Target

'There's something I ought to tell you,' she said when we were standing on the pavement.

The last time I'd heard that line it was followed by my ex-wife dropping the bombshell that she'd fallen in love with a man called Nigel. Trying not to let that bother me, I adopted the most neutral expression I could manage and asked Jenny what it was.

She put a hand on my arm, and fixed me with those big brown eyes. I noticed she was a little unsteady on her feet. 'You know me and Dom broke up a while back?'

'Uh-huh,' I said, conscious that I was wobbling too.

'He's been trying to get back with me recently. Phoning up. Calling round. Things like that.'

I had a sinking feeling. I'd thought the two of them were history. Dom hadn't been mentioned all evening, and now, hearing his name spoken out loud, I experienced a sudden rush of guilt.

'I know you and he are very good friends,' she continued, 'so I thought it was fair to tell you that. He's really interested in us starting up again. But I'm not.' She moved closer so our faces were only a few inches apart. 'That's why you're here.'

I wasn't sure what to say, so I plumped for saying nothing. Nor did I resist as she took me by the hand and led me up to the front entrance of the building, although I now knew this was going to be more than just an extension to our chat.

Inside, the foyer was empty, and I noticed Jenny frown as she swiped a card through the space-age-looking reader, releasing the lock on the double doors. 'There should be a doorman on duty,' she said. 'That's what we pay our maintenance for.'

I wasn't quite sure what you needed a doorman for if you had to use a key to get in the building, but I was pleased he wasn't there. I didn't want any witnesses to what I knew was going to be the betrayal of my oldest friend, especially if – God forbid – Dom and Jenny ever did get back together. Although to be fair, that wasn't sounding too likely.

As we got inside and she pressed for the lifts, I heard rapid footsteps coming from the hallway behind the front desk. It sounded like the doorman was returning, so as the lift doors opened I hurried inside and pressed myself against the wall, still worried about being seen.

Jenny followed me in, standing in the middle, and as the doors began to shut she called out, 'Hello, John, I thought you'd gone on strike.'

'Toilet break,' I heard the doorman call back, and then the doors closed, and she pressed for Floor 9.

We looked at each other for a long second and I knew immediately what was going to happen. She leaned forward. So did I.

The first kiss was hesitant, just like it always seems to be in the movies, and I felt my last twinge of guilt evaporating.

The second kiss was harder, longer, and I hardly noticed the lift doors opening again. We paused for a couple of seconds, then she took me by the hand and led me down a short corridor to her front door, kissing me once again before we manoeuvred our way inside, still attached to each other at the mouth.

Jenny's place was nice, as befitted a swanky building like this, opening directly into a spacious, neatly furnished lounge with floor-to-ceiling windows offering views across the park.

She let go of me for a moment and took a step backwards. 'I'm not always this forward, you know.'

'I know,' I said. Which I didn't, of course, but I thought this was probably what she wanted to hear.

'It's just I've always had a bit of a soft spot for you.'

'I guess I've had one for you as well,' I admitted.

'Do you want a drink of something?'

I'll never forget my next words, mainly because they were so hackneyed, and did whatever reputation I had as a romantic or a wordsmith no good at all. 'No,' I said, 'I just want you.'

Something about it must have worked, though, because the next second we were kissing again.

We remained like this for several minutes, our hands running up and down each other's bodies, exploring hungrily, before she whispered huskily that it was time to go to bed.

I wasn't arguing, and we walked sideways, crab-like, still locked together, through to a spacious bedroom with mirrors on the walls and a king-sized bed with black satin sheets which, I have to say, looked to be designed for just this kind of encounter.

She pulled my jacket off and flung it into the corner, then tugged at my belt.

Unfortunately, this was also the moment when, with impeccable timing, I experienced every man's nightmare in this situation: the nagging urge to pee. I really didn't want to say anything for fear of breaking the mood, but I also knew that, my bladder being what it was, I was going to have to, otherwise the urge would get steadily stronger, which would risk ruining everything.

I waited another thirty seconds, hoping it would go away. It didn't.

'I've just got to go to the bathroom,' I mumbled into her lips.

'It's over there,' she mumbled back, pointing at a door to my right. 'Don't be long.'

'I won't,' I said, breaking away.

The bathroom was vaguely disappointing after the opulence of the rest of the apartment. It might have been en suite but it was windowless and way too small, as if the designers had made a mistake with their measurements and run out of room, and it was quite a squeeze to stand in front of the toilet without tumbling backwards into the bathtub.

There are few things more likely to put off a first-time lover than hearing her partner peeing loudly, so I turned the sink's cold tap fully on to mask the noise. Then, once I'd finished and flushed, I washed my hands and inspected myself in the mirror, thinking that I wasn't looking too bad considering I'd been out drinking for the best part of the last eight hours. I even pulled a sexy pout, looking at myself sideways on.

Which was the moment when I heard Jenny gasp once, very loudly, and cry out.

I froze.

The cry was stifled suddenly. Someone had a hand over her mouth. And then I heard movement outside the door and the unmistakable sound of two men whispering urgently to each other.

'Hold her still,' I heard one of them hiss, his accent harsh and distinctly Northern Irish. 'I need to get the needle in.'

Jenny's muffled cries suddenly became more desperate.

'Shut the fuck up and stop wriggling!' I heard the other one snap in a rough London accent, followed by the sound of a hard slap.

I had no idea what was going on in there but I knew I had to intervene because Jenny was being attacked. But I was absolutely rooted to the spot. I'm no hard man like Maxwell. I'm just an ordinary mortal coward who reads the stories in the papers every day about the senseless killings of those individuals brave enough to help victims of crime. I'd always said that I would never ignore someone's cry for help because I'd never be able to live with myself if I did. But now that it was happening, only feet away, I found that I couldn't move as the fear and adrenalin coursed and swirled through my body.

Jenny's cries stopped. Just like that.

Do something! my inner voice roared at me. But what the hell could I do?

'Thank Christ for that,' said the Londoner with a loud sigh, his tone suddenly more relaxed. 'She's a looker though, ain't she?'

'Don't even think about it,' answered the Irishman dismissively, and this time his voice came from right outside the bathroom door. 'We haven't got time. Get her off the bed. I need a leak.'

As he spoke, the door handle began to turn.

Jesus Christ! The bastard was going to come in here, and I'd locked the door! As soon as he realized that it was locked, he'd know there was someone in the apartment, and that would be it. I was trapped. One minute preparing to make love to an attractive woman, the next praying for my life.

The handle kept turning. The guy kept talking. My heart kept hammering.

Do something!

I leaned over and flicked back the bolt, hoping his voice would muffle the sound. Then, moving quickly and trying to make as little noise as possible, I stepped into the bathtub and pulled the shower curtain across so that I was hidden.

Just in time. In the next second, the door opened and he came in, shutting it roughly behind him.

I froze again, teeth clenched, not even daring to breathe as he stood in front of the toilet and unzipped, grunting loudly, only inches away. He was medium height, with the kind of contoured leanness that suggested he worked out a lot more than me, and if I'd put out my hand, I could have tapped him on the shoulder through the curtain – he was that close.

He seemed to take for ever, and every single second I wondered if some sixth sense would alert him to my presence. But at last he finished, and as he flushed and walked back out, not bothering to wash his hands, I finally breathed again.

This time he left the door open and, though I knew that in the interests of self-preservation, if not honour, I should stay exactly where I was until they left, then call the police, I couldn't resist peeking round the edge of the curtain.

From the tight angle I had, I could see the bottom quarter of the bed and the area immediately in front of it, which was taken up with what looked like a large cleaning trolley. I could also see Jenny's bare legs from the knees downwards, now missing the jeans she'd been wearing when I'd left her just a few minutes earlier. The intruders were nowhere to be seen. I could only assume they were going to rape her, the bastards, although I knew they wouldn't have had time to undress her. She'd clearly been undressing for me and I was filled with anger at the thought of these bastards violating her.

I moved away from the curtain's edge, looking round for something to use as a weapon. Amid all the clutter round the bath there was an antique brass soap dish shaped like a giant goldfish, and I picked it up, feeling a satisfying heaviness. It wasn't a lot but it would have to do.

Gripping it in my right hand, I slowly peeked out again. Now I saw one of the intruders properly for the first time. It wasn't the one who'd taken a leak. This guy was big and well built, with a shaven head and the kind of face that didn't waste a lot of time on pity. He was dressed in a blue boiler suit and was carrying a prone, unconscious Jenny over to the cleaning trolley. She was in her bra and underwear, and she'd been gagged with a handkerchief and had her hands tied behind her back. There was something so vulnerable about her in that position that it made me shake with rage.

Yet still I didn't move. Even when he stopped and dumped her into the trolley like a sack of rubbish. Because I was so damn terrified. Because, in the end, I knew that I wouldn't have a chance fighting this man, let alone two of them, and I kept telling myself that there was no point intervening now because it wouldn't actually benefit Jenny. That it would be far better simply to wait until they went and phone the police.

I couldn't see the other one, but then I heard him speak from somewhere behind the door, his words, delivered in that hard Northern Irish accent, cutting through the room like a knife. 'Whose is this, then?'

And then, as he came into view with his back to me, my heart sank.

Because the bastard was holding my jacket, and in the last second before I slid back behind the curtain, I saw both men turn to look in my direction.

Three

Every muscle in my body tensed, and I held on to the soap dish like grim death. I was cornered, and there was absolutely no way out. My jacket's a faded brown leather, distinctly male, and a good three sizes too big for Jenny who was no more than five five and at least eight inches shorter than me. So these guys would know a man was here somewhere, and there weren't exactly a lot of places he'd have to hide in.