Assault On England
“Actually, I rather like driving at night." She was wearing a short, very short, green dress with shoes to match and an auburn wig styled in a shoulder-length hairdo. I told her when she picked me up at the hotel, "If that wig's supposed to be a disguise, it won't work — I'd know that figure anywhere." She laughed, shaking her head. "No disguise, a girl just likes to change her personality once in a while." On the way to the little restaurant on the outskirts of London, where we stopped for dinn...er before proceeding south to the coast, I described my run-in with Novosty's boys.
She chuckled. "Brutus must have loved that… you did call him?" "I did." The restaurant was charming, very Old English. The waiters had just brought our order when a man approached the table. He was tall and square with blond hair and a rugged face. Along the left side of his neck, almost hidden by his shirt, was a thin scar. He had hard dark brown eyes.
"Heather — Heather York?" he said as he stopped at the table.MoreLess
She chuckled. "Brutus must have loved that… you did call him?" "I did." The restaurant was charming, very Old English. The waiters had just brought our order when a man approached the table. He was tall and square with blond hair and a rugged face. Along the left side of his neck, almost hidden by his shirt, was a thin scar. He had hard dark brown eyes.
"Heather — Heather York?" he said as he stopped at the table.MoreLess
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