First Chance - a second instalment of a work in progress...

I posted the start of this on 29/12/2015 as "Opener for First Chance" & invited comments.  So far, I've had no luck with that but hey, I know you're busy.  Here's the next part and, if you have any comments you wish to share, please feel free...

I’m Will, by the way.  William Alexander Peyton to be formal.  Most people know me as Will but Megan has always called me ‘Red’, for reasons which are obvious unless I’m wearing a hat.  I’m thirty-four, around six foot one and I can handle myself in a fight.  You can probably chalk that up to long years in the school playground, learning to defend myself from evil bastards who saw my red hair as a red flag until I convinced them they’d picked a fight they couldn’t win.  My nose ended up a bit crooked but it suffered less damage than most of the ginger bashers did.  I guess I’ve got a temper to go with the hair.

Megan... well, Megan is a whole other thing.   If you saw her, you’d say she was beautiful and she is, she really is, but that’s not her defining feature.  That would be her complete and utter lack of fear.  Where you or I might hesitate, Megan jumps right in.  Now, you could say that’s a good thing - life belongs to the brave and all that.  But we hesitate for a reason.  It’s a survival skill.  A sensible amount of caution allows us to regroup, withdraw and fight another day.  At the very least, it gives us a chance to weigh up the odds.  With Megan, the odds are firmly stacked against you at the start and your main priority is to prevent her getting herself killed before she reaches her target.  Hanging on to your own skin is also a major concern.  Make no mistake - between Megan and a heat-seeking missile there’s not a whole lot of difference and God help anyone who’s around when the explosion happens.

You might say Megan is her father’s daughter.   I’ve said it myself but I’m not sure it’s the whole truth.  Eliot Chance is, without doubt, the coldest hearted bastard you are likely to meet this side of Christmas and, believe me, I’ve met a few.  He founded Chance Associates, a high-end security firm based in Mayfair and that location pretty much defines his clientele.  They are loaded.  Whatever they want, they have the means to buy it or to pay someone to get it for them.  Which is where Eliot’s firm comes in.  Protection, kidnap negotiation, blackmailing employee or abusive spouse - whatever the problem, Chance Associates can provide a solution.  For a price.  Megan has learned a lot from her father and she’s being groomed to inherit the family business.  If she survives him, that is.  And that is really my problem with Eliot Chance.  He’ll protect any deadbeat member of some billionaire’s family but he doesn’t protect his own daughter.  Just as he failed to protect his own wife.

I don’t know the details.  I guess, in his business, it pays not to advertise failure.  I heard Megan’s mother died in some botched kidnap switch when Megan was sixteen.  I didn’t know her when her mother was alive but I’m guessing that Miranda Chance’s death might have something to do with Megan’s kamikaze attitude to life.  You sure as hell can feel Death standing at Megan’s shoulder when you get involved in one of her hair-brained ventures.  Maybe she just doesn’t care if she survives or not.  My problem is - I do care.  I care a lot.  Which is why I needed to hand off my caffeine deficient commuters to another barista and scoot after Megan.

The only problem with that was Rachel, my business partner and actual boss of the coffee shop, Impresso, who had spotted Megan and was shooting me a look guaranteed to sizzle small insects.
‘Don’t you dare, Will’ she hissed, between customers.  ‘There will not be a job to come back to if you follow that evil bitch.’
Which I knew was an empty threat.  You see, I part own the coffee shop, although, I’ve got to admit, Rachel does all the serious work: ordering supplies, serving commuters from 7am to 7 pm and hiring and firing.  But she couldn’t actually fire me.  I hoped.
‘Sorry, Rache... You know how it is... I’ve got to...’

I tried a conciliatory smile which just earned me a more intense glare combined with a scowl which would have made Medusa proud.  It didn’t matter.  Whatever Megan was up to, I couldn’t leave her to it.  Those green eyes had looked more than serious.  They’d looked scared.  Which was a first.  I have never once seen Megan look frightened, even at moments when I was reduced to babbling terror.  Whatever this was about, Megan needed back up.
​
Several customers took a step back as Rachel’s glare scythed through the crowd and I could feel it burning into the small of my back as I left the coffee shop and hurried after Megan, out into the street.  I knew I was being an idiot.  I knew I was going to regret it.  But I also knew Megan was in serious trouble and I might be able to help.