Joe was running for his life and it was very unfortunate that he was wearing a ghastly fluorescent blue raincoat that glowed like a beacon in the dark. Even in this heavy rain he was pretty sure he must be as conspicuous as … well, something bright blue. He had to find somewhere to hide. He didn't know how much longer his lungs could last out. He was already gasping for breath and his chest burnt like hell. Stopping briefly, and taking huge lungfuls of the cold damp air, he looked around desperately. It had been a while and he had never been able to tell these streets apart, but he had a sudden recollection of once going to one of these houses. Was it a barbecue? Some girlfriend of Marcus's? Blonde and pretty and far too classy for Marcus.

He wrestled his phone out of his jeans pocket and scrolled down to Marcus's name, his finger slipping on the screen. Shit, he didn't have time for this. A car swished past on the wet road and he ducked further into the shadows of the tree. Answer the fucking phone!

Finally a voice grunted, "Yeh?"

"Marcus, I'm in deep shit you've got to help me," he said far too quickly.

"Joe man, it's the middle of the fucking night."

"I'm in Camden."

"Well I'm in Moscow so tough shit."

"Just listen, because you owe me one." He could hear Marcus sigh heavily. "Remember that girlfriend you had a while back?

"Which one?"

"The one with a big house in Camden."

"Kirsten? I'd forgotten about her…" Marcus's voice grew faint and then he was back again," Wait a minute..." Joe could almost hear the rusty cogs of Marcus's brain grind into action. "What you doing back in London? Shit man, you haven't have you?"

"Save me the lecture and just give me Kirsten's address then ring her and ask her to help me. Don't tell her anything. I'll just give her some spiel when I get there."

He was clearly too sleepy to argue. "She'll be cool man. She always did like a bit of rough."

"And Marcus …Tell no one about this conversation."

Emma was tired and fed up. The so-called business contact Kirsten had given her was not only a no-go but to add insult to injury he had tried to get her drunk and feel her up under the table. The bastard was married too. She had noticed the pale mark on his finger where his wedding ring should have been. She remembered his slight paunch, his over powering aftershave and eager clammy hands and shuddered. Kirsten could really pick them. Oh well, she'd console herself by watching some soppy period drama and wallow in gentler times when men respected the sanctity of marriage.

She had just settled down on the sofa with a large vodka and tonic when the doorbell rang. It was 11pm. She hoped to God that creep hadn't followed her home. She paused the DVD and cocked an ear. When the bell rang again, this time more insistently as if someone was leaning against it, she reluctantly heaved herself up from the sofa and grouchily stomped to the front door, wrenching it open. A broad hunched figure dressed in shiny blue stood in the pouring rain. Even though all she could see from under the hood was a tip of a nose she was fairly sure she did not know this man and she was suddenly on full alert. She didn't like the look of him. He was a stranger, it was late at night, he was breathing heavily and he was covering his face. This wasn't good. Not good at all. As she tried to close the door as violently as she had opened it, a soggy Converse shot forward immediately followed by a strong shoulder pushing its way into the hallway. Adrenaline rushed through Emma's body but instead of fighting for her life like she had always thought she would in such a situation, she froze on the spot.

Once he had forced his way into the hallway, the man removed the hood and another shot of adrenaline coursed through her. Emma stood transfixed and open mouthed as he said something. She couldn't take in any of the words. Standing in her hallway, dripping rainwater onto the rug was the best looking man she had ever seen in her life.