Page 51 of The Unlikely Pair

I’m sure it would be impressive if anyone was around to observe us.

Finally, I glance at my watch, which is thankfully waterproof and has survived the drenching in a much better state than me or my clothes. It’s still set on London time, but it tells me that fifty minutes have elapsed since we threw the dummies over the bank.

I peer out at the opposite bank. There’s no sign of movement.

Which is a good thing. Climbing out of here will be a formidable task, even without the extra complication of someone firing at us.

“You ready to climb out?” I ask.

Harry takes his own time studying the far bank with a furrowed forehead before he nods.

“Let’s do it,” he says.

Unfortunately, climbing out of our hiding place is easier said than done.

We can’t easily carry our wet clothes while climbing, so the logical option is to put them back on. There’s nothing quite like the feel of sliding into damp trousers when you have no underwear.

We make the jump across to the bank okay, but a sheer rock face awaits us. I step up to start climbing before Harry does because I’m determined to take the lead in something out here. I double-check every handhold before I transfer my weight to it, though, because I don’t want to add my real body to my fake one at the bottom of the waterfall.

Despite the vigorous climbing, my body temperature drops sharply. A cold wind whistles around us, its icy fingers reaching straight through my damp clothes and into my bones. The cold saps my strength, making my limbs feel heavy and clumsy.

I don’t want to think about how if my hands get too numb, I won’t be able to clutch the wall properly and will plummet to my death.

Perhaps we should have stayed behind the waterfall? But our chances of being found by rescuers were virtually nil.

Out here, at least we can pretend there’s a chance we could stumble across people who want to help us, not shoot at us.

“Are you all right?” Harry calls up to me.

“There’s nothing like climbing a sheer rock face to end the day,” I say as I test the next handhold. “Careful of this rock here. It’s crumbly.”

I find a better hold and pull myself up onto it. My fingertips scream in agony, and I pant with exhaustion.

People rock climb for fun? Are they completely mad?

“We’re almost at the top,” Harry says.

“I know, I can see that. I have eyes too.” It appears that even in a life-or-death situation, one part of me finds it impossible to not argue with Harry.

“There’s a good foothold near your left thigh,” Harry says.

He’s right, of course. I shift my leg up to the foothold, then use it to launch myself higher for another handhold.

Two more, and I’m pulling myself up over the edge. I’ve never been so relieved to see flat ground in my life.

I collapse and lie there panting.

Then I turn around to see Harry heaving himself over the edge.

I have a moment of disconnect because today’s adventures have definitely made the last of Harry’s immaculate appearance disintegrate.

His hair is wild, and he’s got patches of stubble growing. He’s buttoned up his topcoat and suit jacket, but you can tell he’s shirtless underneath.

He doesn’t collapse on the ground like me but instead dusts off his hands like he’s simply finished rearranging first editions in the library of his manor house.

I’m about to comment on it, but I’m distracted by a low droning.

Helicopter.