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Sunday.”
    “Jesus Christ, Finn, what the hell have you been doing?”
    “Bleeding,” I said.
    “God…” She tugged at her spiky black hair. “Why did you have to tell me all this?” She looked up again, glaring now, her green eyes full of anger.
    I wasn’t just a shadow from the past—I was a shadow on an X-ray. I wondered again why I had come up here. Was it really to warn her, or deep down did I resent her new life? Did I envy perfect Patrick upstairs, primping in front of a mirror right now, Iimagined, tousling his own lovely blond locks? Was I trying to drag Zoe away from him, down into this stinking pit I seemed to be trapped in, so she could keep me company?
    “I thought you should know,” I said. “I thought you deserved to know. So you could decide for yourself what to do.”
    “What? What am I going to do? What can I do?”
    “Go to the cops,” I said. “Tell them you’ve been threatened, ask for protection.”
    “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Finn…” She didn’t need to finish. She trusted cops even less than I did. Her father had been a cop—the crooked one who had got shot working for the Guvnor. After his death the Metropolitan police had closed ranks the way they always did and sold the public a fairy story about the brave undercover detective who’d died in the line of duty.
    Even though Zoe was his daughter, they wouldn’t believe her story about needing protection unless I backed her up. And I couldn’t do that. It would mean confessing everything I’d done, and in the last month I’d done plenty, from perverting the course of justice to murder. And even if the prosecutors offered me immunity for testifying against the Guvnorand the Turk, I’d never make it to the courtroom—the Guvnor had too much influence. I might get as far as a remand cell, but when the screws opened the door in the morning they’d find nothing but a heap of broken teeth.
    “Run,” I said to Zoe. “Leave.”
    “Where the hell would I run to? And why the hell
should
I? I have a life here, Finn—your problems have nothing to do with me.”
    “I know,” I said. “I’m sorry.” That was true, but I was indignant too—did she think life was fair? Did she think shit only happened to people who deserved it? Those people in London the other day, caught by that suicide bomber, blinded and maimed and burned alive in a storm of fire and flying glass—they hadn’t deserved what had happened to them, but it had still happened.
    But I didn’t say that, because Zoe’s being singled out wasn’t simple bad luck. It was because of me, because of the way I felt about her. I’d never been in love—I didn’t even know what it felt like—but I knew that just being close to Zoe my heart flew, and the thought of her getting hurt felt like being burned alive. I was pretty sure that meant I loved her. And then I understood that loving anyone isstupid and weak and dangerous because it makes you vulnerable.
    I might suffer for that weakness, but Zoe might die.
    “Amobi,” I said.
    “What about him?”
    I wasn’t sure why that name had popped into my head. Amobi was the one cop I’d ever respected, the only one who’d ever treated me as anything other than a pain in the ass who needed a good Tasering. Amobi had worked with Zoe’s dad, but as far as I knew he’d been clean.
    “I don’t even know if he’s still a cop, but maybe if we contacted him…”
    “Of course he’s still a cop,” Zoe almost snapped. “He’s with the NCA now.”
    “NCA?” I said.
    “The National Crime Agency. Basically SOCA, with a new name.”
    That figured. I’d assumed Amobi had quit the force—any copper with brains and black skin was at a double disadvantage—but instead he’d transferred to the Serious Organized Crime Agency. Glutton for punishment, obviously.
    “Then he’s the one we should talk to,” I said.
    “You talk to him,” said Zoe. She stood up and tossed what was left of her coffee down the sink, or in