Target Read Online Free PDF Page A

same thing on the next one, and the next, feeling a kind of delirious adrenalin-fuelled excitement at the prospect of escape.
    And at that exact same moment the stairs stopped and I realized I'd missed the ground floor, and possible safety. Instead, I was in the basement.
    Panting, I looked back up just as my pursuer arrived at the top of the last flight of steps. 'Oops,' he said playfully, waving the knife in front of him like a wagging finger. 'Bad move.'
    A small part of me felt like giving up there and then. Admitting the fact that I wasn't going to make it out of there and throwing myself at his mercy. Except that I knew there wouldn't be any.
    And it was only a small part of me. Self-preservation won through, and as he jumped down the last of the steps I turned and ran for the fire door in the corner – the only way out. I had no idea whether or not it was open, or where it led to, just relied on my instinct to live to keep me going. Running right into it, I pulled down the metal handle, felt it give, and half fell, half scrambled through into a cold and cavernous underground car park.
    He was still with me, almost as if he was glued to my slipstream, but this time I took the offensive and turned and slammed all my weight against the fire door, catching him by surprise and trapping his knife arm in it.
    But before I could do any real damage, he pushed from the other side and, being one hell of a lot stronger than me and with momentum on his side, he sent it flying open, and me stumbling backwards.
    I turned and ran through the dimly lit, silent car park, not knowing where I could turn. Ahead of me was one of those big roller doors that I knew was either the entrance or the exit, but it was shut. My legs felt weak and I just couldn't seem to get the pace up to put any distance between us – the bastard was like some kind of automaton – and I'd barely gone twenty yards before he leapt on my back for a second time, sending me crashing into the concrete.
    Sitting astride my back, he yanked my head up by the hair and I knew in an instant that he was going to cut my throat like some kind of animal. I bucked and thrashed as the knife suddenly appeared right in front of my face, and managed to pull free a hand. I immediately grabbed him by the wrist, forcing the blade away from me. I also jerked my head forward, trying to bite him, but his grip on my hair was too strong. This guy had the better of me, and both of us knew it. My arm was shaking with the effort of holding the blade away, and right then my life expectancy could be measured in seconds.
    The sound of hydraulics interrupted our deadly duel, and a second later the roller door began to open. I think it surprised both of us because I felt his grip on my hair momentarily ease, which gave me the chance I needed. I sank my teeth into his knife wrist, biting down hard, knowing that while his arm remained in my mouth he couldn't use the blade on me.
    He yelled and grabbed my hair again, tugging me backwards, but this time I wasn't letting go and I kept biting down, remembering something I'd once read about the strength of a human bite being something like two hundred pounds of pressure per square inch. I tasted blood and his yells became more urgent.
    And all the time the roller door kept opening. It was now five feet above the tarmac and I could see the headlights of a big 44 just outside, waiting to come in. There was no way it wouldn't see us. I was going to make it. I felt a rush of hope, kept my teeth clamped on his wrist.
    But then, in one swift, savage motion, he yanked his wrist free from my jaws. I clenched my teeth, waiting for the knife to slice across my flesh, but instead the weight lifted from my back, and a second later I heard his footfalls on the concrete floor as he ran back the way he'd come.
    Exhausted and battered, I lay where I was, looking up at the 44 as it nudged its way inside before turning left and disappearing from view.
    The driver hadn't