Deep Water, Mark Ayre [e novels to read online TXT] 📗

"Like you don't know."

Abbie sighed. "Earlier this morning, Jacob professed that I knew nothing. Now here you are, seemingly believing I know everything. Isn't it funny how that goes? Don't worry, I won't start talking about Sherlock Holmes and Nanotechnology again."

"What?"

Taking one hand off the gun, Abbie waved away the question.

"I met Jacob on the beach a little while ago," said Abbie. "I was a stranger, passing through. I found him in danger and saved him from some unsavoury folk. Not that I got any thanks. In fact, he warned me I'd put myself in the middle of something that didn't concern me and told me to leave him alone forever. Unfortunately, I've never been great at taking orders."

"I don't believe you," said Do One.

"I can prove it. Order me to do something."

Do One gave a beleaguered sigh.

"Yeah, I make a lot of people do that," said Abbie. She glanced at the window. The light was still on. "Come with me."

Do One glanced at the door. His face was awash with regret. Abbie shook her head.

"I'm tired," she said. "If you like, I’ll find a hotel, rent a room, take a nap. You can stay here with your lock pick. When I wake, in a few hours, I’ll come collect you because you still won't have got inside."

Annoyance crossed Do One's face. Directed again towards himself. He knew Abbie spoke true and was angry that he wouldn't be inside, even if Abbie hadn't caught him.

Following annoyance was depression.

"Lament later," said Abbie. "It doesn't matter now. I caught you doing something naughty. You know what that means?"

"Shallow grave?" said Do One. He sounded resigned.

"No," said Abbie. "You have to buy me coffee."

Five

He led her to a greasy spoon that had opened fifteen minutes ago, at six am.

Abbie was taking a risk. Useless as he was at hiding in bushes and picking locks, Do One might have been the dud part in a criminal empire. One which based itself out of this stained, run-down building.

The bored, dumpy lady at the till might have concealed beneath the counter an Uzi. When Do One reached the waitress, he might dive for cover while the waitress grabbed her gun and riddled Abbie with bullets.

Maybe Do One was a poorly trained undercover cop. A hundred police officers might be hidden behind the counter, under tables, in the back, waiting to jump out when Abbie arrived like guests at a surprise party.

Despite these possibilities, Abbie entered the spoon with her gun and knife concealed in her jacket and belt. She allowed Do One to go alone to the counter while she crossed the room to the table that placed first in the least sticky competition. It was close to the toilet. At this hour, she hoped that wouldn’t be a problem.

“Black coffee,” she said to Do One before they split. “Lots if possible. No milk, no sugar. A mug that’s been washed at some point in the last decade would be a bonus, but I’m aware beggars can’t be choosers.”

Without comment, he went to the counter. Abbie settled at her chosen table. If settling was the right word. After a few seconds trying to get comfortable, she had to stand to make sure she hadn’t mistakenly sat on an antique torture device rather than a chair.

Putting her back to the wall, Abbie ensured she was best placed to see the single front door and the counter. The two locations from which danger might emerge. Abbie was on a mission to save a life. The two days following her prophetic dreams were always fraud with danger. Even if she was at a friendly local with no trouble expected, she followed the best practices Ben had taught her. After all, you never knew when danger might arrive.

More than the front door, Abbie watched Do One. Some people used incompetence as an act, a hustle, to disguise their true nature. She doubted that was Do One. Climbing from that bush, patting his gun, failing to lock pick the door, he’d had no idea Abbie was watching. That was him at his most natural.

Abbie would be careful. She couldn’t read minds but considered herself a good judge of character. Despite his gun, Abbie didn’t believe Do One was dangerous to her or anyone other than the mystery person who had driven him to attempt his first break and enter. As always, she was prepared to be proven wrong. If Do One switched and attacked, or if backup arrived, she’d be ready.

Do One returned with a tray containing a black coffee server, two mugs, a jug of milk, and a sugar pot. No hand grenades lay amongst the ceramics and glass, and Do One did not appear to be concealing a sawn-off shotgun behind his back.

Placing the tray, he chose a seat opposite Abbie while she removed and inspected the mugs, selecting the one that looked cleanest. For her sanity, she decided not to smell it.

“Name’s Abbie, by the way.” She removed the coffee server from the tray and filled her mug almost to the rim. She pointed to the second mug, then to the milk and sugar. “I suppose I’m leaving space for the dilutants?”

“I’ll do it,” said Do One. Reaching across the table, he almost snatched for the server.

“Don’t worry,” said Abbie. “I left the poison in my other coat.”

Do One didn’t respond, and Abbie released the server. He was agitated. Resisting his grab might have resulted in scolded knees and ruined jeans. Pre-sunrise was too early for such setbacks.

Server in hand, Do One prepared his drink. In his peripheral, he must have seen Abbie’s face as she watched because he looked up.

“What?”

“You do realise you have more milk than coffee, right? And that’s, what, six scoops of sugar? If you’re so keen on a heart attack, why don’t I just shoot you through the chest?”

He shot her a look to which she was accustomed. The one people gave when they couldn’t