Page 189 of To Catch a Sub

“Master Land, good to have you back!”

“Mr. Brown,” Landon said, lips twitching that the older man—who now looked truly old, though he’d been “old” all Landon’s life—still used the juvenile form of address for him.

“And you’ve brought home a lady friend.”

“Bonjour,” Colette said.

“A French girl, too! Always knew you had fancy taste. I don’t want to be embarrassing you, Mr. Evans.” He winked.

Mr. Brown tried to take the bags from Landon, but he held on, loading them into the boot, then opening Colette’s door. They slid into the back seat of the immaculate cab—the only cab that served Leamington Hastings. It’s why Landon had called Mr. Baker from London to arrange a pick up.

“Now I’m not trying to be rude, but I’ll have to watch this road for a bit. City’s gone mad with people.”

The light traffic around them would have made Londoners weep with joy, but Landon nodded. “Of course.”

Colette leaned into him. “Master Land?”

“Master used to be how people address boys,” he explained. “And Land was my nickname when I was a boy.”

“Ah. And who’s Mr. Evans?”

“That’s my last name.”

Colette leaned away, mouth rounded in a little O. Her lower lip was still puffy, but the split in the skin had closed enough she no longer wore a bandage on it.

He grinned. “Did you think you were the only one with multiple names?”

“Yes!”

He laughed, settling back in the seat. “My legal last name is Malik, my mother’s maiden name. I changed it when I was in university, as a way to honor her, and her parents, who helped raise me.”

“The grandparents we’re going to meet?”

“Yes. Evans is my father’s last name. And when I’m in Leamington Hastings, I’m Land Evans.”

“I no longer feel bad about not telling you my aliases,” she declared.

“I’ll figure them out,” he said with mock threat.

They left Coventry, heading into the West Midlands countryside.

“There now,” Mr. Brown said. “Better, isn’t it?”

Colette’s hand found his, and Landon laced their fingers together. They weren’t far from Northampton, as the crow flew, and the landscape outside looked much the same, though she hadn’t seen much of the countryside.

“It is,” Landon said to Mr. Brown, while keeping his attention on Colette. “Will you tell me what’s changed, so I’m not shocked?”

Mr. Brown launched into a listing of updates to roads, new petrol stations, and houses that had been remodeled and were now “too modern.”

“You okay?” he asked in a whisper.

She nodded, still looking out the window.

Maybe they should have stayed in London. It had only been a few days since the rescue. Yesterday they’d slept on and off most of the day. They’d shared his bed, and he knew she’d been exhausted, because she’d barely moved. Though she had managed to wake him several times when she pressed her shockingly cold feet against him. At one point he’d shoved a pair of his own socks onto her.

Last night they’d sat around the empty private club, drinking and chatting. Rolf played bartender, Andrei kept the conversation going, and bit by bit the last of Colette’s tension vanished. Landon had been worried she wouldn’t want to be around Rolf and Andrei, given how intimately they’d had to touch her as they helped Landon remove those fucking chains.

But Colette was relaxed around them, leaning against Landon’s shoulder and chest, his arm looped around her. She’d only tensed once, when he got up to use the toilet, and immediately relaxed once he was back.