Risk Assessment Read Online Free Page B

smoke as it sped round like a screaming firework. Outside, the cries became louder, and one of the windows shattered, a sharp claw breaking through. The flare howled through the gap, driving itself wetly into what was outside. There came an agonised cry, followed by a loud explosion that lit up the sky and broke windows in the surrounding buildings.
    She ducked back in to find the carriage filled with sulphurous vapour. Something wet and green was dripping down the walls and the miserable face of the man. Carefully, she slipped her gun back in her valise.
    ‘Well,’ she said, passing him a handkerchief. ‘That appears to have dealt with them. You were supposed to throw the flare out through the roof – not let it off in here.’ She smiled at him with surprising fondness. ‘Oh, George Herbert, what are we going to do with you?’
    Gwen only realised she’d fallen asleep in the bath when she heard Rhys walk in. He gently placed a cup of tea on the side for her, then sat down on the toilet lid. He was grinning broadly.
    ‘You’re in a good mood,’ he said.
    Gwen blinked, picking foam from her cheek. ‘How can you tell?’
    He shrugged. ‘You’re home before midnight. You’re in the bath. There isn’t half a kebab on the bed.’
    Gwen sipped at the tea. ‘And that gives you the right to come in here? You realise that under all this foam I’m naked?’
    Rhys nodded placidly, like she’d told him a not very interesting fact. ‘So, what brings on the good mood? Or is it a Top Torchwood Secret?’
    ‘Believe it or not,’ said Gwen, and told him about Agnes.
    Rhys stared at her. ‘She sounds like my Auntie Joyce. You remember – the one we didn’t invite to the wedding, and not just because Uncle Hywel smells of dog.’
    Gwen ducked her head. ‘Kind of. But more fun. Or maybe she’s just fun because Jack’s clearly terrified of her.’
    ‘Jack?’ Rhys laughed. ‘So, your boss finally gets beaten by an Iron Lady you keep in the fridge?’
    ‘Yeah,’ said Gwen. ‘And it’s taken our minds off. . . you know. . . the other thing. The really scary other thing that I’m not allowed to tell you about.’
    ‘Ah,’ said Rhys. ‘That still happening, is it?’
    ‘Oh yeah,’ murmured Gwen. ‘The End of the World.’ And she giggled.
    Her phone rang. With a weary sigh, Rhys fished it out of her jeans and passed it to her. It was Jack.
    ‘How’s your girlfriend?’ asked Gwen.
    ‘Agnes is fine,’ said Jack brightly.
    ‘She there with you?’
    ‘Of course not!’ beamed Jack. ‘I’m as far away from her as possible.’
    ‘Hmm,’ said Gwen. ‘Up on a roof, then?’
    A pause. ‘Might be,’ admitted Jack. ‘It’s raining a bit, but the view is still quite something.’
    ‘That’s lovely for you,’ enthused Gwen. ‘So long as you’re not looking through my bathroom window.’
    ‘Wouldn’t dream of it! Peeping’s Ianto’s hobby. I stick to Morris Dancing and shoplifting.’
    ‘Any plans for what we’re doing with Agnes?’ asked Gwen.
    ‘Trust me – it’s all going fine,’ said Jack, far too casually. ‘She’s an old-fashioned sort – she’s thrown her weight around, had an outfit change, and shot some livestock. We’ll have her back in the deep freeze before elevenses tomorrow.’
    ‘And you don’t think she suspects anything?’ said Gwen, dropping her voice in a way that made Rhys roll his eyes. ‘You know. . . about. . . The Other Thing?’
    ‘Oh, she’s suspicious,’ Jack admitted. ‘But Agnes is always suspicious. She’s that kind of girl. And I’m that kind of boy. But I’m fairly sure she’s got no idea about the coffins.’
    ‘That’s a relief,’ said Gwen. ‘If we can just keep it that way for a few more hours. . .’
    ‘Yeah,’ said Jack, ‘We might just get away with it. Just tell me you won’t say anything tomorrow. She can be very persuasive.’
    ‘Not a word,’ promised Gwen.
    ‘That’s my girl. Just leave Little Bo Peep to me,’ said Jack.