Page 62 of Pervade London
The sergeant came back in. “Sorry, sir, we’re having issues locating the footage of Ms. Rampling outside Gordon House.”
James turned to me with a smug smile. “I see.”
I’d lost my chance to speak with Stewart in private.
“My client and I will be leaving now,” said James.
Stewart appeared in the doorway as the sergeant left. Her glare flittered to me then back to James. “I just need to ask Ms. Rampling a few more questions.”
“How does the footage look?” James asked.
“It appears there is no footage.” She shook her head. “Or at least we can’t locate it now.”
His glare served to chastise their incompetence.
“We have our forensic computer team on it,” she shot back.
“I’m sure you do.” James gestured towards me. “Em and I are leaving.”
The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I’d bitten the inside of my cheek.
Stewart frowned. “Emily, will you be okay?”
I nodded reluctantly.
She closed the gap between us and leaned in, whispering to me, her words rippling into my consciousness and providing hope.
“What are you saying to my client?” snapped James.
“Just letting her know I’ll be here if she wants to talk.”
“What a generous entrapment.” He picked up his briefcase. “Time to leave.”
My legs refused to move. If I stayed, that footage would be reinstated, and if I left with him…
“Emily, shall we go?”
Leaving the safety of the police station with Ballad was insane.
I’d risen to a new level of recklessness.
The look I’d given D.I. Stewart on the way out told her I knew this was a mistake. But seriously, I had no choice. Xander was in danger. And I’d already jeopardized his safety by coming here and spilling my secrets to the police. I’d also jeopardized my own life.
With an ironclad grip on my arm, James led me out of Scotland Yard into the chill of the late morning air. I was walking away from possibly my one chance to convince someone this shit was real. Had his grip not been so tight, I would have run back into the police station.
My life was ruled now by his endless threats.
Waiting conveniently, not to mention illegally, on the curb was a sleek black Jaguar. Standing beside the flashy car was a tall policeman. Instead of handing over a ticket to James he tipped his hat to prove he’d been guarding the Jag.
James gave a nod of thanks to the officer. Then, with the same arrogance he’d shown while extracting me from the station, he ushered me into the front passenger seat.
This was one of those expensive cars where you couldn’t hear the engine running. The interior was all cream leather and maple wood. I would have admired it more if I wasn’t being kidnapped right under the nose of London’s finest.
“Put your seatbelt on.” James threw his briefcase on the backseat. “Don’t want to get you arrested.”
“No, that would be bad.” I rolled my eyes.
He smirked as he steered the Jag away from the curb, following behind a double-decker bus as he navigated into traffic.
