Free Cherringham--Last Train to London by Neil Richards

– that had awakened him.
    Something outside probably. Bunch of rabbits having a late dinner of greens near the edge of the river. That’s all it was …
    Jack was about to tell Riley to relax. Back to sleep. It was nothing .
    He was just about to say the words; the dog was smart and understood a command when he got one.
    When Jack heard a noise.
    A rattle . Hard to place. The sound of something being wiggled, then a creak.
    One of the windows near the stern of the boat. Being forced open. They could be latched, but on such a warm night, Jack had left them open.
    The sound again, now more measured: someone being careful.
    Again Riley did another small circle; he made a noise, not quite a growl, as if he was aware what Jack was thinking.
    Better that whoever it is … doesn’t know we’ve heard him.
    Jack pulled off the sheet, ready to slide out of bed.
    Those windows, one on each side, big enough for someone to crawl into the boat.
    Another grumble from Riley, louder now, and any chance of surprise would soon evaporate.
    It was time for Jack to move.
    His bedroom – he still found it hard to call it a cabin – was in the bow of the Grey Goose, separated from the big saloon by a bathroom and walk-in shower.
    To get to the far end of the boat he would have to navigate the space in total darkness.
    But he’d lived on the Grey Goose for nearly two years now and he knew every inch.
    He slid out of the bed and, without making a sound, slipped on a fleece and tracksuit bottoms and found his deck shoes. Then he reached between the bed and the bedside cabinet and slid out the little ASP – the expandable baton he’d brought with him from New York. He swung it in the air and it opened and locked.
    Made of carbon steel, light, just thirty inches long – it was a perfect non-lethal weapon to give him an edge if someone attacked. Holding its grip took him back five years to the last time he’d drawn a night-stick in anger.
    Like this it was in the middle of the night – but the setting couldn’t have been more different. He’d been with his partner in an alleyway facing down a kid drugged to the eyeballs waving a knife.
    But even now, even though he was in a little Cotswold village – there was still the danger of the unknown.
    Jack pulled open the door and listened again. Riley was right behind him, seeming to understand the need for total silence.
    Another scraping noise from the rear of the boat – and then the unmistakeable sound of footsteps. Jack thought fast. The intruder was coming in through the aft cabin which led directly into the galley.
    If he could get there first, he could slip up the stairs to the wheelhouse and have a height advantage over the stranger.
    With Riley at his heels, he moved fast through the bathroom and into the saloon, his eyes now adjusting to the darkness. A low moon gave light through the side windows, throwing black shadows across the sofa and the kitchen cabinets.
    Another noise from the stern – a door opening – Jack had to be quick …
    He found the steps and climbed them as quietly as he could, then ushered Riley behind him into the wheelhouse space and pressed himself into the shadow …
    Below, down the steps, he had a good view into the moonlit galley and the saloon but the intruder would have to come right round to this side of the galley to see him.
    He realised he was breathing fast.
    Cool it, calm down, breathe slow …
    The sound of a door opening. Then a shadow. Whoever it was – he was now in the galley, just a few feet away. Jack swallowed – and gripped the baton tightly.
    What was the guy doing?
    He’s waiting. And listening … Jack thought. But what does he want?
    Then the intruder moved – through the galley and straight to the big wicker case of puppets which lay feet away from the steps. In the darkness Jack could just make out a leather jacket and dark hair. He watched as the figure knelt by the basket and started to undo the buckles on the big leather