Chapter 41

"Coventry," Colette read, "is a cathedral city in West Midland county."

Landon lounged beside her in the first-class train seat, keeping one hand on her thigh as she read information off her new phone.

He'd ridden the direct train from Euston station to Coventry more times than he could count when he worked in London, because he'd tried to come home at least once a month. Since moving to Manchester, it had been harder to get home.

That's where he was taking Colette. Home.

"After an economic crisis in the 1990s, Coventry has recently seen a resurgence in both prosperity and population."

"We aren't going to Coventry proper," he said.

"Oh?" She turned, leaning against the window to look at him.

"Coventry is the closest city. We're actually going to Leamington Hastings."

"L, e, m" she murmured as she typed.

"L, e, a, m" he corrected.

"There's not much information."

"There wouldn't be. It's a proper little English village. Looks like every village from Midsomer Murders."

At her raised brow he clarified. "It's a crime show. My grandparents watch it, and it makes small British villages seem like some of the most dangerous places on the planet."

She laughed softly, then frowned. "You said we were going to where you grew up."

"We are."

"I assumed we were going to sightsee. And stay in a hotel. I don't think Leamington Hastings has a hotel."

"You're right, it doesn't."

"Then where are we going?"

"I told you, to where I grew up."

"The house where you grew up?"

"Yes."

"Landon, I can't meet your parents!"

"Well, my mother died when I was six, so it's my dad and my grandparents on my mother's side."

"I can't meet your grandparents!"

"Sure, you can," he said, relishing the way she sputtered. It was hard to surprise Colette, but he'd managed it.

The train pulled in to the station a moment later. He handled their bags as Colette climbed down, moving somewhat gingerly.

He didn't go to her, but waited. It had been fun to spring the family angle on her, but he wouldn't force her to come. If she wanted to, she could be back on a train to London in less than an hour. He'd go with her, of course. It was going to take a long time before the urge to protect her at all times faded.

If he thought she'd allow it, Landon would stay by her side every day for the rest of their lives. Marry her, if she wanted, or just live with her if the idea of marriage had been tainted.

Of course, he hadn't fucking said any of this to her. A fact Andrei had delighted in pointing out to him while he was packing.

He also hadn't told her he loved her. At least not directly. Not while looking into her eyes and holding her, which is how he assumed one was supposed to confess their love. He'd come close, but something always happened. That's why he wanted to get away, to take her out of London to someplace where they could relax.

Colette glanced at the ticket booth at the far end of the wide platform and he tensed.

She gripped the strap of her purse, an uncharacteristic sign of nerves, and walked over to him. Landon relaxed and smiled.

"Don't smile at me, Landon Malik."

"Why not?"

"Because you're taking me to meet your family."

He led the way out of the station. "Why is that a problem?"

"I've never…I'm not the type of person you take home to meet your family."

"Yet here we are."

Once out on the street, he scanned the waiting cabs. An older man with a cap down at the end raised his arm, plucking the cap from his head to wave it.

"You realize we don't actually know anything about one another." Despite the exasperation in her voice, she followed him along the line of cars.

He was very aware that, despite literal years of searching for and investigating her, he didn't know things like where she'd grown up, or if she had siblings. "We know what matters."

"Master Land, good to have you back!"

"Mr. Brown," Landon said, lips twitching that the older man—who now looked truly old, though he'd been "old" all Landon's life—still used the juvenile form of address for him.

"And you've brought home a lady friend."

"Bonjour," Colette said.

"A French girl, too! Always knew you had fancy taste. I don't want to be embarrassing you, Mr. Evans." He winked.

Mr. Brown tried to take the bags from Landon, but he held on, loading them into the boot, then opening Colette's door. They slid into the back seat of the immaculate cab—the only cab that served Leamington Hastings. It's why Landon had called Mr. Baker from London to arrange a pick up.

"Now I'm not trying to be rude, but I'll have to watch this road for a bit. City's gone mad with people."

The light traffic around them would have made Londoners weep with joy, but Landon nodded. "Of course."

Colette leaned into him. "Master Land?"

"Master used to be how people address boys," he explained. "And Land was my nickname when I was a boy."

"Ah. And who's Mr. Evans?"

"That's my last name."

Colette leaned away, mouth rounded in a little O. Her lower lip was still puffy, but the split in the skin had closed enough she no longer wore a bandage on it.

He grinned. "Did you think you were the only one with multiple names?"

"Yes!"

He laughed, settling back in the seat. "My legal last name is Malik, my mother's maiden name. I changed it when I was in university, as a way to honor her, and her parents, who helped raise me."

"The grandparents we're going to meet?"

"Yes. Evans is my father's last name. And when I'm in Leamington Hastings, I'm Land Evans."

"I no longer feel bad about not telling you my aliases," she declared.

"I'll figure them out," he said with mock threat.

They left Coventry, heading into the West Midlands countryside.

"There now," Mr. Brown said. "Better, isn't it?"

Colette's hand found his, and Landon laced their fingers together. They weren't far from Northampton, as the crow flew, and the landscape outside looked much the same, though she hadn't seen much of the countryside.

"It is," Landon said to Mr. Brown, while keeping his attention on Colette. "Will you tell me what's changed, so I'm not shocked?"

Mr. Brown launched into a listing of updates to roads, new petrol stations, and houses that had been remodeled and were now "too modern."

"You okay?" he asked in a whisper.

She nodded, still looking out the window.

Maybe they should have stayed in London. It had only been a few days since the rescue. Yesterday they'd slept on and off most of the day. They'd shared his bed, and he knew she'd been exhausted, because she'd barely moved. Though she had managed to wake him several times when she pressed her shockingly cold feet against him. At one point he'd shoved a pair of his own socks onto her.

Last night they'd sat around the empty private club, drinking and chatting. Rolf played bartender, Andrei kept the conversation going, and bit by bit the last of Colette's tension vanished. Landon had been worried she wouldn't want to be around Rolf and Andrei, given how intimately they'd had to touch her as they helped Landon remove those fucking chains.

But Colette was relaxed around them, leaning against Landon's shoulder and chest, his arm looped around her. She'd only tensed once, when he got up to use the toilet, and immediately relaxed once he was back.

The one thing they hadn't done was have sex. In fact, they'd both been mostly clothed, except when he needed her to pull up her shirt so he could check the bandages over her nipples. During the removal, she'd asked him to touch her after, but once they were done, he'd held her as she cried and then carried her into bed. He'd given her pain pills and an antibiotic, and she been nearly asleep in his arms before they were done.

"It's a…farm." Colette sounded bewildered.

Landon laughed as Mr. Brown drove slowly down the long laneway that led to his family's property.

"Master Land didn't tell you?" Mr. Brown clucked his tongue. "Evans Farms is one of our last proper working farms in this area."

"Is that a baby sheep?!" Colette yanked her hand out of his so she could grip the door and stare at the fenced paddock that lined the road. Fat white sheep and a scattering of bouncy lambs speckled the green. "What's the word in English?"

"Lamb."

"Lamb! They're so…" She flailed both hands in the air. "Fluffy."

Landon laughed. "You're excited by farm animals."

"Fluffy lambs!"

"You know they're not soft."

She turned to look at him, outraged. "What?"

"They're scratchy. That's wool."

The laneway curved around a copse of trees, and then the houses and farm sheds were visible.

The first thing that caught the eye was the old two-story stone farmhouse which held court at the end of the driveway. At the time it was built, it was extravagant in both size and construction.

The car passed between stone gateposts, the wrought iron gates open wide. Landon had never seen them closed, though he'd enjoyed swinging on them as a child.

The driveway was narrower than the road that led to it, only wide enough for one car. Alder and hawthorn trees crowded the drive, branches lacing together overhead in some places. They passed a stump, and he remembered the way his grandmother had cried when they had to cut down a diseased tree.

To the right of the old farmhouse was the farmyard—a milking parlor, two barns, and a scattering of smaller buildings. Past those he could just see one of the larger fields, and the cows that grazed there.

Mr. Brown turned left, away from the farmyard and down a branching driveway that led to the modern house, half-hidden by another copse of trees.

The one-story home had been designed and built to house his multi-generation family. In other parts of the world this would have been entirely normal, but Landon had always gotten odd looks in school when he told people he lived with his father and his mother's parents, all in the same house.

Mr. Brown pulled to a stop, and before he put the car in park, the front door opened.

His grandmother had a little more silver in her long dark hair than she had before, but her eyes were bright, her smile wide. She wore gray leggings and a long, loose shirt-dress in muted blue. The style was quintessentially Pakistani, the color palette and material British.

"Mrs. Malik," Mr. Brown called through the window. "Look what I brought you. And he has a French girl with him."

Colette groaned, sinking a little into the seat.

"Don't be a baby," he taunted, opening his door and turning to his grandmother. "Nana." He scooped her into a careful hug.

"What's this, huh?" His grandfather appeared in the door, rubbing his glasses with the tail of his shirt before popping them on his nose. "Landon."

"Nani," he said, hugging his grandfather with equal care.

"Ali, he brought a girl."

"Ah ha, I told you that fire was good," Nani said, nodding.

Nana flapped a hand at him. "Put the kettle on. I will introduce myself."

Landon turned when his grandmother poked him, offering her his arms as they walked towards Colette, who stood by the open door of the car.

She looked nervous. He'd never seen her nervous before.

Colette met them halfway. "Bonjour, Mrs. Malik."

Nana burst into a spate of rapid-fire French.

Ah fuck. He'd forgotten his grandmother was fluent. It was easier to track the languages his grandmother didn't speak.

Colette smiled, then winced, touching the cut on her lip with her tongue before replying.

Nana pointed at Colette's lip, the end of her sentence raised in question.

Colette looked at Landon, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"It wasn't me!" He blurted out before she could say something to get him in trouble. "I didn't…I would never hit…" Well, fuck, that wasn't exactly true. But it was always consensual.

Colette laughed, then shook her head. "Non, ce n'était pas Landon. Il m'a sauvé."

"Stop trying to get me in trouble," he muttered.

"You don't remember any of your French?" Nana demanded.

"I do, I'm?—"

"If you did, you would know she just said you didn't hit her. That you rescued her."

Colette was looking off to the side, and he thought she was blushing, just a little.

"I'm sorry, Nana. I should have kept up with my French."

"How is your Urdu?"

"Uhhhh."

Nana released him, instead taking Colette's arm and starting towards the house. "He's a smart boy. He'll remember his French if you refuse to speak to him in any other language. That's how I taught Ali Pashto."

Landon gave his grandfather a second hug, then unloaded luggage and paid Mr. Brown. He shortened his stride to match Nani's as they walked into the house.

They slipped off their shoes just inside the door, the tile floor warm under his feet, thanks to the under-floor heater his grandmother almost never turned off.

The front door opened into a small foyer lined with benches and coat hooks, the ubiquitous rubber boots and dark jackets necessary in this part of the world neatly tucked away. Beyond the foyer were two wide double doorways, one to the right, one to the left.

Nana steered Colette through the right-hand doorway, into her and Nani's wing of the house. The first room was the main living space. Elegantly carved and painted wood tables imported from their native Pakistan were paired with overstuffed couches and recliners decorated with bright khaddar pillows.

There was an oil-burning lamp in the corner, and after a pointed look from his grandmother, Landon walked over and made a quick prayer.

Ten minutes later, they were seated at the kitchen table as Nana and Nani puttered around preparing food and tea.

"Should I offer to help?" Colette asked.

"No. You're a guest, let them treat you like a guest."

"Landon, I don't know how to do this," she whispered.

"Do what?"

"Be around a family."

His heart ached for her. "Your family…?"

"I'm an orphan. Since I was five."

"I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "There was no close relative to take me, or maybe no one was willing. A friend of my father's petitioned to become my guardian."

An uneasy feeling rolled over Landon. "Friend?"

"That's what he said. I think maybe they were business partners. Not really friends." Colette shook her head, her voice low as she alternated between looking at his grandparents and staring down at the table.

"But he adopted you?"

"Not adopted. He was my guardian." She looked over, her smile weak. "He taught me to be a thief."

"Was your father a thief?"

"I don't know. If he was, he was never arrested."

"Like father, like daughter."

"Maybe," she said with a soft laugh. "But I was never…I never had anything like this."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay. For secondary school, I lived in. At the boarding school. I wanted to become an art restorationist." Her smile was genuine now. "Or maybe work for Cartier, and design jewelry for very rich people."

All the time they'd spent together, and he'd never asked her about her childhood, or how she'd ended up becoming a thief. He'd known about the boarding school from looking into her past, but figured her wealthy parents had sent her there.

"But I was poor, and living at school didn't mean I didn't need money," Colette said softly.

"I'm guessing your guardian wasn't helping?"

"No. But he'd taught me how to be where I shouldn't be, and take what I needed. I'd been doing it since I was small—a child both makes a good thief, and is a good distraction."

"Fucking arsehole."

"I was fifteen when I planned my first solo job. And pulled it off."

He didn't ask what she'd taken, because he didn't care. This story was about survival, and a woman who'd been effectively on her own since she was young.

He was reminded again how hard it must have been for her to come to him for help and protection.

"When I was seventeen, I met Nilus. My guardian introduced us."

"Nilus?"

She lowered her voice. "The man who trained me."

Landon put his hand on her knee under the table. She laid her own atop it, and he flipped his palm up, lacing their fingers together.

"Don't look so sad," she said. "I enjoy what I do. Planning the heist, pulling it off. It's thrilling."

"And dangerous."

"Sometimes."

He didn't want to admit it, but he could picture what she described. He'd never met someone in law-enforcement who hadn't at one point insisted they'd planned the perfect crime, be it theft or murder. It was a game of wits and skill.

Nana and Nani bustled over, both carrying trays that looked far too heavy for them. Landon leapt up to help them. Once they were all seated, and tea poured, Nana looked at Colette.

"Tell me about yourself. What do you do? Who is your family? Where do you live?"

Colette froze.

Fuck. He should have pulled Nana aside and asked her not to interrogate Colette.

Time to step into the line of fire.

Landon cleared his throat. "I quit my job."