‘I was just typing out some literature.’
Ros nodded, her eyes subtly searching the room. On the face of it, there was nothing suspicious about what he was saying, but something was making her instincts bristle.
‘Let’s have a read.’ She didn’t miss him flinching.
‘I’ll show you when I’ve finished.’
‘Come on, Brian, let’s have a look.’ She tried to get past him.
‘Don’t go over there,’ he said, deliberately blocking her way.
‘Why not?’
‘Because it’s private.’
‘Brian, what the hell is going on?’ she asked, her eyes darting around, her ears searching for noise.
She had heard stories from sleepy suburbia about postmen hiding in wardrobes, lovers being ushered out of back doors to avoid detection. She thought of those stories and felt instantly nervous for Sam.
‘Just leave me alone. I’m only working.’
‘Then why won’t you let me see your desk?’
‘Because there’s nothing to see.’
‘Now you’ve really made me want to have a look.’ She laughed nervously.
‘Piss off, Ros,’ he hissed.
‘Let me through, Brian,’ she said, trying to squeeze around him.
He pushed her with such force that she tumbled back, her legs buckling under her, her head smashing against a table as she fell.
She cried out in pain and drew her hand to her skull, holding it there for a moment as she felt her palm grow wet and warm.
She could hear footsteps running up the stairs.
All she could do was moan, and then she felt a pair of strong arms lift her back to her feet. She sighed in relief when she saw Dominic.
‘Ros, are you okay?’ he said, holding her tightly for a second.
Brian tried to push past them and make a run for it, but Dominic stopped him. Brian swung a feeble punch; Dom grabbed his fist and twisted his arm until it was bent back behind his body.
‘What the hell is going on?’ he asked.
‘The desk,’ croaked Ros. ‘He’s hiding something.’
She staggered towards it, the pain in her head still throbbing like a heartbeat.
At first she saw nothing suspicious.
There was a roll of insulating tape on the desk, a large box of nails and a thick brown envelope. She picked it up and looked at the address label. She recognised the name instantly – a prominent Tory MP, known for his war-mongering ideals.
Peering inside the envelope, she saw that it was full of nails.
‘Put it down,’ growled Brian.
There was something else on the desk. Two sticks that looked like wax candles.