Page 121 of Eternal Surrender

I beamed a smile, steering the car slightly right onto Margaret Street, admiring the images in the rearview mirror, enjoying the world flashing past and blurring the scenery that fell away quickly.

Ingrid edged down in her seat. “We have to go back. I left my bag in my car.”

“You won’t need it where we’re going.”

“Car thefts are on the rise.” She shuffled uncomfortably and grasped the handrail. “Where are we going?”

“It’s a surprise.” I pointed left to the Italian restaurant we were quickly passing. “Café Nero. Apparently, they have the best coffee.” I released her seat belt and directed the Porsche toward the corner of Westminster Bridge. “How well do you swim?”

“Not funny. Pull over, William.” Her hair whipped across her face. “We’re heading for the Thames. We’ll go in if you’re not careful. . .”

I checked the speedometer. “Why look at that, we’re approaching 100.” Using telekinetic force, I sent a shockwave of destruction at the bridge wall ahead and it crumbled, leaving a gap large enough for a car to pass through.

Ingrid’s scream filled the car, and we shot up and over the bridge, the engine revved and the wheels spun against nothing.

Enjoying the sensation, I sat back as the car arched in the air, picking up speed, the seat heavy beneath me with nothing but a view of the starry night sky.

We nosedived toward murky water.

With my arms wrapped around her, I lifted her out of her seat, flying skyward. The Porsche slipped away beneath us. Hugging her tightly, Ingrid’s face was buried in my chest, and her body was rigid against mine.

Below us, there was a loud splash.

In the center of a dark alley, next to Ye Old River Thames Inn, I eased Ingrid away from me. She was shaking, her eyes wide with terror, her right hand pressed over her mouth and her left still gripping hold of my jacket.

Peering over her shoulder, I caught the Porsche sinking.

I guided her around to the front of the Inn. “This place was built in 1720,” I said. “Back in the day, it was a working class tavern.”

Her eyes were wide, her face frozen in fright.

Standing in the doorway, still clutching Ingrid’s hand, I took in the scene. Restaurant staff as well as twenty or so customers had gathered at the long window which ran the entire length of the restaurant overlooking the Thames, and everyone was staring out at the river.

With no concierge to guide us to our table, I picked up a wine menu and led Ingrid through to one of the cozier burgundy leather booths. She plopped down into her seat. I sat opposite and leafed through the wine menu. Ingrid was seemingly fixated on her shaking hands.

I peeked at the wine list. “Looks like you could do with a drink.”

Chapter Twenty-Six

Ingrid was early.

I sensed her ascending Leiden’s gallery stairwell.

When she finally stepped onto the roof I was caught off guard. Her red dress accentuated her figure, and her hair was styled up with curls spiraling over her shoulders. She held her coat over her shoulder casually.

“How are you?” I handed her a tall glass of champagne.

“Having nightmares about falling.” She took it, considering the glass as though deciding whether she wanted it. “I’m assuming you invited me here to apologize.” She laid her coat over the stairwell railing.

“You look. . . stunning,” I said.

“James and I are having dinner.” She watched my reaction, tilting her head with a mischievous glint. “Can’t stay, I’m meeting him in half an hour.”

I feigned disinterest.

“It was on the news.” She took a sip. “You driving a Porsche into the Thames. Someone filmed it with their phone.”

“Saw the footage. We’d exited the Porsche by then.”