"Tricia pulled out of the airport and down onto the M4, heading into London. "How's things?" I asked Harry.He grunted in response. "If you're worried ...bout your writer we've got her back." Great," I said, "Did she get far?" No, not too far but we had a hell of a job getting her back. She found a way to fuck up the chip in her collar. Seb's still trying to work out how she did it. It meant we couldn't use tracers. We had to use dogs for fuck's sake! We haven't done that for ages. You remember. It seemed she had made a mess before he'd arrived, all the better for him. He quietly but quickly walked over to her bedside tracing a finger down her arm and watching for any reaction, but nothing happened. He took a pair of black fuzzy hand cuffs from his back pocket and slowly lifted her arm above her head cuffing her wrist to the bedpost and stopping to watch for any reaction. This time she moved slightly adjusting to her arm being moved but did not wake. He smiled and moved to the other. More

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