Don’t know nuffin’ abaht where vu packages comes from, not my business,” “I picks up from the depot, and delivers. “Where d’ya pick this up from mate? I weren’t expectin’ nuffink,” Sam said in a rangy East London accent. The man shoved a clipboard in Sam’s direction. If this was an attempted assassination, the courier’s armpits would surely do the job. The man smelled like he had bathed in kebabs. Sam opened the door, and was immediately knocked back by the scent of sweat and cigarettes. He held a package the size of a shoe box, wrapped in brown paper and tied with string, in an old fashioned way. Sam took a quick look through the peep hole to see the courier - a grey haired, slightly obese Asian man in his early fifties, with Fred Flintstone stubble on his chubby face. They both startled and sniggered at each other, at hearing the hard thump on the front door. Sam and Declan stood either side of the closed front door, both on edge, expecting… something. “Let him in,” He directed, so Declan did as he was told and pressed the button to unlock the downstairs door. Sam sauntered out of the bedroom, bareĬhested, with dark grey jersey pyjama trousers hugging his prominent hip bones. “Hang on a minute” Declan replied “You expectin’ anythin Sam?” He hollered. Declan peered at the CCTV image on the wall tablet screen of a courier wearing a Swift Co tabard. “Parcel for Samuel Aiken” The gruff male voice said. Excerpt from “Return to Zero” (Shatterproof Bond #2) By Isobel Starling
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