William Adams. That was what it said on the card. I wasn't even sure why I was going to see him. The money would be in my account by the end of the day. I could withdraw it with the card and head back to London, find myself a suitable weapon and then track down Mr Sharp and Louis, the two scumbags.

But something told me there was a catch. I got the feeling that the money might not stay in my account very long if I suddenly went rogue. Then I'd be back to square one with nothing to show for it but a trip to Scotland.

I had enough in cash to get a taxi but I chose to walk. There was a chance the cab would have CCTV and I didn't want my face captured in case Delaney decided to go to the police with a description of his attacker. I didn't think he would but it was better to play it safe.

It was getting late by the time I got there. Twenty-five, Juniper Place. There was the sign for Juniper Place, a dead end street of semi-detached houses. Nothing special.

I didn't hear him coming but something told me to be careful. Maybe it was a movement out of the corner of my eye. I had just turned the corner when someone leapt out from behind a hedge with a blade aimed straight at me. I managed to stagger away and it cut through the air where my face had been a second before.

I tripped over the curb and fell. The man with the knife was coming at me again. I put my hand up to stop him and the point of the blade went straight through it. I roared with pain, tugging my hand away. He kept hold of the handle which meant he came with it, stumbling on top of me.

I got in a kick but then his fists were slamming into my face. I felt something crunch, probably my nose, then I was losing my vision. I blinked as I tried to fight him but I was too tired to be much use.

I saw a blurred fist rising, ready to slam into my head and end this. Then out of nowhere, he vanished. Just like he'd never been there. I looked up. He was on his side a few feet away, unconscious. Standing next to him was another man dressed in a black suit, looking for all the world like something was terribly amusing. "Are you William Adams?" I asked, spitting out blood as I got slowly to my feet.

"Who's asking?"

"John Ward. Wes sent me."

"You're the new guy?" He took a step towards me, looking at the knife still sticking through my palm. "We better deal with that. Come with me."

"What about him?"

"He won't dare come onto my street, don't worry. Now let's move."

I followed him along the pavement. Looking back, I saw the man who'd attacked me was moving slightly, coming to.

"You're lucky I was watching out for you," William said. "How's your hand?"

"Stings."

"It's about to hurt a lot more."

He pushed open a gate and walked up the path to a front door. Pushing it open, he motioned for me to follow him in.

A minute later I was sitting in his kitchen as he slowly pulled the knife out of my hand. I winced but managed not to cry out despite the pain making me dizzy. I did cry out when he poured antiseptic on the wound.

"Wait there," he said, leaving me alone. I looked at the kitchen. No photos on the fridge, nothing on the surfaces. He was clearly a tidy guy.

He returned with a first aid kit. "Keep still," he said as he began sewing stitches across my hand. "You're not going to want to use it for a few days if you want it to heal."

"Fine by me."

"I'm guessing you want to know why you're here?"

"I was wondering."

"I used to work for Carl, until I went freelance. Now I'm what you might call a personal trainer."

"Like in a gym?"

"Sort of, except I train you to kill, not to get six pack abs."

"You train people to kill?"

"You sound surprised."

"I am."

"There, how's that?"

I looked down at my hand, the wound looked a lot better. The skin was swollen and reddened but the gaping wound was held closed by the stitches. When I looked up, he was pouring out a couple of drinks, passing one to me. "Whiskey," he said. "Best thing after a fight."

"I prefer vodka."

He laughed. "What are you, fifteen?"

"How did you know?"

"I notice things. Let me guess. No parents. You've lived on the streets for a while. Carl saw you fighting and hired you. The fire that burned your hands was in the last six months. You've no weapon on you and in a straight fight, you have a weak left hand. Am I right?"

"Pretty much. How the hell did you-?"

"I'll show you in time. First of all, let's go through and sit somewhere more comfortable. Bring that towel, I don't want you bleeding on my sofa."

I followed him through to a lounge. It was as sterile as the kitchen. There was a white sofa and two armchairs. I took a chair and he sat on the sofa, crossing his feet at the ankle before examining me closely. "What's your name?"

"John Ward."

"Why did he send you to Edinburgh?"

I gave him the quick version of what had happened since I'd caught the train. When I was done, he poured me another drink.

"I can see why Wes sent you. Delaney is no lightweight. You managed to get him on the floor?"

I nodded.

"But you didn't see our friend coming this evening?"

"I saw something but-"

Not fast enough. No matter. By the time I'm finished with you, there won't be a man in this country who ever come that close to doing you any damage. All you have to do is agree to work harder than you ever have before. Reckon you're up for it?"

I thought of Mr Sharp laying in the gutter like the man at the end of the street. "Definitely," I said, my voice as cold as his.