As Ben's words echoed in the hollow spaces of the underground train station, melting the invisible wall of ice Jorja had built up around her, another hollow sound exploded into the air and stopped in the concrete pillar inches away from them.
They flinched and ducked behind the column.
"You okay?" Ben asked.
"Yeah, you?"
Another bullet hit the concrete before he could answer. Ben popped his head around to find the shooter.
"There, on the train!" Jorja pointed to the train that had just pulled in on the opposite side of the train tracks.
"That wasn't where the first bullet came from," Ben said, still searching.
"And it isn't the old man from the gallery either. It's someone else,” she added.
"I hate to tell you this, Georgina, but it looks like you might have a bounty on your head. I spot two more over there. Any idea who's trying to kill you?"
She didn't answer.
Another bullet came from somewhere behind them. People were screaming, crouching down behind trashcans and pillars. The sound of an approaching train and the sudden rush of warm air pushing toward them in the underground tunnel alerted them that a train was fast approaching and Jorja flashed a look at the information board above them. It shattered into a million pieces that rained down on top of them. Crouched behind the wooden bench, Jorja scanned the area for the multitude of shooters who were now opening fire on them from all directions. She spotted two men on the stairs taking aim to shoot.
"There are two more coming down the stairs! We need to get out of here!" she announced.
"I agree, we're sitting ducks."
"There, a train's coming!" Jorja said as another bullet flew through the air and brushed the sleeve of her jacket.
"Are you hit?" Ben yelled when she let out a moan.
"No, I think it just grazed me."
A police whistle rang repeatedly from the entrance of the subway, taking care of the two shooters on the stairwell who quickly scattered out of sight. The shooter in the train on the opposite side of the platform shot off one final bullet as his train pulled away, taking him with it. The bullet clanked hard against one of the metal bolts in the bench in front of Ben and Jorja, sending splinters up in a cloud above their heads.
"That leaves one more shooter according to my count," Jorja said once they had taken shelter behind the pillar again.
"He's not going to shoot, the place is already crawling with coppers. I say we hop on this train and see if we can get out of here."
The incoming train pulled into the platform; oblivious to the chaos it had just missed. But the conductor was already being informed, as was evident when he stopped to listen to the warning come in on his two-way radio before he promptly turned back and disappeared into the train to quickly shut the doors.
The pair didn't waste any time and they bolted for the train's doors, squeezing through a millisecond before the doors locked behind them. In their wake, the travelers on the platform were now in full panic where they had crouched down behind benches and billboards, many of them now crying in fear while half a dozen police officers searched for the gunmen amongst them.
"We need to blend in," Ben told Jorja when he spotted a few police constables approaching the stationary train.
They sat down on either side of two youths who were too busy on their electronic devices to notice the commotion. Moments later a door was flung open and a police officer stepped aboard. His eyes searched for any suspicious activity, glancing over Ben and Jorja who looked directly at him before he stepped off and moved toward the next coach.
Their ruse had worked.
When the train finally got the 'all clear' from the police it slowly pulled out of the station. But instead of feeling secure and out of danger, Jorja couldn't help but feel the exact opposite. On edge and watching their backs, they got off at the next stop and jumped into a taxi. There was one place they knew they would be safe, a place where no one would find them.
The taxi dropped them in a residential area in Kensington West where they watched it drive off before they crossed the street and walked in the opposite direction. Certain they weren't followed, they zigzagged between the shop-lined streets and soon reached their destination: a small corner shop with a faded sign above its door that read 'Dry Cleaners & Laundry.’ The weathered bright blue wooden door was locked with a thick chain and marked with a yellowed paper in a plastic sleeve that was nailed onto the wood. The handmade signage announced that the shop was no longer in operation and had closed down.
They lingered in front of the store, scanning the immediate area for anyone who might be watching them, relieved when their surveillance turned up clear. As if one person they slipped out of sight into the short dead-end street that ran alongside the building. There was an old gunmetal gray Volvo station wagon parked to one side along with several large dumpsters behind it.
"You still have her?" Jorja asked, referring to the car.
"She might have a lot of mileage on her but she still purrs like a kitten."
"I think you fell in love with this car the moment you got behind the wheel, Ben Colebrook. Feels like yesterday," Jorja smiled as he pushed one of the dumpsters away. Behind it, a narrow steel staircase led to a basement entrance on the side of the laundry shop.
"I fell in love with a lot of things during that trip.” He looked back and smiled before his thumb unlocked a small panel hidden behind a brick in the wall. He was quick to enter the security code followed by a retina scan before the tempered black steel door in front of them clicked open and invited them to quickly step inside.
The narrow passageway led them through a labyrinth of short passages below ground until it opened into a large space that was positioned directly below the laundry shop. When Ben turned the lights on and lit up their underground safe house, Jorja's face lit up along with it.
"It looks just the same, nothing's changed," she remarked as she wandered through the space, stopping at the workstation that was covered with high-end computers and other tech.
"You're still active. I thought you quit."
"I did, and no, I'm not still active. I just like to keep an eye on things, make sure I keep up with the times and such."
He reached into the nearby fridge and pulled out two Pepsis.
"Sorry, I don't keep any alcohol anymore."
"I don't drink much anyway, Pepsi's fine."
She took several sips and sat down on the leather sofa they had once acquired together from a local second-hand street vendor.
"Right, shall we get to work and find out who those guys are and why they're after you?" Ben prompted as he took a seat behind the computer station. "And while I'm at it, I might as well wipe the security footage of our little museum theatrical." He smiled as he set to work, then added, "Okay, tell me what you know."
"There isn't that much to tell really. I own a small art gallery—“
She stopped when he looked up at her with a wide grin.
"Of course you do. I don't know why I didn't think of tracking you down through the art galleries. I'd just assumed you wouldn't go near it after everything that went down." He stopped and laughed. "Now who's the one who broke my assumption rule? I guess you gained an advantage over me, huh? You knew I wouldn't check the art circles; it was too obvious. You always were the clever one."
Her eyes met his with a smile before she continued.
"One of my regular clients bought Monet's Charing Cross Bridge collection from me. I’d won it in a Muller’s auction a year ago and agreed that he could buy it from me one piece a month. They weren't originals," she quickly added when Ben looked at her with intrigue.
"Anyway, there was this man, in the street opposite my shop, just staring at me through the window."
"What did he look like?"
"Very tall, I'd say at least six three, broad shoulders, and bald. Myles, my client, said something to him. I thought he just welcomed him to St. Ives like he usually did with visitors but the next thing I know Myles ends up murdered in my backyard, the murder weapon: a handmade copper rose, left neatly on his chest. The police seem to think he was murdered because of the paintings but I'm not so sure. Only a novice would mistake them for originals, and that rose, the significance is too blatant to ignore. I think it was intended to warn me."
Ben's fingers were moving over the keyboard faster than she could talk.
"Got it."
"What?"
"The case file. St. Ives, huh? Not the most secure little police station I'll have you know."
She smiled. “I’d forgotten how good you are."
"Shame on you, Georgina! There isn't much I can’t find. Except of course you." He paused then continued running his fingers over the keys. "So, the paintings are nowhere to be found. No wonder they think that's what motivated the murder." He kept typing, then paused and looked at her with concern. "You left out the part where you were attacked in your shop. That changes things."
His attention went back to the computer.
"As for the murder weapon, you're right, Georgina. That's a unique piece of art." His fingers kept moving. "Well, now isn't that interesting?"
Jorja got up and leaned in over his shoulder. An entire collection of long-stemmed copper roses had popped up on his screen. As Jorja skimmed the caption beneath the photo, her heart practically stopped beating.
She turned and paced up and down the space behind him.
"I knew it! I was right. He's found me, Ben!"