I lay on the bed and watched him as he undressed. He is such a man in everything he does, moving through life with that innate sense of his power and self. He passed a mirror and never turned as I would have instinctively done to check once again that the notion I had of myself wasn't just a figment of my imagination. He has no need of such confirmation. He stripped off the layers of his public persona with an insouciance bordering on annoyance, tossing each garment from him to fall on a chair, the floor, over the screen of the TV: jacket, tie, shirt, shoes unlaced and kicked off, socks rolled into a ball and lobbed somewhere, pants unbelted, unzipped sharply and dropped, the buckle clattering on the wooden floor and the contents of his pockets jangling and spilling out.

Striding through to the bathroom, he pissed noisily and then I heard the shower and his sigh of relief as the hot jets hit him. I could picture him running the water over his head and shaking, soaping himself roughly, grunting in satisfaction as the warm spray revitalised his tired body and he washed the sweat of the day from him. He would rub his balls, squeeze his cock absentmindedly, skin it back and let the water play on its flaccid length, his knees slightly bent as he thrust himself forward into the shower, pausing in the brusque and almost rough attention to his own flesh for a moment of tenderness as he cleaned his penis. Then he would close his eyes, hold his mouth up to the jets, gargle and spit noisily - and possibly then start to sing something. I was right. The next moment I heard some tuneless warbling that made me smile - and I knew he was easing down.

He'd had a hard few weeks and a couple of knock backs: they lost one of their boys in a stupid needless cock up in Zaire and I knew it had hit him hard. The man had been young and reckless but a committed and valuable operative- he also had two small children. It was a timely reminder to them all that accidents do happen - especially when you are in a career that puts you daily in the face of danger.

At times like these, he doesn't say much; there have been many nights when he has come home late or worked until past midnight in his office downstairs and we have barely exchanged a few words. I would come in from time to time and bring him a drink or a sandwich, stop and kiss him or rub his shoulders and, although he would smile up at me or murmur some endearment, I knew from his attitude that he wanted me to leave him alone. It's easy to see how women in his past must have felt excluded, ignored, unnoticed when he was in this mode. You have to read past his manner to understand that this is actually when he needs you most - but it's a bit of a bummer for your own needs. He simply withdraws into this protective shell he has, a carapace of steel, and if you don't put your foot in the door and tease it open, he will shut it starkly in your face.

I know what it's about. In his head, he is trying to spare me exposure to his dark and menacing side, warning me to keep my distance until he can pull himself back to something approaching rational civility. For my part I would prefer it if he would occasionally let fly, throw a few chairs or give me the benefit of his temper. At least he would be relieving the pressure on the gauge; this way it just builds up inside him like a torrent.

Tonight, however, he seemed calmer. He came in as I was reading in bed and smiled over at me, asked how Maia was. She's been a bit miserable with a cold and teething recently; he's hardly seen her and I was struck that he had even remembered she had been off colour. That's how morose he had been of late. I hoped he would be in a mood to talk at last. If he reached out to me now, it would do him so much good.

"...I've got to go away tomorrow. Could be a few weeks..." he announced tersely as he came out of the bathroom, rubbing his hair on a towel before wrapping it round his waist and loping over to the TV, flicking away the shirt that was draped over it and snapping it on with the remote. I rolled my eyes and settled back. It was a sure sign he was avoiding talking as he walked backwards and sat on the edge of the bed, changing channels until he found a news programme and then appearing to be engrossed in it.

"You're not invisible, Terry..." I muttered. He looked back frowning. I indicated his back blocking my vision. "If we're watching TV...I can't see through brick walls - or your torso..." At that he smiled sheepishly, tossed the remote and turned round, one knee bent. He watched me thoughtfully. I took in his body, big and brawny, droplets of water still dripping from his hair onto his shoulders and down his chest, the towel scarcely covering his nakedness, his genitals clearly displayed at that angle, soft and drooping. I had a passing erotic urge at the sight of him. It was a while since we had made love properly. Recently he has been going through the motions, just seeking release in me. I don't begrudge him that but I have my own needs, my own longings.

"You haven't asked me where..." he muttered.

"It doesn't matter where..." I answered softly. "It's still away from us..."

He nodded, smiled briefly, unconvincingly, his eyes flickering to mine and then away, not wanting to meet them. "I've been a shit recently..."

"You're under pressure. I know that. Let me help you, sweetie. I want to be there for you. But you're shutting me out again..."

He scooted back and dropped to the pillow beside me, his hand flung over his head, shading his eyes. "It's not something I want to talk about..."

"Is this about Sam?" Sam Gretsky, the guy who had died.

He paused before answering. "Partly."

"You don't have to talk about it. Just don't turn me away..."

He rolled onto his side and I copied his movement so that we were facing each other, eye to eye. "I don't know why you put up with me..." he said, almost without expression in his voice. "Most women walk away well before this stage..."

I reached out my hand and stroked his face, holding his strong jaw in my palm, caressing the deep cleft with my thumb. "Not going to work. This is me. I'm not most women. You're not most men. Anyway...Maia would make my life hell. She actually likes you..."

I managed to raise a smile from him with that. His left hand reached over and trailed along the curve of my waist and hip. "I like that negligee. I always did. You expecting someone?"

I recognised the lowering off his voice, even deeper and huskier as his mind drifted to my body and away from whatever mire it had been festering in. There was an almost imperceptible change in his body, a loosening of tension, an aura of sexuality oozing from him as his desire began to focus. "I know this guy who does it for me every time. I was kinda hoping he was in town tonight..."

"That so?" The cocky sureness returned to his voice. I love it when he shows he knows I am the surest thing there is in an uncertain world. He won't ever come home and find me gone and a note pinned to the table with the kitchen knife telling him all that is wrong with him. Yeah, one woman had actually done that to him. And others had been a hell of a lot more melodramatic.

His hand moved to the lace edge of the tiny slip I was wearing and then nudged under to slide up the smoothness of my leg. He hitched closer, discarded the towel and measured his naked length against my smaller frame. Just to look at him, hairy and rough skinned, rampant cock already rising against his lower belly, crudely obvious, wanting me to see him, needing to feel his dominance and possession was such a prelude to sex. It worried me even as it aroused me. He is not always quite so blatantly predatory.

But his masculinity is always tempered with his need for love, his romantic nature. Where some men might have launched into a more physical display, he suddenly bent over and kissed me softly and then blew on my eyelids, kissing them too as I closed them against the sensation. His voice whispered huskily, "I adore you...I might not say it, but without you, I'd be..." he never finished as I pulled his head closer and we kissed more deeply, rolling into each other, his body settling above me as if moulded together, his cock sliding between my legs to lie snug against my moist nakedness, our legs entwining, his hands holding mine above my head as he pushed more deeply into my mouth, moaning softly, jerking smoothly up and down in my juices, his body writhing against mine as we both used our skin to stimulate each other.

He broke away and eased the tiny satin straps from my shoulders, dragging the garment down to my waist, smiling at my breasts, talking to them, crazy things about how he'd missed them and how pretty they looked. I giggled and ruffled his hair; he lowered his head and gave each nipple a tender kiss before settling in to nuzzle, running the flat of his tongue round and round in whorls, then sucking strongly, letting milk run over his tongue, sighing, not so different from his daughter at the intimate act of nourishment and sexuality.

My nipples fascinate me these days. I know I get a sensual pleasure every time Maia suckles and I am aware of a sort of gentle orgasm that often floods my body when I nurse her. It isn't genital although I can feel it there too; but mostly it is just a sense of total wellbeing and harmony both inside and out. Add to that the same sensation with the man you love as he pleasures himself instinctively, his hips rocking and gliding smoothly between my legs as he experiences the total pleasure of warmth, wetness, safety, nourishment and love.  And you have the ultimate orgasm.

I soon lost the ability to think as I lay there in his hands. As he caressed one full breast and loved the other with his lips, his other hand explored my lower belly, toyed with the curls, pried open my folds and slipped inside, My head shot back against the pillow and I gave myself to him, showed him with my whole self that he can do anything to me and it only makes it better. I heard his soft chuckle as he sensed my nearness, the skilful flutter of his thumb ever so lightly taunting my aching clitoris. He is so good at that, stimulating and then stopping, just resting his hand on the swollen flesh as it hums with sensation. How does he know that the pleasure courses outwards when he does that instead of building up too quickly? My whole body fills with this languor of desire, a warm surge that fires through my blood and makes me open even more to him.

I was spinning away, beginning to be lost in my own body and did not realise that he had shifted, until I felt his warm breath blowing on my sensitive nub; I gasped as if that alone would bring me to my coming. Then I felt the flicker of his tongue, driving me back to the very edge and them stopping, then changing to a rough broad stroke savouring me from end to end, burrowing deep into my folds, nibbling at the swollen petals, plunging into my vagina and lapping as eagerly as he had suckled at my milk. I felt charged with energy, weak with desire, odd formless erotic thoughts and sensations darting like electric current through my brain. It was that moment when a man has you so much in his hands that you could never stop him from doing anything he desired to you, as if some mechanism of nature kicks in to ensure that completion will be achieved. This man will impregnate this woman and it will be soon.

I heard myself cry his name, felt him hold me firm but gentle and rest his face against me as I shuddered and moaned, waiting until I was stiller before lapping the rich essence of my orgasm. I groaned and came again, this time deeper and more profoundly. My hands fumbled to hold him as he slipped back into my arms and kissed my mouth, ripe with my own taste. "Terry...I can't stand it....fuck me, fuck me, fuck me..."

The mantra ran on long after he was buried deep inside. It is always the same, the recognition when he is there joined to me. Discovering again and again and again what his love means to me as he empties himself inside me, muttering things I'm not sure he even knows he has said. But they show me his frailty, his distress, his fear, that even now life might take it all from him and he could be powerless to change anything.

Afterwards, he chuckled as I tried to tighten and keep him there longer, only to inadvertently force him out on a damp trickle of sticky come. I grabbed some tissues; he stuck a clump against me and wiped himself off. "Not so erotic these days, is it?" he grinned as he slumped beside me and dragged me onto his chest.

"Oh Terry...that was amazing...." I gasped, still on a wave of joy.

"Yeah....it was, wasn't it? I even surprise myself sometimes..." he boasted. I dug him in the ribs. He caught my hand and rolled me back, pinning me down, wrestling playfully. "You don't know how much I need this. Just crazy fun, sex, play, being with you...I wish..."Then he stopped and fell silent again, just stroking my face, his eyes far away.

"Is there something the matter? Really the matter?" I asked him straight out this time. "I can't work out if you are just exhausted and working too hard or if you're hiding something. Tell me...please..." My fingers smoothed his hair, ruffled from our lovemaking, damp with beads of sweat.

"I don't know. Something's not right. I'm uneasy. A few things have happened that don't add up. I might be imagining things but..."

"You never imagine things! I trust your gut instinct. What are you afraid of?"

 He rolled onto his back and lay staring at the ceiling.

"I don't know. If I did I'd tell you. Just a feeling."

He needed to rest. This was not the time to try and force him to articulate his concern. What good would that do? Nothing but keep him awake all night. I changed the subject.

"Maia said 'doggie' today. Well, actually she said 'wog' but she meant dog. I took her for a walk along the dock and she was watching a little terrier dashing around. That's five words, apart from Dada and Mama. And she's only nine months old! And she can shuffle along holding the furniture! She's a genius, you know..." I babbled on and he listening smiling.

"Takes after me..." he replied smugly. "I could walk before I was born...I was exceptional..."

"Your poor mother then...But I was smarter as a baby even than that ...I could talk before I was born...and read..." I added.

He gave me one of his looks. "Why do you always have to overdo everything? You have to know when the punch line is made, not hammer it into the ground..."

"Well, I'm not a clown like you...." I giggled and he tickled me under my arms. I relaxed again; I could see he'd shaken that melancholy that had been threatening to settle over him like a dark cloud.

We turned off the lights then and settled down. Terry wrapped me in his arms and rocked me; I felt as if he was really rocking himself. But he was soon asleep and snoring softly and although I was still upset and reeling from the casual way he had thrown in the bombshell about his upcoming trip, I felt we had a breakthrough. Tiredness soon claimed me and I drifted off, secure in his protecting embrace.

TERRY

I was deeply asleep, way beyond dreams, dissolved by sexual release and bone weary exhaustion and I almost missed it. That thought alone is going to haunt me for a long time to come.

Somewhere in my near-coma a sound impacted on my brain. A click. Click. What clicks? Light switch. Door. Car lock. Stilettos on a wood floor. The brake on the pushchair. Click. The slide being pulled back...

The instant that my brain correctly identified the sound, my body moved. Sleep fell away and I reacted with nothing more than some animal instinct.

Gun. 

Protect her.

I pushed her off the bed and threw myself after her, falling heavily onto her as we tumbled to the hardwood floor. My hand found her mouth and covered it, suppressing the scream of shock. It was hardly necessary. The rapid fire of a powerful handgun shearing into the mattress we had just vacated drowned out everything else.

My other hand was already ripping my Browning from where it was taped behind the bedhead, on the right, down at the base. I knew I had a mere few seconds. I took less and went for it, rising up and emptying the cartridge. One dark shadow uttered a guttural groan and fell, the other leapt and rolled; he was out of the door before I could bring him down.

"Stay down!" I thrust her head back to the floor as she began to rise, cutting off a sob. "Quiet!" I know it was cruel, but there was no time for niceties. She was not hurt, as was evident from her behaviour, beyond bruising and a possible break to a bone if she had fallen awkwardly. Better than a couple of lead slugs in her belly any day. But events had moved on. There was a gunman who might be injured loose in the apartment - and a possible hostage situation. My daughter. Fear gripped my gut like a cold hand squeezing my vitals. Uma's trauma would just have to wait.

"Maia!" she gasped and again tried to struggle up.

"NO! Stay here! He might not know she's there...please...do as I say...I can't look after you both if you don't listen to me...!"

She whimpered and nodded. "Lie there. Don't move, whatever you hear, until I say your name...you got me?"

Again she nodded. I could see her eyes even in the dark of the room, the whites enlarged with fear. Her heart was pounding. She was in shock but simply doing what she was told. I prayed her faculties didn't return too quickly; if she began to think about her child I wasn't sure I could have restrained her. Into her hands I placed the gun with a fresh clip. "Use it if you have to. If they come for you, I'm dead..."

She looked at it, bewilderment on her face. I pulled it from her, chambered the round and closed her fingers round the trigger.

"It's primed. Don't shoot me, hey?" A ghost of a bitter smile as I squeezed her arm. She seemed almost oblivious to what I was saying. I took her face in my hand and tilted her to look in my eyes. "You hear me? Don't shoot me. Got that?"

She made a slight movement of her head and then touched my cheek. "Good girl. Stay down!" She was on her own now.

Crawling away, retrieving a knife from my jacket pocket and another gun taped beneath the chest of drawers, I eased over to where the prone body lay. Quick check of the pulse; it was slow and weakening. He was dying. But even a dying man can kill. I slit his throat.

The floor was sticky with blood. I wondered how badly the other guy was hit, if at all, but decided against a light to check if he had bled out as he left. He could be at the door waiting and I would give him a perfect target. These men, whoever they were, were professionals. He wouldn't miss a second time.

I pulled myself up against the wall and listened. All I could hear was the snaffling breath of my daughter, nose blocked up with a cold, transmitting via the intercom. But from out in the hall there was no sound. He had to be there waiting. If I walked out he would nail me.

I was naked. Not a problem in itself but it subconsciously adds to vulnerability. I pulled my trousers over with my toe until I could reach and gently raised them, thankful that I had been so fucking careless as to leave my clothes where they fell and also that the change and lighter in the pocket had already tumbled out when I'd taken them off. Half dressed, I felt better and made my decision.

Stealthily crossing the room, I slid back the balcony door, stepped out, closed it and climbed out onto the railing, sticking the gun into the waistband of my pants and gripping the knife in my teeth. A narrow ledge that is little more than a trim stretched round the wall just below the balcony rail, certainly not meant for my weight, but my only option. I lowered myself onto it and pressed flat palmed against the stone, edging along to the next window.

Peering in, I could see the dark shadows that were the crib and the mobile that hangs above it. Then I saw the movement. He was standing watching her, facing the door. He had decided that I would come for her and he only had to wait. Dear God, let her sleep! If she wakes, he'll put a bullet through her head.

I had the worst possible angle, an uncertain grip on the ledge beneath me and just one chance. But you don't even consider failure.

I shot him. He fell. Glass imploded all over the cradle. Maia woke with a wail. I heard Uma start to scream as I dived through the shattered window and reached the body slumped over the cradle. He was dead, a bullet in his brain and jagged shards of glass protruding from his back. Some miracle had kept her unharmed. Maia was pulling herself up against the rails, sobbing and holding out her arms to me, but somehow she was not injured, even though the sheets were covered in glass and thick with the spatters of blood and brain matter.

"Dadadadadada!" The absurd sound of her cry stunned me into action. I stowed the gun in my pocket, the knife in my belt and picked her up, cradled her to my shoulder and slipped across the room to the hallway. I had seen two figures. There could be more. At the exit, I waited. Still nothing. I dropped to the floor and rolled out into the hall with Maia tucked in against my chest. Crawling across the corridor, I made it to the bedroom. For some reason, Maia was quiet. A quick check showed that she was wide awake and watching me - but it was as if she understood. Can they sense danger? Is there self-preservation in even a child so young?

I would have to find out that answer later - this was hardly the time for such thoughts.

Sitting at the entrance to the bedroom, I called her name. 

"Uma? You okay?"

There was a silence and then I heard this sort of whimper. Perhaps okay hadn't been quite the right choice of words. I stood up and walked in, closing the door behind me and snapping on the lights, revealing the devastation of our room. Uma rose tentatively and then cried out, "My baby!" I looked at little Maia. She was blood spattered and must have looked as if she had been injured. Maybe she was. I carried her to Uma and we placed her on the floor, giving her a check over. She lay quietly, chuckling up at us. There was not a mark on her.

"The blood?" Uma asked.

"His."

"My God!" She cried as the reality dawned on her of how close it had been. Then she looked at me properly. "You're bleeding!" I looked down. My chest was cut here and there from the splinters of glass, my hands were worse where I had used them to protect my face as I had hit the window. Blood dripped from a wound on my scalp. I hadn't felt a thing. Still couldn't. I felt numb with shock. The pain could wait.

As clarity came to our brains, we began to look about us. There was a dead body on the floor lying in a slick of dark blood. I saw Uma blink several times. She looked from him to our bed and saw the deep holes and the feathers in a cloud all over where an entire clip had been emptied into the space where seconds before our sleeping bodies had lain. "How did you know?" she muttered.

"I don't know..." I answered helplessly.

"We should be dead..."

"I know..."

"Oh God..."

If I had been on a case, I know I would have handled the next few hours differently but it is impossible to react the same when it is those you love at stake. That is why men like me, professionals you do not know, step in when tragedy looms. But I was all they had at that moment and I knew this time it was necessary to act on instinct tempered with my knowledge. And give my own heart time to stop pounding.

Carrying Maia from the room with Uma trailing after me by the hand, I took them both to the spare room, brought clean, warm clothes and told Uma to strip herself and Maia. She obeyed, almost catatonic, but yet still functioning. Her silence was worrying me. But I knew I had to leave that one for later.

I filled the bath, added some bubbles, aware that this was time consuming but that it had a few advantages of its own. It gave Uma something to do. It would help relax them both and warm Uma up after the terrible shock. It gave me time to assemble what I needed unimpeded. After all, I wasn't about to let her laze back and soak - just a quick dip, in and out, no need for soap, let the bubbles clean them and then dry and dress. I could have run the shower but Maia hates it and screams blue murder if she's taken under running water. All I need is a screaming kid now. Spoken by a dad, eh? Sure can't imagine K and R Terry giving a fuck about most of this.

I helped Uma in the bath and handed Maia to her, cautioning her to be quick. Maia was alert and chuckling, imagining this was play and I thanked God for her innocence; she even brought a smile from her mother, who began to talk softly to her as she washed away the blood. Once Maia was clean, I took her and wrapped her in a towel while Uma bathed and then came back, swathed in towels to finish dressing her daughter and settle her with a feed. Meanwhile I jumped in the water and cleaned myself off and threw some clothes on, gathering essentials while Uma got ready.

I dragged out two backpacks. One I left for Uma - that was all she would have for the baby so would have to be very circumspect in her choices. The other I took to my safe and crammed full of weaponry and ammunition, cash in several currencies, my laptop, passports in a few different names, contact numbers and a scrambled cell. Into a holdall I packed a few items of clothing for myself and went back into the bedroom to find some jeans and a few jumpers for Uma. I almost forgot underwear, ran back and then wondered if I should bring tampons. No, she wasn't on now...we can buy what we need.

In the spare room, they were ready, Maia dozing on the bed and Uma dressed and sitting by her meekly. I knelt down and took her face in my hands. "We have to leave. I have no idea who did this or why but it is not a chance occurrence. We were meant to die tonight. They know we have a child. This is not over..."

Uma nodded. "Call Dino!"

"No. I don't know if the phone's safe. Or who is watching. Or if he is a target too. Until I know more I want for us to disappear and go someplace where I can start thinking. There has to be an explanation..."

"Is this why you were worried?"

"Yeah...I had no idea what was coming but...instinct, Uma...I have to rely on it now. It's saved me before and at times, it's all I have..."

She put her head in her hands. "This is so bad...I still can't grasp it. Two men lying dead in my home...I'm scared, Terry...I'm really scared..."

I held her against my chest. What could I say? I was scared too. I can face most anything - but what can any man do about shadows and a threat he can't even understand? "You let me worry about all this. Your job is to take care of Maia and keep her safe. While I'm watching over you both." I kissed her lips softly and heard her whimper. "I am so sorry...this is because of me...in some way it's because of me..."

Uma stroked my hair back. "And who better to put it right than you?" I smiled and pulled her gently to her feet.

"C'mon...we've gotta push on. Get her warm waterproof thingy on, some basic baby clothing in this rucksack- and wrap up yourself, too." She went off to carry out her orders while I zipped up my coat and carried down the bags to the front door. I took the opportunity to scope the outside from the darkened room. I reckoned we had only a matter of minutes before whoever had sent in the men would be wondering why they had no call to confirm the mission accomplished. There had to be a secondary team and they could be out there. I thought about it. If it were me, what would I do?

They are going to leave from a back door if they are alive. That's how they'd call it. I thus saw no reason to act surreptitiously. Through the main entrance straight to the car where there are witnesses - the commissionaire and security guards. Move out fast and then lose them, dump the car and go to ground for the rest of the night. It wouldn't be easy - but how much choice did we have?

"Uma? C'mon. No lights!" I hissed as she fumbled for the lounge switch. She came up with Maia all swathed up, her little blue eyes peering at me from the furry hood of her coat.

"Dada!" she said reaching for me.

"Yeah, princess...Daddy's here..."

I opened the door and stepped out into the hall, a gun in one hand and Uma thrust behind me. It was silent and as brightly lit as always. "Fire stairs..." I whispered and led her to the exit, checking it out. All was quiet. Hurrying her along, we went up a floor and then called the lift from there just in case they were down stairs waiting; it wasn't our floor that was showing. This was a vulnerable moment.  Neither stairs nor elevator were much comfort so I went for fast and public as the lesser of two evils.

The doors parted and I stepped out quickly, my left hand raised to keep Uma inside. "Mr. Thorne?"

I swivelled and saw Bill, the night porter; he stared at the gun in my right hand. I thrust it into my pocket. "Everything's fine, Bill....everything's easy. We're just going away for a few days..."

He didn't seem too sure but nodded as if armed gunmen were a regular occurrence in his world. I brought Uma out and steered her towards the door. It was about four a.m., still dark and murky but dry. "Wait by this door. You have a gun. Be ready if you need to defend yourself," I muttered into her ear and then I hit the door and ran for the car, opened the rear passenger door, left it swinging while I jumped into the driver's seat, switched on and pulled out smoothly, reversing and then engaging first as I made for the main entrance. "In! In! In!" I screamed as she tumbled through the open door, with Maia and her bags and then scrabbled to slam the door. I was already speeding out of the compound.

"Get your fuckin' head, down!" I shouted as she looked about; she dipped below my vision and pulled Maia with her. "That's right...on the floor...and stay there!"

I checked the mirror and saw the tail, easing out from a side street. They wanted me to run. Get me somewhere quiet. I hit the main road, fairly free of traffic at this hour, and then took the nearest motorway exit. Once there I put my foot down and zig-zagged lanes to get ahead. I could see police cameras flashing and knew that was my fucking licence but- what the hell? I had others.

They were still there but I almost welcomed it. I didn't give a shit if they knew where I was going or not. Safest place to be at the moment was a crowd. So I went to Heathrow.

Dumping the car in the no waiting zone for immediate towing, I dragged Uma and Maia out and we hit the terminal.

"Where are we going?"

"Shut up..."

I bought tickets for the next available flight out which hadn't closed sales. SAS to Gothenburg and winced at the reminder of my former career.

"Are we going to Sweden?" Uma asked.

"Nope. But it will delay them for awhile." Then taking her hands I ran for the car park elevators. 

On one of the levels I stepped out and she followed. A quick scan showed me what I needed to know. A couple were parking an SAAB 9.5 estate. That would do nicely. Strolling over, I asked the husband for the time and lifted the parking ticket from his pocket where he had just slipped it. As soon as they had entered the lift, I motioned Uma over, and was already hotwiring the car when she jumped in.

"How did you do that?" she gasped.

I just gave her a look. "Hang on...keep low. Throw me that beanie out of my bag..." I thrust it on and pulled out, going slow. I was just a bloke who had taken someone to an early flight. No need to act like James Bond.

Down the spiral I went, paid the ticket, exited and hit the highway. M4. Christ. Were we away? The lanes were still quiet although traffic was steadily showing signs of building up. But although I watched for an hour or more, there was no sign of the tail car or any other that appeared to be taking its place. I wasn't fool enough to think we were through this but we now had some relief. It would take them a real stroke of luck to find me if I wanted to stay lost - even travelling with the worst liabilities going. A beautiful woman and a baby.