Wednesday Laila fetched the morning coffees whenever she could. Sometimes it was a rushed espresso, other times she got held up and they made do with instant. But with Mike supervising the guys pulling up the sodden carpet, she’d made it down to the coffee bar in the basement. Now, as she stood waiting for two chai lattes, Laila tried warding off the uncomfortable feeling she was being watched. It was nothing tangible, just an uneasy sixth sense that had stayed with her after the break-in. Sometimes it was a shadow at the corner of her vision, other times a subtle stirring of air. Now it was a sensation of eyes on her back, strong enough to make her turn around and scan the people behind her. Her gaze fell on Dickson Cross, the trim detective with the shaved head and brash manner who’d given her access into the building yesterday. Now, he was five deep in the line, phone in one hand, the other in the pocket of his trousers. With a sigh of relief, Laila walked over to him. ‘Hello.
