I didn’t know him. He didn’t owe me anything. Except a new pin. And I had a boyfriend. One who abandoned you at the party, knowing full well crowds make you crazy.
I squashed the voice of discontent. It wasn’t useful right now. My social anxiety had gotten worse since Mom’s passing. Well, really since the car accident. I knew how to manage on my own. Depending on anyone was a recipe for disaster.
I snapped open my purse to find my shuttle ticket and pulled out the stiff cardstock. I frowned when I noticed what looked like a black tube of lipstick in the bottom of my clutch. My lipstick was in a silver tube.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood at attention, and I glanced around. I’d made it through the security check point with no problems. But something made me wary.
I was a firm believer in our evolutionary cues that warned us of danger. Maybe some of that came from micro expressions, maybe a change in the air, but something told me to wait until I was on the shuttle back to London to investigate.
My feet dragged as I boarded the black limousine party bus with three other people. I chose a position close to the back where it was dark. The whole time I could feel the lipstick tube burning a hole in my purse. How had it gotten there?
Once the bus had been moving for ten minutes, I pulled out the black tube and examined it. It was only then that I realized it wasn’t lipstick. I tugged on it and it separated into two parts. It was a flash drive. What. The actual. Fuck?
Think, Livy. Slow it down. That was a game my mother had played with me as a kid when I would get so worked up about a social situation that I couldn’t function. It always worked. Once I got over my initial fear, I could always think more clearly.
One deep breath. The lingering scent of various perfumes clung to the air. Another deep breath. The chill had me pulling my shawl tighter around myself. A final breath. My mind played back the end of the party, those last moments when I’d tried to play hero.
The Viking.
He’d done this. He’d made me his accomplice. But to what?
3
Livy
As the seconds ticked by, my brain speed processed the seven stages of mental ass kicking. I was desperate for answers. Had I been targeted? Did he do this on purpose? Was this a game? Was he someone who assumed, that like my mother, I was a diplomat?
He’d be very disappointed. I was an executive assistant. I had no access to anything or anyone important.
I’d changed industries after moving back from the states to be with my mother, and I hadn’t been able to find an operations position. And unlike my mother, I had zero taste for the diplomat’s lifestyle.
Denial came quickly. Because no way was this happening to me. There was clearly a mistake. I hadn’t just broken a priceless artifact then unwittingly smuggled out some kind of flash drive. Even I wasn’t that stupid. Dexter was going to be furious. How the hell did I get myself into these situations?
Guilt lingered. I should go back and turn myself in. The anger though, that was surprising. I wanted to put on the gloves I used to have when I did Krav Maga and go to town, grounding and pounding this flash drive. I hadn’t asked for the disruption in my life. The other stages followed quickly after the denial and guilt, and finally, I was left with the flash drive still in my palm.
The shuttle pulled up to St. Pancras Station. For fear of being searched again, I shoved the drive into my bra, using my shawl to cover the misshapen bulge.
My stomach knotted and tightened as I stepped down off the shuttle with not a cavity search in sight. It was disturbingly easy to walk away with whatever this was. I was in such a tag that I took no notice of the glass arch above. Or the inky blankness only broken by crystals of water as it drizzled. What was on the damn thing? What if this was all a horrible misunderstanding? And why had the Viking handed it to me? I was a total stranger. Naturally, I flinched as I thought about how we’d first met. I was in such a fog I almost walked into The Meeting Place Statue. The bronze statue of the couple only served as a reminder of how my evening had ended.
I laid my head back against the glass as my train passed Victoria station. I could almost see myself talking to my mother about what had happened earlier and her saying, ‘At last, some adventure.’ I blinked my eyes rapidly, dissipating the sting of tears.
This was no adventure. The Viking screamed danger. And while I wanted some excitement in my life, I didn’t have a death wish. Not to mention, Mom had loved Dexter. The two of them had been thick as thieves. But then Dex was always a charmer.
When I reached my station, I stepped off the train, pulling my shawl closer around me to ward off the wet chill. With my clutch tucked under my arm, I started the four-block trek home. On the street, my shoes made soft suction sounds as they tread on the wet roads. My phone rang, and I pulled it out from my purse, smiling when I saw who it was. “Hey, Telly.”
Telly Brinx was a legitimate walking, talking badass and had been since Uni. We’d shared a flat with two other girls and then promptly moved out on our own. “Hello, gorgeous. How’s the event? How are you feeling? Tense? Anxious? Do you want to have a night of wine and reading at mine?”
Adrenaline surged through me, making me desperate to tell her everything, but maybe talking on the phone about how I’d accidentally stolen state secrets or mining secrets or whatever was on the drive was probably not a good idea.
Telly was a tech genius. She owned Brinx Technologies and was a brilliant developer. She might be able to help me decipher what the hell I was carrying around. “Only you would offer a night of wine and reading.”
“Well, to be fair, by reading I mean gossiping about very fit celebrities.”
I laughed. “Yeah, we’re overdue. I haven’t seen you in a few weeks.”
“We need to fix that. You think his royal highness will let you out?”
I sighed. “Telly, be fair.” After the accident, Dex had struggled with post-traumatic stress. He’d also injured his hand and had to have some physical therapy. “Monday after work?” By then I would have figured out what to do. Maybe it would have resolved itself by then. Like this is going to magically go poof.
“I will put it in the books. So tell me, how was it?”
I swallowed. What should I say exactly? “Fine. I was a bit anxious. But you know, nothing I couldn’t handle.”
She laughed, knowing me all too well. “So, how long before you ran off? And did you have your shoes in hand?”
I groaned. “One time I did that. Once. Why won’t you ever let me live it down?”
“Because it was hilarious. You attempting to climb out the loo window with your Jimmy Choos in your fist.”
“I don’t like you.” I’d begged her to go with me to the London Lords holiday party when I’d started as a temp six months ago. I’d had an anxiety spike and, erm, needed air. That was my story, and I was sticking to it. Besides, I’d at least texted.
“So tell me, did you meet anyone even remotely cool? Or interesting?”
“Uhm, meet is the wrong word I think.” I didn’t get a name for the Viking.
“Dexter was supportive?” I hesitated a moment too long, and she groaned. “Was he a twat?”