The Eye Thief (DI Erica Swift 1) - SIGNED Paperback

Her heels clip-clopped on the pavement,
painfully loud in the otherwise quiet night.

Though
it was the early hours, it was never truly silent in London. There was always a
distant drone of traffic, or the wail of an emergency vehicle, or a car alarm
going off. Right now, however, the tap of her impractical shoes was the only
sound she focused on, echoing around the empty street, bouncing off her
eardrums.

Becca
reached across her body and gripped the strap of the handbag on her shoulder.
She wished she’d taken Phil Dentry up on his offer of accompanying her off the
night bus, but she hadn’t wanted him to think there would be something more
than a simple ‘thanks’ waiting for him after he’d walked her home. She hadn’t
missed the way he’d been buying her drinks all evening, even when she’d told
him she was fine, or how he’d always seemed to end up standing or sitting
beside her, no matter which bar they’d gone to.

She’d
felt comfortable enough on her own when she’d jumped off the bus on the main
road, but now she’d turned into the estate, heading for the terraced house she
shared with two other students who hadn’t been out with her that night, she’d
grown painfully aware of how late it was and that she was a woman, alone. She
did her best to push away her vulnerability; Becca prided herself on being
independent and tough.

One
of the streetlights flickered, and she glanced up, her stomach clenching with
anxiety. She hoped it wasn’t going to go out, plunging her into darkness. The
moon was a faint, white semi-circle in the night sky, not enough to guide her
way. No stars were visible—the light pollution from the city had done a good
job of hiding them.

The
stuttering lamp came on fully again, and she allowed herself to breathe.

She
was always nervous walking this section of her route home. On her left was the
Tower Hamlets Cemetery Park—one of seven Victorian cemeteries in London. It was
a much-needed green space in the middle of this part of the city, but, filled
with ancient headstones, it took on a different feel at night. On the other
side, where she was walking, there was only a tall wall which led onto the back
of a set of garages that served some of the other houses on the estate. That no
one overlooked this part of the road only added to her sense of defencelessness.

Becca’s
attention went back to the cemetery. Black, wrought-iron railings divided her
from the darkness beyond, thick brambles coiling through the metal. An empty
cider can was caught in the thickets, the middle crushed, and heavy with orange
rust. It wasn’t a welcoming sight—not that she had any intention of entering
the cemetery. She was sticking to the well-lit streets. But still, the
knowledge of what the place contained was enough to send shivers crawling down
her back.

Movement
up ahead caught her attention, and Becca jerked back and sucked in a breath.

Shit.

On
the same side as the cemetery railings, a person staggered out onto the street.
From the size and shape, she assumed it was a man, but from this distance and
the way they held themselves, it was impossible to know for sure. The figure was
bent almost double, arms stretched out in front of them. Their stance reminded
her of a zombie television series her flatmates liked to watch but that she
couldn’t stand. Why on earth would someone find watching dead people eating
others entertaining?

The
person took a couple of steps closer.

Yes,
it was definitely a man. The breadth of his shoulders and the way he walked,
legs slightly spread, as though riding a horse, was definitely male. Was he a
drunk? A homeless man? Both? Where had he come from?

Becca
hoped he didn’t notice her. Once more, she found herself regretting not
inviting Phil back. Surely, spending the night with him would have been better
than ending up raped and murdered on the way home.

She
hesitated, the tap of her heels against the pavement slowing with her, a
ticking of a clock with its battery running out. The man was ahead of her, and
even though he was on the opposite side of the street, it meant she would have
to pass him to get home. There was little chance he wouldn’t see her.

The
man took a step, and one of his legs went out from under him. He stumbled to
one side before righting himself again.

Becca
startled.

It’ll
be fine. He’s too drunk to pay me any attention.

Even
if he did, he’d probably just shout something inappropriate at her. Looking at
the state he was in, if he tried to come after her, she could easily run. She’d
kick off her heels and leg it all the way if she had to, trying not to think
about the possibility of standing in dog shit or on a piece of glass. Any of
that would be better than being raped or even killed.

Her
house wasn’t far away. Two more streets. Five minutes, if she really hurried.
She didn’t want to die five minutes from home. Not that it was really her home.
She’d only been there six months, and the student house was a far cry from where
she’d grown up in Cheltenham. Her parents had never been terribly happy about
her moving to this part of London, but she’d wanted to experience city life,
warts and all, and Bow wasn’t far from her university on Mile End Road.

For
the first time, she wondered if they might have been right.

Cautiously,
keeping her gaze fixed on the man, priming herself for a change in his body
language that would tell her to run, she kept going. Every footstep brought her
that little bit closer to his position, but she still hoped she would simply be
able to walk by without him acknowledging her.

He
stretched out a hand in her direction, and she knew she’d been noticed.

“Help
me.”

Something
about his tone made her stop. There was a slight slur to his words, but not in
the way she’d expect from someone who was drunk. And it was more than that. It
was desperation and terror and pain.

How
did she get all that from only two words? Two syllables, even.

“Please…”
His words were punctuated by a sob. “I don’t know where I am. It’s so dark.” He
gave another whimper.

Becca
glanced at the streetlight and then the pale moon. It was night, but it wasn’t
completely dark. He must be seriously wasted.

Somehow,
that didn’t sit right with her. Drunk people didn’t act this way. They stumbled
around and might not know where they were, but this man wasn’t giving off that
kind of body language. Drugs, then? There was some nasty shit on the streets
right now. Some of it was even legal. It wasn’t something Becca was ever
interested in. She’d tried a couple of puffs on a joint at a party once and had
ended up feeling sick, so she’d been more than happy sticking to wine or the
occasional gin and tonic from then on.

No,
not drunk. But something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong. She felt it
right down to the marrow of her bones. Her mouth had run dry, her heart
hammering so hard she was sure he must be able to hear it.

This
man needed help.

It’s
all a trick! Go home.

Yes,
it probably was. Just a trick. A way of making her let down her guard, and then
when she got close enough, he’d probably spring into action and attack. He’d
take her by surprise to knock her down and use his greater bodyweight to pin
her to the ground. Then, if she was lucky, he’d rape her and steal her handbag,
but if she was unlucky, he’d strangle her once he’d done what he wanted.

All
these thoughts went through her head, yet she found herself taking a step
closer. She ducked slightly, trying to see the man’s face, wanting to
get a better look at him so she could figure out what was wrong, but the way he
was hunched over, his hands held out in front of him, made it impossible.

Her
blood raced through her veins. Every part of her screamed run! but she
found she couldn’t.

She
had her phone in her bag. The bag was tiny—only big enough to fit her purse,
phone, keys, and a couple of emergency items of makeup—and Becca unzipped the
top without taking her eyes off the man hunched over on the other side of the
street. She delved inside and quickly located her phone. She had an emergency
call already set up, so all it would take was a swipe of a screen, should he
try anything, and then the police would be here to help.

Unless
he kills me before they get here.

Despite
her initial instincts, the man didn’t seem threatening. Quite the opposite. She
really did think he needed assistance.

She
took a cautious step in his direction.

He
stumbled into the beam of the streetlight overhead, a circle of illumination
around his feet. Something darkened the front of his shirt and his hands.

Jesus
Christ. Was that blood?

She
found her voice. “Are…are you okay?”

His
head snapped up. “Who’s there? Please, you’ve got to help me.” He reached both
hands in her direction.

Becca
sucked in a breath, widening her eyes in horror. Her phone dropped from her
fingers, hitting the pavement, the screen shattering. She didn’t even care, her
gaze fixed on the young man in front of her.

She
opened her mouth and screamed.