And what do you think I can do to your loved ones?
Eli’s loved ones.
Her thoughts snapped into place.
Penelope. She might be next on their hit list. The realization sent a flood of horror through Sydney’s veins.
“Winter,” she gasped.
20
Birds from the Same Cage
Penelope Morrison’s entire demeanor changed again the instant she exited the Alexandra Palace and slid into the car that drove them away. She sank into the seat; her muscles relaxed. Winter watched her from the corner of his eye as he pretended to enjoy the passing views of London at night. Up until now, he’d seen the version of her that was an anxious, blushing fan, the rich socialite, the birthday girl.
But the Penelope that now leaned her head back against her headrest with a sigh was a girl that just seemed… tired.
“Back to my flat, please,” she said to the driver. Even her voice seemed to drop a few notes down to a new normal. The man nodded without a word and pulled away.
“Do you think they’ll miss me there?” she said to Winter as they went.
She was clearly hoping for a compliment, so Winter gave it to her. “It’s your birthday,” he replied, giving her a conspiratorial wink. “Anyone who doesn’t should be kicked out immediately.”
She laughed and looked out the window. “What should I tell them?”
“That you skipped out with me?” Winter suggested.
Her laugh turned into a giggle. When she glanced out the window a second time, she looked back at him with wide eyes. “I saw a couple of photographers at that street corner!” she gasped. “They snapped us, didn’t they?”
His smile turned mischievous. “I apologize in advance, because you’re about to get some very salacious tabloid headlines.”
She laughed again, shoving him teasingly, and then bit her lip.
Winter shuffled his boots slightly against the floor of the car. He didn’t know how far he wanted to take this. And for some reason, he kept imagining Sydney sitting in Penelope’s place instead, playing their own little game of teasing each other as they had done back at their house. He imagined Sydney’s blue eyes flashing in the darkness of this car, her blond bob whipping around as she smiled at him.
What was Sydney doing right now? Was she somehow following them? Was she waiting back at the house, writing up a report for Sauda with a scowl on her face?
The pen that Sydney had given him sat heavily in his pocket. He didn’t dare fiddle with it, but the weight of it there reminded him that he wasn’t entirely alone. Sydney was still here, in a way, watching for danger.
After a while, they reached a quiet street in Holland Park, where they pulled up in front of a building draped heavily with ivy.
He made a noise of appreciation. “Nice place.”
She sidled out of the car and nodded at him. “Come on in.”
They headed inside and toward an elevator at the back of the lobby. When they reached the top floor, they stepped out into a corridor made of glass on either side. Through it, he could see a pretty nightscape of trees silhouetted against rows of chimneyed roofs, all of it outlined beneath the light of a half moon.
“Now, that’s a view,” he told her.
She smiled at him over her shoulder before unlocking her door and leading them in.
The space didn’t look like it belonged to a young heiress. Glass boxes lined the walls, each of them containing what looked like a classic edition of a book, and in the center of the room was an enormous screen surrounded by various gaming consoles and plush couches. It looked less like an heiress’s home and more like a studio.
As Penelope removed her sun-and-moon hairpiece with a relieved sigh and unclipped the bejeweled pin from her hair, Winter walked over to one of the books carefully lit from within a glass case. “Is that a Shakespeare First Folio?” he said, glancing at her before returning to admire the book. He let out a whistle. “You have even more expensive taste than your accountant.”
Penelope put down her hairpin on the coffee table and smiled in surprise at him. “You actually recognize the first folio?”
He shrugged. “Any good musician ought to have respect for the written word,” he said with a smile. “And Shakespeare wasn’t bad.”
