Fucking Vincent.

Quiet Eyes' lapdog, her special protégé, Vincent!

I blinked and he was gone. 'Where . . . ?' He reappeared and thumped me hard in the solar plexus. 'Oof!'

'I can't believe you had the nerve to keep following us,' he snarled in my ear.

I swung a fist at his voice, but he'd already unfocused by the time it should've connected. I overshot and collapsed onto the table, sending the immaculate executives scrabbling for their papers.

'Aren't you a professional?' one of them cried, presumably at Vincent's hidden form. 'Do this decently, man!'

Vincent stepped into the frame of the doorway, as if he'd always been lounging against it. 'So sorry,' he sneered. God, I hated that smirk. 'I'll put the trash out of sight.'

I should have remembered that disappearing people was his specialty. But I was too riled up, and instead of backing off I got ready to swing again as he came toward me. He ducked easily under my arm and grabbed hold of my lapels. I got a good whiff of his sugary sweet cologne as my edges involuntarily unravelled, and Vincent pulled me into an invisible tear in reality.

A moment later the board room appeared deserted to my eyes, though of course it wasn't. The papers shuffled mysteriously on the desk; the chairs scraped back as the people occupying them apparently straightened themselves as well as the room. We were like ghosts now, who couldn't see the people we were haunting.

'Clever trick,' I said. My knuckles whitened over Vincent's where I'd clamped my hands. He was still tightly gripping my jacket.

'Okay, Mr Hansard,' he said evenly, 'we're going to take this nice and slow. Just you come for a walk with me.'

'And if I don't?'

There was a fleeting muddle on his face as he looked from his occupied hands to his trouser pocket.

'You have a gun?' I said doubtfully.

The corner of his mouth curled up. There was mockery in his spiteful rodent eyes. 'What, you think they'd let us carry a gun in here? This isn't America.'

Oh, Vincent. He was clever, and talented – especially at forcefully unfocusing people against their will. But he was also young, and so very lacking in the wisdom that only experience can bring.

I brought my knee up and connected with his groin.

As he let out a high-pitched wheeze I lunged for his pocket. What's your hidden ace, matey boy?

It looked a little like a gun, though it was bright yellow. The barrel was square and loaded with something pronged. Taser, I realised.

Vincent had doubled over, huffing at the ground. I could feel reality flickering around me, like a curtain blowing open in the wind. I bent to Vincent's ear. 'You should have just said 'Yes'.'

I pointed and pulled the trigger.

He flopped to the floor like a fish, and I focused back into the room with a rush of blood to my head. It's that feeling of catching yourself falling in a dream – the jolt awake as your brain and gravity collide.

The executives were still in the middle of packing up their meeting. They froze and gaped at me, also rather like fish. 'He might want an ambulance,' I suggested, nodding to Vincent, who had ceased spasming and now lay prone. 'Or perhaps you've got a drug for him.'

I leapt over his body and bolted for the door.

I went careening down the halls, looking for stairs. This was not the time to get trapped in an elevator, with a nice predictable descent and time for goons to assemble in front of your destination.

I had the benefit of surprise on everyone I encountered and was able to knock past without too much trouble – though a fair number of coffees and freshly printed reports fell victim to my daring escape. By the third floor down some news must have filtered out and two men in security polo shirts tried to head me off on the landing.

I can't disappear in plain sight like Vincent – but I was still holding his taser.

'Sorry!' I called over my shoulder as I left them both groaning on the stairs.

People scattered as I came roaring down the last few flights and through the lobby. I burst into the fresh air with adrenaline pumping in my ears. I wasn't being chased. How many office workers would give chase to an armed madman, I suppose? I'd already dealt with their paltry security, and Vincent had proven hardly any match at all.

Having run a circle around the building and found a dumpster to hide behind, I finally collapsed to my aching knees. A near-maniacal laugh threatened to spill from my throat, but I held it back. This was it? This was the Baines and Grayle that everyone on the Black Market was so afraid of? This was the Baines and Grayle that Quiet Eyes worked for? No wonder she'd betrayed them! They probably weren't anywhere near her level!

Careful, Jack lad. You're in danger of idolising her.

I glared at the taser in my hand. Hateful thing. Not my style at all.

I threw it in the dumpster.

My head rested back on the brickwork. I'd have to move soon. There were probably cameras. People would be looking for me. Would they call the police?

And risk inquisitive eyes snooping into their business? I think not, somehow.

But the biggest question of all: where was Ang?

Across the car park, a lorry trundled through the security gate and steamed to a halt outside the blocky building opposite me. There was a loud clattering of steel shutters. I sat upright. They were unloading.

Maybe this would be my only chance.

I searched for a sense of calm. My mind landed on memories of Ding Dong mine; of Ang's rattling snores being swallowed up by the sounds of home and family carrying on at an unhurried pace all around us. Of late nights with Cora in the deep shelter, listening to snippets of conversation and quiet chuckles of friends from the comfort of a bunkbed too small for two.

Forget the present – let the world in the here and now lose focus on you. Breathe out, and unwind as the centremost parts of you blend in with the background noise. As you become the conversation, the chuckles, the snores.

Moving slowly, I walked across the car park and sidled around the lorry. I skipped behind the team unloading, keeping mainly to the walls. Once inside, I stifled a groan. There were too many people here, too much activity. Too many eyes to accidentally snap me back into focus.

But there was a large, open cardboard box, tantalisingly within reach.

I shuffled around, kicked it behind a shelf. One of the crew looked up, frowned in my general direction – I held my breath – and then his gaze slid away.

In another of my celebrated graceful manoeuvres, I flopped into the box and pulled the lid shut.

* * *

Author's Note

Vincent. Remember him?

Did you enjoy this confrontation? Have we seen enough of this side of the B&G complex for now, or are you wishing we'd spent more time snooping around in the posh office building?