Andrew’s whole body clenched.
Across the room, Skeleton Bob grinned at them both, glassy black eyes sparkling – hungry and malevolent.
The Knife shook so much there was no way he could hold on. And if he dropped it, Davis would—
Aclunkrang out.
But it wasn’t The Knife – that was still clenched in Andrew’s fist – and a breath later came the porcelain crash of something expensive shattering downstairs, followed by a wet, agonised sob.
Sounded like DS Davis hadn’t killed Natasha after all.
A growl ripped out of the vicious bastard, then he snatched a stuffed penguin from the bed, and marched from the room. Not bothering to close the door.
Oh, thank Christ...
Andrew closed his eyes and shuddered out a silent breath. Sagging as his body unclenched. Then frowned down at the front of his black trousers. Damp and warm, followed by a yeasty smell.
Yeah.
Because things weren’t horrible enough without that.
Outside: the sound of feet, thumping down the stairs.
Then Natasha’s voice, wrenching between a loose-lipped mumble and a full-on scream.‘HELP ME! SOMEBODY HELP ME!’Then a catch in her breath.‘No, please! I have money, I have—’
A thud muffled out.
Silence.
Then a sort ofhissingnoise, like something was being dragged across the carpet.
A door opened.
More dragging.
And the final, coffin-lidthunkof the front door closing again.
Andrew folded in half, grabbing his quivering knees – the fabric of his cargo pants already starting to go cold and clammy through his nitrile gloves.
He stayed there as the room whooshed around him, breathing hard, like he’d just done a thousand reps on the bench press, blood pounding in his temples.
But what if it wasn’t over?
What if Davis came back?
Stiff-legged, Andrew shuffled to the window and peered out between the curtains.
DS Davis was already halfway across the drive. He’d grabbed hold of Natasha’s ballgown – between her shoulder blades – hauling her, one-handed, towards a car that was every bit as nondescript as he was. That stuffed penguin crushed in his other fist.
Please don’t come back.
Please don’t come back...
Andrew fiddled with the buttons on his night-vision goggles and the picture zoomed in to full magnification, giving him a perfect view of Davis bundling her limp body into the boot then hurling the penguin in after her.
The bastard looked left, then right, making sure no one was watching, before climbing in behind the wheel with a huge grin on his face. Far more terrifying than the one printed on Andrew’s ski-mask.
Then the car’s lights flared in the goggles’ screen, washingout all details till the sensors caught up again. And by then the pale, anonymous Vauxhall was pulling away. Rolling down the drive and out onto the road. Heading left, back towards town.