The Assassin King

The two bikers were away before Anna could react. Fortunately, Oliver was faster. He sprinted after the bike then simply leapt for her shoulder bag, grabbing it and almost jerking the pillion passenger from his seat, but instead tumbling to the ground himself and being dragged a short distance along the cobbles like a hapless waterskier until one of the bag’s buckles broke, turning its strap into a snake that slithered through the man’s grasp. He yelled out and the biker screeched to a halt and skewed around, as if intending to come back; but too many people were now converging to risk it, so he turned ahead once more and roared away.

Anna helped Oliver to his feet. He grimaced as he checked his left hand. Blood welled up from a pair of scratches to pool in his palm and then drip from there onto the wet cobbles, splashing in little scarlet coronets. A middle-aged couple came to ask if they needed help or witnesses. Oliver thanked them but assured them he was fine. ‘That was amazing,’ said Anna, fishing a pack of tissues from her bag and handing him a couple. ‘I’d be lost without my stuff.’

Oliver pressed tissues against his palm. Spots of blood blotted through the thin paper almost at once. ‘Can we get out of here?’ he asked. ‘I don’t want a circus.’

‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Is there a clinic or something nearby?’

That made him laugh. ‘Don’t be absurd. I only need a plaster. I’ve got some in my first aid kit.’

‘If you’re sure,’ she said doubtfully.

‘I’m sure,’ he said. ‘Though you should call your detective mate. He needs to know about this.’

‘They were just bag thieves.’

‘I don’t care.’

‘He was up all last night. I’ll tell him in the morning.’

He shook his head at her, but let it go. They set off for his place, only for his knee to start hurting him badly enough that he began to limp. She put her arm around him and they hobbled awkwardly on. She helped him upstairs and through to his kitchen where she rinsed his hand with cold water, then made him sit at the table so that he could stretch out his sore leg. His first aid kit was beneath the sink. She swabbed his hand with cotton wool, plucked out specks of grit with tweezers, disinfected his cuts and covered them with antiseptic cream, gauze and a little cotton wool, all held in place by long strips of tape. ‘Okay,’ she said, when she was done. ‘Now let’s have a look at your knee.’

‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘I just won’t try to land any triple axles for a week or two.’

‘Probably wise. Then you’re good to go.’

‘What about my lollipop?’

‘Lollipops are for brave boys. I saw you wincing.’

‘Hey!’ he protested. ‘And after I saved your bag too!’

‘It was brilliant, what you did,’ she told him seriously. ‘Thank you.’

‘My pleasure.’ He pushed himself to his feet then hobbled across the kitchen for the bottle of red he’d opened earlier, only to find himself hampered by his bandaged hand. She did the honours, therefore, finding a pair of fresh glasses for them to take through to the sitting room. He patted the sofa beside him. She took an armchair instead. Conversation turned personal. Oliver made her laugh with wild stories about being the child of touring actors, then listened sympathetically as she told him about watching her mother die and moving in with Uncle Dun.

They finished the first bottle. She fetched a second. This time, when he patted the cushion, she settled in beside him. They talked some more, about all manner of things. He touched the back of her hand with a fingertip, traced a feathery figure of eight. She told herself to move her hand away, yet somehow it stayed. He covered it fully with his own. She turned hers around to let their fingers interlace. They stared down at them together for a few moments, then up into each others’ eyes.

Of all the injuries Harry Kidd had done Anna, the one that had taken longest to heal was probably her newfound fear of men. She liked men. She missed them. She longed to trust them. She simply hadn’t been able. Not until now, at least, sitting on Oliver’s sofa, gazing into his eyes. Two crazy days together, she told herself. That’s all this was. But so what? She longed for companionship again, for those delicious moments of connection, for the simple joy of being desired and held.

Irritatingly, however, Elias came suddenly to her mind – specifically, Oliver’s affair with his wife. Because Elias liked her too, she was sure of it. It wasn’t just the catch in his voice earlier, it was the way he’d blinked when he’d noticed her makeup, her brushed hair and tightened belt. And though she owed him nothing in that regard, and indeed was a little annoyed by his interest, she found that she didn’t want to cause him pain either, certainly not on the night he’d caught her uncle’s killer – especially as she’d be seeing him again first thing in the morning, when he came to take her to the pound. Because he was far too sharp and dialled in to her not to be able to tell. ‘It’s getting late,’ she said, letting go of Oliver’s hand, pushing herself to her feet. ‘It’s been a brute of a day.’

Oliver stood with her, a show of old-fashioned courtesy. ‘You know where everything is?’

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Thanks.’

‘Do I at least get a goodnight hug?’

She put her arms around him, rested her head against his shoulder. It felt so good she clasped him a little tighter. He ran a hand over her hair then kissed her gently on her cheek. When she didn’t move away, he kissed her there a second time before moving to her mouth. She let him for a moment, enjoying the taste and feel of his lips, the press of his tongue, the scratch of his evening stubble. But she pulled back before she could get carried away. ‘I really need my sleep,’ she said.

‘If it’s sleep you’re after,’ he said, ‘you’d be far better off in my bed. It’s a million times more comfortable.’

Anna couldn’t help but smile. ‘Is that the best you’ve got?’

‘We wouldn’t need to do anything. Just hold each other is all.’

‘Sure,’ she said.

‘I mean it. There’s nothing like waking up alongside a beautiful woman. Best feeling in the world. You should try it yourself sometime. I’m serious. You really should. I’d sit in the corner, quiet as a mouse. You’d hardly even know I was there.’