The Pleasures of Spring (2 page)

Roz Spring stumbled when she saw the display of hunting knives on the wall. They were so out of place in the run-down London shopping centre that she couldn’t conceal her shock. She blinked and managed to control her face, but could do nothing about the cold sweat that chilled her back.

‘You all right, love?’ The man in Sunny Money came from behind the counter and caught her arm. ‘You turned a bit pale there.’

Roz allowed herself to lean against his arm. The heavy weight of her swollen belly unbalanced her, and she would take all the help she could get. She sagged a little, the movement taking the strain off her back. ‘I’m sorry, it was those knives. They gave me such a fright.’

Mr Sunny Money turned to look at them, as if he had forgotten they were there. Six knives, long and lethal, with handles of leather, ivory and wood, gleamed evilly from their display stand on the back wall. ‘They belonged to my great-grandfather. He was a big game hunter in Africa, back in the time when you were allowed to kill the animals.’

He shrugged. ‘Of course, things are different now. You take photos instead of shooting them. That’s my hobby.’

He smiled at her, a charming self-deprecating smile, but Roz couldn’t force herself to return it. Knives freaking scared her.

She rubbed her belly restlessly. ‘I’m sorry, it was the shock of seeing them.’

Sunny Money was on the first floor of Lewisham shopping centre, in a small unit sandwiched between a high-end jewellers and a boutique selling the kind of skimpy, fashionable clothes that would no longer fit her. The glass walls that divided the office from the walkway revealed neutral walls and carpet and a waist-high desk without the bulletproof protection so popular in banks. It was friendly, approachable and exactly what she needed in her situation.

Her scalp prickled and she longed to scratch it, but couldn’t take her attention off the display. Roz shook slightly. Since that damp night in Paris over a year ago, she had nightmares about knives. ‘Do you think I could sit down? I’m feeling a bit strange.’

Mr Sunny Money was all concern. ‘Of course. Here you are.’

He pulled a chair forward and helped her into it.

Roz lowered herself awkwardly, sighing with relief when she was able to relax. She leaned forwards and rubbed her lower back. ‘I had no idea pregnancy would be like this. It looks so glamorous on TV, all those glowing, happy women. It’s nothing like that.’

She was close enough to read his identity badge. Dave Winston.

Dave patted her arm. ‘I can see that, but you’re glowing in your own way.’ He paused delicately. ‘You must be due soon?’

Roz averted her eyes. ‘Yes, that’s sort of why I’m here.
I’m due in a couple of weeks, and it’s twins.’ She looked up again. ‘Twins! One baby would have been bad enough, but two? I had no idea they were so expensive. I’ll need a double buggy, and cots, and formula and a sterilizer and clothes and all sorts of things. I have no idea where I’m going to get the money, but my friend Stella said you’d be able to help me.’

Dave smiled reassuringly.

It was a very practised expression, Roz decided.

‘I understand completely. I don’t suppose the father …’ He allowed his voice to trail off.

‘No. There’s no father in the picture. My mate Stella is helping me get my child benefit organized. It will be extra with twins, but I need the money now.’

Dave patted her arm. ‘That’s what we’re here for, love. What did you have in mind?’

She took a breath. ‘Would a thousand pounds be too much?’

His smile turned shark-like. ‘Of course not. Expensive, those young ’uns. Maybe you’ll need a bit more. Say fifteen hundred? Repayment’s only twenty quid a week, you’ll manage that easily.’

Roz forced herself to look grateful. ‘Oh thank you, thank you. You’ve saved my life. And the interest?’

‘Will be no problem.’ Dave helped her out of her chair and over to the counter where he handed her an application form.

Elaine O’Kennedy
she wrote in the space for the name. She filled in one of the thirteen different addresses she had lived in as a child. Her dad didn’t believe in settling
down. She allowed her eyes to wander over the space behind the counter, searching for a locked container.

There. That was it. She scribbled a signature on the bottom of the page while he counted out the cash.

‘Perfect.’ Dave glanced at the form. ‘Now, do you have a driving licence? I need to see some ID.’ He held onto the bundle of notes.

She shook her head. ‘No, I’m sorry.’ She allowed a trace of desperation to sound in her voice. ‘Does this mean I can’t have the money?’

He frowned. ‘Something else then? Your Benefit card, maybe?’

Her hand shook as she dug through her bag, looking for the card.

Dave snatched it out of her grasp and looked at the details on the forged card. ‘Perfect. I’ll hold onto this for a few days while I check your details.’

He unlocked the small heavy box behind the counter and dropped her card into it.

It was time.

Roz dropped the extra-fine condom she had filled with yellow-tinted water. It hit the ground with a satisfying splat, splashing the contents all over her legs and the carpet. She clutched her belly and gave a loud cry. ‘My waters have broken.’

Roz doubled over. ‘Ow, ow, ow. That must be a contraction. OW!’

‘You said you weren’t due for a couple of weeks.’ Dave looked completely rattled.

She straightened up enough to glare at him. ‘I’ll be sure to tell the babies they’re early.’

She clutched her belly again, moaning loudly. ‘You have to call for help.’

Dave fumbled around the counter, looking for his phone. It had vanished.

Roz groaned again, her voice rising. ‘Ow, that hurts so much.’ She held onto the counter. ‘I thought there were supposed to be gaps between contractions. These babies are in a hurry.’

‘You can’t have them here.’ Dave stopped looking for the missing phone. ‘Wait here, I’ll go for help.’

She panted theatrically. ‘Hurry, please.’

He bolted for the door.

As soon as he was gone, Roz ducked in behind the counter and grabbed the box. It was full of Benefit cards. Mr Sunny Money had being preying on her neighbours for months. Bastard. She lifted the skirt of her voluminous pregnancy dress, unzipped the top of her pregnancy ‘bump’ and emptied the contents of the box into it. Perfect. A lot of people would sleep better when they had those back. She quickly zipped up the ‘bump’ and lowered her dress, then looked around, checking to see if there was anything she had missed.

Bang! Bang!

Shots rang out, followed by the sounds of breaking glass and the screams of shoppers. Roz raised her head and caught a glimpse of a masked gunman holding a brutal-looking rifle. She dropped like a stone, praying he hadn’t seen her.

More shots, screams, the noise of dozens of people running. An alarm went off.

Damn it! No prizes for guessing what had happened.
A robbery at the jewellers had gone wrong, and the thieves were trying to shoot their way out. And they were between her and the exit.

Roz stayed where she was, using the counter to shield her from the bedlam outside, but couldn’t resist peering around the edge to see what was happening.

A tall figure was herding a bunch of kids down the service stairs. He was wearing an expensive looking wool coat, so it was hard to make out details, but there was something familiar about that figure.

He turned his head, and she caught a glimpse of a familiar profile.

Andy McTavish.

No, no, no! Anyone but him. The last person in the world she needed now was Andy McTavish. She had spent over a year on the run, staying one step ahead of him. She was not going to let him drag her to the nearest police station and hold her there ’til Interpol arrived. She had worked too hard, risked too much, to be caught now.

Her heart pounded. Why did they have to send someone so damn gorgeous to catch her?

Roz forced herself to crouch down behind the counter, well out of his sight. The emergency exit door closed and he was gone.

A police siren sounded in the distance, and a rapid splutter of shots told her the gunmen had a sub-machine gun as well as a revolver. Her chances of getting out alive were dropping rapidly.

She barely had time to register the shadow moving before a large body slid over the counter and onto the floor beside her.

‘Oh!’

His dark eyes, veiled by ridiculously long lashes and shadowed by strong brows, were narrowed. His cheekbones were razor sharp, creating shadowed planes on his angular face. The thin mobile mouth was tight until he saw her hidden behind the counter.

She caught a wave of his scent, something woodsy and masculine that made her skin flush. How the hell could he have this effect on her?

Despite his crouched position, he took a moment to make a small bow. ‘Sorry to disturb you, ma’am, but I need to borrow a couple of your knives.’

The soft Northern Irish burr was breathtakingly sexy. Even in the middle of a shoot-out with guns blazing, something inside her melted. That accent should be licensed. Typical Andy McTavish, flirting with any female he met, even in the middle of a gun battle. And he hadn’t recognized her.

She quashed a stab of hurt and forced a strong Yorkshire English accent to her tongue. ‘You’re welcome.’ Her disguise had held.

He ran interested eyes over her, stopping when he took in the bump that strained the front of her dress and his expression changed. ‘Don’t distress yourself, ma’am, I’ll have you out of this in no time, I promise.’

‘You and whose army?’ she snapped. If there was one thing she hated, it was men who promised the moon and the stars, but failed to deliver.

His face changed, hardened. ‘Ma’am. I’m a Ranger. I
am
an army.’

Despite herself, she couldn’t help believing him.

One long arm reached up to the display and lifted down three of the knives from it. Andy tested the edges against his thumb, and nodded with satisfaction. ‘I’ll be back in a few minutes.’ He tipped her chin up, planted a quick kiss on her forehead and said, ‘Stay hidden, I promise I’ll come back.’

Then he vaulted over the counter and was gone.

A stuttering round of gunfire hit the metal walkway. Sparks flashed as the bullets ricocheted, striking a shop-front and shattering the glass. More screams, but further away this time. A dull
phut-phut
as bullets hit the ceiling, spraying slivers of plaster onto his Savile Row suit.

Andy grinned and shook his head. Only a sad bastard missed being shot at, but things had been quiet lately. Even for him. What should have been a meeting with an informer about stolen art and the Eastern European mafia had suddenly got more interesting. His grin widened.

That pregnant brunette in there had doubted him? He would prove he was as good as his word. There was something familiar about her, something he couldn’t put his finger on.

Another shot sounded and he dismissed the woman from his thoughts and concentrated on the job in hand.

Crouching, he tucked the smallest knife into his boot, and another one into his belt. The largest he jammed into his coat pocket, slicing the silk lining like a hot knife through butter. A gun would have been better, but beggars couldn’t be choosers.

Andy moved closer to the robbery, sliding along the wall, out of sight, in the direction of the jeweller’s shop, listening intently. It sounded like the idiots were trying to shoot open a safe. Two guns meant two tangos inside and there was probably a third nearby, sweating his ass off in a stolen car.

The sub-machine gun stuttered to silence.

‘How was I to know the safe was on a time lock? Fucking piece of shit.’ The roar came from inside the shop. More expletives followed before the gun sailed through the open doorway and over the railings to land in the fast food court below.

One weapon out of the way, but leaving empty handed would piss the thieves off and that could be dangerous.

‘Get up, bitch. We’re out of here.’ Andy heard a different voice this time, older and harder.

‘Please, no. I have a little girl. She’s only four.’ The woman’s plea bordered on hysterical.