Chapter Three

I yawn widely as I disembark from the train at Eastbourne station and hail a taxi to take me the short way home, where I’m looking forward to a quick cup of tea and a good night’s sleep. I think briefly that I should go for a run along the seafront before I retire, as I’ve had little exercise today, but instead vow to add a mile or two to my run tomorrow. Besides, a thin rain is starting to fall, and I don’t want to catch a cold…

Firmly convinced by this thin excuse, I pass over the taxi fare to the driver’s outstretched hands and then climb out of the car in the driveway of my flat complex, the headlights sweeping around as the taxi leaves, and I note how very quite Eastbourne is at night. In London, people are always moving around or there are at least city noises until all hours, but here, it’s quite a sleepy seaside town where everyone is in bed by the time the news comes on the BBC.

I’m digging for my keys in my pocket when I feel a tidal wave of force crash into my from behind, knocking me onto my knees and half ripping the breath from my lungs. I immediately fall to the pavement, rolling over to see my assailant and to give him a piece of my mind, thinking that if he’s a lowly mugger, he is messing with the wrong girl on the wrong day.

Before I can right myself, however, I am rolled over and a meaty pair of hands goes around my neck, choking the breath out of me as I fight to sit up, to punch him, something. His knee digs into my stomach as he pins me to the ground, leaving me thrashing like an insect that’s been pinned to a display board.

Finally, I get a leg in place and manage to topple him off of me, gasping as air fills my lungs, giving me strength again. Standing, I go for my weapon when he sweeps my leg, tilting me off balance as he stands and making me lose grip on my holster. I immediately put up my hands as he readies a fist, feinting left and right to avoid being punched while trying to land a blow or two of my own. He is at least a half a foot taller than me, and outweighs me by at least fifty pounds, but I manage to hold my own as we begin to fight.

Fists flying, roundhouse kicks connecting with knees, and the occasional sucker punch as we dash from one end of the drive to the other, invisible to the sleepy flats around us. We engage in hand to hand for several minutes, no noise but the sound of low grunting and flesh connecting with flesh until I move one second too late and get a fist to the face.

Damn it.

I crash into the asphalt, and immediately feel a kick to my stomach then another, more powerful kick to the side of my head.

The world begins to swim and blackness begins to take over my vision. I fight to remain conscious, fight to find out who the hell this man is, and why he’s so determined to take the nine quid and tube of lipstick in my purse, unless his motives for attack are even more sinister. He leans over me again, and I gasp in surprise: he’s the guard from tonight’s mission, the one with the scar bisecting his face who managed to survive while his colleagues were mowed down.

Oh god. This is about to go very wrong, very fast, unless I can shake off the ringing in my head and the stars dancing about my eyesight.

“Who *are* you?” I eke out, putting up my hands weakly to avoid another kick or body blow while I try to regain equilibrium.

“Who the fuck are you, ruining that buy?” He growls back, grabbing me by the collar and dragging me to my feet. “We had that in place for months,” he snarls, holding me upright as I try to make sense of his words. The world swims anew, and I find myself unable to keep balance, and barely able to focus on the gun he as pulled from god knows where. He wields in confidently, and I know it’s going to be against my throbbing temple in only a matter of seconds unless I can get this situation under control.

His other hand pulls roughly at the collar of my shirt, and then I hear him catch his breath out loud. He abruptly lets go, and I tip forward, barely bracing myself with my hands as I fall to the ground, my eyes closing of their own volition, no matter how much I try to stay awake, to keep fighting, but he’s obviously rung my bell with that well-timed kick to the head…

“Oh my god,” he says, his voice suddenly laced with fear. “You’re…”

And then the world washes from gray to black as I finally lose the battle with my brain and fall unconscious, at least for a few seconds.

Strong arms lifting me up, despite my feeble attempt to fight them off…

The engine turning over in a car, a door closing me inside…

Twists and turns and gunned engines, sweeping from side to side…

Bright streetlights, then pitch black sky, alternating over and over as I fight to stay conscious a few minutes longer…

No voices, no music, nothing but a dull ache in my head and wave after wave of dizziness and confusion…

Oh god, he’s going to take me somewhere deserted, shoot me in the head and dispose of me. Wash me out to sea, toss me in a skip, or just leave me on the side of the road.

Have to fight this…

Abruptly, the car stops and streetlights flood my pinpricked vision as I am tugged out of the car and hastily dropped on the ground, a low moan escaping my lips as a wave of nausea goes through my injured stomach.

God, I wish I could… have to fight through the blackness… must… stop… him…

And then the car is gone, and around me is silence.

Where the hell am I? And why did he suddenly stop fighting me, only to toss me in the backseat of a car and leave me… somewhere…

But before I can answer any of these questions, I pass out cold once again.

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