Page 29 of Romancing Rayne

Nothing.

She was nowhere in sight.

I paced in front of the store, even went back inside to look for her again—still nothing.

I couldn’t leave the general vicinity in case Rayne came back looking for me. So, I did the only thing I could, I pulled my phone out, brought up a picture of Rayne, and showed it to every person that walked by, asking if they’d seen her.

Once an hour had passed, any hopes I’d had that Rayne was nearby, lost in the sea of tourists and I simply couldn’t see her, had diminished.

Fuck.

Where are you, Rayne?

The panic I’d felt over the last hour had turned to terror. I couldn’t find Rayne anywhere. More and more people had finished their tours, and the ever-changing landscape of tourists made it impossible to find her. She’d vanished.

I dialed the number of the one person I prayed could help me find Rayne.

12

Rayne

Ghost was going to be furious. I’d broken the cardinal rule for when you were separated from someone—I’d left the last place he’d seen me. After I’d found the sword I wanted, I’d stood but couldn’t find him. I’d walked around the store for a minute and when I couldn’t spot him, I’d stupidly asked the woman behind the counter to hold my gifts so I could go in search of him.

Why did I leave the store? So stupid.

I thought maybe he’d stepped outside to get some fresh air. He hated crowds, but I knew better than to think he’d ever leave my side when so many people were around. Well, he did leave my side; that was why I couldn’t find him. Maybe if I’d used my credit card and paid for the items I would’ve been in the shop when he came back. Instead, I’d been a cheapskate and wanted to use his cash instead of paying the exchange rate fee the bank would charge. In hindsight, paying the extra three percent would’ve saved me hours of searching the Tower of London grounds for my, if I had to guess, worried-sick husband.

I didn’t have my cell, and there were no working phone booths on the Tower property. All the fancy, red call boxes were for show and there wasn’t a telephone inside. My next mistake was walking out of the security of the castle walls. I’d waited near the entrance of the Tower for nearly an hour thinking maybe Ghost would come out and find me. When he didn’t, I went in search of a telephone. Finding none, I walked to the coffee house across the street and asked if I could use their phone, but once I explained it was a US number they said no. I even offered them a hundred pounds for their trouble—I was dismissed with a shake of the head.

Standing on the street corner at a complete loss, a taxi pulled up and stopped in the loading area. Then my next, very bad idea struck. If I could get back to the hotel, I could call Ghost and tell him where I was. Sure, he’d be over-the-top pissed but once he found out I was safe, he’d be relieved.

I approached the taxi and peered through the open window.

“Excuse me, sir, are you available?”

The man looked up from the newspaper he was reading and folded it in half before tossing it on the seat next to him.

“For a fit bird I am. Where to?”

Ignoring his comment may’ve been a mistake, too, but I was desperate to get back to the hotel. “The Park Plaza.”

“No problem. Get in.”

Relieved, I climbed in the cab, and away we went. One step closer to calling Ghost.

When the cab didn’t immediately go over the Tower Bridge, I thought the driver knew a faster route, but after twenty minutes had passed and I saw a sign for the Swedenborg Gardens, I knew we were headed in the wrong direction.

“The Park Plaza,” I reminded the driver.

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“You must not because we’re going in the wrong direction. I’m not paying you for a tour of the city. Please take me back.”

“This is a shortcut,” he lied, and my heart rate spiked.

Thirty minutes later, when he turned down a side street taking us away from the safety of the busy, traffic congested area, I understood why Ghost had made such a big deal about our taxi driver the first time we’d been in London. At the time, I’d stupidly thought Ghost had been overreacting by taking a picture of the driver’s ID and threatening him with the police. Why hadn’t I thought to do that before I got in? Somehow, I didn’t think it’d have the same impact as it did when Ghost did it. God, I wished he was there.

The businesses and landmarks turned into a residential neighborhood. I watched in horror as houses gave way to an industrial area—I was fucked. I had to make a decision and fast.