Little Sister: A Group Fifteen Novella (Group Fifteen Files Book 3) by Dawson Mark & Ridpath Michael

Author:Dawson, Mark & Ridpath, Michael [Dawson, Mark]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Publisher: Unputdownable
Published: 2018-03-11T16:00:00+00:00

10

Olya and Gudrún took the long escalator up from the Underground at Angel and set off through a network of side streets to the Georgian restaurant where they had agreed to meet Björn.

Gudrún had arrived at Olya’s flat in South Kensington that morning, distraught. She had left Finlay’s apartment to go shopping just after ten o’clock, taking her passport with her, and given Mr. Sturridge the slip in Harvey Nichols. Olya was pleased to see her friend, but she shared Gudrún’s fear.

Finlay was going to be furious when he found out. Furious and suspicious. And he probably knew already: Mr. Sturridge would have told him, once he was sure he had lost Gudrún.

They concocted a plan. Olya had a friend from Moscow, Dmitri, a student at the School of Slavonic Studies who lived in Highgate. They had met up with him at lunch time in Bloomsbury and gone back to his flat in Highgate, where she and Gudrún would both stay that night. Next, they booked Gudrún on to an Icelandair flight from Heathrow to Keflavík the following morning. The plan was that once Gudrún was in the air, Olya would march into Lochalsh and speak to either Finlay or Jesse before they flew up to Scotland. Olya would promise them that neither she nor Gudrún would ever breathe a word about Kevin to anyone. All Finlay and Jesse had to do was leave them alone.

But Gudrún had insisted on seeing Björn before she returned to Iceland. Olya wasn’t so keen on the idea. “Are you sure your brother won’t suggest you go to the police?” she asked Gudrún as they hurried through the darkened streets of Islington.

“I don’t think he will,” Gudrún replied. “I think he will put my safety first. And if he does try to insist, we’ll just tell him I won’t do it.”

“But what if he goes himself?” said Olya. “Once you are back in Iceland.”

Gudrún turned to her friend. “I have to speak to him. If I’d listened to him right from the beginning, none of this would have happened. I’m sure he wouldn’t do anything that would put me in danger.”

“Or me?”

“Or you.”

“Hello, ladies. Got any change for a cup of tea?”

Both women turned towards a scruffy-looking man wearing a torn jacket and stained tracksuit trousers. He was dark-haired with black stubble and olive skin, and he had a guttural accent of some sort. Balkan? Turkish? He was twitching, his head jerking from side to side.

Gudrún stared at him, but Olya raised her chin, ignoring him.

“Come on, ladies,” said the man, falling into step with them. “I’ve got nowhere to live! I need something to warm me up.”

He needs drugs, more like, thought Olya. They were in a short empty street, lined with darkened terraced houses. Gudrún was a magnet for these kinds of bums, but Olya usually had no trouble brushing them off. Her fingers curled around the small canister of pepper spray she kept in her coat pocket. She had used it

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