Break Point: BookShots (11 page)

He knew he couldn’t hold onto Keller and hold off Saunders. White light sparked across his vision and the air fled from his lungs in a gasp of agony. Saunders was keeping low enough behind the barrier to avoid the marksmen’s laser dots, which were dancing around the players’ box, and resolutely held onto the rope in his hand. Foster’s arm was failing, and he could feel Kirsten slipping further into the noose.

He looked into Saunders’ vicious eyes. The same eyes Keller had seen flash with hatred from within the crowd of fans after the semi-final. The same eyes that had watched Maria Rosario die. As Saunders launched at him again, Foster used his free arm to swing the heaviest punch he could muster at the guy’s eye socket. The punch connected and threw Saunders backwards, just far enough that the marksmen were able to finally fix their red dots on his body. Three of them hit. Two bore deep holes in his chest. The third caved in his head and instantly matted his hair with grey and red.

Foster was still holding onto Keller’s arm, his shoulder slowly being pulled out of its socket. There was a good chance it was already out, but he was beyond differentiating one pain from another. Then he heard Abbot’s voice down below.

‘Let her go, Chris. I’ve got her.’

He opened his fist and felt Keller’s arm slide through his hand as she fell. He guessed the drop was a couple of yards, and he trusted Abbot to catch her. He heard her scream and then heard Abbot reassuring her, and was aware of his own harsh breathing for the first time since he’d chased after Noah Saunders. He rolled back over the barrier, falling in a heap onto the concrete floor.

He lay on his back for a long moment and looked up at the steel rafters and let out an exhausted primal scream. It was a cacophony of agony, relief and delirious pleasure that it was over, and that they were all still alive.

THE POLICE INTERVIEWED
them all night, Foster helping them to piece together what had happened with the murder of Maria Rosario.

They slept through most of the morning, Keller stretched out in the king-sized bed, and Foster and Abbot taking a sofa each in the outer room. When her need to eat began to outweigh her need to sleep, Keller emerged in the doorway in her underwear and a tight white T-shirt. She strolled over to them and melted into Foster’s arms, despite his protestations and Tom Abbot’s wide grin.

‘I’m going to make myself scarce,’ Abbot said, pulling his jacket from the back of a chair and straightening the lapels over his chest.

‘You’re going nowhere,’ Keller told him, and she turned back to Foster and looked up into his calm eyes. Hers were clear and bright, the weight of the past few weeks suddenly lifted. ‘We’re alive,’ she said. ‘And that’s something to celebrate. I’m twenty-three years old and I haven’t had a drink for as long as I can remember. And I’m hungry for the first time in a month.’

‘Call it intuition,’ Foster said, ‘but would you like us to take you to lunch?’

She smiled more widely than Foster had ever seen and headed off to get changed. He booked a table on the thirty-second floor and they drank cocktails before lunch. Even with Abbot in tow, Foster found it hard to resist the urge to take hold of Kirsten Keller’s hand as they stood next to each other in the lift.

The rolling news on the TV screens above the bar showed clips of Foster charging across Centre Court and bowling into the umpire’s chair. They ignored it and dug deeper into the drinks menu.

Abbot had a plane to catch mid-afternoon. He clasped hands with Foster, firmer friends than ever, and promised he wouldn’t leave it three years next time.

When Foster came back to Kirsten, she was watching the London sky, which had clouded over and was suddenly grey and forbidding.

‘I hardly knew Jake Saunders,’ she said, ‘let alone Noah. We only went out for a few months. When I heard he’d killed himself, I couldn’t believe it.’

Foster watched as her brow furrowed.

‘You must have been upset?’

‘Sure. But I was confused, too. I mean, we weren’t soulmates. We weren’t life partners. It was no big deal, as far as I knew. Does that make me a complete bitch?’

Foster shook his head.

‘Not at all. I guess Jake Saunders was just a time-bomb waiting to go off.’

Keller’s eyes warmed with gratitude.

‘Same as his brother. I keep thinking that if I hadn’t gone out with Jake, Maria would still be alive.’

Foster shook his head.

‘Thinking like that will drive you mad,’ he said. ‘I know. I did it for three years. Who knows how many times you saved Maria’s life? Maybe she coached you one day, rather than catching a bus that plunged over a cliff. Or maybe if you hadn’t offered to work with her, Basilia might have accidentally tripped her down the stairs one day. You can’t trace consequence to a single action. The bottom line is that a guy decided to kill Maria, and that’s his responsibility, not yours.’

She turned down the corners of her mouth and cocked her head to one side, as if she was trying to believe him, but couldn’t quite let herself off the hook.

‘Thank you for what you did. I’ll never forget it.’

Foster shrugged.

‘It’s my job.’

‘Just your job?’

He held her gaze, but said nothing. Eventually she smiled and the worry began to lift from her face.

‘Just doing your job,’ she said.

‘That’s such a cliché.’

Foster smiled.

‘There’s no pleasing some people.’

They ordered food, and for once Kirsten Keller demolished hers without looking up from her plate.

‘You sure I couldn’t tempt you to join my team?’ she said after dessert.

‘I could show you the world.’

Foster shook his head.

‘I’ve seen enough of it already, Kirsten.’

She smiled, unsurprised by his answer.

Their eyes locked for a moment, both of them imagining how it could be, if they were together.

‘Well,’ Keller said eventually, ‘if you ever change your mind …’

They both smiled, and Foster went back to watching the sky.

‘When do you fly?’ Foster asked.

‘Tomorrow.’

‘Straight home?’

She shook her head.

‘I’m taking a few days in Florence. Maria’s family are flying her home, and her funeral is next week. I want to be there. Basilia’s coming, too. I guess some things are more important than tennis.’

‘Will you replay the final?’ Foster asked.

She shook her head.

‘I’ll come back if they can organise it,’ she said. ‘But I don’t think they will.’

Foster told her she’d win the next tournament, and she told him he could bank on it, suddenly sassy and confident.

‘Do you feel safe now?’ Foster asked her.

‘I’d feel safer if you stayed tonight,’ she said, and her eyes sparkled like the late sunshine glinting on the Thames far below.

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Epub ISBN: 9781786530141
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Published by BookShots 2016

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Copyright © James Patterson 2016
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This is a work of fiction. All characters and descriptions of events are the products of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons is entirely coincidental

First published in Great Britain in 2016 by BookShots

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ISBN 9781786530134