Free Gagged & Bound by Natasha Cooper Page B

lad, even if he did have red hair and freckles.
    ‘At least I don’t have my crown jewels dangling so dangerously outside my body that they have to be nestled up into a bullet-proof jockstrap.’
    ‘Way to go, Steph!’ shouted one of the others.
    ‘Settle down,’ said the sergeant. ‘You all done up now, Steph?’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘Come on then into the vans.’
    In winter the raids were even more exciting because it would be inky dark and the frosty air would turn your breath into vapour trails like a top gun’s war plane. Now, in spring, it was already getting light at five in the morning. Still, the driver was slinging the van round corners as if he was at le Mans, and the squad were sitting on the benches, shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee, psyching each other up. This was a good raid to be on, much better than the usual sort on any old crack house full of maddened boys spiralling off into space. The intelligence people had pinpointed the target house as the nerve centre of a very nasty bunch of thugs, who’d been roughing up other dealers as well as the punters who owed them. They were thought to be holed up together, all four of them, ready to be taken by a determined team.
    Stephanie wasn’t the only woman today, she was glad to see. There were two others, both younger than her, but no fitter. It was part of her creed that if you were going to take on the dinosaurs in the job, you couldn’t trade on your physical difference. Some of the women couldn’t compete, of course, the little thin ones with bird bones, who could be picked up and
thrown bodily across a room; they had to go about things differently. But for anyone like her with good big shoulders and long legs, it was wimping out not to keep trained and tough.
    The driver pulled up, resisting the temptation to squeal his brakes and burn the tyres. All the jokes stopped. They were still three streets away from the target house, but quietness was crucial. Stephanie could see the TV lads, almost as pumped-up as the squad, jiggling in the background, desperate to get going. The sergeant beckoned her and Mac and gave them the plum jobs. Mac would bash open the door, and she’d be the first one in and up the stairs. Mac gave her a thumbs-up and a friendly grin, then they set off side by side at the head of the silent, jogging squad.
    The street was quiet and empty, except for a black cat that poured itself down from an extension roof on to a wobbly dustbin lid. Luckily the bin was plastic, or the lid would have clattered as it fell, waking everyone within earshot. Mac raised a hand to keep them all quiet. Stephanie could hear her own breathing as well as feel it. At last Mac started moving again. She stood aside and watched him swing the heavy battering ram.
    The door must’ve been reinforced with steel because it didn’t budge until the fifth swing; the noise would have woken everyone in the house. Even so, she burst through the gap as soon as it was wide enough, hearing the familiar shouts from behind her. She was up the stairs and on the landing before there was any noticeable movement from inside. Mac was behind her. Once again, she stepped aside, flattening herself against the wall as she’d been taught. He smashed open the main bedroom door and she swung round to go through.
    Something hit her in the throat. Her legs collapsed and she was on the floor. She couldn’t breathe. Her throat was burning as if someone had stuffed a red-hot poker down it. Liquid poured down her neck. Her eyes wouldn’t work. She tried to
move and screamed as more pain ripped through her, but no noise came out. Through the fog and agony someone was shouting her name. Why didn’t they stop her body burning up? She was on fire. She tried to pass out but the pain kept her conscious. People were trying to hold her back too, shouting her name and grabbing at her. All she wanted was no more pain.
    ‘Stephanie! Stephanie! Hang on in …’
     
    Caro had been in a meeting in