A few minutes later they had walked across the Westminster Bridge and bought tickets. It wasn’t very crowded, which Rachel chalked up to the cold evening (it was supposed to snow), last minute Christmas shopping, and the fact that the attraction was shutting down in less than an hour.

Now, having just reached the top of the arc, Rachel shifted around the tight compartment to look him directly in the eye.

“My father isn’t an ogre, John.”

“You’re not the guy taking his daughter away from him.”

Her eyes brightened. “Is that what you’re doing, Detective?”

“Let’s just say I’m on the case.”

He gently took her hand and she made sure not to let it go.

As the wheel began to swing them slowly back down, they sat in silence and looked out at the magnificent city. It gave the view from John’s ridge a run for its money. With all the London sights lit up and decorated in their holiday finery—Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, the Tower Bridge—it was truly something to behold.

“Wow,” John finally uttered.

The first flurries of snow had begun to fall outside the bubble car.

“Ditto,” echoed Rachel.

A few moments later, they had reached the bottom. The wheel operator opened the glass door and motioned for them to step out.

“One more go-round?” John asked.

The operator, a roly-poly-jolly sort, who Rachel thought could easily be loading up a sleigh at the North Pole the next night, gave him a polite grin.

“Wish I could, sir, but as you can see, it’s closing time.”

He pointed at the embarkment area that was completely empty. John reached into his pocket and produced a badge.

“We’re not quite done here,” he said, giving a little nod toward Rachel, who was trying to keep a conspiratorial grin off her face.

The operator looked up at the cars on the way down behind them. When he turned back, there was a glimmer in his eye. He grinned and shut the door. “You two have a Merry Christmas.”

“You too,” said Rachel with her warmest smile.

The operator gave the bubble a slap and sent them back on their way.

Rachel looked at John, who was putting the badge back in his pocket.

“It has to be good for something,” he said with a slight smirk. “I’ll make sure to take care of him when we get back down.”

“I thought those payoffs worked the other way with you American cops.”

“Ha ha.”

The compartment rocked back and forth as it began another climb.

“I bet you did this all the time back in high school, taking that girl of yours—Shirley . . .”

“Sheila.”

“Sheila Whatzhername up to the top, hoping to get lucky.”

“Sheila Rice,” corrected John with another grin. “And that would be no.”

“What? No—didn’t get lucky?”

“She didn’t like amusement parks,” he responded.

“Ha ha.”