The Courier. Ava McCarthy

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       13

      ‘Dammit!’

      Harry snapped the laptop shut and massaged the corners of her eyes. They felt gritty from staring at the screen.

      Wrong place, wrong time. That was supposed to explain her connection with Garvin’s death. Even Hunter had conceded it was a possibility. But with her name chiselled into one of his files, who’d believe her now?

      She bundled up her laptop, along with the printouts she’d made of Garvin’s spreadsheets. She noticed she was making a lot of packing-up sounds, just to create some noise. By now, she was alone in the office. The winter darkness had rolled in like a tide, though it was barely five thirty. She’d intended to leave with Imogen, perhaps give her a lift home. Safety in numbers was a theory Harry subscribed to. But Imogen’s fiancé had arrived unannounced and whisked her away before she and Harry had talked.

      Now Harry was alone in the dark, which wasn’t how she’d planned it.

      She killed the lights, set the alarm and scuttled across the deserted reception as though helped along by a tailwind. Empty buildings had their own ghosts, and Harry’s spine was already tingling. She shouldered her laptop bag. She’d review her findings later on, but right now she had someone to see.

      She jabbed at the door-release button and trotted out into the street. The building opened on to Sugar House Lane, a narrow, cobbled alleyway that ran alongside the walls of the Guinness brewery. She scanned the shadows ahead. The alley twisted away into the darkness, forking out to the backstreets that skulked behind the brewery. The right fork led past the entrance to the Storehouse tours. The left wound its way into Marrowbone Lane, which was where she’d parked her car.

      Harry hesitated, the malty scent of hops filling her nostrils. Then she hitched her bag high on to her shoulder and clopped over the lumpy cobbles. Ancient building walls closed in on both sides. With their bricked-up windows and rusted bars, they looked like abandoned prisons. Harry hunched her shoulders, picking up the pace.

      She thought about her name on Garvin’s files. Was it a coincidence, or had Beth deliberately set her up? She fingered the cold diamond still in her pocket. At this point, she was inclined to believe the worst.

      Something rustled in the darkness. She snapped her head around, but all she could see were black, brick walls. Her skin prickled, and she speeded up.

      Dawn Light. The name floated into her head. By now, she’d remembered why it seemed so familiar but she needed to be sure, and there was only one person who could help her. She checked her watch. If she hurried, she might catch him before he left.

      Feet scuffed on the cobbles behind her. She whirled around and stared into the dark alley. A lone streetlight flickered and buzzed. Her heart thumped against her chest bone. She backed up a few steps. She thought of her car, parked on the backstreet at the end of the lane. She could make it in twenty seconds if she ran.

      A shape stirred in the shadows. Harry gasped, her limbs rigid. Then she jerked to life and spun away, breaking into a run. An engine growled up ahead, and feet pounded behind her. A low hum escaped her throat. She bolted down the alley, her shoes smacking the cobbles, her whole body on high alert.

      Then she stumbled, pitching forward, and sprawled across the fork in the lane. In the same instant, headlights blazed into the alleyway: an evening tourist coach, revving towards her from the right. Something spat into the darkness behind her, zinging past her ear. She caught her breath. Then she clambered to her feet, grabbed her bag and lunged for the other side of the road. A horn blared, brakes squealed. Her body slammed into concrete. She curled up and rolled, pain shooting down her arm.

      Behind her, glass shattered, people screamed. Harry snapped her eyes back to the alley. The coach was angled across the cobbles, its headlights smashed up against one wall. It was barricading the laneway, blocking her view of whoever was on the other side. Harry staggered to her feet, dimly aware of white-faced tourists gaping from the bus.

      She blundered through the twisting backstreet. A block of flats loomed on her left, bleak and dark. Ahead was Marrowbone Lane, her car visible in the distance. It was less than a hundred yards away, but was there time? Her breath tore at her throat. Her instincts said to keep running, but her brain told her to hide. Hide where? In her car? Feet slapped the path behind her. Her muscles clenched. She had seconds to decide.

      Harry swung left and vaulted over the low wall surrounding the block of flats. An orange glow on the second floor announced a smoker on the balcony. She sprinted the few feet to the building and swung herself over a set of railings into someone’s porch. Running footsteps sounded in the laneway. Harry crouched in the darkness, edging out of sight behind a jumbo satellite dish the size of a tractor tyre.

      The footsteps stopped. Something icy squeezed Harry’s stomach, and she shrank back against the wall. She strained for sounds from the laneway.

      Nothing.

      The sweet incense of burning weed drifted down from the balcony above. Harry squinted through the gap between the dish and the wall, but could only make out shadows. Jeering laughter rang out nearby, and somewhere a glass smashed. Harry darted a glance behind her. The flat was СКАЧАТЬ