Page 27 of Savage Games

The mirrored walls of the lift wobbled and swirled like distorted fun house walls as the lift careened toward the ground level. Clutching at my stomach, I tried to quell the rising hysteria that threatened to boil over.

Gripping the handrails, all I could hear was the blood pouring in my ears as I waited for the doors to open, certain I would see a furious Richard on the other side.

The lift stopped. The pause nearly drove me mad. Finally, the enormous metal doors slid open and I released the breath I didn’t know I was holding. All that was waiting for me on the other side was a small group of tourists.

Shifting my shoulders, I squeezed past them as they excitedly clambered into the elevator. Hitching up my dress, I was careful not to slip as I ran in heels across the slick, polished floor of the lobby. Pushing through the heavy glass door, I felt a rush of frigid, bracing air hit my heated cheeks.

Casting a fearful glance over my shoulder, I didn’t wait for the doorman to assist me. Running toward the street with my arm held high, I screamed for a taxi. The familiar round headlights of a black cab sprang to life as the car pulled forward.

“St. Pancras Station,” I demanded as I crouched low in the back seat, afraid to look at the entrance to The Shard in case I saw Richard chasing after me.

Clutching at my stomach again, I rocked back and forth.

“OhmygodOhmygodOhmygodOhmygodOhmygod.”

What the hell have I done?

Maybe it wasn’t too late? I could tell the cabdriver to turn around and take me back. I hadn’t been gone that long yet. I could tell Richard I had gotten lost trying to find the restroom. He would understand. Sure, because he had shown himself to be such an understanding man when it came to me.

“Are you all right, miss?” asked the driver as he peered into the windshield mirror to stare at me in the back.

No!

“Yes, thank you.”

Streetlights illuminated the massive brick Victorian structure as soon as it came into view. Tossing the driver his money, I ran into the station.

The ticket agent gave me several odd looks while processing my order. Can’t say I blamed him. He probably didn’t get many women dressed in full-length evening gowns demanding passage on the last train heading to Paris. There was also the matter of my not having a passport.

I hadn’t really planned this well at all.

Fortunately, a few hundred-pound notes slipped across the counter were sufficient for him to look the other way. I’d worry about the Paris side of the trip later.

Before heading one level down to catch my Eurostar train, I stopped by the shopping arcade and bought a cheap black scarf from one of the tourist stands. Shoving the rather conspicuous pink and white diamond brooch into my purse, I wrapped the scarf around my shoulders, hoping it would help conceal the dress a bit.

As I made my way deeper into the train station, I passed The Meeting Place sculpture. I had never really liked the massive bronze statue before, but now I looked at the two lovers embracing and could only think of Richard.

What the hell have I done?

Making my way to platform seven, I breathed a sigh of relief when I heard the boarding announcement for my train. I don’t think my nerves could have taken a single minute of waiting to board. I couldn’t stop fidgeting and looking around the platform, expecting Richard or one of his men to jump out at me at any moment.

The train car was empty when I first entered. Making my way down the narrow aisle past the royal blue and dark grey seats, I found my assigned window seat. Sitting down, I shifted my shoulders toward the window and tried to look as small and unassuming as possible.

As I looked out the window, all I could really see was my reflection staring back at me.

What the hell have I done?

Leaving for London after a nasty fight was one thing… this time I was leaving the country! I would admit that when I stole that footman’s phone earlier, I had fantasized about looking up flights to America, but I hadn’t honestly thought I would go through with it. It’s like when you write a nasty email to a friend after a fight, but then delete it. It made you feel good to think about it, but you never really planned on sending it.

By the time we were ready to go to dinner, I had convinced myself I was overreacting about the dead bird. It had probably been some dumb prank, and I was reading way way way too much into it. Then when I’d found the bloody feather in my purse and overheard his conversation with Harris… something inside of me just broke. I went numb.

I should have gotten out of the car that instant but hadn’t.

I had stayed by his side.

Then we’d fucked in the lift… and I’d known I was lost.

How could I be so in love with a man who I suspected was about to kill me and yet still get wet for him… in a fucking public elevator no less?

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