“Connections. It’s all about who you know. It’s a not-to-be-missed event. Unless your name is Fargo. I understand you’re on the blacklist. Enjoy your stay in London. You’re at the Savoy, correct?”
“And where is it you’re staying?”
“Somewhere else.” He gave a cold smile again, then rolled up his window as the car took off.
Remi moved to Sam’s side, watching until the car was out of sight. “That was a bit unsettling,” she said.
“I’m sure that was the purpose.”
“How do you think he found out where we were staying? We’re not registered under our names.”
“Picked out the various five-star hotels and made a lucky guess?”
“Maybe we should have stayed someplace a little less refined.” She linked her arm through his. “Now, what were you saying about lunch and a battle plan? I have a feeling we’re going to need it.”
They found a nearby pub and ordered fish-and-chips with mushy peas and a pint of Guinness each. Sam carried the beer to a table, where they could keep their backs to the wall and watch the windows and entrance—just in case.
He handed Remi a pint.
She took a sip of the dark, room-temperature brew, then leaned back in her seat, thinking about their encounter. “How is it,” she asked, “that Fisk, of all people, managed to get tickets and we couldn’t?”
“Because he’s willing to break the law.”
“We have to find a way in there.”
“I’m open to suggestions.”
“Same,” she said as a waitress brought their lunch. They finished eating. Sam ordered another beer while Remi sat back, watching two women walk past their table on the way out, one of them saying, “Don’t know what you’re so upset about. Especially since your ex will be there. It’s just going to be a bunch of blighters singing happy birthday. I’m not going if that makes you feel any better. Unless you want to crash it?”
“Remi . . . ? Did you hear anything I just said?”
She looked at Sam. “Sorry. No.”
“If you want to walk away from this, I’ll do it. We’ve cleared Bree’s name, and—”
“What? No. The last thing I want is to let a man like Charles Avery win.”
“It’s not a game.”
“He tried to kill us.”
“Remi—”
“We crash it.”
“What?”
“Those women who just left were discussing crashing a birthday party. We could do that.”
He waited for her to explain.
“How many fund-raisers have we been invited to over the years where someone didn’t show? And how many of those where someone who wasn’t invited ended up attending?”
“Plenty.”
“Exactly. The worst that can happen? We’re turned away at the door. The best? We get in and find what we’re looking for.”
Thirty-two