Page 7 of Pervade London
“Prove it,” I said.
“Apparently, you voted Labour at the last election and you’re registered to this place.” He raised his chin to point to the house. “That’s how I got your address. I checked the voter registration.”
“No, seriously.”
He looked apologetic.
“Isn’t it illegal what you just did?”
“Well, you gave me permission when you asked me to get your violin back.” He flashed a cute smile. “I had to find you to return it.”
Okay…that logic worked, but everything else sounded like a crapshoot of weirdness.
He had me intrigued, though.
It wasn’t just his compelling words, it was the way he stood there tall and alluring with those exotic eyes. I could get lost in their pale blue depths. Right now he seemed to be summing me up, too.
I gestured to his phone. “That’s a little scary.”
“That’s nothing. I can also access your Google searches, your buying habits, and if you give me an hour, I’ll have you profiled all the way down to what you like to eat and your reading preferences.”
I should have been more cautious. This all sounded too farfetched, but I’d been disarmed by him returning my violin.
He grinned, oozing a charm that could be weaponized. Those full lips were seductive.
I was so damn tired and all day tomorrow I’d be teaching my students violin lessons. I needed to get a good night’s sleep. Though there was something about Xander that caused me to linger on the doorstep.
Wait…I did vote Labour.
“It was really nice meeting you, Em.”
Only my mum called me that.
He pivoted and continued down the pathway toward the gate. It squeaked as he opened it.
“Where are you going now?” I called after him.
“I just upgraded myself to crazy-guy level ten.” He gave a shrug. “This is where I make my exit.”
I knelt and opened my violin case, removing five pounds from the jar.
I hurried over to him. “Take this.”
Xander looked surprised. “I’m not taking your money.” He turned and walked quickly down the pavement.
I followed him. “Xander.”
He stopped, facing me. “What now?”
“Show me how you got my violin back.”
He blew out a sigh.
That familiar uneasiness swept over me. “Or not.”
He mulled it over. “The footage is recorded, so…”
A few swipes later and he held his iPhone up for me to see an aerial view outside Piccadilly. The camera was trained on the line of taxis not going anywhere fast. The footage had recorded us outside the Tube. There I was, looking left and right. It captured nothing of the agony I’d felt. Farther down the street was a man scurrying away with my violin. The thief ducked inside a cab.
