Page 63 of Ticket Out

“He’s here.”

“He?”

“The killer. I think.” She didn’t have proof, but the way he moved, the quick jerk of surprise when he saw there was someone else there, and that she was on the roof, made her sure of it.

It wasn’t a normal reaction.

“Stay on the roof.” James squinted up at her, shielding his eyes from the early morning sun.

She shook her head. “Then I’m as trapped as you. And sooner or later the old man will leave, or he’ll kill him, and then we’ll be at his mercy.”

A thump came from the front of the garage, and Gabriella crawled back over.

“Got the ladder for ye.” The old man held the bottom of it. “Mind how you go.”

“Thank you.” She would usually have climbed down carefully, but she didn’t have time for that. She scrambled down as fast as her injured hand would allow and turned to the old man the moment she was on the ground.

“Thank you for your help. I saw the man who arranged for us to be locked up here coming down the row. He’s hiding behind one of those garages. He’s dangerous. You need to go, right now.” She looked past him, saw the man step out into the row again. “There he is.”

The old man turned. “Eh?”

Gabriella didn’t want to leave him here. Didn’t want to leave James. But she couldn’t deal with this on her own.

She turned and ran, racing to the end of the row, to the street she could see beyond.

She glanced back as she reached it, saw the man she thought was the killer coming after her.

That was good. At least he wasn’t going after James, trapped inside the garage.

She heard a shout of pain, and just caught a glimpse of her pursuer shoving the old man down as he ran past.

She blindly turned right, sprinting down a road that had businesses all along it. At this time of day, on a Saturday morning, it was quiet, with no one about.

She could hear cars on a busier road up ahead, and headed in that direction.

She could also hear the pounding of boots on the pavement, and she had the terrible feeling she wouldn’t make it to the main road. He was gaining on her.

She saw a park at the end of a short street to her right, and veered in that direction, thinking if she were really lucky, there might be a dog walker about. Someone to at least call to for help.

As she reached the end of the short street, she risked a glance over her shoulder, and saw the man was close. His face was terrible, his lips pulled back over his teeth as if he were snarling at her as he ran.

She bolted across the street that ran beside the park, and as she hit the grass, she saw the abandoned car, and realized this was South Kensington, and she knew this place.

Even though she didn’t know quite how that knowledge would help her, it made her feel better.

She didn’t call for Teddy Roe, the homeless man who was sleeping in the back of the car. He would only get hurt in a confrontation with the killer behind her.

But the lady who had stared at her from the window yesterday—she might help.

She passed the car, heard Teddy snoring within, and darted across the street, leaping the short wooden gate, grateful it was low enough for her to do so.

She climbed the dark red steps up to the front door and rattled the knocker. “Help. I need the police.”

She had committed to this action, giving herself no way to escape if the lady of the house didn’t help her, so she turned to see where the man was.

He had slowed, walking across the road instead of running.

He hadn’t expected her to knock on a door.

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