Natasha collapsed against the sideboard, one hand pressed over her mouth, blood dribbling down her chin to drip scarlet blossoms on the pale carpet.
Her small, muffled moan was cut short by another visit from DS Davis’s fist.
Something shifted deep inside Andrew’s stomach, fizzing as it headed south. Making his balls clench as he stood there and watched.
Oh, this wasn’t good. This wasn’t goodat all!
Natasha crumpled to the floor, and Davis took a little run-up – slammed his foot into her stomach, like he was trying to score a goal from the halfway mark.
A short scream barked free, and his foot landed again. And again. Making her curl up, arms covering her head as his sandshoes hammered into her legs and back.
Every blow came with a snarled word: ‘I – know – who – you – are!’
Davis was going to kill her. He was going to kill her, right here, with Andrew in the house.
Oh God...
Then Andrew’s eyes snapped wide, because what were the police going to think when they turned up at the crime scene? Dead woman downstairs and there’s Andrew, hiding in thebox room, with a rape kit in his rucksack and the murder-victim’s underwearin his bloody pocket.
Think they’d believe he had nothing to do with it?
Think DS Davis would fess-up to killing her?
Course he sodding wouldn’t – he’d point the finger right at Andrew. And his police bastard mates would believe him. And they’d plant whatever evidence they needed to make Andrew look guilty. And that would be it: prison for life, while their murderous colleague danced off into the sunrise.
Fuck that.
Because Andrew was getting thehellout of here.
He shuffled his feet on the bone-pale carpet.
Buthow? The only exits were downstairs, and no way was Andrew going anywhere near that mad bastard.
Oh God...
THINK!
There had to be a way out of here.
Just needed a couple of minutes to breathe and get his head together, that’s all.
Andrew slunk away from the corner and opened the first door he came to – the kid’s bedroom.
Not a lot of places to hole-up, but it would have to do.
Somewhere downstairs, a clock struck midnight – the twelve chimes echoing through the mausoleum house as Natasha cried and DS Davis huffed and puffed like a rutting bull. Kicking the living shit out of her.
Andrew eased the bedroom door closed so gently that the catch barely whispered into place. Then backed away.
With the curtains shut, it was dark as a crypt in here, not so much as a sliver of moonlight.
Shitting hell...
He kept going, putting some distance between him and the door. And whatever nightmare was going on downstairs.
Why dideverythinghave to go wrong?
Hadn’t he earned a littlefunfor a change?
