Page 18 of To Catch a Sub

The NCA offices were on a quiet street in the Spinning Fields area of central Manchester, not far from the River Irwell. There was a hotel just around the corner from the office, but that had been a little too close for comfort, so she had a bit of a walk.

It was late afternoon, and wind had kicked up. Business people, emerging from the mixture of older brick and newer concrete buildings, ducked their heads as they walked along wide footpaths and pedestrian-only streets.

Colette went a few blocks down Deansgate—a proper multi-lane road—before crossing and ducking down Wood Street. The narrow road hugged the side of a massive Neo-gothic research institute and library. The architecture might have been inspiring if the laneway wasn’t also filled with bins and tips since it served as rear access for the buildings that fronted onto Bridge Street.

Colette regretted her bare legs, but she looked good in this dress, and had wanted every advantage. Her coat was more stylish than functional, and one particularly strong gust of wind had her shivering.

Colette hunched her shoulders like a local and walked faster. At the end of this block, she’d turn right and cross Bridge Street—at a zebra crossing, since Bridge Street was too busy for her to just cross where she wanted, as she’d learned on the way to Interpol. From there, it wasn’t far to the pedestrian only Trinity Bridge that would take her over the river to The Lowry Hotel.

She continued down Wood Street, passing slate gray doors set into red brick on her right, while on her left the massive flying buttresses of the library, each covered in carved details, loomed.

It needed gargoyles. In France it would have had gargoyles.

A hand wrapped around her upper arm, yanking Colette into the narrow space between two buildings. The covered alleyway was less than two meters wide, and so thick with shadows it felt like night rather than late afternoon.

Colette started to scream, but was shoved back against the wall, her breath leaving her in a whoosh.

For one terrifying minute, she thought Damien had found her. She’d left clues that should have him looking for her in Munich, not Manchester. How had he found her?

All she could hear was the sound of her own too-fast breathing and the beating of her heart.

She’d been so careful.

She thought she’d been so careful.

He was going to hurt her. The things Damien had threatened…

Those thoughts flashed through her mind in a split second, her body frozen in shock and fear.

Her attacker leaned in as his hands pinned her shoulders against cold brick, where a shaft of silvery light slanted in, dispelling the dark. She could see the outline of his jaw. His dark hair.

“Landon.” She meant it as a curse, but it came out breathless.

“What are you playing at?”

Her fear slowly subsided, because while Landon was certainly dangerous, he wouldn’t hurt her. Not the way Damien would. “You shouldn’t accost women in dark alleys.”

“What are you playing at?” he growled again.

The way his voice rumbled menacingly was distracting.

“I’m not ‘playing at’ anything.”

“That’s bollocks. You’re up to something, and you’re going to tell me what it is.”

Colette gathered her wits and smiled, while at the same time going limp. “You sound very British when you say things like bollocks.”

Before the last syllable was out of her mouth, she brought her hands up between his forearms, and then out, forcing his arms wide. His hands slid from her shoulders and she shoved him back.

She may have taken him by surprise with her first move, but when her palms made contact with his chest, his hands clamped around her wrists. She pushed against his chest, but even with the wall against her back as leverage, Landon merely swayed in place.

Slowly, he raised her wrists. She yanked against his hold to no avail, wincing when she accidentally banged her elbow on the brick. She tried to knee him, but he leaned in, restricting her movements. This time when he crowded her against the brick, he pinned her hands to the wall above her head.

Landon’s legs and hips pinned hers and she hid a wince. His fingers were large and warm as they laced around her wrists and she had to tip her head back to meet his eyes. “You claim to need protection, but then you sneak out.” His gaze bore into hers. “So I’ll ask again. What are you playing at?”

“I do need protection. But I also wanted to go back to my hotel for an hour or two.”

The corner of his mouth kicked up. “Stressful day?”