“Davina, doll, are you sure you’re all right, that you’re going to be safe?”
“Yes, Dad, I’m gonna be fine. I just need you and Mum out of the picture for a short time. It’s all going to be over very soon, I promise.” She was loading her mother and father onto a train in St. Pancras railway station up to Glasgow to stay with her Auntie Laura, away from harm, out of London. She hadn’t told them about the shoot-out the night before at the flat. She hadn’t even told them why she had to have them spend the night up at Uncle Nigel’s in Biggleswade. They just knew there was a slight, remote danger to them as a result of the investigation she was on and that she didn’t want to take a chance. She promised that she couldn’t tell them any more and that she was going to be all right.
“I don’t like any of this, Davina.” Her mother spoke through a stifled round of heavy tears. “I don’t like you in this world. Never have, and now I know for sure why.” Steel pulled her mother in tight.
“I know, Mummy, I know. But I’m here. I’m in this world. There’s nothing I can do now but my job. Do you understand that?” Her mother regretfully answered yes. Davina kissed her soft forehead, hugged her father one more time, and helped them both up and onto the train.
She crossed the station and took the Underground to St. James Park and walked over to Met headquarters. She went upstairs, past the empty desks and the shuttered offices, and up the back elevator to the weapons lockup. She neatly signed her name in with her schoolgirl-perfect signature, scanned her credentials into the computer, and then proceeded to load herself up with a pair of her regular Glock 17s and a serious stash of additional weapons, including a small-size Browning A5 Stalker shotgun.
Down in the basement at the motor pool, she checked out a squad car. She filled the tank and drove away from the garage, slowly surfing the sleepy Sunday morning streets over to Kensington. Heading straight for Heaton’s mansion.