BLOOD DRAGON Freddie Peters (books to get back into reading .TXT) 📖

Branning had not moved. His heavy body looked more like a sack dumped there to collect the rubbish than a threat to life. The two men had now disappeared. No doubt readying their van for a speedy departure … it would now take only a few seconds for Branning and Nancy to be gunned down. The gunman would make his exit swiftly and as soon as he had entered the van one of the other thugs would floor the accelerator before the police car could chase after them.

The gunman’s phone rang. He nodded and raised his gun.

The man is laughing. His machine gun held against his side. His army boots only inches away from her knees. She can’t see his face, but she can smell the stale odour of sweat and greasy food on his skin. She’s kneeling next to her father, in the middle of the road. The doors of the old truck they have been driving in, are wide open.

She doesn’t know where her mother is.

Her father is speaking very fast, in a language she doesn’t understand. She doesn’t know whether it is the words she can’t comprehend or whether it is a foreign language she doesn’t know. But she knows he’s pleading with the man who is still laughing.

She isn’t scared though she should be. Her father is still with her and he always makes things better.

Until a scream comes from the back of the van.

Her heart starts beating faster and faster. Someone is struggling back there. She can hear the thrashing of a body against the metal frame of the truck. She doesn’t want to recognise the voice. She tries not to recognise the voice of her mother.

Her father lunges at the laughing man. They are on the ground fighting for the gun. The screams have reached a higher pitch. She runs to the back of the pickup and all she can see is a man bending over a body and a pair of legs thrashing uncontrollably.

She looks around, picks up a rock that lays on the dirt track with both hands and strikes once, twice … so many times she can’t recall … until her hands have turned red and the screaming has stopped.

The speed of the rugby tackle was vicious. DS Branning’s lunge startled the gunman. The gun discharged when they both rolled onto the floor. The bullet dislodged a piece of wood that exploded into splinters.

Nancy winced, diving behind the kitchen counter. The two men were struggling, thrashing about on the floor. A deafening noise reverberated around the room … another gun discharge.

Nancy stood up, seized one of the high stools from behind the breakfast counter and brought it down over the back of the gunman. He arched his back, groaning in pain. Branning threw a punch in his face. The man rolled onto his side towards the centre of the room.

Nancy stepped forward, raised the chair once more and hit him with all her might. The crack in the floor had widened, with the screaming noise of wood being torn apart. She raised the stool once more.

“Stop.” DS Branning was half standing. “Stop …” his hand stretched towards her.

Nancy dropped her weapon as though it was electrified. Branning had just enough time to stand up and drag her out of the room before the floor collapsed.

* * *

“When?” Pole had just adjusted his helmet and connected his mobile device to his earpiece.

Branning sounded shaken. It had been a near miss, but they were both unharmed, apart from a few scratches.

The Ducati sprang to life under Pole’s angry foot. The bike lurched forward. He avoided with a swerve a couple of absent-minded men crossing the road as though they owned it. They shouted at him, but he was already banking right to turn into the main road.

He sounded his horn as he sped towards a pedestrian crossing. The traffic lights were on his side and 10 minutes later Inspector Pole parked his bike next to the police van that was blocking the entrance of Cora’s building.

He flashed his ID card at the PC standing guard outside the building and ran to the ambulance parked at the side. DS Branning was holding a pack of ice against his swollen cheek. His jacket was torn, and blood had dripped over his shirt.

“She’s safe.” He mumbled. He made a quick move of the head in the direction of the entrance.

Nancy was sitting on the stairs of the building, wrapped in a blanket. She must have heard the two men talking. She lifted her face, swaying as she stood up.

Pole strode towards her, dropped his helmet to the ground and then wrapped his arms around her. “Are you hurt?”

“Rien du tout … Just a few bruises.” She let her forehead drop against his chest.

Pole placed a kiss on the top of her head. Her hair smelt of Issey Miyake perfume and burnt wood. He gave a nervous laugh that caught in his throat.

“What on earth happened?”

Nancy clutched the leather of his jacket to draw him closer. She was not ready to talk just yet. Pole moved his hand around on her back a few times to keep her warm. He was in no hurry.

“Desolée …” Nancy pulled back a little.

“What for?” Pole loosened his embrace and gave her a kind smile.

“These people are your colleagues.”

“You should know by now that it takes a lot more than that to embarrass me. I was not brought up in the stiff upper lip camp, remember … my family are a bunch of artists that wear their hearts on their sleeves all the time.”

She let go of his jacket and ran her hands over her face. “I almost killed him … If DS Branning had not stopped me …” She started to cry. “… I would have finished him off.”

* * *

The taxi dropped Jack in front of an impressive building in the centre of Boston. Large steps lead up to a series of