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He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, irritated with traffic, and probably with her. “What guys?”
Poor ignorant man, he needed her help. “Guys fall into two categories. Die Hard and Star Wars.”
“You’re making this shit up.”
“The Star Wars guys watch everything sci-fi, think they’re intellectuals and can quote comic books. The Die Hard guys think movies ended with John McClane.”
A sceptical look was all she got for her efforts to educate the guy. “That’s it? Comic-Con geeks and John McClane wannabes?”
She waved a hand. “I’m over simplifying. The point is, you’re a Die Hard guy. Prove me wrong. Name a movie you’ve seen that was made after Die Hard.”
Honestly, she could almost smell rubber burning while he thought about it. At last, he grinned in triumph.
“Die Hard 4,” he said.
“I rest my case.” Posters advertising Les Miserables caught her attention. She’d never been to one of the big West End musicals. “When this is over, I’m going to help you with your cultural ignorance. We’ll go to all the West End shows.” The urge to bounce in her seat like an excited two year old was difficult to resist. “I might even take you to a movie that doesn’t have Bruce Willis in it.”
His smile was dazzling. “Do your worst, Buffy. I look forward to it.”
Traffic started to move again and their focus returned to the reason they were fighting their way through London’s city centre. Megan thought about his earlier declaration. It didn’t make a whole lot of sense.
“How exactly are we partners? You plan to trade me for your sister.” She held up her hands when he growled at her. Touchy man. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for it. I’d just like to know where the partner part comes in.”
“I don’t plan to trade you for my sister.” He shot her an irritated look. “You’re just the key to getting close to Rudi and his records. As to partners, we’re here, aren’t we? Talking to contacts together. Doing the legwork together. That makes us partners.” He swung a left and headed for the part of Soho that housed its infamous red light district. The streets were narrow, the buildings tall. A mish mash of sixties office blocks and modified red stone tenements.
“I’m only here because you’re terrified to leave me alone in case I do something you deem stupid and ruin your plans.”
“That too.” He steered the car into a purpose-built parking garage that was squeezed between two older buildings.
They found a free space on the third floor, parked their generic SUV and headed down the stairs and out into Brewer Street. As Dimitri gallantly held the door open for her to exit, he leaned into her.
“For the record.” His voice was a low, sexy growl against her ear that made it hard to concentrate on his words. “Stop saying I plan to hand you over to that piece of dirt. It is not, nor ever has been, in the plans to trade you for Katrina. You think I want to hand another woman over to him? You’re simply my ticket into Rudi’s office, where we’ll get the information we need and then both of us will leave together. You got me?”
Megan blinked at him for a few seconds. “You are seriously sexy when you’re earnest.”
“Get a move on.” Dimitri shoved her out of the door, making her laugh.
They walked side by side through the throngs of tourists and Londoners that filled the narrow street.
“I don’t remember this stuff from when I came here with the school,” Megan muttered.
They passed shops with windows stuffed full of adult toys, neon signs flashing copulating couples, and bookshops with blacked out windows. In amongst the seedier businesses were designer cafes, uptown boutiques and pricey galleries.
“Are you sure this is the right place?” she said as she stared at Starbucks. “It doesn’t look like a red light area to me.”
Dimitri turned into a narrow alley. “What were you expecting? Half-naked women on street corners and live sex shows in shop windows?”
“Well, yeah.”
He shook his head at her ignorance.
Halfway down the alley there was a traditional English pub taking up the whole bottom floor of an old tenement block. The exterior was painted burgundy, with dark wood and hanging baskets filled with pansies. A blackboard told them the soup of the day was potato and leek. A sign on the door said soliciting would not be tolerated. The sign sat beside a vending machine that was filled with condoms. Interesting place.
Megan followed Dimitri into the shady interior. The outdoor colour theme continued inside, with heavily varnished dark wooden tables, a paisley-patterned carpet in browns and burgundy and matching burgundy and cream walls. Framed photos filled the walls, showing the area in times past—the odd famous face amongst them.
Dimitri wended his way around the tables, which were beginning to fill with the after-work crowd, past the long dark bar, to a booth in the corner.
“You must be Dimitri.” A middle-aged woman in a form fitting purple dress that screamed Hollywood heyday stood and held out her hand.
