SEVENTEEN
Preoccupied, as if in a dream, Steve followed Brigit through the various offices and corridors on her tour of the workplace. Far away, his mind cast itself back to how Carson’s fingers squeezed his throat, choking the very life out of him. Not doubting the man could do such a thing, Steve recalled how he had been lifted off his feet as if he were a mere doll. He remembered gripping Carson’s forearms and, despite the clouds of panic and terror, he’d marvelled at his terrifying strength, how the muscles bulged, how tiny his own fingers were.
“So you see, Mr Brunt,” Brigit continued, “if you can submit your long-term plan within a week or so, that will be perfect.”
Steve stared at her, confused. Hair stacked up on her head, auburn flecked with grey, eyes like flint, a thin mouth
