Free RACE AMAZON: False Dawn (James Pace novels Book 1) by Andy Lucas Page A

vibrant in a cream robe.  Her hair was washed, dried and back up in a manageable ponytail. 
    She disappeared into the kitchen and spent five minutes clattering around, returning with two glasses and a bottle of Jack Daniels on a tray. Another quick trip to the kitchen and she was back with another tray.  This one held a bowl of salad and a plate of cold chicken, together with some bread rolls, butter and some cold new potatoes. 
    Spreading it all out on a rug she got him to hold the glasses and poured a generous shot into each. She turned off the television and they tucked in, both realising how hungry they were as the food hit their tongues.  They demolished the spread before collapsing back onto the sofa with a second glass each. 
    Several glasses later and the clock on the wall registered close on two o’clock.  Pace knew he had reached his limit and was happy to agree with her suggestion that they should go to bed. 
    ‘I don’t keep a spare room made up for guests, I never need one.  You’re in no state to sleep on the sofa either because you need a good night’s sleep.  Busy day tomorrow, so I’m afraid you’ll have to share with me.’
    ‘Okay,’ he agreed, feeling a little woozy now.  
    ‘Luckily, you look exhausted. I don’t think I have anything to worry about.’  Sadly, she was right.
    Sarah quickly turned out the lights, leaving the remnants of their meal until the morning, and led the way to her bedroom. Pace undressed down to his shorts and slipped beneath the quilt, suddenly feeling drained to the core.
    Sarah’s dressing gown dropped to the floor and she climbed into bed with him.  Her long nightshirt felt cool and smelled of fragrant flowers as she leaned across him to switch off the bedside lamp. He awoke the next morning to find himself alone in her bed.  A strong shaft of sunlight filtered through a crack between the bedroom curtains and lay across the bed in a sharp line. 
    After dressing, he found her in the kitchen, wearing a loose-fitting floral summer dress with a hemline riding well above her knees.  She smiled when she saw him and offered him a cup of coffee and a slice of toast.  He wasn’t hungry but accepted a steaming mug gratefully.
    Barely fifteen minutes later, with all the car windows wide open and the radio playing Dire Straits’ Sultans of Swing , they were cruising down the lane, heading back towards the motorway.  To any passer-by they would have looked like a normal couple, out for a morning drive to an unknown destination.

 
    6
     
     
    Heathrow was as busy as every news report or documentary showed it to be. It remained one of the busiest airports in the world, filled to overflowing with every race, creed, colour and religious denomination of human being, each respectively trying to reach his or her destination from the many hundreds worldwide on offer.  
    They parked in the short-term car park and rode the lift up to the main concourse, Sarah assuring him that a member of the company’s staff would be assigned to retrieve her car. To that end she left her keys with the car park supervisor. Apparently it was all arranged.
    Pace carried Sarah’s small suitcase, pulled from the trunk of her car, while she gripped the sports bag that passed as her hand luggage, saving them having to collect a trolley. 
    Thousands of people were milling around the many miles of airport shops, food halls and financial serveries, and they quickly blurred into one seething mass a few minutes after they set foot from the lift.
    Sarah expertly led them to the correct gate and was obviously an old hand at it.  Pace, for one, had never used Heathrow before. It wasn’t the sort of airport you used for short charter flights to Europe; Gatwick and Stansted catered for that market.
    Heathrow was different.  There was a definite buzz in the air.  Perhaps it was the accumulated anticipation of thousands of travellers that filled the air with a feeling of excitement.