displaying perfect white caps through the slit in his mask.
“Who the fucking hell are you, and what the fuck are you doing in my kitchen?”
He could see the bravado in her face and admired her for it. He looked her over appreciatively and she felt a moment’s disgust as it occurred to her that he might want to rape her. Well, he could have a good fucking try.
She squared her shoulders and balanced herself on her stiletto heels.
“Sandra?”
His voice was low and pleasant with a slight accent.
She frowned.
“Who wants to fucking know?”
She was still on her dignity and determined he wouldn’t see the fear she was feeling inside.
“Do you know who I am? Who my old man is? He finds out about this and there’ll be fucking murders, mate.”
He smiled.
“I was counting on that, Sandra. It’s why I’m here.”
She screwed up her face in consternation.
“You what? What you on about, you fucking nutter!”
The dog whimpered again and she automatically looked down.
“All right, Kelly. I’ll get a vet in a minute, baby, as soon as this dickhead leaves the house.”
She looked at the man again.
“You don’t know what you’re getting involved in here, mate. I warn you, my old man is heavy duty and this will piss him off big time.”
The man opened his coat and she saw the sawn-off shotgun. Her blue eyes widened as she realised what he was about to do. She made a run for the back door; its glass shattered as the first blast caught her in the lower legs. As she hit the floor the man stood over her and laughed.
She was writhing on the floor; her legs felt like they were on fire.
“What you doing to me! Take what you want, mate, take me watch, anything… but, please, I have two little girls…”
She was sobbing in pain and shock.
“Sorry, love, nothing personal.”
Then he blasted her in the face. He was still smiling while he did it.
Sandra’s mum had had to pick the kids up from school and assumed her daughter was out on one of her marathon lunches again. She took the girls back to her own house, determined to have a word with Sandra about her neglect of the kids. Since Vic had been banged up she had gone mad, out all the time, coked out of her nut. Her mother was getting fed up with it. Consequently Sandra’s body wasn’t found for twenty-four hours.
Vic Joliff had to be sedated when he was told the news, as did Sandra’s mother who was unfortunate enough to find her daughter’s mangled body along with the dog’s. Chantel and Rochelle were now to live with their granny, who smoked too much and lived for Bingo.
The police were baffled. Everyone was.
Sandra was a wife, a civilian, had had no dealings in Vic’s business, though some said she had snorted most of the profits. But that was Vic’s problem, no one else’s.
This certainly wasn’t his doing. He’d adored her, even when she was taking on all comers. He swallowed it because he knew she was young and high-spirited. It was only human nature. She hadn’t married him for love.
But then the murder was linked to the bombing at Maura Ryan’s house and as one astute old lag said sagely: “No good will come of this. The pavements will run with blood within the week.”
In fact, his prophecy was to come true within two days.
Chapter Two
Sheila Ryan smiled as her husband slipped his arm around her waist.
“You never give up, do you?”
Lee, the youngest of the surviving Ryan brothers, laughed.
“Never.”
She heaved again, dry racking heaves, and he rubbed her back once more.
“This baby is a troublesome little thing!”
“It’s a boy, Sheila, and takes after his father’s side of the family!”
She laughed because no matter how bad she felt now, she was so glad to be pregnant again. Sheila loved being pregnant, loved the feel of the babies growing inside her belly. The movement of them, and the knowledge that she was creating a little person from scratch, still filled her with awe every time.
Her grey-blue eyes
Lexy Timms, B+r Publishing, Book Cover By Design