BLOOD DRAGON by Freddie Peters (books to get back into reading .TXT) 📕

What do they want? She pushes away the thought … Not now. There is only one thing she must focus on …

Getting away.

Cora stands on the wall, grabbing the iron bars that frame the stairwell. The icy cold shoots through her fingers, reminding her she is not dressed for lingering on this winter evening. She pushes herself onto the structure. It wobbles a little and she wonders whether it is strong enough. No one had ever been expected to use it, a feature kept for show rather than function.

Too late to worry now though. She moves slowly, trying not to strain the steps with her weight. She must climb down four flights. The stairs groan underneath her but they hold. Her mind is already racing ahead.

A thumping noise stops her. Someone is trying to open the back door. It requires a key and the door is of solid steel. This doesn’t seem to deter whoever is trying. The kick of a boot against the door frame reverberates around the iron staircase. Cora lets out a cry.

A gun discharge tells her all she needs to know … in a few moments they … whoever they are … will burst into the backyard.

Cora forgets about a cautious descent. She storms down now descending two steps at a time.

A second gunshot tells her the door is about to spring open.

She darts across the yard, chooses a large stone that has been placed for effect next to the storage shed and uses it to jump up higher. Her forearms support her as she lifts her body over the side of the roof. She rises, hits the flat surface and rolls over.

Something has slipped from her pocket … her phone. The door bursts open. No time to pick it up. Cora rolls again over the boundary wall and jumps into the street. She groans as a sudden pain shoots through her foot. She’s hobbling along the pavement of the narrow alleyway that smells of rotting garbage and body waste. She must find a cab before they find her.

Nancy stopped in the middle of the large lobby. The broad modern table at its centre bore a vase of freshly cut flowers, a winter display of white, red and green.

She stepped forward towards the main entrance. The large glass doors threw back her reflection as she approached. She pulled her mobile out of her back pocket and dialled the takeaway number.

She came back inside, walking along the side of the building that looked out on to the gardens. She stopped for a moment, waiting for someone to answer. She gasped, stunned by the shocking sight.

* * *

The suit and tie had come off, replaced by a pair of dark winter jeans completed by the obligatory black rollneck pullover. DCI Jonathan Pole walked out of his office, a light rucksack and leather biker jacket slung over his left shoulder, a crash helmet in his right hand.

“I feel bad leaving you alone, holding the fort.” Pole grinned at Andy … “Not.”

Andy grinned back at his boss. “How’s the new bike … sorry, Ducati Diavel 1260, behaving?”

“Splendid … and before you start making comments about my midlife crisis, I have ridden a bike before …”

Andy gave a sure-you-have nod and waved his boss off. “I’ll manage … otherwise … I’ll use this.” He picked up his mobile and bounced it lightly in his hand.

“Exactly.” Pole donned his jacket and slid the rucksack onto his shoulders.

“And if Superintendent Marsh calls …” Andy added as Pole was about to walk off. “You deal with him like the outstanding DS you are,” Pole said over his shoulder. He would not be running back to Scotland Yard for another debrief with The Super.

Pole rode his Ducati into the flow of light traffic as he arrived at the top of Northumberland Avenue. Victoria Embankment was almost deserted as the weather had turned much colder. Pole sat back, one foot on the ground, the other on the footrest, balancing the bike as he waited for the set of traffic lights to turn green.

The Thames’ waters appeared an inky black colour that reflected the lights of the buildings lining its banks. A few lights were still shining at the Royal Festival Hall … no doubt a crew of cleaners were making the concert venue ready for the next day’s show.

Nancy and he would soon be taking their seats in one of its concert halls for a performance of music by one of her favourite Russian composers, Stravinsky. Classical music was not always Pole’s cup of tea but he was making progress, appreciating more complex pieces just in the same way as Nancy was slowly warming up to jazz.

Pole accelerated, giving the Ducati a gentle push. The road curved gently and he and the bike leaned into the bend. The lights remained green for him almost all the way to Islington.

He parked his bike in a parking bay outside Nancy’s building. Nancy’s apartment was part of a restoration project that had transformed a grand old office building, once occupied by Metropolitan Water, into a luxurious accommodation complex. Pole jogged towards the side entrance.

He quickened his pace to a run at what he saw … Nancy was crouching on the ground holding someone in her arms.

Chapter Two

Logistics had called Jack as soon as the mobile trace had disappeared. One minute it was sending signals as expected from London. The next it had vanished, including the backup transmitter that was set up to operate even when the battery had been disabled.

“When did Wilson’s mobile vanish?”

“7.46pm local time.” Beverly had moved aside to let Jack take a look at the activity log. The route traced by the mobile had not shown any suspicious activity. From home to work, a quick break at lunchtime, from work back home to North London.

Jack grabbed the backrest of the seat next to Beverly’s with both hands. His head slumped slightly over his chest. No one,