White Horse Farm showed up on my left, and I groaned at the sight of the “For Sale” board at the end of the driveway. Lenny, what have you done?
I kept my fingers crossed that they’d just broken a window and then hung out with a few drinks, but as soon as I saw the front door hanging off its hinges, I knew I was out of luck. Idiots. They’d have left fingerprints everywhere, and when the owners found out… Lenny had already been arrested twice, mainly for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, so it wouldn’t take much effort to work out who’d been involved. The only saving grace was that he didn’t have a fixed address, so the police wouldn’t be able to find him straight away.
I rooted through my pockets for the thin leather gloves I kept in there, well worn from years of use. No way would I be making the same mistake.
The distinctive smell of pot wafted out at me as I pushed open what was left of the front door, and I groaned when I saw the mess in the hallway. The house was stuck in a time warp, with flowery wallpaper and scratched linoleum on the floor, but someone had taken the time to draw an oversized cock on the mottled mirror hanging on the opposite wall. Lipstick, by the look of things, which meant they’d brought girls out here too.
A cough from my right made me turn towards the kitchen, also outdated but dominated by a scarred table that some designer in Chelsea would label as “rustic” and slap a four-figure price tag on. A person was slumped over it, one cheek resting in a pool of vomit, but the shock of blond hair told me it wasn’t Lenny. I backed out and tried the next door. One, two, three, four bodies lay jumbled around, two on the floor, two on an old sofa. High as a giraffe’s nuts. A ginger guy glanced up as I walked in, mumbled something unintelligible, then closed his eyes again. I spotted Lenny’s pasty body in front of the window, attired in only a pair of Bart Simpson boxer shorts. He hadn’t been kidding about that part.
“Lenny, we have to get out of here.”
He grinned through his drunken stupor. “Sky! You came…best…cigarette?”
“Forget cigarettes. Where’s your sweatshirt?”
He shrugged one shoulder and tried to look around, but his eyes wouldn’t focus.
“Stay there. I’ll go and look.”
Stay there? He couldn’t have moved if he tried.
I paused by each body to check they were all breathing as I hunted for something, anything, to cover Lenny up. If a cop saw a half-naked man riding around in my passenger seat, it would result in raised eyebrows, a stop, and a night in the cells once they realised I’d pinched the car. No, I needed to find Lenny a T-shirt at least, and preferably something to put on his feet.
The rest of the house was trashed, and the upstairs bathroom made me gag when I peered around the door. No toilet paper meant some animal had used the curtains as a substitute. Living in a squat, I was well used to substandard hygiene, but this took it to a far deeper level.
A prickle of uneasiness ran through me as I checked each bedroom, but all I found was a skinny brunette passed out on a dusty bed, minus most of her clothes. Tell me Lenny hadn’t tapped that? I spotted a familiar sweater in a crumpled heap by the bed, and I didn’t know whether to be disgusted or impressed that he’d managed to get it up in the state he was in. At least the used condom on the floor suggested he hadn’t been entirely stupid.
And now we could leave. I stooped to pick up the garment, breathing a sigh of relief when I found his trousers and trainers underneath. No vomit, thank goodness. Still, I held the lot at arm’s length as I headed for the door.
I needed to get Lenny dressed, haul him to the car, drag him home, then handcuff him to something solid so he couldn’t cause me any more damn problems.
Five minutes. Five minutes and we’d be—
Oof!
I didn’t see the person approach, only felt the arm snake around my chest, pulling me backwards and squeezing the breath out of me. Panic set in, but only for a second. I’d practised for this with Reuben from my parkour group. Practised over and over and over and over. I’d met Reuben on the worst night of my life, and I never ever wanted another experience like that one. Neither did he, and when I’d refused to go to the police about what happened, he’d, well, taken me under his wing, I guess. Dragged me out every Monday evening and Saturday morning when all I’d wanted to do was curl up in my sleeping bag and cry. We’d run, we’d jumped, we’d climbed, and after my arms and legs had turned into silly string, he’d drilled me through self-defence 101 until I could barely walk.
And his persistence paid off.
Instinct took over, and I threw my weight backwards, jerking my head so my attacker got the full force of my skull in his face.
A harsh, “Fuck!” came from behind me.
Wait a second—his face? That curse had sounded decidedly feminine. The arm around my chest loosened slightly, and I clawed at it, registering the slim wrist and bright red fingernails. A woman. It was definitely a woman.
But why?
And who?
Not one of the drugged-out losers Lenny hung around with, of that I was certain. Had the owner of the farmhouse come home? The TAG Heuer the woman was wearing on her wrist looked as out of place here as Lenny did, so I guessed not. But I had no time to dwell on the puzzle because when her grip eased, I ran.
CHAPTER 8 - SKY
I RAN, BUT I ran the wrong damn way.
Instead of bolting down the stairs, I ended up at a dead end, a hallway with three closed doors leading off it. A hard tug opened the first one, and I swore under my breath at my bad luck. An airing cupboard. A fucking airing cupboard.
Door number two led to a bedroom filled with more dusty furniture like downstairs. A bed, a chest of drawers, a chair with one leg missing. No key for the door lock, and the bitch was already coming after me. I heard her muffled footsteps running as I wedged the chair under the handle and contemplated my next move.
The window. It had to be the window. There was no other way out, but fortunately, I’d had plenty of experience at jumping out of buildings.
In keeping with the rest of the house, my escape route had been built about a hundred years ago and not updated since. No fancy double glazing here. Five generations had painted over the old sash frame in thick yellowed gloss, and the damn thing was stuck shut.
On any other occasion, I’d have thrown the chair through the window, but the door handle rattled behind me as my pursuer caught up. No, the chair was otherwise engaged.
Her voice floated through the door, taunting, playful almost. “Nowhere to hide, you little bitch.”
Nerves got the better of me. “Leave me alone! I haven’t done anything.”
Humourless laughter came, muffled by the wood, and then the door shook in its frame as she threw herself against it. At least in the nineteen-whatevers, they’d built houses to last. I hoped she broke her damn shoulder.
But the door jolted again, and fear raced through me. I hated that feeling, one I’d felt too many times on the streets over the last few years. At least in London, there was a chance somebody would hear me scream. Out here in the sticks, I only had Lenny and a few semi-conscious partygoers for company, and in Lenny’s present state, he wouldn’t be playing the hero.
There was nothing else for it—I’d have to go out the window. While the woman pounded on the door, I drew one foot back and aimed a sharp kick. Then another, and another. First the glass shattered, then the wooden frame gave way and tumbled fifteen feet to the ground outside. I didn’t hesitate. I couldn’t, because as I leapt from the window, tucking and rolling on impact, the bedroom door gave way and the woman came after me.