The Sugared Game - K.J. Charles Page 0,60

dead meat, but Kim put his back into it and they managed it together, dragging Fuller up until he could grip the edge of the balcony, heaving at his arms until his torso was safely on the floor and he could wriggle forward like a landed fish, breath sobbing out.

Kim rose and stepped away. Will pulled himself to a crouch, nursing the searing pain in his shoulders and arms for a miserable minute, then to a vaguely upright position so he could park his arse on a table. He’d have liked to pick up the Messer but his arms weren’t having any of it. He kicked it out of the way instead, and concentrated on breathing the burn down.

Fuller lay on the balcony floor, gasping. After a few moments he struggled to his knees, then straightened, wiping sweat from his face. He took a few more painful breaths, turned to look down at the office, and froze.

Will couldn’t help looking. Mrs. Skyrme was on her way down the spiral stairs to the ground floor, in coat and hat, holding a pair of bags.

“Theresa?” Fuller said, almost to himself, then screamed it. “Theresa!”

Mrs. Skyrme looked up. She didn’t call out to him. She didn’t wave or blow a kiss, or explain why she’d been packing up her things as he hung inches from death. She simply contemplated her guard dog trapped and trembling above her for a long expressionless second, then turned and carried on down the stairs. Walking away.

Fuller stood rigid, mouth slightly open, mouthing her name. Kim said, “Oh, dear.” And Will returned his attention to Fuller very nearly too late.

He’d got a hand under his coat already. Now as he turned, he pulled out a second gun, and his arm swung to Kim, point blank.

Will was already moving, launching a solid, savage boot to the groin. Fuller went backwards, arms flailing wildly, so that the bullet went up to the ceiling instead of into Kim, and he had nothing to grab on to as his foot slipped off the balcony edge.

There was no saving him this time. Not that Will tried.

Fuller’s scream was cut off by an extremely final thud. Will went to look over the edge and saw the body splayed in a dark pool of blood that would doubtless get bigger. The angle of his neck told its own story.

“Silly bastard,” he said.

Kim looked down too, then nodded. “I’m going after her. Wipe your fingerprints.”

He set off downstairs. Will managed to fish out a handkerchief and rubbed, clumsy and weak, at the baluster they’d both held and the table he’d used. Once he’d finished, he retrieved the Messer with sausage fingers and went down to the office.

The safe stood wide, the chocolate boxes empty. It looked like Mrs. Skyrme had taken the chocolates, the gun in the waste-paper bin, and the cartridges. He hoped Kim would be careful.

His partner returned a couple of minutes later, unharmed and alone. “She’d locked the door on her way out. By the time I got it open, she’d long gone. All right, I’m going to clear the safe. Put that bloody knife away.”

Will’s arms were starting to feel more like they belonged to him. He sheathed the Messer, then rubbed down the drawer-handles and anything else he could remember touching while Kim stuffed papers into his satchel. “That’ll do. Come on.”

They hurried downstairs, Will very aware of the body on the floor. Kim grabbed his arm as they approached the back door and pulled him round to scrutinise his appearance. “Stop looking like you’re at war.”

Will had no idea what that meant, but he breathed out hard, trying to smooth his features. Kim reached out to straighten his clothing with quick, impersonal tweaks, hesitated, then ran his hand through Will’s hair, finger-combing it to order. Will let him, resisting the urge to push his head into the touch of his hand.

“Better,” Kim said at last. “I’ll go first. Give me a minute, then head home.”

“Where are you going?”

“To get this lot to the office. It’ll be a race against time once Zodiac hear about this.”

“Are you calling the police?”

“Christ, no,” Kim said. “Go home, pretend it didn’t happen, and I’ll catch up with you as soon as I can. If you get in any trouble, contact me. If I’m not there, tell Peacock it’s urgent and he’ll reach me. Are you all right?”

“Just the arms. It’ll be fine.”

“I meant, what with having killed him.”

Will shrugged, for lack of anything useful