to reading, Shanni tried one more time to attract Harry’s attention. Harry was three years old—almost four—like the rest of her class—but Harry was different. Abused and battered, he’d only just joined the kindergarten after being moved from an uncaring family situation into one of the five homes that made up the local orphanage.
‘You don’t need to take him on if you don’t think you can cope,’ Shanni had been told by the welfare authorities. But of course she’d taken him. How could she not? Harry was enough to wrench the most hardened of hearts.
Harry’s leg was recovering now from a break which had been poorly tended in the past. It had needed resetting, and because the healing was taking so long it was bound in a fibreglass cast with an inbuilt heel. The whole structure seemed much too heavy for such a little body.
The child was so small—little more than a baby, really—and he was permanently withdrawn from the world. He spent his kindergarten time underneath the furthest table, and if Shanni or anyone else tried to drag him out he kicked and screamed until he was allowed to return. After a month in kindergarten, Shanni was no closer to reaching him than the day he’d arrived.
But still she tried.
‘This is a really exciting book,’ she told Harry, but the huge eyes peering out distrustfully at the world edged further back into the shadows.
The rest of her children were waiting. Shanni sighed and kept on reading. Pirates. Pirates and problems…
‘Police? It’s Nick Daniels here, the new magistrate.’ Nick was back behind the wheel of his car and was barking into his mobile phone. ‘There’s a youth driving south into town in a grey Mercedes. He’s sixteen, a bail absconder and erratic as hell. He’s seen me and thinks I’m after him. The way he’s driving he’s heading for trouble. I’m driving behind him, but I’ve backed off so he doesn’t think I’m chasing him. He’s turning left toward the coast. He’s… No!’
Shanni read on.
‘He took his cutlass in his hand and waved it fiercely over his head. “Give me all your treasure,” the pirate yelled, and Miss Mary frowned.
“You’re not a very polite pirate. Hasn’t your mummy ever taught you to say please?”
Dirty Dick glowered and waved his cutlass some more. “All your treasure, I said—”’
There was an almighty smash, and a huge grey car came crashing through the kindergarten fence. Shanni’s book dropped to the floor as the car ended up with its nose pressed hard against the kindergarten windows.
‘It’s crashed.’ Nick was still connected to the police, his hands-free phone letting him concentrate on driving as he talked. ‘Dear God, it’s a kindergarten. I’m pulling up. Back off. Don’t let any police near. He’s capable of doing something really stupid…’
But even as he said it he heard sirens in the distance and knew it was too late. Len, sitting dazed and scared witless in his smashed car, would hear the sirens too. If he was capable of getting out of the car, what would he do now?
And suddenly Nick knew. He swerved into the kerb, got out, left his car where it was and started to run.
‘Children, don’t move. Marg, stay with them.’ Marg had burst back into the room at the sound of the crash and was staring out through the cracked windows at the mess outside. Her jaw was sagging almost to her waist. ‘Call the ambulance and the police.’ Shanni could see smoke drifting up from the engine. If the driver was trapped…
She moved fast toward the door—and then stopped dead.
A boy was climbing from the wreck. He looked about fifteen—skinny and undergrown, filthy windcheater, ripped jeans, long fair hair that hung down over his eyes. He had a cut on his forehead and he staggered as he took his first step.
Shanni opened the door—and then saw what he was holding. As she saw him, he saw her. And raised his hand.
A gun was levelled straight at her heart.
‘What the…?’ Her words were barely uttered before she was interrupted.
‘Don’t move. Don’t do anything stupid.’ It wasn’t the boy. It was a man’s voice, tough and authoritative. Shanni, her hand still on the door and standing as if she was frozen, looked beyond the boy and saw a man behind the smashed Mercedes.
He couldn’t be more different from the boy. He was in his thirties, immaculately dressed in smart casual trousers, a linen short-sleeved shirt and a tie that must have set him back a kindergarten teacher’s weekly salary. He was olive-skinned, dark-eyed, and tall—six foot or so to Shanni’s five-four. His jet-black hair was combed back in city-sophisticate style, and his bone structure was strong and…and male, for want of a better word. Very male.
In short he looked a man accustomed to strength and accustomed to command. His deep brown eyes were creased against the sun, and his words were sharp, incisive and they flicked like a whip.
‘Len, don’t do anything stupid. You’re hurt. Put the gun down and let us help.’
‘You…’ The boy’s breath hissed in as he wheeled to face him, and his fear was palpable. ‘You were going to put me away. You and that stupid other lawyer. Well, no chance. I’m not going to remand school.’ He waved the gun back at Shanni, and his hand trembled. ‘Get inside.’ Then he turned and waved it at Nick. ‘You, too. You try anything and the lady gets it.’
His hand wasn’t trembling enough. The gun was too steady to do anything else.
There was nothing for it but to obey.
So in the kindergarten there were now twenty-five goggle-eyed children, one goggle-eyed kindergarten assistant, Len and Shanni and Nick.
‘Line…line up against the wall.’ Len sounded desperately unsure. The sirens in the distance were getting closer. ‘Everyone.’
‘Leave the children on the mat,’ Shanni said, in a voice that made Nick take a closer look at her. No fainting or hysterics here, then. Shanni was diminutive, far shorter than Nick, with shoulder-length blonde curls running riot, blue eyes and freckles. She was wearing jeans and an oversized man’s shirt smeared with finger paints. She looked about sixteen, but her voice was authoritative and as sure as an experienced school-marm.
‘We’ll sit on the mat with the children,’ she told him. ‘Then you can point the gun at all of us and the children won’t be frightened.’
Len took an audible breath. He really was a child himself. ‘O…kay.’ The gun waved wildly. Outside a siren cut off, and there was the sound of running feet. ‘You…’ He waved the gun at Nick. ‘Stand just outside the door. Tell them…’
‘Tell them what?’ Nick, too, sounded calm, much calmer than he was feeling. Fear and guns and tiny children. This had all the makings of a nightmare.
‘Tell them not to come in or I’ll kill someone.’
‘I’ll go…’ He took a step toward the door.
‘No!’ Len was indecisive and terrified, changing his mind in the instant.
‘If
