Free Shiver Sweet by H Elliston Page B

in a pool of blood over white tiles. 
    In her panic to stand and distance herself from his body, she fell against the kitchen cabinets and slapped a bloodied handprint onto the worktop.
    “Grab hold of her,” he said.
    Footsteps tapping the tiled floor behind her cut through the relative silence.  Nicola jumped and spun around.  Raw panic gripped her as another man approached, wearing spectacles beneath his mask.
    “Nice of you to join us,” he said.  “How’s your head?”
    A cold breeze blew in from the patio doors behind her.  Nicola’s torn top flapped as she backed up to the doors.  “Who... who are you?  What do you want?”  She checked over her shoulder, ready to split.
    But the man who’d captured her on the drive came out of the heavy snowfall into the kitchen, barring her exit.  “Yep.  He’s still out cold, but breathing.  Think she hit him on the head with a roof slate.  He’s gonna need a doctor.”  His knuckles drained white as he cracked them.  He glared through his torn mask, and then cupped his nostril where she’d burned him with the cigarette.
    The well-built guy in front clicked his fingers.  “Nicola.  Look at me.” 
    He knows my name?   Confused and sobbing, she whipped around.
    He pulled a mobile phone out of his pocket and stepped closer to her.  “I know you’re scared right now, but you have to listen and do exactly as I say.”
    “Why the fuck did you have to come back home?” the man beside him spat.  “And why did he?”  He pointed down at John.  “Rachel cocked up.”
    “Enough!”  The well-built guy ran a hand over his masked head.  “Cool down.  It’s all gone wrong, but we have to focus and clear this mess up.”
    Clear it up?   And me?   Holy crap.  “Please.  Don’t hurt me.”  Her begging eyes darted between the three men surrounding her, and then across to the house phone.
    “No point,” he said.  “We already cut the line.” 
    From behind, a man shoved her closer to John’s body.
    The bulkiest man took a photo of her.  “Stand still.  No need to smile.”
    Nicola blinked as the man hunkered down to photograph her again, closer.  Crouching, she tried to shield her face.  “Stop it!  What are you doing?”
    “That should be enough.  A camera never lies.”  After taking another photo, he pocketed the mobile.
    She spread her arms out to keep the men away, but her legs wobbled and she tumbled to her bottom.  “What do you want from me?”
    The man who’d photographed her glanced up at the corner of the room, a place where Nicola recalled there to be a spy camera from when John showed her what was on the tablet’s screen.  Nicola wondered if they’d turned it off.  She hoped not.  John’s murder could be live on the internet.  Surely some sick voyeur would have a conscience and phone the police.
    “I wonder what the cops will make of you offing your friend’s husband for a cut of the life insurance, house and business?” he said.
    What?  Nicola’s mouth gaped, too dazzled to respond while his words crackled in her head like static.  These guy’s sure knew a lot about them, well, Christa at least.
    “Bloody knife in your hand.  Photos.  Hmmm... tricky.”  He walked around John, studying his lifeless form, totally undisturbed by the sickening sight.  Keeping his shoes out of the blood pool, he crouched down next to John within striking distance of Nicola.  “I am not a forensic investigator, but I’d say it doesn’t look all that good for you right now.”  An unmistakeable menace shone in his eyes.  “I can offer you a way out.”
    Tears dripped as Nicola stared down at John’s blood smeared all over her hands.  “The cops will wonder who took the photos and why I’ve been beaten up.” 
    He laughed.  “He fought you off, then you stabbed him and took photos as a trophy.  Simple.”
    She shifted focus to John’s body.  Scratch marks running down the side of his neck caught her