LITMIR.BIZ

       PROLOGUE

      Jessie Driver had her thighs clamped round the leg of a man she hadn’t been introduced to. Hanging upside down, she could feel the sweat running through her short spiky hair. From the corner of her eye she watched two men shake hands. The small envelope of folded lottery paper passed from one palm to another. Jessie was pulled back up and spun around. It was time to leave this club. Local boys from the nearby estate were eclipsing the dance aficionados and the atmosphere was becoming increasingly hostile. Jessie couldn’t relax any more. She ran her hand down the perfectly smooth biceps of the man she’d been dancing with, squeezed his hand reluctantly and left. Her flatmate, Maggie Hall, was signing a flurry of autographs by the bar. All men, Jessie mused as she approached.

      ‘Jesus, you’re soaking,’ said Maggie, looking at Jessie in disgust.

      ‘Properly purged.’ Jessie leant closer. ‘Can we go?’

      Maggie nodded, flashed an ‘if only’ smile to the admirer she would instantly forget and walked with Jessie to the coat check. Maggie was a presenter; with ruthless ambition she had come up through the highly competitive ranks to become a household name. It was strange watching an old friend gain in fame. Of course, at thirty, it hadn’t come soon enough for Maggie. People asked Jessie whether Maggie had changed. The answer was no. She’d always been ambitious.

      They had reached the motorbike bay when Jessie heard the sound of a van backfiring. Twice. In quick succession. She turned abruptly towards the noise. Like a solitary clap in a crowded room, the sound silenced the world around them. For a second. And then people started to scream. A man ran across the road and climbed into a waiting car. From the narrow doorway and two fire-exits people spilled out into the street. Jessie threw her helmet at Maggie.

      ‘No, Jessie!’ shouted Maggie. But Jessie didn’t hear her. She ran straight into the sea of oncoming frightened faces. Ducking, side-stepping, shouldering against the outpour. She battled against the tide down the narrow staircase. At the bottom, a young man lay on the ground. He’d been shot. Twice. Two girls stood next to him screaming and jumping up and down intermittently. She threw her phone at one of them.

      ‘Call the police and ambulance service,’ barked Jessie. Her commanding voice silenced them as swiftly as the gunshot had set them off. ‘And someone turn that music off!’

      Only the man made a noise now. He wasn’t dead. But he was bleeding profusely.

      ‘What’s your name?’ asked Jessie.

      ‘Carl,’ he whimpered.

      ‘Carl,’ she said, ‘the ambulance is on the way. Meantime, I’ve got to try and stop this bleeding. You stay focused, concentrate on me.’

      Jessie ripped his

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