“We’ve had this conversation before, Reverend. You already convinced me to avoid violence,” I said and held my arms, palms up to my sides. “A bloodless coup in the Glasgow underworld? That’s damn near a miracle.”
“The lesser of two evils is never a miracle.” The vicar’s whole arm shook as he pointed it to me.
A few minutes later, I returned to the cab and the driver took me to last location. Outside the chippy Bashir’s parents owned, I paused and took a breath. They didn’t open before the lunch rush, but I could see him through the windows sweeping the dining area, his back to me. Another deep breath and I knocked.
Bashir turned, his eyes narrowed – one of them at least. The other sported a purple bruise. I didn’t realize I’d hit him that hard last night.
“Come to give me a matching set?” he called through the closed door.
“To apologize and thank you,” I replied. “I got all I need assuming your guy at the chamber does his job.”
“I owe you a punch, you know.” Bashir sighed and unlocked the door. “You’re not going to know when, but I’ll pop you one.”
“I said I was sorry,” I replied, stepping inside.
“No, you said you came to apologize,” he shot back. “I still haven’t heard an apology. So, what’s next in your grand plan?”
“I’ve got some meetings in London,” I said with a look out the window. “I’m going to need more allies than just you, like someone who can take a punch. Then it’s a waiting game.”
The Real Game Begins
Emma
One Year Later
Asoft ding woke me from a pleasant yet completely forgotten dream. I pushed the sleep mask from my eyes and blinked the brightness away. Sunny blue skies without a cloud in sight appeared outside the airplane window beside me. Far below, the city of Paris sprawled. I leaned closer, straining my eyes to take everything in, even from such a distance.
A tap on my shoulder brought me around. I’d been seated next to an elderly woman. She smiled at me while her husband stared down at his book, cheeks slightly flushed.
“The captain turned on the seatbelt light, dear,” she said before craning her neck closer and whispering, “I’m glad the chime woke you. I didn’t want to interrupt your dream. It sounded like it was a good one.”
“I never remember my dreams,” I muttered.
“That’s a shame.” Her cold hand patted my arm and she grinned widely. “I can still recall dreams like that from when I was your age.”
Oh, it had been one ofthosedreams. Her husband’s blush told me I hadn’t been silent in my dream state, but I had no memory of it. A couple tokes before bedtime ensured those damned dreams remained out of my conscious mind, but it wasn’t like I could take any through security.
“I wasn’t too vocal, was I?” I whispered, eyes darting to her husband who seemed to be purposefully ignoring us.
“Not really.” She offered a grandmotherly assurance. “You did say a name. Who’s Ian? Your boyfriend?”
“Ex,” I lied, “but a memorable one.”
My seat mate didn’t need to know the truth. Hell, it would probably shock her sensibilities. The 70-year-old retired teacher from Omaha wouldn’t be half as cheery with me if I told her I’d married a man for money only to never hear from him after. If I’d shared the real reason for my current trip, she’d probably insist she and her husband move away from the harlot.
“I’ve had a few of those,” my seat mate whispered, leaning extra close to keep her husband from hearing. “High school class of 1969.”
She winked and my mouth fell open. Maybe I’d misjudged the sweet old grandmother. She giggled and patted my arm again, shaking her head.
“You have a memorable ex, what about now?” she asked. Her husband glanced at us over his reading glasses, shook his head and returned to his book. “A pretty girl like you has to have boys crawling over themselves to get your attention.”
“I get enough attention,” I replied and offered a half truth. “I’m on my way to meet someone in Paris.”
“How romantic,” she swooned.
Romance had nothing to do with it, at least on my part. My seat mate probably envisioned a strapping, age-appropriate young lad, maybe a few years older than me like Ian, waiting for me at the terminal. The balding, overweight 50-something energy exec who’d paid for my flight wouldn’t fit her view of romance. Me? I didn’t believe romance, never had.
Ian had disappeared completely after our encounter. My family had spent three more days in Glasgow after my brother’s wedding. I hadn’t expected to bump into him, but kept an eye out, especially when I realized I’d completely forgotten about the brooch he’d promised as collateral.
