Page 6 of The Payback Plan
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John McClane had just dropped Hans Gruber off the side of the Nakatomi Plaza when the knock interrupted. Oliver Prendergast frowned and paused the action, Alan Rickman’s face frozen in shock, his mouth open, his hands grasping nothing but air.
The interruption was seriously inconvenient.
He didn’t care that he’d seen the movie approximately thirty times, that scene never got old. The next scenes provided the emotional pay off as John reunited with his wife but that right there was the Hollywood moment.
When the bad guy got his just desserts. And it was epic.
He assumed the knock was Bella’s friend – Paige someone – who was supposed to be herehoursago. Thanks to parents who’d made an art out of late entrances, he abhorred tardiness at the best of times. But when it got in the way of watching Hans Gruber goingsplat,it really rankled.
As he climbed the stairs from the basement media room, Oliver couldn’t shake the looming feeling of disaster he had about the whole set-up. Agreeing to let a stranger – one who clearly didn’t value punctuality – into his house for an undefined period of time felt unwise. But, Bella had been right. He did owe her and, in the grand scheme of things she could have asked (and he would have granted), it was trifling.
Such was the depth of his guilt.
Hell, she could have asked him to never watch Hans Gruber go splat again.Thatwould have been a real sacrifice.
The low moaning of the wind outside got louder as he approached the front door. Cornwall in summer was a thing of beauty. Cornwall in January, not so much. Rain, strong winds and chilly temperatures had been forecast for the next week.
He hoped she hadn’t brought her bikini.
Unlocking the expensively sophisticated deadbolt locking system, Oliver yanked open the door to a face completely covered by a mop of curly red hair, a stack of mismatched suitcases, a skirt that looked like it had been made out of curtains, a thin-looking, unbuttoned hot pink cardigan that hung down past her knees and an ugly lime green T-shirt proclaiming:
I will put you in the boot and help people look for you. Don’t test me.
He blinked as she shook her head, her wind-swept hair falling back to reveal what Peter Allen would have called an interesting face. Square with wideset hazel eyes, a little snub nose, a generous smattering of freckles, and despite her general dishevelment, a big smile showcasing an even more generous mouth.
Oliver hadn’t known what to expect when he’d woken on yet another aimless Monday, but it wasn’t this.
It was as if the north wind had dumped her on his doorstep like some kind of ginger Mary Poppins. Minus the hat, the coat, the umbrella and the carpet bag.
And, given her taste in T-shirts, any sense of decorum.
There was however, he noticed belatedly, a large cage clutched in one hand. A cage containing what appeared to be some kind of… rat? A verylargerat.
Bella hadn’t said anything about a bloody rat.
‘Hiya,’ she said, smiling brightly, her accent bog standard, middle-class English. ‘I’m Paige. You must be Oliver.’
‘Ah, yeah…’ Looking over her shoulder at the wet, deserted street, he asked, ‘How’d you get here?’
‘Uber?’
So, not the north wind then…
His gaze drifted to the words written across her chest. She also looked down before raising her eyes, their gazes meeting. ‘Sorry, my brother and sister think it’s hilarious to get me silly T-shirts.’
Oliver nodded like he understood but really, he didn’t. ‘Couldn’t you just…’ He shrugged. ‘Not wear them?’
Frowning, she examined him like he was slightly dim. ‘After they went to all the trouble to get them for me?’
Oliver was pretty sure zero trouble had gone into that particular purchase but he let it go. What did he know about sibling relationships? He was an only child.
‘T-shirts are their love language,’ she added defensively. Like that explained everything.
It didn’t.
Oliver wasn’t sure hehada love language, but if he did, it’d be more like classy monogrammed stationery than tacky T-shirts.
