Chapter One

From the stormy clouds blanketing London, one small snowflake began its spiralling drift towards the city, twirling above the high towers and thriving nightlife. It swept past tall apartments and squat houses, all similarly decorated in dazzling red-and-green lights, and caught one or two glimpses of eager Christmas trees through windowpanes. This snowflake, strolling casually down wind patterns, drifted past the wide Victorian windows of a certain living room of a certain house. But it was not what was through these windows that caught its attention, but rather the woman hurrying across the road towards the house.

The cold air was not freezing enough to keep some of the snow from melting as it reached the cobbled pavement, and it was these melting snowflakes that caused Evie Thatcher to slip on her heels.

“Fuck.” She hissed as her heart pounded in her chest, the sudden slip taking her by surprise.

The snowflake watched this with interest as it twirled and whirled only feet above the woman, finally spinning and softly catching in her honey-golden hair. At that moment the snow thickened, falling in blurry sheets of white, and Evie ran quickly up the steps leading to the wide, heavy oak door of her apartment. As she fumbled with her keys, stamping her feet in impatience, cold, and frustration, a howling wind gusted down her street, funnelled by the tall, narrow buildings.

This overconfident wind continued down her long, winding street, moving with the twists and turns until it finally came to a problematic situation: a roundabout. Howling, the Christmas-wind was thrown into four different streams, beginning new paths afresh.

At the same problematic situation, a darkly ominous car was prowling around the roundabout and slipping, unnoticed by anyone, down Evie’s street. The snowflakes avoided this car, hastily whirling into new tunnels of gravity and air movement to steer away from it. One lone figure, who was at that moment stumbling home through the snow, presumably a late-night partier having had one too many cocktails, jumped in fright as he caught sight of the prowling car with heavily shaded windows. Fear clutched at his heart as he quickened his pace, sure that his life was coming to a desperate end only an hour after he had met the girl of his dreams at a Christmas Eve party. Blood pounding in his ears, the car passed by him, and he re-emerged from fear, wonderfully mystified by the beauty of the snow and his undeniable luck. Meeting the woman he wanted to marry and surviving death all in one night? He smiled, and left the dark creature to find its true victim.

An air of heavy suspense hung between the narrow buildings, both the snowflakes and the drunken man realising that this Christmas Eve was cursed for one person.

This very person, her Valentino handbag swinging and her Chloe heels clicking, was at that moment pushing her apartment door closed, locking the antique bolts for the night. Dumping her coat and handbag onto a waiting table, she made her way up the steeply spiralling wooden staircase that lead into the very heart of her apartment.

The rooms were quiet, their wide windows and high ceilings resting peacefully. Yawning, Evie made her way down the dark hallway leading to her room, humming a Christmas tune as she went. The tapping of her shoes resounded, and, as if having been alerted to her presence, the house began to slowly wake up. Walls yawned just as she had, while the windows turned their attention inwards. Switching on the light as she walked into her bedroom, she gave a small, content smile.

Pulling off her shoes and placing them carefully into her closet, she sat down on the silky soft blankets of her bed, staring out of the window as she took her earrings off. Realising her house was too quiet; her lips curved into that same smile as she grabbed a remote and turned on some music, the crooning voice of John Mayer entering her world. Spinning out of her stylishly confident outfit, she was soon padding down her hallway in a pair of too-big pyjama pants and a huge grey jumper.

Switching on lights as she entered different rooms, she scooped up the latest copy of Vogue, waiting impatiently on the kitchen counter, and a family size slab of Cadbury’s chocolate that she had been craving all day long, and finally settled happily into the plush leather couch of her living room.

As she flicked through the pages of the magazine, and the chocolate melted deliciously in her mouth, she found that she wasn’t in the mood to lose herself in fashion. Something was different about tonight. Looking up and staring out of the window, she saw that the snow had turned into a blizzard. Startled, she thought back to that morning, when the sun had been shining brightly through the cold air.

She had been walking down the main streets towards the metro, her heels clicking on the concrete in that way that she loved, her wonderfully warm jacket drawing stares of envy from passing women. (Back on the couch, Evie was grinning at the thought. Her Dior jacket never failed to put her in a good mood.) The cold air had blown her hair around her face, and the day had been so beautifully lucky. Her new line was almost finished, and Marie Claire had proclaimed her ‘The Hottest New Designer of 2007’.

In her studio, she’d been able to spend the entire day working on her line, and the most brilliant design for a pencil skirt had sprung into her mind. She’d had lunch with five of her friends at one of her favourite restaurants, and had found an amazing burnt-orange, double-button blazer in a thrift shop. She’d gone to a Christmas Eve party that she was sure had been the height of her partying-life, and a man in a Gucci suit that had made her mouth water with dashingly messy dark hair had kissed her under the mistletoe.

“You’re gorgeous,” He had whispered into her ear, “but do you have a name behind those baby blues?”

Evie’s grin grew as she remembered.

She had laughed, biting her lip and glancing to her left. “I never give my name to a man dressed in Gucci.”

Throwing his head back and laughing in a way that made her smile, his eyes had been dancing when they met hers again. “Touché, care for a drink?”

A few more dangerously seductive kisses, the realisation that it was past midnight and snowing, and a suggestion from the dashing rogue that they go back to his place had made her smile and say, “No, thanks, I’d better be getting home.”

Now, back on the sofa, Evie’s smile was dropping away. With too many drinks in his system and a hand that was prone to groping, the dashing rogue had seemed more like a drunken sleaze by the end of the night. The feeling of disappointment when he had asked her back to his place was far too familiar, and had effectively ruined her night. She didn’t want a one-night stand or a fling; she wanted her soul mate (preferably the kind of gentleman that would drive her home and kiss her goodbye).

Her best friend, Camilla, a leggy brunette who was the new face of the up-and-coming Rimmel collection, had almost screamed with disbelief in the toilets of the party when Evie had told her she was going home.

“Why,” Camilla had shrieked, “would you go home when you’ve got Prince Charming hanging all over you?”

Evie had shrugged, checking her hair in the mirror and saying, “I’m not in the mood for a sleaze.”

Camilla had tried pointlessly to make her stay, but soon enough Evie had left the party, hailing a cab and quenching disappointment with hope.

And so, here she was, sitting on her couch, not tired at all, and no longer interested in her Vogue. She checked her phone, saw that she had three missed calls from Camilla, and promptly decided to watch a movie.

It was about twenty minutes later, as she watched Leonardo DiCaprio and Claire Danes find each other through a glass aquarium in Romeo+Juliet, while tears slipped silently down her cheeks and her heart ached, that Evie Thatcher’s life began to change. Her life hit a turning point, and it was precisely at that moment that an old belltower down the road began to chime. It was while a young girl three blocks away was sneaking beneath the Christmas tree 6 hours too early to begin opening presents in the quiet, delightfully tense darkness. It was during a moment that existed across the world, a moment that meant so much more to Evie.

It began as a feeling. As those slippery tears left hot shivers vibrating in her heart, she had an epiphany. She realised finally she had to take charge in her life, that she could not expect the perfect man to come to her. Sitting up straight, the blanket that had been wrapped around her shoulders falling down, she saw that she could not wait for her hero. He didn’t exist. She was spending her Christmas Eve alone because he hadn’t appeared, and that was something that she would never do again.

“I’m wasting my life.” She murmured to herself, and her walls listened eagerly. “I can’t wait for a man to sweep me off my feet.”

“But why?” It seemed as if the walls were saying.

She tilted her head, biting her lip as her tears thickened. “Waiting isn’t living.”

A moment after this realisation spread from her mind towards her heart and through to her resolve, another drastic event occurred. As Evie’s eyes stopped shedding tears, and plans began to form in her mind, a man crashed through her window.

The screeching of breaking glass attacked her ears, while small slivers exploded throughout the living room. Her walls gasped, her windows howled in pain, and Evie reacted just as any human being would. She screamed and pulled the blanket up over her head.

A split second of silence hovered over the scene, but Evie, shaking beneath the blanket, refused to move. Through the light blue haze of the blanket, she heard the sound of crunching glass underneath boots.

“Evie Thatcher?”

Outside, the snowflakes were excitedly watching the action-packed drama that was unfolding through the now naked window.

Taking deep breaths and telling herself to be brave, Evie pulled back a corner of the blanket, her heart pounding in her ears. Peaking out of her protective shield, her eyes widened at the sight before her.

Standing in the midst of shards of broken glass and the flurry of snow being blown into her living room, her beautiful wooden floor now presumably scratched, her lovely vintage curtains torn and wet, was a man dressed in black. Evie, cowering on her couch, could not help the surprised gasp of fear and shock that sprung out of her mouth.

The man dressed in black took in the room before him, noting the rather ugly curtains and mess of glass beneath his feet. It was, however, the shivering blonde on the couch against the wall that was the centre of his attention. Mentally comparing her image with the photograph in his mind, he secured approval that this was indeed Evie Thatcher. Long, honey-blonde hair that curved beautifully? Check. Wide, deep blue eyes that gave her a startled look? Check. A mouth that could tempt any man? Check.

In the moments that the man assessed his target, Evie was staring at him, just as wide-eyed as he had noted. He was tall and powerful looking, the black clothing doing nothing to reduce his imposing nature. It was not the well-muscled arms hanging by his side that caught her alarm, however, it was instead the silver guns strapped to his waist and thighs. Swallowing in fear, she looked up into the face of the man she presumed was about to kill her. Critical green eyes met hers in a way that made her hands shake. Dirty-blonde hair brushed over these eyes and hung dishevelled over his neck and ears. (In the back of her mind, Evie couldn’t help but admire his hair. Only Loriel models had hair that shiny.) His mouth was grim and she saw that he was looking at her in a way that was half-pity, half-glare.

He took a step forward, and the sound of crunching glass brought her back to life.

“Stop!” Evie screamed.

He did stop, his stature radiating impatience, and he brought his hands up, widespread in a placating manner. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Evie gulped, noting the sleek silver guns and huge hands (probably capable of choking her quite easily) and, before she could stop herself, had said sarcastically, “Yeah, and I own twenty pairs of Jimmy Choo’s.”

The man looked puzzled, and his gaze flickered towards the closed door of the room. Calculating green eyes seemed to frown at her as he held out a hand, saying, “Come with me. Your life is in danger. I’m here to help you.”

Evie blinked. Hadn’t she just decided that her hero didn’t exist? And now here was a man who had just come smashing through her window holding out a big, strong hand to whisk her away from danger? Evie’s eyes narrowed.

She stood up, the blanket tumbling to the floor. Keeping her back straight and trying to keep her voice from wavering, she nodded her head and said, “Thanks, but no thanks. I’m quite capable of saving myself.”

The snowflakes cheered, her walls applauded, and Evie smiled with self-approval.

…. That was until the door of her living room was kicked open and a flurry of bullets followed this invasion. As Evie saw bullets tear through the couch she had just been sitting on, the second scream of that night tore through her throat.

The man behind her swore, ripping a gun out and grabbing her arm, yanking her away from the couch. The next second of Evie’s life was a blur, both too fast and too chaotic for her to understand.

A man similarly dressed to the man yanking her towards the window barrelled through the door, his mouth grim and his eyes cold. Before he had twisted the machine gun in his hands towards them, a bullet was between his eyes, and then Evie was at the edge of her window, finally realising what her ‘hero’ was about to do.

Cold shocks of snow bit into her skin and the wind howled and twisted around them. The man wrapped an arm around her waist, and distantly Evie could hear the sound of heavy footsteps running down her hallway.

“Stop!” Evie screamed, but it was too late.

The man jumped out of the window, pulling Evie with him.

For the rest of her life, Evie would remember the terror that clutched at her heart as they plummeted towards the cold, freezing ground.

For a split-second of his life, the man pondered the fact that he might have actually made a mistake. But then his hand found the rope that he had known would be waiting, and they jerked to a painful stop mid-air. They hung, suspended, and Evie could do nothing but wrap her arms around his shoulders and beg fate to be nice to her for once.

Suddenly, the rope swung and they were rising into the air. Evie opened her eyes and screamed.

“Why the fuck are we going up?”

The man didn’t reply however, and it was then that Evie heard the gun-shots. Looking down, she saw that men were shooting at them through her broken window. She saw that a dark car was parked by her house, and a man was standing by it, staring up at them. At her. Looking into the face of the man she was clinging onto for dear life, she realised that he was shooting down at the men in her window. He was holding onto her and the rope with one arm, and shooting downwards with his other arm. What kind of a superhero was he anyway? Looking up, Evie saw that they were hanging on a rope attached to a helicopter. And that the helicopter was pulling them up and away.

Evie could do nothing but gawk.

All of a sudden, the gunshots stopped, and Evie saw that they were swinging high above the towers and buildings of London. A powerful gust of wind hurtled into them, along with icy pricks of snow, and she screamed. She had never been so afraid in her life, and she couldn’t stop looking down. Almost fascinated by the huge drop below them, although mostly terrified, she couldn’t look away. She was so distracted that she didn’t notice the rope being hauled upwards, or the man with his arm wrapped around her grunting with the strain of holding onto both himself and the woman he had been sent to save.

It was only as another pair of hands grasped her around the waist and she was pulled upwards into the helicopter that she realised what was happening. As soon as she was no longer hanging in mid-air, Evie’s panic took charge.

“Get away from me!” She screamed, scuttling away from the hands over the cool hard metal of the helicopter floor.

Taking in her surroundings quickly, she saw that the helicopter was large and dangerous, with guns of all types hanging from the walls. She saw that there were two other men in the aircraft, including a driver and the man who had hauled her upwards. He was huge, and there was no other word for it.

He stepped away from her, hands held up in a surrendering manner, and he turned to help the other man up. As soon as he did so, he pulled the doorway closed, shutting off the noisy wind and engine with a grating shove. Darkness engulfed them, and then a light was switched on and horror filled Evie.

What were they going to do to her?

Shivering in her pyjamas, her toes curling in cold and blood pounding in her ears, she pushed herself towards an empty corner of the helicopter.

Not noticing Evie at all, the huge man was turning towards the man who had saved her, holding out his hand with a huge grin on his face and saying, “Well done, Harry, well done.”

Her rescuer, if that was what you could really call him Evie thought bitterly, now known as Harry, grinned back and clasped the offered hand. “It was close. I was actually worried for a second there.”

Evie rolled her eyes.

From the front of the aircraft, the driver was laughing, saying, “And so once again ol’ Jimmy here had to save your life, ‘aint that the truth.”

Both men laughed, and sat down on a bench against the side of the helicopter.

All of a sudden, shivering in her corner, Evie wasn’t scared, she was angry and upset.

Standing up, pushing her hair back and walking out of her corner, she said, “Excuse me, not to ruin your little chat, but what the fuck is happening and why the fuck am I in a helicopter and who the fuck are you all?”

Harry, his eyes closed and his head leaning back against the wall, said in a tone that did nothing to stilt her anger, “She likes to say fuck.”

“Be nice, Harry.” The huge man said, and he turned to her, a smile spreading over his face as he offered her his hand and said, “My name is Bruce, and this is my colleague Harry, and over there you’ve got Jimmy. So sorry about the whole bursting in through your window and pulling you up into a helicopter, but you see we’ve actually come to protect you. It’s a long story, and one I’m not all that sure about, but we’re plodding off right now to go see Boss, and I’m sure he’ll explain the whole thing to you. Would you like a refreshment?”

Harry snorted.

Evie’s heart dropped and she felt like screaming, but she did her best to be polite to the nice man in front of her. Smiling, she shook his offered hand and said, “No, I’m fine, thankyou Bruce.”

She turned to the front of the helicopter, saying, “And thankyou, Jimmy.”

And then she turned to look at Harry. “Next time you feel like saving me without my consent, maybe you could refrain from shattering my window? Or ruining my curtains? Or treating me like some stupid rag doll? Or, wow, what a thought, maybe you could listen to me when I say ‘I don’t want to be saved’?”

Harry opened his eyes, sitting up and looking at her as if she was insane. “Did you not see the men in dark suits running into your house? Or, wow, what a thought, maybe you didn’t see the machine gun aimed at your head?”

Evie laughed sarcastically, holding up her hands and saying, “Oh, silly me. Of course I should have noticed that huge big metal thing that you called… oh… what was it…. a machine gun? What the fuck is wrong with you! I had everything covered before you decided to throw me out of a window.”

In the back of her mind, Evie knew she was being unreasonable, but something about the man in front of her annoyed her so much. Maybe it was the fact that he had saved her life, and she didn’t know how to thank him, but whatever the reason, she needed to take her anger out on him.

Harry looked horror-struck. He glanced at Bruce, who simply shrugged, and then glared at her, saying, “Oh, well, I’m sorry that I just risked my life to save you, princess.”

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Evie realised that she didn’t want to argue anymore. She wanted to cry. As tears formed in her eyes and flooded out, dripping down her cheeks in a sudden, scary way, she felt terrified sadness clutch at her throat.

Bruce shook his head with a frown at Harry, saying, “Now look, mate, you’ve gone and made her cry!”

Harry shifted in his seat uncomfortably, looking down and saying angrily, “Well, she started it.”

Jimmy, glancing over his shoulder, said, “Boys, get it together back there! Look at the poor thing, standing there crying and shivering! Give her a blanket and a hug and make her feel better! Her whole life’s just been shattered, for Christ’s sake.”

Bruce nodded sadly and rummaged around in a crate below the bench, finally pulling out a woolly blanket that he wrapped around Evie’s shoulders.

“Now, let’s sit you down right here on this nice bench and –oh, no, that’s alright, you don’t have to sit next to him –‘outta the way, Harry –and I’ll mix you a cup of warm coffee. Sugar? No, alright. Milk? Just a little bit, coming right up. Don’t worry, we’ll be home soon.”

Evie, still sniffling, murmured a quiet thankyou when he placed a warm cup in her hands and sat down beside her.

“That’s alright, princess, it’s how I’d want someone to treat me daughters.”

A smile appeared on her face, and she said, “You have daughters? How many? How old are they?”

Bruce beamed, and Harry, sitting beside Bruce, rolled his eyes.

“Well, I happen to have a couple of photographs right here if you’d like to take a peak? Yes? Alright then! Well, here’s Tasha, she’s nine and the cheekiest little mouse you’ll ever meet! And here’s Lucy, she’s quiet but boy, let me tell you, she’s a clever one! And….”

Smiling, Evie listened to Bruce tell her proudly about his daughters, admiring each photo separately. They really were beautiful, and hearing Bruce boast about Lucy’s science-project (which had won first prize) made Evie think about her own father, who had passed away a couple of years ago, and she found herself leaning her head against Bruce’s shoulder, comforted by the memory.

Stifling a yawn, exhausted by the long night and extreme change of emotions, Evie found herself drifting off to sleep. Distantly, she began to wonder what would happen to her. Surely her neighbours would have heard both the helicopter and gunshots? Maybe the police were already at her poor, hurt house, searching for finger-prints and bits of torn clothing.

Unknown to her, the police had not arrived at her house yet. Her neighbours had heard the gunshots, and, a couple of blocks away, ten police cars and an ambulance were speeding through the snow.

The dark car that had signalled the beginning of the strange night, the night that had changed Evie’s life forever, was still parked in front of her house. The man that Evie had caught a glimpse of as the helicopter had pulled her away was still in the same position, looking up at the stars. Inside, he was seething. Behind him, his men were waiting patiently.

Finally turning around, his face a picture of cold displeasure, he moved towards the car, a door opening as he reached it. He grasped the top of the door, stilling before he got in. Turning to his men, he gave them a chilling look, saying in an emotionless voice, “Find Evie Thatcher. Bring me Evie Thatcher.”