As the bald man doubled over, gasping for air, Hugo gave him a follow up blow to his side, up under his ribs, and the man fell like a log onto the floor. Hugo stepped around him and looked through the doorway. He assumed the reinforcements would come charging through the main door to Braxton’s apartment, so he headed back the way he’d come, trotting along the hallway and barging through the fire door into the stairwell.
He slipped back into the play area and let the beat and dark of the Cellar wrap a protective shield around him, turning him into just another anonymous set of initials in a sea of leather bodies. He drifted through the room, which had filled considerably in the ten minutes he’d been upstairs, looking for Merlyn. He found her chatting with the handsome Jensen, who was tightening a heavy strap around the Annabelle’s waist as she lay facedown on one of the sawhorses.
“Hi,” Annabelle said, looking back over her shoulder. “Come to play?”
Hugo smiled but didn’t know what to say, unsure exactly which game was afoot. He took Merlyn by the arm and spoke into her ear.
“I found something. Not much but something. Trouble is, they found me, so I have to split.”
“I’m coming too,” she said.
“Bad idea. They don’t know you’re with me, so you’re safe to stay here.”
She looked down at Annabelle and then back to Hugo. “Tempting, but no. I want to know what’s going on.”
“Well, I can’t tell you that yet,” said Hugo. He didn’t have time to argue, so he waved a hand at their new friends and started for the exit. Jensen called out to them, but his voice was lost in the rising tide of music that swept them toward the door.
“What about our coats?” Merlyn asked.
“We’ll have to come back for them.” He patted his vest. “I’m finally glad for all these pockets and zippers.”
“Keys and wallet?”
“Exactly.” Once outside, Hugo put his arm around Merlyn. “Two lovers out for some fresh air.”
“A little chilly for that, isn’t it?”
She was right. Whatever warmth had been generated by the day had fled into the night, leaving the air with a vindictive chill that bit at Hugo’s bare arms.
As they approached the row of cars, Hugo saw a man standing by the passenger side of his Cadillac, in much the same arms-crossed position the bald man had adopted while blocking Hugo’s exit from Braxton’s study.
“Time to make yourself useful,” Hugo said.
“How so?”
“Simple. Act as if you’re getting into the car next to mine. Make like you dropped the keys and can’t reach them under the car. Show some flesh if you want.”
“Hugo, as if!”
“Yeah, I know. Anyway, once he’s helping you look I’ll hop into my car and drive slowly enough that he’ll run after me. You head the other way, I’ll just loop around and pick you up.”
“You think he’ll be that stupid?”
“No, it’s psychology. Everything he does will be based on instinct, and if we keep changing the stimulus, he won’t have time to figure out he’s being played.” He pulled out his keys and took off the one for the Cadillac. “Wave these at him as you approach. And if you can just pretend to lose them, I’d be grateful.”
Merlyn took the keys and smiled up at him. “You giving me the keys to your apartment, mister?”
Hugo wagged a finger. “Married, remember.”
Merlyn kept smiling, but shrugged as she walked toward the lone guard. Hugo moved into the row of cars to stay out of sight, working his way to the Cadillac, keeping his head down. As he got close, he heard Merlyn’s voice and the low, unintelligible response of the guard. Hugo dropped to one knee and peered under the two cars between him and them. He saw Merlyn’s shins and the soles of a man’s shoes. He got silently to his feet and moved past the remaining cars to his, putting the key in the lock as quietly as he could. He couldn’t tell whether the man heard the loud click, but he didn’t wait to find out. He pulled himself behind the steering wheel and started the engine, surging out of his parking spot into the driveway, heading across the front of the house.
He looked in the rearview mirror and saw the silhouette of a man closing in on the rear of the Cadillac. Hugo touched the gas pedal and the man shrank away, so he slowed again, too much, and the man caught up and slammed his fists against the rear window. Good enough, Hugo thought, swinging the car off the driveway into a sharp U-turn on the strip of lawn fronting the house, spinning the wheels on the grass and leaving his chaser standing in the light of the security lamps, flat-footed and no doubt furious.
Hugo gunned the engine as four people tumbled down the stone steps of the house’s main entrance, fanning out on the gravel drive, threatening to block his path to freedom and, more importantly, to Merlyn. He flicked his lights to bright, making the foursome think he’d turned toward them, delaying them for the second it took to get the lead on them and get to the curve in the driveway before they could. In moments he was past them, barreling toward the main gate, and ahead he saw a slim figure jogging along the grass, waving a hand. He pulled past her and then hit the brakes, and in a second she was beside him, breathing hard, smiling, her first high-octane experience of connivance and deceit in the furtherance of their mission.
“That was fun,” she said, breathless and grinning. She reached for her seatbelt as they passed through the gates and onto the little road to Baldock. “Where to now?”
“London for a quick stop, and then Paris. First thing in the morning.”
“Paris?” She sat back and Hugo recognized the excitement in her voice. “Now that’s cool. We flying or taking the train?”
“The train,” he said. “And it’s not ‘we.’”
“What do you mean?” She turned in her seat to glare at him.
“I’m going by myself, I’m sorry.”
“Oh, no. No way. I took a lot of risks getting you in tonight and you’re not dumping me now. I’ve played along every step of the way and I deserve to see this thing through.” She was still glaring at him. “So let’s just make our quick stop in London and get going. I’ll call for tickets, just to show that I can still play my part.”
“This isn’t a game, Merlyn.” He glanced over and saw anger in her eyes. “I’m sorry, but dropping you off is the quick stop in London.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
At seven the next morning, Hugo arrived at the refurbished Saint Pancras station. Newly open for business, the Victorian Gothic building had replaced Waterloo as the departure point for trains heading out of London to the English Channel and on to France.
He set up on the small patio outside Carluccio’s Caffé with some panettone, a plate of parma ham, and an oversized latte. He watched the crowds ebb and flow before him, tides of scurrying feet that flooded the platform when a train arrived, then receded as another departed. He was amused by the range and easy predictability of expressions; the drawn faces of suitcase-bearing travelers, tired but intent on reaching their destination, flashing dirty looks as their rapid steps were impeded by wide-eyed youngsters sporting backpacks. The calm and determined elderly couples in town to shop, or perhaps for a medical appointment, bound to each other with interlocked arms, drifting through the terminal when the current took them, standing patiently to one side when it went the wrong way. The most worried faces, harried perhaps, belonged to the parents and their children who clung to one another as if afraid the tide would sweep the little ones onto the tracks or under the wheels of the lumbering luggage carts, those whales of the station, propelled by the tired but cheerful porters who leaned as they pushed, wending their way through the squalls of travelers with the plodding precision of experienced tugboat captains.