Madman's Dance (Time Rovers #3)(108)

A heartfelt smile was the reply.

~??~??~??~



The argument began the moment they left the prison and headed toward Victoria Embankment.

“I’m not a complete neophyte,” Morrisey insisted. “I conducted considerable research before I left.”

“As far as I’m concerned, you know nothing,” Cynda replied.

“That’s a bit arrogant, don’t you think? You were in the same boat a few months ago and I gave you the benefit of the doubt.”

“That’s not the point,” she retorted. “It’s an entirely different ball game here, and you need to remember that.”

“Really,” he said dryly. He gestured toward an omnibus as it crawled past them. “I never would have guessed.”

Tired of his attitude, she started planning ahead. “Since you’re here, we need to get you a room at the hotel.”

“That shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“Harder than you think. It’s tourist season. If they don’t have a spare, then we’ll have to room together. If anyone asks, you’re my brother. I’m registered as a Miss, so they’ll find it odd if I suddenly conjure up a husband,” she said, mentally checking off obstacles. The hotel would have to come up with a cot. No way would they share a bed.

“Then what?” he asked.

“Then you get some sleep.” While I figure out what to do with you.



The front desk clerk rewarded them with a dubious expression. No doubt enterprising unmarried couples had tried this tactic before.

“We do not have a spare room and to allow…your sibling…into yours is not our usual arrangement,” the clerk commented. He wasn’t the nice one she’d met when she’d checked in.

“I am aware of the issues of propriety, sir, and what effect it might have upon the other patrons of your fine establishment,” Morrisey spoke up. “However, it is an unusual situation. I need a place to stay.”

“It is very important, sir. I had no notion he was coming to London. There is a sudden illness in the family,” Cynda said, playing the sympathy card. “If you could provide a cot for him in the sitting room, that would be an immense help to us.”

“An illness?”

“We have a member of the family who has taken a turn for the worse,” Morrisey explained. It wasn’t quite correct, but taken to the extreme, it could easily mean Keats.

“Oh, I understand,” the clerk said, suddenly becoming more solicitous. “I do hope all resolves for the best.”

“So do we,” Cynda responded demurely. “Thank you.”

“A cot is easily arranged. I shall fetch a second key for you, Mr. Lassiter.”

“I appreciate your assistance, sir,” Morrisey replied.

Cynda mentally let loose a sigh of relief. Whether he liked being called by her last name or not, at least that problem was solved.

For the moment, anyway.

Her new roommate had barely enough time to put down his suitcase when she demanded, “So why are you here?”

The look she received was pure disappointment. “You’re not happy to see me?”

Cynda settled on the couch, unsure of what to say. He sat as well, stretching his arms overhead. There was a faint pop of vertebrae. The disappointed expression didn’t change.

“Look, I’d be happy to show you around if this wasn’t a giant mess,” she explained.



“That’s the only reason you don’t want me here?” he asked tersely.

“No.” She met his gaze straight on. “I owe you. You kept me safe while I healed. That means everything to me. I don’t want to let you down. I couldn’t handle losing another…”

He held his breath and then slowly let it out. “This wasn’t done on a lark. I had no choice. TPB came calling with a warrant for my arrest. Fortunately, Klein knew about it ahead of time, so we laid plans right after you left. Looks like I’m here for the duration.”

For the duration? She shook her head. “That’s not an option. You don’t know anything about—”

“If I go back, I’m in a cell, and I won’t be able to help you at all.”

“What keeps them from shutting down the company?”

“I temporarily transferred control to Alegria.”

“Who?” Then it clicked. “Chris’ mom?”

“Yes. My sister is enough removed from all the politics that they don’t dare do anything to her. So at present, the company has gained a respite of sorts.”

Got to give the guy one thing: he’s a brilliant strategist.

“I let Klein know about your off-time excursion the night Chris died.”

Cynda looked down at her hands. Her mind replayed the sound of the body splashing into the river. She forced herself not to shudder.

“That had to be very hard for you,” Morrisey said softly.

When she looked up, she saw that expression in his eyes again. Like he was lost. He always had it when he talked about Chris. “At least we know Copeland was involved, and that leads right back to TPB.”

A nod. “How did Harter look that night?”

“Tired. He was way bitchy.”

“He can get that way.”