Cloche and Dagger by Jenn McKinlay

good at reading people, but the rat bastard had taken care of that. Still, I didn’t trust Harrison completely.
    “I don’t think you’re the reason she’s missing,” I said.
    “Clever.” He gave me a small smile, letting me know he was very much aware that I hadn’t absolutely absolved him.
    “Do you think Inspector Franks will be able to find her?” I asked.
    “I don’t know,” he said. “I guess it depends on how far his reach extends. I have some business associates that I am going to meet with today. I think they might be able to help us, and you can contact your aunt and see if you can get more specifics.”
    I gave him a sideways glance.
    “What?” he asked.
    “Are we working together on this now?” I asked.
    He gave me a slow smile and again I was struck by how handsome he was.
    “Truce?” he asked, holding out one hand.
    “Truce,” I said. I took his hand in mine. It was large and warm and his fingers folded around mine gently but firmly. It was a good handshake. If you can measure a person by their handshake, then Harrison Wentworth was a good man. Still, I was going to keep an eye on him.
    We continued on to the hat shop. When we turned onto Kensington Park Road, he stopped me with a hand on my arm.
    “Do you remember this corner?” he asked. He had a twinkle in his eye as if the memory he had of it was a good one.
    “Given that I walked past it just a half hour ago, it would be hard for me to forget,” I said. I knew full well that wasn’t what he meant, and he gave me an exasperated look that told me he knew I was teasing.
    “We got busted here,” he said. “You, me, Viv, Dean, Clarissa, Chester and some others. I can’t remember their names.”
    The names he did mention brought back faces from the past like specters. We had been such an unruly gang of preteens.
    “Wow, I haven’t thought of that group in years,” I said. I glanced around the corner where we stood and then I remembered.
    “Chester! He was the one.”
    Harrison broke into a grin and I knew he was sharing the same memory.
    “We were spitting out watermelon seeds and he nailed that passing car,” I said. “And it turned out to be Prime Minister John Major’s car.”
    We exchanged a wide-eyed glance.
    “The Specialist Protection officers were not amused,” he said. Again, classic British understatement.
    “I can’t believe they let us go,” I said. “I remember thinking they were going to arrest us and that Mim would never forgive me and I’d never be allowed back into the country again.”
    “As I remember it, you worked your magic on the officers and the Prime Minister,” he said.
    “I don’t know about that.”
    “Oh, sure, you started with big, limpid eyes,” he said. He batted his eyelashes at me and I felt my mouth tip up in one corner. “Then you were so polite as you asked questions about how dangerous their jobs were and then told them how grateful we were to have such brave men looking after our distinguished prime minister. I think Chester vomited on his shoes.”
    “That’s gratitude. I was saving his bacon,” I said.
    “Remember we all ran to Kensington Gardens and hid for the rest of the day?” he asked.
    “We were afraid to go home.” I laughed at the memory. I began to walk again, feeling as if ten-year-old me had joined us. I had to squelch the urge to skip just to see if it felt the same.
    “But we got hungry,” he said.
    “Well, watermelon will only take you so far,” I said.
    The foot traffic on the sidewalk was thicker than it had been earlier. Several times I had to swerve around mothers with toddlers and elderly people. After a block, Harrison took my elbow and turned me onto a narrower and less busy street.
    The strong breeze that had been at our backs vanished and I felt myself relax. London in April felt like winter in Florida with cool days and brisk breezes.
    I used to be pretty quick at converting Celsius to Fahrenheit in my head, but like any skill it goes