Page 22 of The Unlikely Pair
He’s right that the helicopter coming towards us is black. Something is menacing about it, like it’s an overgrown wasp about to sting.
“They probably just sent the nearest available helicopter,” I say.
Toby squints at the approaching helicopter.
“Holy shit, I think it has guns,” he says.
“Guns?”
He stalks back to the plane and picks up the survival kit from the wing where Kade left it.
“What are you doing?”
“What does it look like I’m doing? I’m getting the survival kit.”
“Why?”
“Why does a rescue helicopter need guns, Harry?” he asks as his eyes dart between the approaching helicopter and the tree line.
“Maybe there are bears around here?” But even I can hear my lack of conviction.
He turns back to me, clutching the survival kit to his chest.
“Harry,” he says, his voice low.
“Toby,” I instinctively reply. Because for years, that’s how we’ve greeted each other—cool acknowledgment without wasting extra words in niceties.
But despite the familiarity of our exchange, I’m aware Toby has never looked at me like this before. With utter seriousness on his handsome face.
“Let’s just stash ourselves at the edge of the forest so we can get a look at our rescuers before they see us, all right? And if I’m wrong, you can mock me as much as you want. You can do an interview withThe Daily Chronicleabout what a conspiracy theorist I am. You can stand up in Parliament and openly replay this incident and use it to accuse Labour of being a party full of paranoid lunatics with no grasp on reality.”
There’s something about the sincerity of his gaze that catches me off guard.
Toby is a smart man. I may disagree with his ideology, but I can’t deny his intelligence.
“All right.” The word seems to fall from my lips without my permission.
Toby blinks. It’s almost like he didn’t expect me to agree so easily.
“As long as you know I’m already drafting my commentary on your overactive imagination,” I say. “I think it will provide a nice complement to a critique of the government’s overblown promises of the benefits from their NHS reforms.”
“Great. You can continue to script that out while we find someplace to hide.”
Chapter Seven
Toby
Of all the places I ever expected to find myself, squashed behind a fallen tree with Harry Matheson is definitely not one of them.
There’s no room for the concept of personal space here, so I find my hand brushing the softness of his cashmere topcoat as I jostle to conceal myself. Mingled with the damp scent of the forest floor and the aroma of pine is the lingering fragrance of Harry’s expensive cologne.
I send a sideways glance at him.
How can Harry have survived a plane crash and now be hiding behind a toppled tree in the Scandinavian wilderness, yet still look like he’s just stepped out of a GQ catalog?
His cool blue eyes stare appraisingly down at the clearing. He shows no trace of the absolute terror currently running rampant through me.
The guy really does have ice in his veins. No wonder he can’t see things from the point of view of the average human. There’s a good chance he’s a different species altogether.
