Jail Bird

guts.

‘I’m fine. You can let me up now,’ she suggested shakily.

‘Yeah.’ Nick gave her one last searching look, then took his weight off her and got back to his feet, pulling her up after him.

‘Fucking hell,’ he said as he saw what had happened to his car.

The heavy was looking at the Bentley too. All down one side, it was pockmarked with holes. Lily sagged against the car bonnet and wondered if she was going to pass out.

Drive-by shooting.

You read about these things happening. You just never thought in a million years that they were going to happen to you.

‘You sure you’re okay?’ Nick was asking her, still holding her, rubbing his hands slowly, soothingly over her upper arms.

She nodded dumbly.

‘Sure?’ He was very close, gazing at her with intense concern.

Suddenly, Lily felt choked up. The last person to show her such consideration had been Jack, but that had been so different; an offer of friendship and support, nothing more. This was something else. As Nick held her close she felt a shudder of molten desire rip right through her, as fierce as a spring tide. She sagged against him, allowed herself the luxury of being held and reassured, enfolded in his strength. It was not what she was used to. It was… wonderful.

‘Did you catch the plate?’ he was asking the heavy.

‘Yeah, but it won’t be no use,’ said the man-mountain glumly, still eyeing up the damage to the car. ‘Thing’ll be false, and the car was an old shit-heap, you know what that’s for.’

Nick knew. ‘Didn’t see who…?’

The heavy shook his head.

‘No. Me neither,’ said Nick grimly. ‘Call up the boys, get another motor here and get the car towed soonest. Come on, Lily,’ he said to her, very gently. ‘Let’s move away.’

‘Were they after you?’ she asked him unsteadily, her mouth dry and her voice cracked with the tangled aftermath of fear and arousal.

Nick stared at her for a beat. ‘Probably,’ he said.

Liar, she thought.

40

Jase drove the car out into the wilds of Kent, found a long, deserted lane beside a field of vivid yellow rape. He parked beneath a stand of oaks and sat there in the driving seat for a moment, looking at his gloved hands shaking on the wheel. He felt sick.

Jesus, he’d really fucked that up.

He’d followed her when she went out in the cab. Saw her going into the restaurant and thought, okay, time to spare, and he needed to go and have a crap; he was nervous, hyped up. This wasn’t his usual type of job. Also, he needed to take his pills. So he had buggered off for an hour or so, then stationed himself in the car near the restaurant’s entrance, and watched and waited. Got the window inched down just enough. Got the gun ready. The instant he saw Lily King’s bright blonde hair and distinctive long-legged walk, he gunned the engine, shot forward and peppered the area where she was standing with a good number of shots. Shit, one of them should have taken her out at least, but she hadn’t been hit and he knew it. He’d looked in the rear-view mirror and seen them all getting back to their feet. She wasn’t hit. She was fine. And so – thank God – was the geezer with her.

Yeah, she fucking well would be, thought Jase. Bitch had the luck of the devil.

His head drooped forward until it was resting on the wheel. He could hear the hard, nauseating thudding of his heart as he lay there, shaking, sick to his stomach. He pictured the scene all over again. Lily with a man, and that man had a minder, and the car was big, black and expensive, probably a Beamer or maybe even a Bentley, and he had shot past, zoomed past after he’d fired the shots that should have taken out Lily King, but not before he had time to see, to realize, who that man was.

Nick O’Rourke.

He’d fucking near done a hit on Nick O’Rourke.

And that was something you never, ever did. Not if you were fond of going on breathing.

‘Shit!’ he groaned, pounding the steering wheel with his fists.

He took a breath, tried to calm himself down a bit.

It was okay. It would all be okay. Because Freddy had fixed him up with the car, two-tone, rust and dirt. It was a clapped-out old Nova, fast but near fatal collapse, and the plates were fake. And…they couldn’t have seen him. He’d gone by there flat out. They couldn’t have seen him, no way.

He gulped down more breaths and the furious thumping of his heart seemed to steady a bit.

Yeah, it would be fine. Only…no. It was far from fine, because Freddy had wanted Lily offed and Jase had failed to do that. Jase had so needed to do that, because then Freddy would have put a good word in with Si. Freddy would have said that he was a sound worker, a good bloke. Then maybe Si would have taken him back on the firm, given him his door back, and maybe then he’d soften about this Oli business too, and then all Jase’s dreams – no, his plans – would come true.

But he had fucked up.

Now, there would be no recommendation from Freddy. Now there would be a right royal kicking instead – if he was lucky. And God help him if Nick O’Rourke ever found out that Jase had nearly topped him. Then it would be curtains for sure.

It was all going wrong. Everything was going wrong.

He could hear somewhere, away in the distance, a tractor moving.

‘Oh fuck…’ he said on a shuddering breath, and stuffed the gun into his coat pocket, threw open the door, went stumbling round on the mud-spattered road to the boot. He opened it, got the can of paraffin out, unscrewed the cap, and went back to the driver’s seat and doused the whole thing in the stuff. The chemical stench of it hit his nostrils and he gagged. Spattered a load of the stuff across the passenger seat, and in the back too. Shook it out until the can was empty. Then he stepped well back, rummaged around for his ciggy lighter, flicked it. Flame danced in his hand.

He threw the lighter into the car. A warm whumph of air hit him as the paraffin ignited. He stepped back further, stumbled, nearly went into the ditch. The tractor’s engine sounded louder, closer. He started back off down the road. Didn’t want the carrot-crunchers spotting him. It was a long walk back to the nearest town, but he was going to have to do it.

He was fifty yards away when the petrol tank blew.

Jesus!

The noise of it was shattering. He stopped, turned, looked back at the blazing remnants of the car. Well, that was one job he hadn’t arsed up. He’d destroyed the evidence. The Bill would never get DNA or any forensics shit out of that.

He turned and walked on. Felt tired. His chest hurt. He wondered if maybe he ought to ease off the steroids a bit. Maybe he would, when he’d straightened out the mess he was in. Got everything back on track again, running like it should. He knew he could do it.

He walked on.

41

Now how did this happen? wondered Lily. She was in Nick’s house, in Nick’s bed. How?

But she knew. The shooting and Nick’s tender consideration after it had shaken her. She knew she could just as easily have been dead right now. Not lying in Nick’s big, cosy bed with him but on a slab in a morgue. In her