I See You Read Free

was in the detail, Kelly thought. She searched out the faint pinstripe; the title of a book pushed carelessly into a bag; wire-framed glasses with a kink in one arm; a brown leather watch strap beneath a white cotton shirtsleeve. The idiosyncrasies andappearance tics that made them stand out in a line-up of near-identical men. Kelly watched them openly, dispassionately. She was just practising, she told herself, not caring when one of them looked up and found her cool gaze on him. She thought he might look away, but instead he winked, his mouth moving into a confident smile. Kelly’s eyes flicked to his left hand. Married. White, well-built, around six foot tall, with a shadow around his jaw that probably wasn’t there a few hours ago. The yellow flash of a forgotten dry-cleaning tag on the inside of his overcoat. Standing so straight she’d put money on ex-military. Nondescript in appearance, but Kelly would know him if they met again.
    Satisfied, she turned her attention to the latest influx of passengers, getting on at Bank and filtering through the carriage to find the remaining few seats. Almost everyone had a phone in their hand; playing games, listening to music, or simply clutching it as though grafted to their palm. At the other end of the carriage someone lifted their phone in front of them and Kelly instinctively turned away. Tourists, getting an iconic shot of the London Underground to show back home, but she found the idea of being background scenery in someone’s holiday snaps too weird to contemplate.
    Her shoulder ached where she’d slammed into a wall, taking the corner too tight as she ran down the escalators and on to the platform at Marble Arch. She’d been seconds too late, and it annoyed her that the blooming bruise on her upper arm was in vain. She’d be quicker next time.
    The train pulled in to Liverpool Street; a throng of people waiting on the platform, impatient for the doors to open.
    Kelly’s pulse quickened.
    There, in the centre of the crowd, half-hidden beneath oversized jeans, a hooded top and a baseball cap, was Carl. Instantly recognisable and – desperate though Kelly was to get home – impossible to walk away from. It was clear from the way hemelted into the crowd that Carl had seen Kelly a split second before she had seen him, and was equally unenthusiastic about the encounter. She was going to have to move fast.
    Kelly jumped off the train just as the doors hissed behind her. She thought at first she’d lost him, then she caught sight of a baseball cap ten or so yards ahead; not running, but weaving swiftly through the throng of passengers leaving the platform.
    If Kelly had learned one thing over the last ten years on the Underground, it was that politeness got you nowhere.
    ‘Mind your backs!’ she yelled, breaking into a run and shoving her way between two elderly tourists dragging suitcases. ‘Coming through!’ She might have lost him that morning, and copped a bruised shoulder as a result, but she wasn’t about to let him get away again. She thought fleetingly of the supper she had hoped would be waiting for her at home, and calculated this was going to add at least two hours on to her day. But needs must. She could always grab a kebab on the way home.
    Carl was legging it up the escalator. Rookie error, Kelly knew, taking the steps instead. Fewer tourists to negotiate and easier on the thighs than the jerky, uneven motion of a moving stairway. Even so Kelly’s muscles were burning as she drew parallel with Carl. He threw a quick look over his left shoulder as they reached the top, then swerved right. For fuck’s sake, Carl, she thought. I should be booking off now.
    With a final burst of speed she caught up with him as he was preparing to vault the ticket barrier, grabbing a handful of jacket with her left hand and twisting one arm up behind his back with her right. Carl made a half-hearted attempt to pull away, knocking her off balance and causing her hat to fall