Page 12 of A Very Happy Easter

“But you are wearing an eye-catching dress. This isn’t the best area, and we don’t want to stand out.”

Oh. Shit. “Tell me you know kung fu or something,” I said, looping my arm through his.

“I know kung fu or something.”

“Is that actually true?”

“I can neither confirm nor deny.”

All was quiet on the western front. I mean, probably. I didn’t know which way west was. But the curtains were closed at number eleven Milkwood Crescent, and the only light on was a lamp beside the front door.

“Let’s try the back,” Heath murmured.

The path through the park was made of gravel, and the heels on my Jimmy Choos protested with every crunchy step. Somehow, Heath knew when to stop, and we stared at the tangle of brambles between us and Jazzi’s rear fence.

“Guess nobody’s climbing in,” I said.

“Not via the direct route, anyway.” Heath stood on tiptoes. “Normally, I like disappearing in a crowd, but at times like this, I wish I was six feet five.” He gave a half-arsed jump. “There’s a light on. A big patio window.”

“Can you pick me up?”

He stared at me in the moonlight.

“What? I’m not that heavy.”

“I’m not worried about your weight.”

“Then what?”

“Heard I wasn’t supposed to touch you. That you’re a little…fragile.”

“Look, you’ve already groped my armpits tonight. Just pick me up, would you?”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re the boss.”

Heath bent his knees, wrapped his arms around my thighs, and hoisted me two feet into the air. I couldn’t help my squeak. But I soon forgot my precarious position as I played voyeur. A woman was sitting on the sofa behind the lit window, her posture cowed, hands wiping at her cheeks. The man in front of her appeared to be yelling, although I couldn’t hear much through the double glazing, just muffled, indistinct words. But I felt the slap as sharply as if it had hit my own cheek. Jazzi—at least, I assumed it was her—rocked back and slumped against the cushions.

“Dammit! Put me down? He hit her. The guy in the house hit her.”

I was about to tell Heath the details of what I’d seen when he stiffened almost imperceptibly and stepped in front of me.

“What?” I asked, but then I saw the kid on the bike approaching. And he really couldn’t have been more than a teenager, riding a BMX with the seat so low that his knees nearly hit his chin as he pedalled.

He pulled up beside us. “Got a cigarette?”

“I don’t smoke,” Heath told him.

Moonlight glinted off the knife that appeared in the boy’s hand. “Okay, got a wallet?”

We were being mugged? Oh, no way. You must be kidding me. He hadn’t asked me for my clutch yet. Was that going to be the next demand? All it contained was my phone, a credit card, lip gloss, a personal attack alarm, and a can of not-quite-legal pepper spray. Hmm, alarm or pepper spray, alarm or pepper spray… The alarm would attract attention, but in this area, maybe the wrong kind of attention. These motherfuckers would probably think it was a mating call. With the mugger focused on Heath, I surreptitiously opened the clutch and slid out the can.

“Aieeeeeee!”

My scream could have shattered glass, but wait a second…

The mugger was on the ground with his arm bent behind his back, the blade of the knife embedded in the dirt beside his head. Heath looked up at me.

“Five seconds too late, sweetheart. We need to work on those reflexes.”