Deliver Us From Evil (A. Shaw 2)

He looked hesitant for a moment and then held out his arm. She quickly slipped her hand through it before he could reconsider the offer. His hesitation had made Reggie inwardly smile. Uncertainty humanized a person so wonderfully, she thought. Reggie slightly increased the pressure on his arm to show him he’d made the right decision.

“It’s not too far from here,” he said. “It’s a nice night, we can walk.” He glanced down at her shoes. “Can you manage in those things? We can cab it if you want.”

“I can walk over in these heels. I just might not be able to walk back.”

“I can always carry you.”

They walked down Haymarket Street, cut through Piccadilly Circus, and over to Mayfair.

“It’s only a few more blocks,” said Shaw as they ambled slowly along. “Just off Grosvenor.”

“I’m good.”

He glanced down at her. “You do seem good.”

She interpreted his remark as she glanced around at other couples doing exactly what they were doing. “It’s just nice to pretend to be normal. I guess that seems weird.”

“No it doesn’t. In our professions those moments are few and far between.”

The restaurant was set midblock, and had a green awning out front partially obscuring a pair of formidable mahogany doors. Inside, the ceilings were high, the wood dark, the booths leather-backed, the linens starched, and the napkins poofed up in cut crystal water glasses. Topping chest-high wood cabinets were iced platters of lobster tails, shrimp, black-shelled mussels, and spidery crab legs arranged i

n concentric circles. Shaw had made a reservation and a curvy young Indian woman in a black dress tight enough to reveal her choice of thong underwear led them to their table. It was situated in the back diagonally across from the entrance.

Shaw took the seat opposite the mahogany doors.

This had not been lost on Reggie. “Firing lines sufficiently established?” she asked impishly.

“They’ll do. Unless that platter of steamed squid fouls the shot.”

“Why do I think you’re not joking?”

He picked up his menu.

She did the same. “Any recommendations?”

“Pretty much anything that has a fin, gills, and/or a shell is a safe bet to be classified as an aphrodisiac.”

She dropped the menu. “Then why don’t you pick for me?”

Shaw’s gaze topped his menu. “Indecisive?”

“Actually, cautious enough to defer to another’s enhanced expertise.”

“There’s a lot that can be interpreted from that remark,” he said candidly.

“There is. But for now, let’s limit it to the food.”

He put his menu aside. “Then we’ll double down on the Primavera Frutti di Mare.”

They ordered their food and a white wine to go with it. The waiter drew out the cork and poured the small taster portion, which Shaw approved with a sip and a nod. The waiter filled their glasses, set a basket of bread and a bottle of olive oil between them, placed the wine in a chiller sleeve, and left them alone.

Shaw held up his glass and Reggie dinked it with hers.

“Is the pretending to be normal period almost over?” she said resignedly.

“Almost, but not quite.”

“I love London,” Reggie said, looking around.