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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.
