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Phil's gut said this name was the key. If this person would cooperate, their credibility would be huge. The risk of exposing Phil's operation was too great, however, to approach the contact. At least it was too great at the moment.With a sigh, Phil circled Sharon Garner's name again.Abigail was feeling frisky. She always felt this way whenever she had a period, a rare event that surprised her the previous week. It had been five months since her last one. She was entering her most fertile period, and that only added to her feeling of arousal.She looked over to her husband, who was sitting on a blanket and lying back against a tree, about six feet from where she sat at the picnic table. His legs were extended in front of him, his eyes closed and his laced fingers resting on his trim stomach. God, he was handsome. She daydreamed that she should quietly move over to him, straddle his waist, and grind her crotch against the lump in his jeans. It would get hard, and then she could make. “Hello! I’m Sasha Stevenson, and this is my husband, Malcolm.”Helen could hear the happiness and ... was it pride? ... in her voice and for a moment felt an unwelcome flash of envy. “Helen,” she replied, “Helen Firth. I’ve only been in Maldon a few weeks.”“Oh! I hope you like it here?”“Yes, I do. I met your vicar shortly after I got here, but this is my first service.”“Well, I hope you enjoy it, if that’s the right word. We’re ... the church here ... is quite special.”Sasha turned her attention back to her husband and the Bible in her hand. Helen glanced to her right. How odd. The person who’d sat next to her wasn’t dressed like the rest of the congregation. He was wearing rough clothes – corduroy trousers, a heavy tartan shirt, some sort of scarf round his neck. His hair was long and tied back in a pony-tail, and he was bearded. More to the point, she recognised him.Their eyes met, and he smiled. “Welcome,” he said, “glad to see you here.”“Thank you.”“I’m sorry, did you say.
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