Knife Edge

Начало книги

It was like being struck in the face by a handful of razor blades.

Sean Doyle stood motionless beside the dark blue Datsun for a moment, eyes narrowed against the biting wind. He zipped up his leather jacket, the wind whipping his shoulder-length brown hair around his face.

He brushed it away and glanced up at the sky.

Fuck. Not even light yet.

Great swollen banks of grey cloud were scudding across the blackened heavens, propelled by the powerful gusts of wind.

Doyle felt a spot of rain against his cheek and brushed it away. He wondered how long it would be until the threatened downpour arrived.

Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a packet of cigarettes and jammed one between his lips.

The raging wind made it almost impossible to light the Marlboro, the flame of the lighter sputtering even when Doyle cupped a hand around it. He sucked hard when the cigarette ignited, the tip glowing.

Doyle spat out a small piece of tobacco and drew deeply on the Marlboro, allowing the smoke to fill his lungs.

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