Gates watched helplessly as death pirouetted down the hall, trailing smoke and flame.

Aware that he’d never get a shot off before the incoming missile put an end to his very bad day, all Gates could do was lie back, think of England…and hope being exploded to death didn’t hurt too much.

He expected his life to flash before his eyes…but all he got were repeats of his first date with Joan: when he literally pulled her fat out of the fire.

An action that Gates regretted, especially right now.

He swore (to no one in particular) that, given a second chance, he would absolutely choose his next bit of fluff with more care. No more instantly falling for fit birds with pretty faces.

He’d at least find out if they were psychotic before the initial shagging.

“You’re Gates, right?” a female voice asked.

Gates opened his eyes. What he found was the missile, frozen in mid-air…and a pretty young Asian woman in aviator goggles and a white silk scarf.

“Hey,” she said. “I’m Jenny.”

“I’m in love,” Gates answered.