
Sky smiled. “I’ll be on my break in five minutes.”
Of course he wanted to wait for her, but he had his priorities. “You’ve got my gear?”
She reached under the counter and lifted his bag, showing it to him.
He nodded, satisfied.
She tucked it away again and then went to the fancy coffee machine, working fast, rapidly producing an espresso.
Two other baristas dealt with the ongoing queue and one of them looked at him suspiciously. Rory didn’t want her to get in trouble, so he accepted the tiny cardboard cup from her hand and stepped away, stationing himself at a nearby information screen where he could keep an eye on events at the kiosk.
The queue moved quickly, the three staff working hard to get the commuters on their way. Rory sipped the espresso. It was good.
He glanced back at Sky, unable to resist.
God, she looked good. Her rebellious, tomboy nature had streamlined into a more feminine, hellish-hot look. It was a kind of retro style she had, he supposed. Like a 1950s pinup crossed with a skater girl. Nice mix. The day before she’d been dressed in black jeans and a leather jacket—all red lipstick and smoky eyes. Her naturally black hair was streaked with red now, and fell loose over her shoulders. Today it was pulled up in a sugar-skull printed scarf. She wore a cute diner-style uniform. The heavy eye make up and copious ear jewelry were the same, but Sky had grown up.
Why had she helped him? It kept bugging him.
It’d been a split second decision, to let her take the booty. He wasn’t impetuous by nature, and the cops hadn’t been looking for him. They’d released him without charge because there was no evidence. He hadn’t left his fingerprint anywhere, and he wasn’t involved with Jackson any more, but he hadn’t wanted to take the risk. The evidence was in the bag, and he planned to destroy it.
There was too much at stake, but he’d trusted Sky.
Why was she there, right when he was trying to dispose of the tool kit? Was it really a coincidence? It’d been a fast move on her part, like she was ahead of the game, yet he couldn’t believe she’d been part of a set up. He had to keep it in mind until he was sure, so he kept an eye on the encroaching crowds, looking for Jackson or one of his sidekicks.
When Sky came off duty a few minutes later she appeared at the side of the kiosk and waved him over, directing him behind it. He was relieved to see she had the bag in her hand. He tossed the coffee cup in a bin as he followed. She waited in the shadow of a billboard at the back of the kiosk. When he joined her it almost felt as if they were alone in the midst of the crowded London station. “Your office, I assume.”
Her cheeky grin really did something to him. It wasn’t the way she looked, he realized—although she looked great—it was same old same old getting to him. He’d always wanted her. She was dangerous candy. He’d taken a beating from his dad over her, more than once.
She eyed him from under her lashes.
She was different. Flirting, although it wasn’t girly and giggly like it used to be. It was bolder. Rory wanted to spend some time with her on her back smiling at him that way while he got to know her better. Did she have a boyfriend—how many had she had since he left Wales? Why am I even thinking this?
He stared pointedly at the bag she held in her hand, slipping hers off his shoulder. “So,” she said, “you’re still using yours too. Three years ago, your dad got us one each for Christmas.”
He didn’t really remember. “Sky, the bag.”
She held out his backpack.
They exchanged.
Closing on her, he wrapped his hand around the back of her neck and pulled her closer. “Why did you do it? Are you working for someone?”
Her eyes widened, her lips parting. “Rory!”
Her mouth was a painted pout. It made him want to bite her, to make her cry out because he had his hands on her. His grip on her tightened and she gasped.
Her eyelids lowered. She looked aroused.
It was making him hard. “Answer me.”
She scrabbled her feet, a frown developing on her pretty forehead. “No. I’m not working for anyone, why would you think that?”
“Then why did you swap?”
She tipped back her chin and flashed her eyes at him. “I have this problem. I can’t seem to stay away from trouble.”
“That much hasn’t changed, huh, kiddo?” He laughed, then stroked his hand up and down the back of her neck, remembering.
“Oh, I’ve changed, believe me.” Her eyes held secret knowledge.
“You certainly look different.” All woman now, if I’m not mistaken.
“I’m glad you approve.”
“Did you move to the city alone?”
“I moved here alone but I have friends now.” She glanced at her watch. “I’m going to have to head back or I’ll overrun my toilet break.”
As she eased away he unzipped his bag. Rifling through the contents, concern set in. Shit. She’d kept the essential item, the very thing Jackson—and the police, and god knows who else—were after. How did she know it was the important one? The red sticker had given it away.
“Looking for something specific?” Sky smiled at him.
He tried not to overreact. “It’s not safe for you to have that.”
“I kept it as insurance.” She pulled her apron straight, an action that made him notice the curve of her waist and hip. “In case I wanted to see you again.”
Amused by that, he baited her. “You could just say you so.”
“I always used to have to barter with you, it seemed natural.”
Barter. Is that how she saw it? To him it was more difficult. He’d been warned off her. She was forbidden. Yet here they were, together, in the big city without anyone warning him off. Fascinated, he put his finger under her chin, leaning right in to her again. “Make it soon.”
Her eyes widened, her lips parted.
Rory smiled.
“I’ve really got to go. I need this job.” She nodded her head at the kiosk. “So we meet this evening and pick up where we left off?” She looked at him from under heavy lids. “I want to hear all about your hard….” she paused and ran her finger tips down his leather jacket, “…drive, and why it’s such hot property.”
Far too sharp for her own good. It was all he needed, to be held over a barrel by his kid stepsister. It was so important to get the USB stick back, but if he gave any hint of its value, she’d be even more curious. She’d also be in danger.
He simply nodded.
“Buy me pizza tonight and I’ll give you your precious USB.”
“Where?”
She pulled her hand out of her pocket and handed him the torn corner of a piece of paper. Rory accepted it from her hand and read it.
Islington Tube Station.
First left outside the station, second right, next left, 6th door on your right.
Press buzzer marked 6a. 7pm.
She’d prepared in advance. He looked back at her, curious. “6a?”
“My apartment, although that’s a bit of an exaggeration. It’s cramped, it’s damp. Not enough space to do my art either, but it’s cheap. And you’ll get your hands on your precious USB there, if you’re up for it.” She waggled her eyebrows, gave a secret smile, waved, and left.
He watched her. Up for my precious USB? No honey, I know what you want me up for. You want to play out your rebellious streak with me.
She’d even said it once.
She’d cornered him at the back of the garage, all candy colors and bubble gum, and propositioned him. “Let’s fuck to annoy our parents.”
He’d laughed it off, but he’d wanted it too.
But Sky was seventeen and still at school.
His dad sussed them out and Rory gained an earful of damning warnings, bruises and a fractured rib as a result. Shortly after, he’d hightailed it out of Wales, afraid for them both.
Now she’d stepped in front of him and was fast getting tangled in his life, once again putting them both in danger.
I should walk away, keep her out of this.
But Sky had his essential tool kit.
Staring after her, he made a vow. Once he got the kit back, he would do exactly that. He’d walk away.