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Sleep hadn’t been very high on her list of priorities. Chrissy had immediately set to work on her laptop, hunting for the next available flight, and it wasn’t all that far out. It was early morning, and the cost made Saks whistle.
“Seriously? Three grand?”
“Yep. One way for two adults. Sorry, baby, economy class.”
“You have to let me help pay for this.”
“Nope. You’re coming to help me. Besides, I want you to save your money for the down payment on our house.”
Saks had half a mind to argue, but thought better of it. “Economy? Do they serve meals?”
“Yes,” she said. “Though the turkey meatloaf looks like a killer.”
“After tonight I’m not sure I need to eat for at least two days,” Saks joked as he rubbed at his stomach. “Tell me you can cook like your mother.”
“Saks! You’re in trouble now,” Chrissy growled, a wicked glint in her eye. “You just told me some other woman’s cooking was better than your mother’s.”
“I did not.” He looked appalled at Chrissy’s accusation.
Chrissy closed her laptop and lifted her head, smiling evilly at Saks. “Yes. You did.”
“You are a wicked, wicked woman. A man can’t appreciate someone else’s cooking?”
“Nope. Either it’s your mother’s or your wife’s. Every other woman’s you say nice things, but you never ever admit it comes close at all to either your mom’s or the wife’s.”
“Well, tell me you can cook like your mother, then.”
“Sorry,” she said with a twist of her mouth.
“You can’t?” Saks' mouth hung open in disbelief. He couldn’t imagine an Italian girl who didn’t learn the craft at her mother’s side. Even his sister was a fair cook when pushed to it.
Chrissy laughed. “Got you! Who filled your fridge with food when you first came home from the hospital? Why would I do that if I didn’t intend to cook?”
“Yeah,” said Saks. “That would have been nice. Too bad that got interrupted. Then I’d know what I’m getting in this deal.”
Chrissie stood and threw her arms around his neck. “Well, there’s one kind of cooking I am good at.”
“You think so, eh? You aren’t giving credit where credit is due.”
“Hmm,” Chrissy purred. “Let’s see who gets whom to a boil first, and we’ll see who’s a better cook.”
A squeak left her as Saks lifted her from the floor by her rear, and in a fit of laughter the pair fell into bed. In a tangle of lips and limbs, their breath quickened and their temperatures rose, but neither could claim ultimate victory. Instead, it was deemed a tie, and when morning came far too quickly there was barely enough time to make it to the airport, so a rematch was off the table.
“You’re not nervous?” Chrissy asked curiously as they waited at the gate.
“No, of course not,” Saks lied. In reality, she seemed a cool cucumber, all calm and under control, while he fought down his jittery nerves at the mere prospect of getting on a plane.
Chrissy’s lips pulled into a smile. “I mean, it would be weird that a guy who zips around Connecticut’s highways for fun on a bike would be nervous about getting on a plane.”
“What’s to worry about?” Saks shrugged. “Flying high in the air? Falling out of the sky? Going splat on the ground? Nah. Not worried a bit.”
“That’s what I like about you,” Chrissy said. “Such bravado.”
One glance out the window to where giant aircraft were pushed around the tarmac built his nerves up again. At least on a bike, he was the one in control. Here, he had to trust three or four strangers to get him safely over a broad ocean. So, it wasn’t until they were in the air he thought of a critical question.
“Chrissy?” he said as he fidgeted to try and adjust his cramped legs. “How do we know that Pearson is in London?”
“We don’t,” she said.
“But what if he’s in the U.S.?”
“He isn’t. I checked the airports where we usually land, and his plane hasn’t arrived at any of them.”
“When did you do that?”
“Last night. I couldn’t sleep.”
Apparently, he wasn’t the only agitated traveler of the pair. They were both relieved when they landed in the UK and cleared customs. Outside, as they waited for their ride, Saks shivered. It was at least ten degrees colder than Connecticut’s spring weather, and he quickly pulled his Hades Spawn jacket from his duffle.
“Will this cold snap last long?” he asked.
Chrissy smiled. “This isn’t a cold snap, babe. This is the warmer weather.”
“Noted,” Saks remarked with a shiver. Though Connecticut could be cold, this time of year was pleasantly warm. With the chill and overcast sky, London wasn’t as pleasant as he thought it would be.
A black town car drove up to them, and a bulky man came out of the driver’s side and opened the door. “Welcome back, Ms. Serafini,” he said.
“Thank you, Robert. This is my fiancé, Anthony Parks.”
“Nice to meet you, sir,” he said. Robert’s reserved manner threw a chill on Saks, and he didn’t offer his hand. The chauffeur opened the back door, and they climbed in while Robert wrangled their bags into the trunk.
“The apartment, Miss?” Robert asked as he settled behind the wheel.
“Yes, Robert. Can you tell me, have you driven Mr. Pearson anywhere the past few days?”
“No, Miss. I took a few days off, and some other fellows drove him. Had a bit of the flu.”
“Sorry to hear. I’m afraid Mr. Pearson is such a stickler for details, but my assistant didn't update his schedule. Can you ask the office to send me copies of his calls for rides? He uses the diary to check the bill.”
“Ah, right,” Robert replied. “I’ll see what I can do, Miss.”
“Thank you so much, Robert.”
It was a bit of a shock seeing Chrissy in her element and realizing just how well she’d been handling a high-profile job requiring chauffeurs and limos. Saks had known she was a highly-capable woman, but the car ride somehow really put it into perspective.
Eventually they pulled up to a four-story modern glass and metal building that seemed to be in the middle of the city. High-rises captured the charm of the old world that rose up around them, while the sidewalks were busy with those passing under the spread of umbrellas. Without fanfare their driver opened the back door, offered a hand to Chrissy, and then went to grab their bags.
“I can take mine,” Saks offered.
“Not necessary, Mr. Parks. It’s all part of the service.”
Saks was left to follow along as Chrissy took the lead and went inside. The modernity of the building continued on, with gleaming floors and sleek surfaces. It was expensive, he could tell that much, and his brow wrinkled at the sight of Chrissy gathering a key from the desk with nothing more than a smile. Had he been back home, he would’ve needed to show a driver’s license in anyplace as fancy as this.
In a hurry he followed Chrissy into a nearby elevator, and couldn’t help the feeling of eyes boring into the back of him. “Is there a problem?” Saks asked when he realized Robert had been staring.
“That’s an unusual jacket you have there.”
Saks shrugged. “It’s my club jacket. I belong to a motorcycle back home.”
“Like the Hell’s Angels?”
“No,” Saks snorted, “not like them.”
“Sorry, sir. I was just curious. I’d never seen anything like it, except in newspapers.”
“Saks’ club is a social one, Robert,” Chrissy explained. “They spend time together and organize road trips and other events.”
“Pardon?”
Saks pointed to his name patch.
“That’s my club name,” he said with a grin. Robert stared at him with confusion.
Chrissy laughed. “When I met him, he said they called him Saks because he dresses so well.”
Saks laughed. “I did.”
Robert’s brow furrowed. “So, you don’t, you know—”
“Break the law?” Saks nearly burst out laughing. “Not if we can help it. Though I do have a fearsome reputation for going a few miles above the speed limit.”
“I think it’s more than a few,” Chrissy joked.
“But, begging your pardon, sir. How do you know if a club is social or otherwise?”
“It’s in the patches,” Saks replied. “But if you look at the back, you’ll get the story. Social clubs like mine have a one piece or sometimes two patches. One-percenters always have three pieces. We call the top and bottom semi-curves rockers.”
“It’s that simple?”
“Yes.”
“Imagine that. You do learn something new every day.”
With a single ding the elevator door slid open, leading Chrissy to step out. Except, her usually confident steps slowed to a sudden halt.
On high alert, Saks’ muscles grew taut. “Chrissy?”
“Robert,” she called back, fear strung in her voice, “call the police.”
