she could pull it off, because this was a guy who needed more than one pair of hands to do what he intended to do: wield the Makarov, gather her wrists, tighten the cable tie.
All she had to do was time it right.
She wrenched one of her arms forward, jabbed her other elbow back, and at the same time used the side of her foot on his knee.
It worked. He grunted and stumbled, opening a window of opportunity she could exploit.
But when she sprang forward it all went wrong. Pain from the gunshot wound lanced along her thigh, making her scream out in shock, her pained leg almost buckling beneath her. Yelling with the agony, she twisted, slammed the bathroom door behind her just as the Chechen regained his composure, ready to give chase, and then wrenched open the door to her room and hobbled out into the corridor.
Trevor. If only Trevor had returned. But there was no Trevor, just another Chechen blocking her path, even bigger and more lumbering than the last one.
“Jesus,” she panted, backing away as she said it, trying to buy time. “No wonder they didn’t send you to hide in my bathroom.”
Her leg was aflame. From behind she heard the door open and knew that the first man was about to appear. She dimly realized she couldn’t take them both on and win. But it didn’t matter, because in the next moment, before she’d had a chance to overcome her agony, regain her balance, and adopt any kind of defensive stance, the new guy’s fist was lashing out, big as a joint of beef, and knocking her unconscious.
CHAPTER 71
BENNETT HAD TAKEN advantage of the antisocial hour, and his Mercedes was parked right outside the tube station, inconceivable during the daytime. Together they helped put Susie in the back seat. She was trying, and she was in good shape, in the sense that she was physically unharmed, but she was wiped out: exhausted and severely traumatized. Shell shock, they used to call it. Nowadays, PTSD.
“Susie,” said Shelley gently but urgently, desperately aware of the need to move fast. “Stay with me. You’re going to be all right. We’ll get you home soon.”
“It’s good to see you, ma’am,” said Bennett. Twisted around in the driving seat, he found her eyes with his. “I’m sorry for what you had to see back there.”
“That’s quite all right, Mr. Bennett,” she said. Her arms were folded across her chest, hugging herself. “Oh, and Mr. Bennett?”
“Yes, ma’am?” said Bennett.
“How is Guy?”
Shelley and Bennett shared a look—Susie inquiring about Drake, after all she’d been through.
“He’s fine, ma’am, as far as I know,” Bennett said gently. “He’s at home, resting.”
She nodded as if that was all she needed to know. “Good,” she said, a little too dreamily for Shelley’s liking, and resumed staring out of the window.
“Right, where are we going?” said Bennett.
He twisted back to face front, pulled his seat belt across him, and was already moving off as Shelley directed him to the hospital. His driving was assured and fast, a sense of purpose to it that gave Shelley hope as he ran through the events of the evening, ending with a question of his own. “So how did you come to be ramming a pen into Gurney?”
Bennett gave a dry laugh. “There’s a first time for everything. Not bad for a bit of on-the-spot improvisation, I thought.”
“But you knew, did you? You’d worked out that Gurney was working with them?”
Bennett nodded sadly. “Johnson—I don’t suppose we’ll ever know whether he went to the Chechens of his own accord or not. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized Dmitry seemed to have so much info that Johnson couldn’t possibly have told him. Where Susie Drake would be that morning, for instance. Christ, even mobile numbers. They had to be getting it from someone other than Johnson.”
“I came to the same conclusion myself,” said Shelley.
“And so when Gurney let himself out just after midnight, I decided to follow,” explained Bennett.
Shelley chuckled. “Pool room window?”
“That’s the one.”
Bennett drew up to traffic lights. Shelley found himself unconsciously putting his own foot down, wanting to urge them forward; it was night, there were no cops around. But then again, he supposed Bennett was doing the right thing. No point in risking drawing unwanted attention.
“And now you think they’re going for Lucy to get at you?” asked Bennett, looking across at him. “A bit of collateral.”
“Looks that way. To be honest, I’m