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We pass the Chelsea gallery that so recently held his collection—now carefully packed away and en route to Amsterdam. His strange, electric smile fades and he checks his phone.
“Sorry,” he says, tucking it back in his pocket. “No more phone tonight, but the gallery reminded me of Vaughn. Jane says he skipped his DUI hearing at the magistrate’s court, and no one’s heard from him since. I think he has the Twins on him.”
“You mentioned.”
“I wish there were something we could do.” Cole glances over at me. “Is there? Can you scare them off of him?”
I shake my head. “I don’t have the authority to do that.”
“Why not? You scared them off of me.”
I nearly stop walking. Thinking quickly, I glance at Cole. His eyes are ahead, he suspects nothing. Because he’s a good man and he trusts me.
“That was different,” I say.
You were already marked for damnation. By me.
I clear my throat and add quickly, “Besides, there’s no certainty that those witches are whispering at him.”Cole starts to speak but I cut him off.“Do we have a destination in mind, or are we just going to wander the streets all night like a pair of exceedingly handsome drifters?”
My petulance has the desired effect—Cole chuckles and breaks from me to hail a cab.
“Okay, okay. You win. Just don’t roll your eyes at me when you hear it.”
“Me? Inever.”
“Youalways.”
The black taxi arrives, and Cole holds the door for me, then awkwardly climbs in after. “Good evening. London Eye, please,” he tells the driver, then peers intently at me.
I manage to keep my face placid. The car drives for a few moments, and then I can’t restrain myself. “The Ferris wheel? Really?”
Cole laughs. “Have you ever been?”
“No.”
“Then what are you complaining about?”
“It just seems terribly gaudy. The city was beautiful enough in my day. Now it’s draped in colored lights like so much costume jewelry.”
“Give it a chance. For me.”
I roll my eyes. “As if I’d refuse you anything.”
His smile is beautiful as he leans in to kiss me. “Of all your eye rolls, that’s my favorite.”
Night has begun to fall as we arrive at the London Eye. Instead of waiting in the regular queue, Cole takes my hand and brings me around to a special office.
“Mr. Matheson and guest,” the man says, consulting his computer device. “Very good, sir. If you’ll follow me.”
The Ferris wheel has thirty-two enclosed capsules. A sign helpfully informs us they each hold twenty-five people, and a single rotation takes thirty minutes to complete. We’re ushered into an empty capsule by a man who carries a bucket of ice with champagne and two glasses. He sets them on a long, canoe-shaped center bench, then tips his cap with a smile.
“Enjoy the flight, gentlemen.”
Cole is looking at me with an expectant smile. “So?”
“The fact we’re not going to spend the next half hour crammed in this glass pod with twenty-three gawking tourists is a plus.”
Now it’s his turn to roll his eyes. “I’m so glad you approve.”
