Page 17 of Thief

With her last reserve of air, she went for a head butt, but his was buried safely into the carpet, and all she hit was tough shoulder muscle, hurting her own head more than his.

He’s so damn heavy. I can’t…breathe.

A row of marching black ants invaded her vision, tiny specks floating around. The swell of panic grew like a mushroom cloud in her mind. She was going to suffocate, all alone in her flat with this animal on top of her.

“Get…off…” she managed in a last gasping whisper.

John hoisted to his elbows. “No more head butts, Pussy Cat,” he said gruffly. “Or kicks. If you still feel the need to kick like a mule, I’ll stop being polite real quick. Got it?”

Kat was swamped with relief as his weight finally released. She dragged in big, greedy gulps of free air, re-inflated her lungs and re-oxygenated her system.

“Bastard,” she managed breathily.

“Whore.”

He pushed to his feet and limped in his soggy clothes towards her living room.

Kat lay for a moment looking at the ceiling, watching the ants march away. Then she dragged to her feet and followed him, pulling her dressing gown tight and rubbing at her poor, aching ribs.

She paused in the doorway and leant her shoulder against the frame. John was stretched lengthways on her sofa, legs out straight and arms folded across his bare chest. His soaked clothes were dumped in a pile on the floor and the white towel around his waist looked all the more brilliant against his dark trail of body hair.

Kat would have felt uncomfortable having anyone else in her flat, but John’s imposing male presence filled more than physical space multiplying that discomfort tenfold. His aura filled the every room and completely changed the flow of energy. It didn’t feel like her safe, feminine sanctuary anymore. The sight of him was strangulating and completely invasive.

“Got any whisky?” he grunted, rubbing at a red zigzag scar on his knee.

Kat’s eyes fell to his sopping clothes on her cream carpet. With her fist clamped around the top of her dressing gown, she walked over, picked up the offending garments and moved to a long, white radiator. She spread everything out to dry and upturned his dripping trainers along the top. “You want anything with it?”

“No. Just make it a triple.”

Kat pulled open a door on a sleek unit next to the television. She grabbed a bottle of Bells, and poured three generous fingers into a crystal glass.

“Here,” she said walking to the sofa and holding it out at arm’s length.

John grasped it, knocked back half, then pressed the glass against a rising bruise on his right temple. “Sit.”

There was nowhere else to sit. Kat only had one sofa and no armchairs. “I’ll stand.”

“Suit yourself.” John shrugged. “As long as you tell me where my Porsche is I couldn’t give a damn what you do.”

“I told you I don’t know. It’s gone.” She re-twisted her damp hair into its clip.

“It can’t just be gone. You must have some idea where Shrek took it.”

“No, I have no idea. What does it matter now anyway?”

John took another slug of his drink. “Because in the boot is something worth considerably more than a car.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Diamonds.” He paused, as if waiting to see the effect his words would have on her. “That’s what I’m talking about, Pussy Cat, lots and lots of diamonds.”

Kat turned away, moved to the drinks cabinet and poured herself a whisky. “Tell me,” she said with a disbelieving tone, “why a guy like you would have diamonds lying about his car?” She sloshed more whisky into his now empty glass.

“Because, like you, I’m a thief.” John slugged away at his refreshed drink. “And tomorrow…no, make that today,” he indicated out of the French doors at the lightening sky, “I was going to get the hell out of this God forsaken country and set up a new life somewhere sunny, get myself some high class living…a bit like you’ve done here. So you’ll forgive me for being pissed, but you took considerably more than a car last night.” His nostrils flared and his eyes narrowed. “And I need you to tell me where I can find it. Then I can get on with my life and you can get on with yours. Simple. Everyone happy.”

She looked into his eyes. Was he telling the truth or was it some weird game he was playing? She didn’t trust him not to play games, not after jumping her in the shower. “I told you, I don’t know where it is.”

“Just tell me who drove off in it, and I’ll be out of your way. I’m guessing that’s what you want.”

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