WILL TIME WAIT: Boxed set of 3 bestselling 'ticking clock' thrillers (40 page)

John
climbed down to me.  His trainers scraped my knuckles.  “Jump. 
Swing.  Do something or I’ll kick you off.  There’re gonna bust
through that door any second.” 

I
heard a bang, followed by furniture scraping across the floor.  A second
later, a broad-shouldered man appeared at the window. 

I
screamed as he reached a hand out.

“Gotcha!”
he said, his fingers clamping on to the top section of our escape rope. 
“They’re out the window,” he shouted over his shoulder.  “Get your butts
in here.  Now.”  He produced a knife, smirked, and held it against
the fabric ready to cut.

I
screamed again.

Three
more men stuck their heads out of the window.  “Put that knife away, you
ass wipe.  We need ‘em alive.  Haul ‘em up.  You!  Get your
arse down those stairs.  And get on the blower.  We need the cars
back.”

They
grabbed hold of the fabric and raised us by about two feet.  My stomach
shot up into my throat making me think they’d got a hold on that, too. 

“Swing!” 
I yelled to John.  While my breath burst out of me, I pushed off the wall
with my feet, trying to pendulum us far enough to land on the roof of the
car. 

The
fabric jerked again, dropping us lower.  A man above cried out in
pain. 

I
looked up, saw the metal filing cabinet jamming him against the window frame,
forcing his upper body through the gap.  “Get it off me!” he demanded, and
then wailed again.  The other men pushed the filing cabinet, grabbed his
arm and yanked him free.  The cabinet tilted instantly, crashed against
the window frame.  Its top end was almost through the gap.  Files and
papers fell out of drawers, got picked up and blown away by the wind. 

I
gritted my teeth, and bore down hard into the third swing, powering along the
wall with my feet. 

“Jump!” 
John yelled.

My
breath froze in my throat as I let my hands spring open and gave myself to
gravity.  The cabinet came plummeting down through the window after us.

I
dropped three
metres to the roof of Fizz, twisting over on my ankle.  I cried out. 
John banged down onto the car bonnet, and the filing cabinet crashed to the
ground just short of the car.  With no time to spare, I slid off the
roof.  My shoes crunched and slipped on chunks of metal as I climbed to
the back of the car. 

“Here,
catch this.”  I grabbed the spare key from under the back tyre, and threw
it over the Fiesta’s dented roof to John. 

After
catching it, he threw his door open and slid behind the steering wheel.

Pressing
my hands against the car for support, I limped over the scrap and reached the
door.  It was blocked by the metal, wouldn’t open, but the window had been
smashed.  I knocked the last pieces of glass out and, legs first, I slid
into the passenger seat. 

John
turned the key in the ignition.  The engine spluttered, but didn’t
start.  “Damn it!” he snarled, slapping the steering wheel.

The
guys would come out of the front door any minute.  I could have screamed
in frustration.  Instead, I patted the dashboard.  “Come on,
Fizz.  Don’t let me down.”

John
rolled his eyes, showing he thought me senseless, and then tried the key
again.  Nothing.

I
turned, knelt on the seat and looked through the rear window to check if the
men were coming after us.  The glass from the window was missing, and the
boot was piled high with an assortment of junk.  A large section of
chainmail fencing leaned against the rear of the car, wedged in place by the
moat of wet scrap that outlined the walls of the building.  Movement up
ahead caught my attention.  My gaze shot across to the building entrance
about fifteen metres behind us. 

Four
men burst out of the front door. 

“They’re
coming.”  I let go of the seat I didn’t know I’d been squeezing, pressed
my hand over my gaping mouth.

The
first man out slipped on the wet ground.  He fell backwards onto Joe and
blocked the doorway. 

I
jabbed John with my elbow.  “Get the engine going.”

“What
do you think I’m trying to do?” John replied.  “Paint my bleedin’ nails?”

“In
that car!” the first man yelled from the floor.  His finger pointed
directly at me.  “Get them!”

“Let’s
go.  I mean it,” I said.  As I watched the men rise to their feet, I
couldn’t get a decent breath.  Either the air had thinned or panic was
suffocating me. 

They
ran towards us.  Jackets flapped and rage flooded their faces.

John
turned the key, but the engine didn’t catch.  “What a bag of shit!” 
He thumped the dash, turned the key again, and kept it there. 

“If
you have a trick up your sleeve,” I yelled, jittering on the seat, “use it
now!”

The
engine screeched in protest, hurting my ears.  Then, as Geordie pointed a
gun at us, suddenly, the engine spluttered to life.  The car jumped
forwards.  The motion hurled me back until my face smashed against the
seat.  I slid down.  My legs crumpled into the footwell causing my
ankle to twist even more.  Pain pulsed through it, making me grit my
teeth.  I heard a gunshot.  A breeze parted my hair a split second
before a bullet punched a hole in the front windscreen.  The glass
spiderwebbed.  I froze.  “Bloody hell!” 

The
engine emitted a broken growl as John pumped the accelerator.  To me, the
noise was the sweetest sound, and I prayed it wouldn’t cut out. 

John
shifted into reverse then glanced in the rear view mirror.  “Shit. 
They’re closing in,” he rasped.  “Brace yourself.”

I
forced my paralyzed body to move, crawled out of the footwell and knelt low on
the seat.  I pushed myself up and stole a peek at the men.  They were
less than two metres behind, gun pointed at us. 

“Get
out of the car!” one of them said.

The
muzzle flashed. 

“Duck!”
 I curled into a ball on the seat.

The
bullet struck the boot, making a clattering sound.

John
removed the handbrake and the car shot backwards.  It rammed into the
chainmail fence which pushed a rising mountain of metal toward the men. 
They ran to avoid the scrap, but it knocked them off their feet.  All four
men got buried under twisted metal.  The gate crashed down on top. 

John
slammed on the brake, knocking me against the dashboard.

“Go,
go.  Let’s get out of here,” I said.

With
the men trapped under the fence, John used these seconds to turn the steering
wheel full to the right.  He threw the car into first and popped the
clutch.  We weaved between two mountains of scrap and sped out of the yard
with two jets of mud shooting up from the back tyres.

John
raced like a stock car driver along the country lanes.   I scanned
every window, worried someone might ram us at any second.  We passed an
Eddie Stobart truck, and then the concealed entrance of a farm, marked by a
hand-painted sign advertising logs, sticks and pony carrots.  Junk
clattered in the boot.  The car engine screeched in revolt as he took the
next corner at even higher speed.  I looked behind again.  Black
smoke billowed out of the exhaust, marking the route we’d taken. 

“So
this is Fizz,” John said.

I
straightened in my seat and buckled up.  “Sure is.  Although it
sounds like she’s gonna conk out.”

He
stroked the dash.  “Pleased to meet you.”

I
chuckled.

After
the car juddered over some recent roadkill, I faced John, only to get a kiss
planted on my lips.

 “Woah!”
I said, felt flustered, but was too stunned to move away.  “What was that
about?”

“You
saved us, Jenna.  You’re amazing.”  He winked and kissed me
again. 

“Okay,”
I said, raising my hand.  “Seriously.  That is enough.”

He
patted the dash.  “If it wasn’t for your escape idea and this rusty old
car of yours...”

My
heart sank.  I cleared my throat.  “Erm... I don’t think you’ll feel
that way towards me when you find out why we’re in this mess.”

His
eyebrows slanted.  “What do you mean?”

I
raked a hand through my hair.  “I think my husband’s found out about my
affair.”  There.  I’d said it. 

I
expected him to yell or ask questions, but he pursed his lips, not getting
it. 

Somewhere,
under awareness, I knew my husband would do something this cruel.  Perhaps
struggling to regain my lost get-up-and-go wasn’t the reason it had taken me so
long to end my marriage.  Deep down, I’d feared for my life.  “He
wants to punish us.  And those men think that
you
... are
Dylan.”  I deepened my voice.  “They would have killed you.”

John
thumped the steering wheel countless times and reeled off a long string of
vulgarity.  The car slowed as his gaze shot over to me.  “You’re
shittin’ me?  It’s got nothing at all to do with the drugs?”

I
shook my head and dodged his hardening stare that sent chills up my back. 
“Keep driving.  They can still catch us.”

“Jesus!” 
He shifted gears and sped off again.

I
had to be honest with him.  He could have died because of me.  “And
that’s not all.”  I paused.  The words didn’t want to come out. 
The tables had turned.  We’d entered a new maze of problems, and the blame
was on me.  “Those were my husband’s offices.  I think he’s running a
scam behind his scrap business.” 

“Doing
what?”

“A
scam that—” I gulped.  “Takes money out of people’s bank accounts.” 
I crushed my lips together, steeling myself for his response.

John
slammed his foot on the brake.  The car screeched.  The rear end slid
out, throwing me against the passenger door.  He twisted around and faced
me. 

I
shrank into my seat and shielded my face, worried that he’d hit me the way my
husband used to. 

T
en minutes
later, John screeched to a stop on a side street in town, and jumped out of the
car.  He began marching toward the main shopping area, refusing to listen
to me. 

Struggling
to put weight on my ankle, I gritted my teeth and power-hobbled until I caught
up with him.  “Give me the keys, John.”  I tugged his sleeve. 
“We shouldn’t be here.  Get back in the car and drive to the police
station.  You’re being ridiculous.”

He
ignored me and continued stomping in a straight line, looking absorbed in
thought and panic.

As
we crossed the street in front of the bus station, passengers flowed in an
endless torrent around us.  A young mum pushed a three-wheeled pram along
the path, ignoring the busker on the corner.  People brushed past us,
rushing to catch their rides.

“Come
on,” I pleaded.  “Forget the cash.  We might get spotted.  You
told them the exchange is taking place here, remember?  So they’re sure to
come here looking for us.  Let’s go back to the car and drive straight to
Kerry’s mum’s house.  How’s that?  We’ll pick Elliot up so your
neighbour can’t get to him, we’ll go to the cops and then find Dylan and
Kerry.”

At
the automatic glass doors, John whirled around to face me.  Pedestrians
parted around us, streaming along on both sides.  John’s movements and
steely glare were now strangely robotic.  He barely blinked.  His jaw
twitched, and then he grabbed my shoulders. 

“Ouch. 
What are you doing?”

“Give
me the locker key.”

“No.”

He
slipped one hand down my jumper, stuffed his fingers into the left cup of my
bra.  “Where is it?”  I know you put it in here.” 

I
tensed and twisted sideways.  “Get off me.”  His eyes felt like two
lasers burning holes in my breasts. 

“Nothing
you say will stop me from getting the key, and then the money, Jenna.”

A
couple of people frowned as they passed us.

I
tried to pry his hands off me.  “And then what?  Return the cash to
your neighbour and live happily ever after?”

He
pushed his fingers into the other cup of my bra and felt around. 

Rough
fingers ran icy cold over my nipple.  As he squashed my breast to one
side, his eyes were silver slits of determination. 

For
a moment, I was tongue-tied.  I slapped him and stomped on his foot, but
he just pulled me in tighter.

A
woman passed us, paused and glared.  “Are you okay, Miss?”

“Piss
off,” John snarled.

And
she did.

“I
lied.”  John glanced at me.  His voice was a low, rough murmur. 
“The drug exchange isn’t at seven, it’s in half an hour’s time.” 

My
jaw fell open and I stopped fighting him off.  “You lied to people with
guns?” 

“Got
it.”  He whipped his hand out of my bra.  The key was pinched between
his fingers.  “I had to lie.”

“Are
you insane?  John, look at me.”  I followed his gaze.  I had to
make him look me in the eye.  “You’re not thinking straight.  Don’t
you think things are bad enough already?  Do you want to get caught
again?”  I paused, but he didn’t answer.  I toughened my voice. 
“Those men think you are Dylan.  If they find you, they’ll kill you. 
My husband won’t let you go unpunished.  Walk away.”

I
wanted my nervousness to spill over onto John.  It didn’t.  Not even
a drop.

He
waved the key.  “Look, we escaped, didn’t we?  And now I’ve got a
shot at saving my son.  Elliot won’t be safe unless I deliver those drugs
on time.  I thought I’d explained.” 

I
bunched my jumper in my fist, held it across my chest, and then slapped him
across the cheek for feeling me up. 

He
gave a little groan.  “Look, I’m sorry,” he began, in a low, dusty
whisper.

I
cut in.  “I care about Elliot.  But... there must be another way.”

He
looked at me squarely.  A genuine, but troubled smile curved his mouth,
then straightened out.  “Sorry, Jenna.  Now this is where we split
up.”  He flicked his chin toward the street behind me.  “Wait over
there.  And please, don’t blow this for me by calling the cops.  All
I’m asking for is thirty minutes.  You can give me that, can’t you?”

I
chewed my nails, thinking.  I guess I owed him that.

“If
I’m not back in half an hour, I suggest you disappear.  Got it?” 

I
was about to nod, but didn’t.  Over John’s shoulder, I spotted a guy
inside the bus station, swore he was spying on us through the glass
doors. 

“Are
you listening?”

My
stomach lurched.  Something nasty was looping inside it.  A chilling
awareness skittered through me while I looked around on all sides.  I
realised we were standing in full view of anyone who might be searching for us;
my fuming husband, his gun-wielding goons, the drug dealers.  Maybe the
police had cottoned on to the exchange and were here, too.  If it wasn’t
for knowing we’d get caught in possession of a bag of drugs, I’d have been
overjoyed to see some uniform.  I stared nervously at John again. 
“It’s too risky.  Elliot needs a real dad, not a face behind bars who
sends letters.”

He
kissed my cheek.  “Thanks.  But I have to do this.” 

“No. 
Don’t go.  I’m sure a guy in there is spying on us.  Let’s just
borrow someone’s phone and call the cops right now.  You’re doing this
drug thing under duress.  Don’t cross the line.  They’ll understand
and help you.”  I reached out to stop John from entering the
station. 

John’s
voice rose.  “Help me?  Yeah, sure.  I’ll spend an hour or so in
the cop station while I explain things, and in the mean time, Elliot could be
in danger.  Elliot’s at Kerry’s mum’s house, but I wouldn’t put it past
our neighbour to go hunting him down.  If you had kids, Jenna, you’d
understand why I can’t wait.”  He slipped beyond my reach, leaving me
grabbing at air as he marched through the automatic doors.

Hot
with nerves, and hurt by his words, I dashed across the road and edged away
from the thick of the crowd.  I stood near the opening of a narrow and
shadowed alley, lined by dumpsters, at the back of some shops.  I kept my
eyes fastened on the station doors, and although angry at him for wanting to
get the drugs, I prayed for John’s safe exit.  This situation was already
a surreal wormhole off my normal life map.  Adding narcotics to the mix
was beyond insane.

“None
of this can be happening.  None of this is happening,”
I muttered,
hoping if I said it enough times, it would be true.

If
I’d had a phone, I’d have called Dylan.  But I didn’t.  And even if I
had some cash, I wasn’t sure I’d dare enter the station to use a
payphone.  All I could do was wait, watch, and try not to panic.

While
my gaze remained glued on the station doors, someone tapped my shoulder from
behind.  I screamed and jumped sideways, crashing into a bin. 
Instantly, a large hand wrapped around my mouth, killing my scream. 

“Shush.” 

Another
hand hooked my waist and pulled me into the neck of the alley.  I sank my
teeth into the large fingers. 

“Ouch! 
Jenna.  It’s all right.  Calm down.  Be quiet.  Someone
will hear you.”  The voice was a soothing and familiar whisper in my
ear. 

I
stopped fighting, relaxed my bite and turned toward the voice.

“It’s
me,” Dylan said, removing his hand from my mouth, slowly.  “Thank God
you’re alive.” 

I spun
clockwise.  “Oh, Jesus!”  I paused in shock, then punched his
arm.  “You idiot!” 

“Sorry. 
Where are those men?  Did they bring you here?  Do they know you’ve
escaped?” 

I
looked into his eyes.  “You frightened me to death and I—”

He
smiled at me with such warmth that I stopped talking and regretted punching
him.  He gathered me into his arms and lifted me off my feet.  

“John
drove me here.  I don’t know where those men are.”  I wrapped my legs
around his waist, and melted at once, enjoying the incredible magic of his
warmth between my thighs.

“So
they’re not here?” he said.  “Oh, thank God.”

I
probably squeezed the breath out of him.  For a second, everything
stopped: my spinning head, my trembling, my galloping heart...  He smelled
terrible, sweaty.  His chin whiskers scoured my cheek.  It didn’t
matter.  I felt whole again, safe, satiated and tingly. 

“God,
I’ve been beside myself worrying about you,” he said.  “I thought the next
time I saw you—“

“I’d
be in a box?”  I didn’t want to say those words, but they popped out
before I could stop them. 

He
squeezed me.  “You’re safe now.  But we have to move.  Those men
want the drugs.  They are bound to turn up here soon.”

I
cried on his shoulder and relaxed in his arms.  “I’ll explain everything
in a minute.  But what about Kerry?  Is she with you?  Is she
safe?”

“Yes. 
I’d have come looking for you sooner, but we’ve only just escaped from the
retreat... had to change my tyre, drop Kerry off...”

I
locked my hands together behind his neck, and leaned back in his arms. 
“Seriously?  You’ve been there all this time?”

He
carried me deeper into the alley, pressed my back against a wall and kissed
me.  I loved that he made me feel safer.

“One
of the guys stayed behind last night,” Dylan began.  “He invited a mate
and a couple of young floozies over for a bit of slap ‘n’ rough.  If he’d
moved away from his gun for just one second I’d have gone for it... but anyway,
never mind all that.  I’ve been searching for you non-stop ever since. 
Kerry’s at my place, phoning the cops.” 

“So
you were stuck in that house all night?”  It showed.  His face looked
pallid, his eyes puffy.

“Up
the chimney.  John rearranged some furniture and stacked logs to hide
me.”  He set me on my feet, took my head in his hands as though cupping a
delicate flower, and then kissed every part of my face.  “I’m sure my
night was luxurious compared to yours.  Kerry told me what you did, that
you hid her under the bath.  It’s admirable, but don’t take risks like
that again.  You hear me?”

I
didn’t speak, couldn’t.  I just wanted to soak up his warmth and love.

He
ran his gaze over my dishevelled body.  “My God.  What did they do to
you?  Where did they take you?”

“It’s
okay.  We escaped.”

His
expression darkened.  “I’ve just given Kerry a piece of my mind for
getting us in this mess.  I’ll give her one credit though, it was her
suggestion that I check out the bus station.”

I
stared into his eyes, thinking,
what?  No!  Don’t blame Kerry.
 
A few beats later, my mouth caught up with my brain.  “You need to
apologise to her.”

He
made a little caustic laugh.  “Yeah, right.  Like that’s gonna
happen.”

“I’m
serious.”  I took a fortifying breath, preparing myself to tell him that
it was not drug dealers, but my husband who was out to shed blood.  His
and mine.