Free Hot Pursuit by Gemma Fox Page A

through the septum – that little bit in the middle – you’ll end up with a snout like a pillar-box. Saw it in the paper.’
    ‘That’s cocaine, George; you had too many years on the force, you think everything’s bad for you.’
    The older man smiled. ‘In my experience, if you enjoy it, it most probably is. I was about to lock this floor up for the night –’ There was a question hidden in the statement.
    Coleman nodded and stretched, feeling tired bones grate and rub in his back and shoulders. ‘Right-o, I’m on my way then. I know when I’m not wanted.’
    ‘Me, too,’ said the security man. ‘That’s why I’m out here on the bloody night shift, and not tucked up safe and sound in front of the TV or in me bed. Now I’m retired my missus can’t abide me being under her feet messing the place up.’ He sniffed. ‘Working on something important are you?’ The man spoke casually, his gaze apparently without any real intention drawn towards the neat rows of names and addresses currently displayed on Coleman’s machine.
    Coleman smiled indulgently and then, unhurriedly, leant forward and switched his terminal offbefore getting stiffly to his feet. ‘No, George, just another bloody glitch in the admin, too many light bulbs and toilet rolls again, you know how it is.’
    The old man laughed. ‘I’ll have to start taking more home, then.’
    Stiffly Coleman got to his feet and pulled on his jacket. The trouble with a leak was that everyone got wet.
    Maggie Morgan couldn’t sleep either. Uneasy now the night had fallen. She had wedged a chair up under the handle of her bedroom door and then thought better of it. What if the man currently tucked up in the back bedroom was waiting until everyone was asleep and then got up and attacked the boys and she couldn’t get to them fast enough? Maybe she should have them in her bed, or maybe she should have gone and slept in theirs.
    ‘Or maybe you should go and get in with him,’ whispered a wicked little voice somewhere in the back of her head. ‘ What? What did I say ?’ the voice protested when Maggie growled at it. ‘I only meant then at least you would know for certain exactly where he was.’ There was a pause and then the voice added, ‘And what he was doing.’
    Maggie blushed and pulled the duvet up over her head while her brain continued to torment her. ‘He’s good-looking in a nicely rumpled kind of way; and let’s face it, it’s been a long, long time, Maggie. Think about it. How many timeshave you said if only someone nice would turn up, just drop into your life. He’s a gift. It would be a terrible shame – rude even – to turn him down. He’s like manna from heaven. It’s fate, he was delivered right to your door – into your hall, for God’s sake, what more do you want?’
    Maggie groaned, rolled over and glanced again at the bedside clock with eyes that felt as if they had been back filled with fine sand and wood ash. It was nearly half past two in the morning. What had seemed reasonable two or three hours earlier – Nick Lucas’s heartfelt plea to stay for a couple of days until he could get himself sorted out – now seemed like taking the pen from the devil and signing her soul away.
    It was totally crazy. Madness. Maggie knew absolutely nothing about the man. She had no idea who he was or what he was or where he came from; his story could be a complete fabrication. If only she had thought of those things earlier – like when she had met the other Bernie Fielding – her life might have turned out very differently. Talking of which, why was he using Bernie’s name, of all names? Maybe the voices in his head had told him to do it. What if Nick Lucas was really an axe murderer, what if he had escaped from an asylum or worse? Maggie’s mind, ever helpful, scurried around the dusty corners of her skull trying to come up with something worse, much worse.
    Finally conceding defeat, Maggie sat up. Outside in the garden the wind