"The fatality?"
"The injury. Could be serious."
Suzanne's fingertips fluttered across Richard's head and neck. "He's not physically injured? You're sure?"
"Certain."
"Then let's get him to a-"
"Your place."
"What?"
"Let's get him to your place. Please?"
Up front, Big Tel was craning around in his seat, watching through the clear partition.
"Merde," said Suzanne. "All right. My place."
"Terry, would you-?"
"I've got it, Josh. Hold on."
They pulled away from the kerb with hard acceleration – Big Tel once flew armoured Vipers in Sudan – then hauled out onto the roundabout, swinging north along Waterloo Bridge. Soon they were heading along Shaftesbury Avenue, then Tottenham Court Road where the tech shops and convenience stores blazed with light despite the hour.
"Terry?" Suzanne tapped on the partition. "Can we stop here for a moment?"
Big Tel, in the mirror, looked at Josh.
"Whatever she says."
"Then I'll pull over here."
Richard continued to stare at nothing. Suzanne slipped out, crossed the street and went into a Libyan store. In minutes she was back, with bags of shopping.
"Supplies," she said, getting in. "That's everything."
Big Tel swung the taxi back into traffic. Josh leaned past Richard to see what Suzanne had bought. Groceries, plus T-shirt and shorts, it looked like. Ah. Richard's body odour was ripe.
Soon enough, they were stopping in front of the flats where Suzanne lived.
"You'll be all right?" asked Big Tel.
"Yeah. Cheers, mate."
"Keep your safety off and brain switched on."
"I owe you one."
"No one's keeping count. But if they were, you owe me seven."
"Is that all?"
Suzanne helped Josh manoeuvre Richard on to the pavement. Then Big Tel gave a half salute, put the taxi into drive and moved off. Richard wavered a bit, then took a step as Josh encouraged him, then another, to the front door.
They ascended the stairs step by careful step, an improvement on having to carry the lad. Finally, when Suzanne opened the door of her top-floor flat, Josh was glad to see she had left the lights on, a dim and cheerful orange, the lounge a place of restful reds and browns. Suzanne closed the door.
"Sit down, Richard."
Josh settled him on a soft couch, and waited. Suzanne went into the kitchen. A minute later, she returned with a steaming mug, honey-sweetened milk, and placed it in Richard's hands.
"Take hold, that's right. Now drink."
Richard took a sip, shuddered, then relaxed.
Suzanne worked with him, encouraging him to drink. When the milk was all gone, she said: "Time to get clean, now. And Josh will help you."
Richard's mouth formed an arch of misery.
"Soon you will feel better now and safe because… everything is all right here… you can relax, deeper, that's right."
Josh found himself blinking. But the focus of Suzanne's ambiguous syntax was Richard, who received the full effect of her reassurance, growing calmer. Then he allowed Josh to help him to his feet, and escort him to the bathroom – Suzanne showed them where it was – and even helped remove his gritty, pungent clothes.
After switching on the shower, Josh stepped back and encouraged Richard to get in, prepared to manhandle him inside if necessary, thankful when Richard stepped under the spray and stood there, eyes closed and swaying. Finally, Richard used the shower gel, washed and rinsed and did the whole thing again, then a third time.
He came out clean, smelling of pine, but still not talking. When Josh told him to, he dried himself with one of the big bath towels.
Josh opened the bathroom door halfway to call for Suzanne, but she was already there, offering the new T-shirt and shorts for Richard to wear. Afterwards, dressed in fresh clothes for the first time in days, Richard seemed revivified.
"Do you want something to eat?" asked Suzanne.
He nodded.
A stomach unused to food could rebel; but Suzanne appeared to know that. She made soup for Richard, then gave him a small sandwich to eat. After a few bites, he stopped.
Tears welled up.
"You're safe," Suzanne said.
When she was sure that Richard had finished eating, she nodded to Josh, and they helped him stand up. She led the way to a small guest bedroom that held shelves of hardcopy books. The duvet was blue and smelled newly laundered. Richard slid into bed.
Then Suzanne began to speak to him in a lilting voice, and Josh crept from the room, because this was for Richard alone. Suzanne seemed to think of herself as a scientist and healer; but there was something magical about her work.
Finally she came out. "He'll sleep now. For a good eight hours, I hope."
"Well done."
"If his father doesn't come barging in to interrupt things."
"He won't."
"How do you-?"
"Because I haven't told him about Richard."
"And you're going to do that when, exactly?"
Josh stared at the bedroom door."When he's happy about going back to whatever scared him off."
"So you haven't told the police, either. Legally, we're probably guilty of kidnapping. You know that, right?"
"Mais oui." He deliberately anglicised it: may-wee. "We probably are. While I'm facing suspension and worse, you're disregarding your employer's wishes."
"Client. Broomhall's my client, not my boss." He could have added: I'm freelance, just like you.
"Like that makes a the difference."
"Actually, it does."
"Hmm." Suzanne glanced toward the door. "One of us needs to make sure he doesn't just wander out. I don't think he'll wake up, but nothing's certain."
"The couch looks fine." Josh pointed. "I'll wake up if he moves."
"You sound certain."
She was standing very close to him now.
"Confident," she continued. "Not to mention capable."
When he kissed her, the explosion of sweet electricity slammed through his body, swirled up and down, beyond anything he had experienced.
"My God," he whispered, holding her upper arms. "Suzanne."
"I've never done this before, Josh Cumberland. Not this fast."
"Done-?"
"Can your ninja senses detect someone sneaking out beyond a closed door?"
"I don't…"
"Come on." Her hands pulled him as if he were weightless. "Come on."
Inside her bedroom, she pushed the door quietly shut. The room was lit by a small bedside lamp, which she tapped, switching it off.
Only faint silver moonlight illuminated her form as she pulled her blouse off over her head, then undid her skirt and let it slide to the floor. Time slowed as she removed bra and panties, and stood there, a perfect goddess, the long scars glistening like moonlight inside her arms.
Josh blinked eyes filled with grit, with salt, with the overwhelming knowledge that he deserved nothing, and certainly not this. Then he removed his clothes with a Zen exactness, his gaze never deviating from her face.
They embraced standing, her skin incandescent, smooth and warm, and then she was pulling him to the bed where they lay down, his mouth finding her throat, working slowly down, to her nipples like black cherries, to the smoothness of her stomach, her soft inner thighs and the sweet surprise within, burying himself until she arced back, giving a low cry; and a shuddering sob as she took hold of his head and pulled him up to her face.
"In me," she said.
Then he was riding to the stars, expecting it to be immediate, but silky, soft strength enclosed him, prolonging the voyage, every nerve juddering; and then the atomic fireball cascaded outwards, bursting with nova energy until he was done, lying on her and in her, holding her forever, only her name in his mind and on his lips: Suzanne, Suzanne, Suzanne.
After a time, she said "Sorry, you're squashing me."