Break Point: BookShots Read Online Free PDF Page A

embarrassed.
    ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you’ve got my back.’
    She stood there for a moment in the mirror, Foster staring at her half-dressed reflection, and then she broke into a girlish smile. In his mind, Foster steamed the mirror back up until Kirsten Keller’s soft tan curves were all hidden, and then he imagined leaning forward and writing two words on the glass.
    STAY PROFESSIONAL.
    Good luck with that
, he told himself.

CHAPTER 7
    TWENTY MINUTES AFTER the fog lifted in the locker room, Kirsten Keller was fully dressed and sitting in the passenger seat of Foster’s slate-grey Range Rover as they headed north through Battersea and then east along the banks of the River Thames. The car was supercharged, with a five-litre engine and an exhaust that growled and rattled and echoed off everything they passed.
    ‘Where are we going?’ Keller asked, glancing over at Foster in the driving seat, his sharp eyes scanning the road ahead.
    They were a long way north of the rented house she had been sharing with Rosario in Wimbledon.
    ‘Someone knows a lot about your schedule,’ Foster said. ‘I think it makes sense to change things up. I’m going to find you a hotel. Do you have a preference?’
    Keller scanned the skyline, the city of London framed in the windscreen and growing by the minute.
    ‘Somewhere high up,’ she said. ‘So we can see people coming from a long way off.’
    It was irrational, but Foster understood. He called ahead to the Shangri-La at the top of the Shard and booked a suite overlooking the river.
    ‘I bet you’ve handled a lot of stalkers in your job,’ Keller said after a while. ‘Why do they do it?’
    He glanced at her, then let his eyes go back to the road.
    ‘Various reasons,’ he said. ‘But sometimes they just melt away after a while.’
    ‘And sometimes they don’t?’
    ‘No. Not always.’
    The Shard came into view. It was taller than anything else in London, dominating the skyline, razor-straight metal and glass tapering off into the ether. Kirsten Keller watched the sunlight glinting off it for a minute and then turned back towards Foster.
    ‘I don’t think Maria’s happy about the new set-up.’
    ‘Not my job to make her happy,’ Foster said bluntly. ‘I’ll try not to lose sleep over it.’
    Keller punched him in the thigh as he drove. Hard.
    ‘Don’t be mean,’ she said. ‘She’s a good person. She just wants me to focus on my tennis. I haven’t got for ever.’
    Foster felt the age in his bones and smiled.
    ‘You’re twenty-three.’
    ‘Exactly.’
    He said nothing. Just drove the car until they arrived five minutes later. He handed the keys of the Range Rover to the valet and they headed inside, through the airport-standard security at the base of the tower. They stepped through the metal detectors and Foster set off the alarms, as always.
    ‘It’s more metal than bone,’ he said as the security guard waved his electronic wand over his left arm.
    ‘Car crash?’ the guard asked as the machine whistled wildly.
    ‘Explosion,’ Foster said and instantly regretted it, as he saw recognition dawn on the guy’s face. He shook Foster’s hand and told him he was a hero. Foster thanked him without elaborating, and avoided Kirsten Keller’s inquisitive gaze as they passed through security and took the lift to Reception on the thirty-fourth floor.
    ‘Explosion?’
    ‘Long story.’
    They checked in and were told that the room was ready, but they stopped off at the bar because it was too early to be cooped up in a hotel suite. The entire outer wall of the bar was made of glass. Beyond the glass was London. All of it stretched out in front of them: the river and the roads and the train tracks. The churn of humanity going about its afternoon business. Landmarks jutted from the broil: Tower Bridge, the London Eye and the Houses of Parliament. The whole view was mesmerising. Eventually they turned away and settled into plush velvet seats facing