Page 124 of Marked By Moonlight
That meant the prospect of future collaboration with Gordon was worth more than the seventeen-million-dollar commission. Yikes. That said a hell of a lot about what my dear godfather was capable of.
My mind spun around that terrifying thought like a hyperactive bumblebee, and I slumped in defeat. What chance did a person like me have to do any good in the world, no matter how modestly?
“Goodnight,” Jensen called, disappearing into the building with his entourage — and Celeste, who left me with a sneer.
“Goodnight,” I echoed quietly.
A long minute later, I was still standing there, processing it all.
Henrik shuffled behind me. “All right. Enough saving the universe for one day. It’s time to say goodbye to London.”
There was nothing I wanted more. I turned away from the building and headed toward the river.
“Do you think Celeste will spend the night there?” I asked a few steps later.
Henrik made a face, no doubt reliving the night he’d spent with her.
“She’ll try.”
I walked on, thinking. Celeste was definitely operating behind Gordon’s back. But what was her endgame?
I stumbled over a cobblestone, then looked around. And oh. It was dark and quiet. Uncomfortably quiet.
A creepy feeling set into my bones, and I walked faster, eyeing every dimly lit cross-street. Greenwich wasn’t a bad neighborhood and I had Henrik with me, but neither was of much comfort.
Henrik hung back as I stormed on. “You’re not going back to Jensen’s boat, are you?”
“Absolutely not. There’s a stop for the public ferry by theCutty Sark.” I pointed to the masts towering over the row of buildings closest to the water.
I knew, because I’d stopped by the tall ship on my last trip to London, revisiting a sight from a family vacation we’d taken when I was ten. We had a lovely family photo of the occasion, showing my sister, my mother, my father, and me, all happy and blissfully unaware of what the future would bring.
Like the car accident that had killed my father, I couldn’t help thinking. Like my recent discovery that my doting godfather was deeply mired in criminal activity.
“Does the ferry run at this hour?” Henrik asked.
I picked up my pace. God, I hoped so.
Henrik pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed — Roux, I imagined.
Everything will be okay,I told myself. No reason to panic.
But the square beside theCutty Sarkwas empty, and creepy strands of mist drifted over the cobblestones. Worse, my skin prickled in warning.
“Dammit, Roux…” Henrik muttered when no one answered.
I ran my finger down the posted boat schedule, noticing the chilly night air for the first time. Then I checked my watch.
The good news was the next stop was Docklands, where our friends waited.
The bad news was the next ferry was forty minutes away.
I swore and looked around. There was no reason to freak out and no sign of trouble.
Until footsteps sounded, and a shadow stretched from a streetlight behind us. I froze, watching a tall man approach calmly. Confidently. Quietly.
Henrik hissed, recognizing him.
“Szabo,” he grunted as his eyes burned bright red.
