Soon as she got the thing over the threshold, she hauled at the door – setting those stupid bloody rollers squealing like a ruptured pig.
Pleaselet the bastard still be parking.
Pleaselet his windows be up.
Pleaselet him be playing his horrible music, full volume, so he couldn’t hear any of that...
One last yank and the doorclunked into place.
She bowled her anchor back into the middle of the room and heaved it upright again. The concrete inside was ruined – notenough to let go of the bloody chain, but more than enough to get her killed.
So...?
...
Sit on it.
That was fuckin’genius!
Her arse would hide the damage.
Natasha clambered onto the bin. Not exactly comfy, but better than the alternative. Then sat there,listening.
Outside, the engine noise died. A car door creaked open, thenthunked shut.
Please don’t let him have heard any of that.
Footsteps crunched across the dirt outside.
Please, please, please, please, please...
She sat up straight.
Deep breath.
You candothis.
The bluebottles must’ve been disturbed by her charging back in here, because the greasy bloated bodies lumbered into the sticky air again. Circling andbuzzzzzzzing.
And now that she was sitting still, the bastards began to settle on her salt-stained arms and legs.
One landed on her cheek.
She brushed it away with a swipe of the hand. A good old-fashioned ‘Australian salute’, as they used to say, back in the—
Oh fuck...
She could hold her hands in place and pretend they were still cuffed there all she liked, but Detective Sergeant Davismightjust notice SHE WASN’T WEARING HIS PRECIOUS FUCKING GIMP MASK!
Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit...
She should’ve run after all.
69
Whoever invented paperwork could sod right off.
Logan poked away at his keyboard, working his way through the interminable screeds of crap needed to justify every cock-up, mini-triumph, assorted shenanigan, and utter wanking disaster he’d overseen since starting work this morning.