She had more than one scoop to work on and plenty of documentary evidence to sort through. Her confrontational phone calls had supplied additional angles and she wanted the proofs ready when the editor of the Whitley Times arrived at the office in the morning. She scrolled back through what she’d written, scanned it and stretched before bending over the keyboard to resume her labours. Only the angled light on Nikki’s desk shone amid the gloom. The newspaper office was on the edge of the industrial area, next to an abandoned glass factory, and the longer she worked the more the isolation was noticeable. Apart from a lone security guard at the front desk, Nikki was the only person in the building. At one stage she thought she heard movement somewhere in the shadows. She looked around and called out to see if the guard was doing his rounds. No one answered. She shivered a little, hit the save key and went on typing. The next time she heard a movement it was close behind her. She was turning around when the nail gun was pressed into her hair and fired into the back of her head, the discharge propelling her flat onto the desk.
