by Anna Smith
‘Fuck you, Frankie. Fuck you straight to hell,’ Kerry spat.
She heard the dull thunk of power and Frankie went limp, his arms let her go, and she pulled herself free. She rolled over and got up on her elbow, still with the gun in her hand. She could see the blood pouring out of Frankie’s stomach and seeping around him. And his face, wet with sweat and pale as the life drained out of him. And somewhere in that handsome face was the young man she’d known as she grew up. For a fleeting second she felt a little choked that it had come to this. But this was a war that Frankie had brought to her family. She had never wanted to be part of the bloodshed, but she had to fight back. He opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out, and she looked him in the eye and shook her head so it would be the last thing he saw before he died. Then Kerry slowly got up and carefully went outside.
It was chaos. There were people shooting at each other, and she crouched down behind the wheel of the truck to see shots flying everywhere, then car loads of more gunmen pull up. Who the hell were they? Not hers. She could see Danny shooting and someone, who by description might be Vic, coming out of the big truck with a rifle. He was shooting on their side so it must be Vic. She saw Cal, firing at guys who dropped, and Tahir too, both of them looking expert and determined . . . Then she heard a shout, ‘Kerry! Over here!’ It was the driver of her car. But as she crouched to run over, suddenly she felt something knock her off her feet. She caught her breath then put her hand to her abdomen. Blood. Oh Christ, no! Big Pete dived over, picked her up and rushed her into the car. Danny came racing over.
‘Aw fuck, Kerry!’ He bent over to touch her and saw the flow of blood. ‘Fuck!’
‘Danny. Please. Get me an ambulance. I . . . I’m pregnant.’
Danny’s face was white with shock as he turned to Cal.
‘Cal! Get an ambulance! Hurry!’
As Kerry was passing out, she heard Cal shouting in his phone that he was somewhere in Manchester in an industrial estate, trying to give instructions and directions. She lay bleeding, feeling no physical pain, only the pain of knowing that there was a baby in there and so much blood that it had to be dead.
Chapter Forty-One
Sharon was on her way back from a meeting with the architects and project manager of the hotel complex. She’d wanted to cancel the meeting, as she was waiting by her phone for any word from Kerry, or Vic, or anyone to tell her what had happened. The last she’d spoken to Kerry was yesterday and she’d told her she was going to meet with Frankie at the warehouse. If Vic had called her, she’d have alerted him to watch out for her if there was a bloody battle. But he hadn’t called. And as she saw on her watch it was almost one in the afternoon she assumed that whatever went down at the warehouse had to be over by now. Not hearing anything from anyone could only be a bad thing. But as she couldn’t put the meeting off, she’d had to go, and now as she was on her way back to her villa, she could see the driver was weaving in and out of traffic.
‘What’s the matter?’ Sharon asked.
‘Some pricks in a Jeep behind me right up my arse. Every time I move lanes, they move.’
Sharon’s bodyguard in the passenger seat adjusted the wing mirror so he could see better.
‘It’s a Spanish reg. Looks like a couple of workmen. But it could be anyone. I don’t like this.’ He turned to face Sharon. ‘Let’s take the next slip road, go through the towns instead of staying on the motorway.’
‘You think it’s a threat?’ Sharon asked.
‘I don’t want to take any chances,’ he replied. He took his pistol out of his holster and held it. ‘Next slip road, Ernie.’
The driver nodded, and took the next cut-off. As he did, he checked his rear-view mirror.
‘Bastards still behind us.’
‘Then lose them, Ernie. Soon as we get to the main road.’
‘I will.’
There were a few more vehicles taking the slip road together, so they had to slow down. Then, at the junction, as they were about to pull away, the car was suddenly thrown forward. It shuddered to a halt as it hit the high kerb.
‘Fuck!’ Ernie said. ‘Cunts have rammed us.’ He tried to turn the wheel and reverse, but the wheel was stuck on the kerb. ‘Fuck. I can’t get it moving.’
‘Christ!’ Sharon said, suddenly afraid.
There was the sound of an engine revving, and the jolt as they were rammed again.
‘Fuckin’ hell!’ Ernie’s face went white. He reached into his waist and pulled out a gun. ‘They’re coming at us. Cunts are armed.’
The bodyguard was out of his seatbelt and about to open the door.
‘Get down, Sharon! Lie down on the seat. Ernie! Go out your door and I’ll go out of mine. Just come out firing.’
Then came the sound of rapid gunfire. Sharon covered her head with her hands as the rear window shattered, showering her with shards of glass. She pulled her own gun out of her handbag and cocked it. From the corner of her eye she could see her bodyguard crouching against the door, firing off shots, diving to the ground. Ernie was also firing. But then the groan, as he fell to the ground.
‘Shit. Ernie’s been hit. Fuck! Stay there, Sharon.’
She lay motionless, terrified, as more shots peppered the car, and the men were obviously getting closer. There was only the bodyguard now, and her. She had to do something. She wriggled up and across the seat into the front, and slipped out. She landed on top of Ernie. He was still breathing, but with blood pouring from a shoulder wound. She lay on the ground almost under the car. Then she could hear voices in Spanish talking and laughing as they kept shooting. She crouched along the side of the car until she could see the three men coming towards them firing wildly. She aimed her gun, fired it, and one of them fell down, clutching his leg. She lay back down on the ground.
‘Sharon? You all right? You should have stayed in the car.’
‘No fucking way am I going to lie there and die.’
She heard the bodyguard fire off several more shots, but then rapid gunfire and he too was hit.
‘Bill . . . You been hit?’
There was no answer. She crawled to the back of the car, but she could see nobody except the man she had hit. Then a voice behind her and her blood ran cold.
‘Oi, señora! Que pasa?’
She turned her head slowly, her whole body trembling as she looked up to see the dishevelled skinny figure standing over her, a cigarette dangling from his lip, and the rifle pointed at her as though he had just found his prey. A second later, a fat little guy joined him with a smile on his face.
‘Hola guapa!’ He put his hand out for the gun. ‘Don’t be a stupid coño, lady.’
Sharon looked up at him, but still held the gun tightly, pointing it at them. If she fired at one of them she’d also be dead before they hit the ground. She thought of Tony. How would they tell him?
She held her hand out.
‘Fuck you!’
The men looked at each other and sniggered. The skinny one jerked his head to the fat man, and he stepped forward and bent to pick her up. As he did, she managed to knee him in the groin, and he let out a gasp. Then she felt the sharp pain of a fist on her cheek.
‘Don’t fight, woman. You not win.’
She let herself go limp as he carried her across to the Jeep and bundled her into the boot, then tied her hands and feet. She lay on the smelly metal floor as they slammed the doors shut and locked them.
*
Jake Cahill had got the call he’d been waiting for. It was all over in Manchester. Kerry had been shot, and rushed to hospital. Two of their men were wounded, but they’d lost nobody. Frankie Martin was dead. There was some story about a shoot-out with a guy called Jumbo Keane, who Jake had heard of, but none of that was important right now. Because he had been given the green light to take Pepe Rodriguez out whenever he wanted. And now was as good as it was going to get.
Jake had set up his rifle on the tripod aimed down at the villa. He’d been watching with his bi
noculars as the Jeep sped up the main road then onto the dirt track sending up swirling clouds of dust. As it went through the gates of the villa, from his vantage point, he could see it pull up in the yard. Then from the patio door, Pepe Rodriguez emerged and strolled across to the car. Two of the bodyguards joined him. Jake watched as they opened the tailgate. Something was going on here. They were dragging a body out of the boot. Jake peered through the binoculars. It was a woman. He stood up. ‘Fuck me,’ he said aloud. It was Sharon. He could see her face, red and swollen, and she stood propped up by the fat bodyguard who he’d seen slapping people around. He watched as Pepe Rodriguez stood looking at her. Now, Jake thought, getting down on the ground. It had to be now. He crawled over to his rifle, and looked down the sight. He slowed down his breath and his heartbeat as he concentrated, making the adjustments, watching the scope as it centred on the target’s chest. Rodriguez was smiling. He was saying something to Sharon who was standing there looking limp and defenceless. Jake breathed gently as his finger brushed on the trigger. He could see that Rodriguez was still laughing. Then he fired. It took three seconds for the bullet to arrive and wipe the smile off his face, then one second for him to fall down with the blood pumping out like a well. All the henchmen stood motionless, glancing around, terrified, waiting for the ambush. They dumped Sharon on the ground and ran. Jake watched as they piled into cars and four-by-fours and sped out of the gates of the villa then down the dirt track and disappeared in clouds of dust. Jake kept looking down the scope, and he saw Sharon turn over and crawl on her stomach the couple of yards across to where Rodriguez lay motionless. Then he watched as she quickly grabbed the pistol from his holster and got up onto her knees. Suddenly he saw Rodriguez’s arm flinch a little and his head move. Bastard should be dead by now, Jake thought, as he raised the rifle and placed his finger over the trigger, ready to pull. Then he saw Sharon point the gun to the Colombian’s head. She fired as Jake was about to pull the trigger. He watched as Rodriguez’s head jerked with the force of the bullet at such close range. Job done. Jake picked up his gun and marched down the hillside towards the villa, like a triumphant hunter who’d had a good day.
Chapter Forty-Two
In Kerry’s dream she had been swimming with a little baby in her arms, splashes of water on the child’s face, holding it close, the baby’s arms tight around her neck. Then the water began to swirl and drag them under, and the baby’s arms got tighter and tighter as the water dragged at it. Then the little child’s hands let go and Kerry watched as she disappeared under the water, her big frightened eyes looking at her, her little chubby hand outstretched. Kerry could feel her chest bursting and then a warm hand on her cheek telling her everything was all right. She heard herself scream, ‘My baby! My baby!’
‘Sssh, now, Kerry,’ the voice said.
Kerry was afraid to open her eyes. When she did, she could see a nurse in uniform, gentle, kind eyes.
‘It’s okay, Kerry. Your baby is fine.’
For a moment, Kerry thought she was still dreaming. She looked at the nurse and tried to speak, her mouth moving but no sound.
‘Yes,’ the nurse nodded. ‘Your baby is fine. You’re going to be all right now.’
The floodgates opened. Kerry felt warm tears spill out of her eyes and down her cheeks onto her neck as she sobbed. Everything came rushing back to her: the warehouse, Frankie, the chaos and mayhem of the shoot-out. Someone had shot her and she’d survived. Her baby had survived. Then she opened her eyes fully and thought she could see Vinny in the doorway, but she must have fallen into a dream again, for it couldn’t be Vinny. Not here, wherever she was. She closed her eyes, and then opened them again, as the nurse turned around and smiled to him.
‘Are you the father?’ she said innocently.
‘I . . . I . . .’
‘Vinny,’ Kerry said through tears. ‘Oh, Vinny, I’m so sorry.’
Vinny stood for a long moment, his face shocked, broken, torn. Then the nurse realised she’d made a mistake to assume.
‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I’ll leave you two alone.’
Vinny took a few steps towards the bed, his eyes locked on Kerry.
‘Oh, Kerry! I’m so sorry!’
‘You went away, Vinny. What was I to think?’
‘I was working, Kerry. Undercover. I couldn’t even tell you I was going.’
Kerry sniffed. They looked at each other and he reached out and held her hand, then bent down to kiss her cheek and she felt the softness of his hair on her lips. She thought she could hear him sniff too, and he stayed like that for a long time. Then he broke away, his eyes moist.
‘Is it my baby, Kerry? It has to be.’
Kerry couldn’t speak. She nodded, sniffing.
‘Oh Christ, Kerry!’
A doctor appeared at the doorway.
‘You should be resting. I said no visitors, only close family.’
‘I’m the father,’ Vinny mumbled.
‘Oh. I see. Well I’m glad to tell you that your baby is a fighter. Kerry lost a lot of blood yesterday and she’s lucky to be alive, never mind baby too. So it’s a battler too. But there’s been a trauma and she needs complete rest to recover. We had to remove a bullet from Kerry’s stomach.’
Vinny nodded, awkward, shifting on his feet. The doctor was looking at him as though he was some thug.
‘When can I go home?’ Kerry managed to mutter.
‘If you’re fit enough we can airlift you to Scotland tomorrow to a hospital there.’
‘Thanks,’ she murmured.
The doctor left, and she turned to Vinny. ‘How did you get here?’
‘I was following a villain called Jumbo Keane. We’ve been tracking his mob for months while he’s been in jail. Then he got out and word came through that he was onto a big deal. Pure cocaine coming in from a Colombian cartel. We’ve been watching and tracking Pepe Rodriguez for weeks too, months actually, but more in recent weeks. We knew Frankie was in with that mob, but we lost his trail a few days ago. It was just one or two big mouths who told us this stuff was coming in. So we were a bit behind.’
Kerry said nothing. She hadn’t spoken to anyone yet, but she guessed that since Vinny hadn’t mentioned Danny or arrests to her, that perhaps they’d all got away before the cops came. She wondered about the cocaine and hated herself for even thinking that, when she should be lying here grateful that her baby was saved and that she was still alive.
‘I take it you know what I’m talking about, Kerry.’
Kerry closed her eyes and shook her head.
‘Jesus Christ, Vinny. Can you just not be a cop for one minute? I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘We didn’t get the coke anyway. But somebody did. So we don’t know if it was Jumbo’s mob, some other guys who ambushed it, or the Caseys.’
‘I’m tired, Vinny. Can we talk tomorrow? Please. I might be getting home.’
Vinny smiled. ‘I’m never going to win with you, Kerry, am I? But you’re having my baby, so don’t shut me out.’
Kerry didn’t answer. She lay back on the pillow and closed her eyes.
‘Later, Vinny. I need to sleep.’
Vinny kissed her again, then he left without another word. She sank back relieved, his words, ‘don’t shut me out’, ringing in her ears. She was so delighted to see him and so glad he didn’t baulk that she was having his baby, even though she didn’t know how they could go forward together. But somewhere in all those emotions, she was desperate to find out if the Caseys got the cocaine. The cops didn’t seem to have it, so either it had been hijacked by some other crew, or the Caseys had it. She closed her eyes. That was for another day. Right now she was tired and safe, and overwhelmed with sheer love for the little baby inside her that had survived against the odds.
Acknowledgements
And finally, it’s that time where I’m delighted to thank everyone who supports me, from my readers, to close friends and family.
My sister Sadie, is my
constant friend and support in every step of each novel. Also her family: Matt, Katrina, Matthew and Christopher, who listen and often inspire my thoughts. Paul, who keeps my techno stuff and website up and running. My brother Des and his family. And Connor, who always eagerly awaits the next book!
My cousins, the Motherwell Smiths, and the Timmonses for their love and laughter, as well as Alice and Debbie and all their family in London for their hospitality.
My cousins Annmarie and Anne for great times and chats with the kids. And also, Helen and Irene.
I’m lucky to have such great friends in Mags, Eileen, Liz, Annie, Mary, Phil, and journalist friends: Simon, Lynn, Annie, Mark, Maureen, Keith, Ross, and Thomas in Australia. Also, Helen and Bruce, Mairi, Barbara, Jan, Donna, Louise, Gordon and Janetta, Brian, Jimmy, Ian, David, Ronnie, Ramsay, and the eternal sailor Brian Steel.
In Ireland, I’m grateful to Mary and Paud, for their support.
And in La Cala, Yvonne, Mara, Wendy, Jean, Maggie, Sarah and Fran, Lillias and Natalie – all of them who help promote my books on the Costa del Sol.
Thanks also to my publisher Jane Wood for her wonderful support, and my editor Therese Keating for her fantastic, meticulous editing job. Also Olivia Mead in publicity, and all the top team at Quercus who are the best.
And of course, the growing army of readers I’m so privileged to have. If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be writing this.