'Well, if they do, I'll squeal. I'm not mad about this job.' Burnett stared coldly at him.
'But you will do it?'
Daz shrugged.
'I said I would, didn't I?'
'Get as much money out of her as you can. I want her to be in an impossible financial position. I want her to be up to her eyes in debt.'
Daz dragged himself to his feet.
'How about some money now . . . I'm skint.'
'When you deliver,' Burnett said curtly and waved a dismissal.
In the bitter cold of a January night, Natalie Norman found her rear off-side tyre was flat. She had been working late, and was now looking forward to getting home and into a hot bath. She had parked her Austin-Mini, as she always did in a cul-de-sac off Park Lane. She stood shivering in the biting wind while she looked helplessly at the flat tyre, when out of the shadows, came a tall, lean young man, wearing a lamb skin lined short coat, his hands thrust deeply into the pockets of his black hipsters.
Daz had learned where Natalie parked her car, and he had let the air out of the tyre some fifty minutes ago. He had stood in a nearby doorway, freezing and cursing until he saw her come to the car. This was his first glimpse of her. He brightened considerably as the street light lit up her long, slim legs. The least he had expected was some woman with legs that could support a grand piano.
He waited, watching her. She moved into the full light and he grimaced. Good body, but so obviously a plain, sex-starved spinster with as much personality as a drowned cat.
Boy! he thought. Will I have to use my imagination to get her laid!
'You in trouble, miss?' he said. 'Can I give you a hand?'
Natalie was startled by his sudden appearance. She looked helplessly to right and left, but there was no one in the cul-de-sac except themselves.
'I have a puncture,' she said nervously. 'It's all right. I'll get a taxi . . . thank you.'
He moved under the street light so she could see him. They regarded each other, and she felt her heart beat quicken. He was lean and tall and like a beautiful young animal, she thought. His hair, curling to his collar, excited her. She felt a rush of blood through her: something that often happened when she saw really masculine men on the street, but her pale, expressionless face revealed nothing of the feeling that was moving through her body.
'I'll fix it,' Daz said. 'You get in the car, miss. Get out of the cold. Phew! It's cold, isn't it?'
'Yes . . . but please don't bother. I'll take a taxi.'
'Hop in . . . I'll fix it . . . won't take me a jiff.'
She unlocked the car door and got gratefully into the little car, closing the door. She watched his movements. He was very quick. Under ten minutes, he came to the car window, wiping his hands on the seat of his hipsters.
'All fixed, miss . . . you can get off.'
She looked up at him through the open car window. He leaned forward, staring down at her. Was there something of promise in his young eyes? she wondered. Her heart was jumping about like freshly landed trout.
'Can't I give you a lift?'
She smiled and when she smiled, he decided she wasn't all that bad to look at.
'You wouldn't be going near Knightsbridge?' he asked, knowing that was where she lived.
'Oh yes . . . Church Street.'
'Well, a lift would be nice.'
He went around the car and slid in beside her. His shoulder touched her and she felt as if she had received an electric shock.
She was furious with herself because her hand was shaking so violently she couldn't get the key into the ignition lock.
