Revenge (David Shelley #1) - James Patterson Page 0,49
one another with an intensity that caused Judith to clear her throat uncomfortably until, with a lurch of horror, Susie realized that she did know the woman. Oh yes, she knew her all right. They went way back.
Her mouth dropped open. And it must have been written all over her face, because the woman reached into her handbag.
“Oh my God,” said Susie Drake.
CHAPTER 41
IN RECEPTION, LUCY wondered what was taking Susie so long. Come on, come on, she urged mentally, keeping up a game of polite-smile tennis with the greeter. At last she saw the light behind the door to the treatment suites change, the door open, and then Susie appeared.
Lucy was about to stand when she was stopped by the look on Susie’s face. She was pensive, almost terrified. Behind her came the health spa rep. She, too, was ashen-faced.
And behind both of them came the sofa woman from reception. She still wore her sunglasses. Only this time she carried her handbag in front of her in a slightly awkward fashion. Like you might if you held a hidden gun.
In between bouts of smile-tennis with the greeter, Lucy had been leafing through a copy of Vogue—in Italian, of course—and now she pretended to be more interested in the magazine than the strange procession making its way through reception.
She threw a surreptitious glance at Susie, who narrowed her eyes almost imperceptibly, but enough to confirm Lucy’s suspicions. The greeter watched quizzically, a half-smile drifting about her lips, not sure whether to say anything or not.
As the three women passed through reception with not a word exchanged, Lucy looked beyond them into the car park where two men had been lounging on the Range Rover. The men pulled themselves to their feet, ready, at the same time as the door swooshed expensively shut behind the three women.
Lucy stood. “Call the police,” she said to the greeter.
“I’m sorry?” said the woman.
“Call the police, tell them that a kidnap attempt is in progress,” repeated Lucy. She was no longer pretending to be posh. Instead she drew her gun, eliciting a gasp from the greeter, and placed it inside the copy of Vogue, out of sight. The door swooshed open, admitting her to the car park.
Oh God, she thought. Oh, Christ. So badly outnumbered it wasn’t true.
She stitched on her widest, brightest, most innocent and happy-to-help smile as she crossed the car park, trotting up behind the three women. One of the Range Rover guys had seen her and was frowning but he must have assumed she was just a distraction, nothing to worry about, and he didn’t reach for a gun or try to challenge her.
There were only two things she had in her favor, she realized grimly: surprise and the fact that they’d underestimate her.
“Excuse me,” she called after the group. “Excuse me, I think you’ve forgotten your magazine.”
Sofa woman told the other two, “Keep going,” and then turned for the magazine. “Thank you, I’ll take it.”
And still she held her handbag in front of her, and Lucy knew full well the handbag would contain her gun. What’s more, there was something in this woman’s eyes that told Lucy she’d know how to use that gun. This was it. There was no option now but attack.
Abruptly she sped up. At the same time, she discarded the magazine, showing her SIG.
The purpose was to surprise her opponent, and it worked, for in the space of a heartbeat the woman went from thinking of Lucy as a temporary irritant to knowing she was a real threat, but it was just the delay that Lucy needed.
She launched her offensive on the run, using all of her forward momentum, bending, feeling the torque in her body as she pulled back her right arm and swung, using the grip of the SIG like a knuckle duster and making contact with the sweet spot just below the woman’s jaw. The kidnapper’s sunglasses flew from her face as she staggered back and fell, releasing her bag and out of the fight for the time being at least.
Lucy heard a scream and from the corner of her eye saw the woman from the spa running back toward the safety of the building. Galvanized, the men beyond her went for their guns. One of them reached for Susie Drake and began to drag her to the car. The other, making his way over to where the sofa woman was trying to pull herself to her feet, produced a Russian Makarov, barrel