“Grey suit, red tie – don’t look up!” hissed Freddie at the bewildered Miranda, “He was there at La Sagrada and again on Las Ramblas, drink up!” The cup, grasped in trembling hands, chattered against her teeth. Six countries in four months yet they had found them again.

A glass exploded on the bar startling her, but Freddie never moved. A small hole appeared in the breast pocket of his jacket from which a stain was spreading rapidly. He sighed, falling sideways from the stool. A grey flash in her peripheral vision, a sudden searing pain and the chase was over.

8 thoughts on “Hunted

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