Someone Who Isn't Me, Danuta Kot [good books to read for adults TXT] 📗

into her pocket. She left Spice in the bathroom where she should be safe. There was nothing else she could do. She slipped her coat on, saw the stains on it from where she had dropped it on the floor, and pulled it off again, then she was heading out of the flat, pulling the door closed behind her.

DC Mason was right. They should have been waiting to get her. Why hadn’t they been?

Her feet clattered on the stairs as she ran down. The back door was still swinging open.

The yard was empty in the dim glow of the outside light. No torch. She’d forgotten it. Was someone waiting there, in the deep shadow under the fire escape? She edged past, half crouching, her keys clutched in her hand, the ends protruding between her fingers. Touch me and I’ll hurt you! Touch me and I’ll hurt you!

Like dark nights when she was a kid, when He…

Don’t think about that. That was then. Think about now!

The yard gate was closed. She remembered she’d pulled it shut when she came through earlier.

She stood at the gate, breathing hard, waiting for the hand on her shoulder, the arm locking round her neck.

Snitch bitch.

Move!

OK, out of the gate and into the pitch black of the gennel. Her feet stumbled on the uneven surface. She wanted to run, but she had to move carefully, not fall, just… She felt her way along, her hands touching the damp, crumbling brick of the walls, her feet slipping in the mud, until her groping hand found… nothing.

She was at the side street that led to the road. Now the faint glow of the streetlights lit her way.

Her breath came more easily. It was going to be OK. She was going to make it.

Don’t lose it. They could be out there in the street, they could be coming along the road now.

She edged her way along, then she crouched down, using a low wall beside one of the shops to conceal herself as she looked along the main road.

Nothing.

Where was the car, the fucking car Dinah Mason had promised?

She looked the other way. No car there, either.

But a motorbike was coming towards her, barely visible as it was showing no lights. It was moving slowly and the engine was throttled down low so it was almost silent. The figure of the rider was just a dark shape against the light of the street lamps.

Becca froze, watching the moving bike as it came closer.

The light of the streetlamp shone briefly on the face, on the bare head and the long, untidy hair.

Johnny Dip. Doc.

He was here. He’d warned her off and she hadn’t listened and now he was here.

She sank lower behind the wall, and moved backwards into the darkness of the gennel where the shadows would conceal her. There was no sign of the car Dinah had promised, and she didn’t have time to wait. You couldn’t trust the coppers; you should never trust the coppers.

But she knew what she was going to do. If Dinah couldn’t be trusted with the car for Becca, then she couldn’t be trusted about Kay. Becca was going to have to deal with that.

She didn’t have her coat, but she’d picked up her bag and she had her phone and her keys. She had no choice but to use her phone. She sent a quick text: Coming to you. On my way! as she moved quickly back along the gennel, stumbling as the uneven ground caught her feet, and then she was back at the yard gate.

Her fingers fumbled with the sneck as she looked over her shoulder.

Where was Johnny Dip? How close was he?

The gate opened and she was back in the yard, her breath coming too fast, her heart beating so hard she thought everyone must be able to hear it.

The bike.

She dug in her bag for the bike keys, her fingers fumbling with panic. Tissues, her house keys – she flung them all onto the ground – then her hand closed over them. She dragged the tarp off the bike and using all her strength, pushed it away from the wall.

Hurry!

Johnny Dip could be coming along the gennel right now.

She swung her leg over the bike and held her breath as she put the key into the ignition. It had to work. It had to.

There was a click as the engine switched on.

She waited, listening.

Nothing.

There was nothing.

She turned off the steering lock, put the bike into neutral, listening all the time.

Where was he?

In her mind, she could see him waiting outside the yard gate, smiling, ready to grab her as she came through.

She couldn’t ride it across the yard – she’d have to wheel it. In their last couple of months together, Jared had shown her how to do this. Dismounting, she kept the weight of the bike supported against her hip, and leaned into the handlebars. It was heavy, but she got it moving.

A plan. She had to have a plan.

OK. Get it to the gate, then… The gennel ran along the back of the block of shops and joined a side street at either end. Johnny Dip must have reached the first side street now. He could even be in the gennel. But he wouldn’t have his bike. He wouldn’t ride it along the gennel, he’d just park it in the road.

Did they know about her bike? They must do. One of them had been here in the yard.

Snitch bitch.

She pushed the bike to the yard gate and stopped again to listen.

Silence.

But that meant nothing. He might be out there, waiting for her. He could be anywhere.

Panic took her now. She had to go.

Now.

She needed a fast start. OK. Jared had shown her this as well. She pushed the gate open, swung her leg over the bike, gave it full choke and set off, leaning away from the turn as she came out of the gate into the muddy alleyway. The sound of the engine seemed to fill