The Deceiver

AN ABBIE KING THRILLER

MARK AYRE

AFS PUBLISHING

Copyright © 2022 by Mark Ayre

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

v1.1

1

Sammy Lewis tapped his pen against the desk and stared at Quincy, a heavy, restless man who regularly shifted in his seat, causing it to creak in protest, a not-so-subtle reminder that the ancient piece of furniture needed replacing. Not unlike most of the items in Sammy’s office.

“Well?” the prospective client wheezed. “Are you going to say something or just sit there staring?”

Whenever Quincy spoke, he leaned forward; if he had much more to say, his chair was apt to collapse beneath him. Keen to avoid a lawsuit he could never afford without going cap in hand to his father (not going to happen), Sammy responded.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m stunned.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’ve put me in a peculiar position. I’m hoping I’ve misunderstood you.”

“I don’t see how. My request was simple, was it not?”

Sammy tried a disarming smile, knowing what he was about to say would likely go down badly. “I think you may have misunderstood what it is I do.”

“I haven’t,” Quincy said. How nice it must be to be so sure of oneself. “You’re a private detective.”

“After a fashion.”

“Your job is to go round perving on people, taking pictures, finding out who’s doing the dirty on whom. Well, I’m telling you, I think my girlfriend’s doing the dirty on me, and I want you to find out for sure.”

Sammy realised he was still smiling, though the grin felt increasingly tense. His mouth was starting to ache.

“Your girlfriend. See, this is where I have a problem. Despite how elegantly you’ve managed to boil down the private detective profession, my approach to the job is slightly more nuanced.”

“You don’t perv on cheats?”

“I don’t perv on anyone. I do seek evidence of adulterers where requested by certain parties. But I don’t take all cases.”

“You don’t?” The idea seemed to baffle the round man.

“Nope.”

“Why not? Sure don’t look like you can afford to be turning down work.”

Quincy twisted left and right, taking in the scratched windows, cheap plastic plants, and massive laptop, which probably came off the production line sometime in the mid-nineties.

Sammy’s smile didn’t slip, although he did place a palm on his laptop as though comforting it following the mean man’s disdainful look. He was rather fond of the old thing.

“It’s not about the money. I believe I can do good. My purpose is to free people from damaging relationships. Spouses who cheat also tend to lie. They manipulate their partners, making them feel guilty. The people who come to me often have frayed nerves and suffer from severe anxiety. They feel they’re in the wrong. My job is to save them from the person who’s made them feel that way, whether with pictures or alternative evidence. I take it on a case-by-case basis.”

Sammy still had one hand on his laptop, the other clenched the desk. Quincy’s face was a problem. He no longer seemed frustrated. His mouth had turned up at one side. The smirk said plenty about what he thought of Sammy and the people he sought to help. Sammy needed to keep his hands occupied. Too much time spent in the presence of a man like Quincy was not good for his temper.

“I can see you think I’m being dramatic.”

“Oh, no, no.” The smirk did not drop from Quincy’s lips, and he did not attempt to hide the laughter in his eyes. “In fact, you’ve described me. My girlfriend says she’s faithful, but I know she’s been seeing other men. It’s driving me mad. It seems I’m your perfect client.”

“I can see that. Except for one thing.”

Quincy raised his eyebrows. “What thing?”

“Your wife.”

“My wife?” Cue the perplexed mock shock. “What about her?”

Sammy sighed. His hand slipped from the desk, and he used his thumb and middle finger to massage his temples.

“I don’t know how to help you if you have to ask that. You’re cheating on your wife.”

“What’s the relevance of that? I’m worried my girlfriend’s cheating on me. I’m not concerned about my wife.”

“That much is clear.”

That did it. The smirking lips and laughing eyes disappeared. Sammy was doing a decent job of bottling up his anger, but Quincy let his temper slip in a second. As Sammy removed his hand from his temples, Quincy slammed the desk with a palm.

It wobbled like jelly. Tables were not supposed to do that, and the fact that Sammy’s office’s dominating item of furniture was so structurally unsound seemed to satisfy the guest. The anger diminished, and the round man sneered.

“I was going to pay you a handsome sum to tail my lady. Money it appears you badly need.”

Sammy sighed. “Haven’t we had this conversation? Or a version of it.”

“Yes, but the evidence suggests–“ Quincy slapped the table again, just to see it teeter “–you’re not thinking clearly.”

With a tight smile, Sammy placed the palm of his hand on the desk to steady the unreliable piece of furniture. Then he met Quincy’s gaze.

“My thinking is clear enough, thanks. The problem is that I’m not being clear. Or maybe I am. But I can see I can’t make you understand the problem.” Sammy took his hand from the desk and was glad when it remained still. “With that in mind, we should end this meeting. I won’t be your detective, but I’ll offer some free advice. Confess your adultery to your wife. Tell her the kind of man you are; fingers crossed, she’ll leave you and move on with her life because you can insult the state of the items in my office, of the office itself, all you want. The truth is, I’d allow my landlord to turf me onto the street before I did work for somebody like you. Okay?”

Quincy’s sneer was back. “You’re right. This conversation can go no further. But let me warn you: I’ll spread the word far and wide. The Sammy Lewis Detective Agency is a pathetic operation. That Sammy Lewis himself is a clown with no talent. A man to be avoided at all costs.”

The round not-client rose, as did Sammy.

“And let me give you a warning in return.”

“Yes?”

“When you’re out there spreading dirt about my agency and me, remember this.” Sammy leaned forward, placing his hands on the wobbling desk. “It’s Sammy with two ms, not one. I hate it when people get that wrong.”

It was a childish retort, and delivering it filled Sammy with glee. He smiled as Quincy’s face reddened, and his anger dissipated as the large man stormed off. He felt almost buoyant as Quincy slammed his door.

Also, hungry.

It was gone midday, and Sammy was uninterested in the sandwich in his bag. By now, the tuna would have soaked into the bread, and he hadn’t added enough mayo to the mix. There was a wonderful sub place around the corner. Cheap, too. Sammy still couldn’t afford it, but what the hell? He’d treat himself.

He grabbed his keys but left the laptop. Even if someone broke in, they’d not bother to steal the crappy piece of kit. It was worthless and would only weigh them down.

His tiny office was on the third floor of a drab, rundown block. By the time he reached the foyer, he had decided what sub to order. The Meat Medley. He was salivating at the prospect and not watching where he was going as he stepped out of the building and into a tall, blonde woman.

There was a shocked cry, and the woman stumbled. Sammy had also lost his footing but recovered first and caught the woman’s arm, saving her from tumbling into the road. Only as he helped her upright did he realise who she was.

“Xylina, what are you doing here?”

She had to be there for him. Women like Xylina did not venture into this part of town without good reason, and he doubted she knew anyone else who worked or lived within twenty miles of his office. But why come even if she did need him? She could have phoned. Surely she hadn’t brought the Ferrari, not because someone would steal it, but because she’d assume they would. People like Xylina always did.

A sense of foreboding rushed along Sammy’s spine.

“What are you doing here?” he repeated.

Her breath was laboured. She’d probably assumed he was a mugger when they collided. Realising who it was, she grabbed his arm and squeezed. Her nails were long, and they dug into his skin. He resisted the urge to gasp in pain and hoped she wouldn’t draw blood.

“Xylina?”

“Samuel, I need you. You must help.”

“I will.”

He didn’t have to consider it. It didn’t matter that he and Xylina weren’t close. He couldn’t turn her down.

He didn’t, and four hours later, he was covered in blood.

2

The sun slipped from the sky as Sammy abandoned the creaking, dilapidated house.

Sammy’s office block was in a poor area of town, but this neighbourhood was several rungs further down the affluence ladder. He saw no one as he left the house, nor did he expect to. Most of the homes were empty. But not all. There were some legitimately owned or rented places and a few squats.

Sammy couldn’t risk any residents seeing him. With his back pressed against the door, he yanked his hood over his head and rushed across the street to his car. He barely got the door unlocked and open before his legs gave way, and he collapsed into the front seat.

The car was tiny. Cheap cars usually were. There wasn’t a lot of room, and as Sammy fell, only an outthrust hand stopped him from tumbling into the vehicle. The hand he placed palm down on the front passenger seat. When he took it away, a faint blood print remained.

There was a strange noise. It took Sammy a while to realise the sound was a desperate groan and even longer to understand that it came from him.

How had he let this happen?

He was self-aware and knew he was on the verge of a complete breakdown. A panic attack was brewing, and he was not confident he could prevent it long-term or defeat it once it arrived. He had to keep it at bay a while longer. He had no choice.

The blood painted both his hands. It was also smeared across his white top and blue jeans. Lost in the darkness of the footwell, he couldn’t tell if his shoes had escaped the same fate as his clothes. He doubted it.

Focus. Forget the clothes.

Focusing meant thinking about what had happened, and that way madness lay. But he had to keep his head screwed on. If only for a few more minutes. He wiped his bloody hands on his jeans, cleaning them as best he could. Then he grabbed his phone and dialled, fighting the urge to be sick.

Waited.

It only took a few seconds.

“999, what’s your emergency?”

Paralysis overtook him. The panic attack was like an enormous wave blotting out the sun. He saw it towering above him and knew he was seconds from being crushed.

He couldn’t speak.

He had to.

Desperate times.

The woman at the end of the line spoke again. Sammy forced out a response.

“Ambulance and police. Now.”

He babbled, giving only the barest details, telling the woman where she needed to send help. He didn’t give his name. When she asked, he told her to hurry and hung up.

How long before they arrived? Five minutes? Ten? Twenty? He didn’t know, which made returning to the house an unacceptable risk.

He couldn’t stop himself.

Out of the car and across the road. Into the house. He knew where to go and what he needed to do, but not how long he could afford to stay. He wanted to remain until the police dragged him away, but that would be idiotic. He had to be strong.

He waited until he heard sirens, then forced himself to move. It took longer to get back to his car and into the driver’s seat than before, and once in, he dropped his keys into the footwell.

The sirens grew louder.

He fumbled the keys. Was he crying? It seemed he might be; he was definitely shaking and mumbling, on the verge of madness.

There were the keys. He grabbed them, fumbled and almost dropped them again but held on. He shoved them into the ignition and started the car. Drove.

But not far.

He could not leave until he saw the paramedics go in. He needed to know he had done everything he could to ensure it would be okay, that she would be okay. Waiting was a dangerous but necessary risk.

Flashing lights and bright vehicles burst into the road. Sammy had pulled up to the curb further down. All the lights were off, and he was low in his seat. To anyone passing, his car would look like another parked vehicle on this crummy street. It would not draw suspicion because it was cheap and rundown. Sammy was glad he hadn’t brought Xylina’s Ferrari, not that she’d have let him.

The emergency vehicles slammed to a stop outside the house from which Sammy had recently emerged. Twice. The paramedics got out and bolted up the path to the front door, the police hot on their heels.

It was time to go. Sammy had seen all he needed to.

He returned home and threw up in the toilet.

His flat was tiny. There was just enough space in the living room-kitchen for the sofa to transform into a bed, but only if he moved the TV. The toilet was at the back, a space so small you couldn’t sit on the loo without opening the shower door for somewhere to put your knees. The toilet door was flimsy. It wouldn’t keep the smell of vomit from permeating his living space.

Once he was done throwing up, Sammy went to the kitchen and grabbed the cleaning gear and a bin bag. After cleaning the toilet, he stripped and shoved his clothes into the black sack, tying the top. He put the sack by the front door, knowing he would need to get rid of it the next time he left.

He jumped in the shower, turned it hot, and scrubbed his skin raw. By the time he was done, everything ached, but no physical ailment could hurt as much as the pain in his heart.

Still cursing Xylina, he left the shower and dressed in new clothes before returning to the bathroom to clean the place from top to bottom. At least it was tiny; it didn’t take long.

Five minutes after he was done, his mobile rang.

Sammy had turned his sofa into a bed, although he didn’t expect to sleep there tonight. He was lying on his thin, crappy mattress, staring at the ceiling, thinking of his father. Only once had his dad visited his flat, and Sammy remembered how his old man’s nose had turned up. He had offered Sammy money to rent somewhere (to use his dad’s word) ‘habitable’, but Sammy turned him down. He was happy living by his own means. Always had been. If he needed financial help, he’d talk to his big sister long before he approached his dad.

And speaking of big sis.

With a trembling hand, Sammy grabbed his phone and answered the call.

“Hey, Iz, what’s up?”

Did he sound calm and unconcerned? Few people knew Sammy better than Isabel. She could usually tell when he was hiding something, but this was different. Izzy wouldn’t be thinking straight. Sammy was not her priority.

“Sam, something’s happened. Something awful. It’s—“ a deep sob that did not sound like Sammy’s unemotional big sister broke the sentence. She got herself back under control. “It’s Courtney.”

“Courtney? What about her?”

Though, of course, he knew. Had known before Izzy. Before anyone.

“She’s just arrived at the hospital. Someone beat her within an inch of her life. Sammy, someone tried to kill our baby sister.”

3

Sammy drove for a mile before pulling over beside a bin. He dumped the bag of clothes in, shoved it as far down as he could, and used a handful of wet wipes to clean his arms and hands. He chucked the wipes into the bin after the clothes and returned to the car.

Ten minutes later, he arrived at the hospital. After the receptionist gave him Courtney’s location, he rushed to the nearest toilet and scrubbed his hands and arms. For a few seconds, the need to be sick overwhelmed him once more. This time, he combatted the urge. Deep breaths allowed him to regain control, and once he was sure he would not vomit, he headed for his sister’s room.

Izzy was already there. When Sammy knocked and opened the door, she pushed back her seat and faced him. She looked odd. This was Sammy’s battering ram of a big sister: sharp tongue and dangerous mind. The newspapers had gleefully highlighted her lack of emotion when she went into politics. Sammy had never seen her cry, yet here she stood with puffy red eyes. She was not a hugger and loathed most forms of physical contact, yet when he entered the room, she rushed forward and threw her arms around him.

“I can’t believe it. Who would do this? Who could hurt our little sister?”

Sammy looked over his sister’s shoulder. The first sight of Courtney – hooked up to machinery and even paler than Izzy – was almost enough to break him, which was funny, in a twisted way. After all, she looked better than she had in the abandoned home. Still, this image was harder to take. As Sammy had stood over her back at the house, covered in blood, the scene had seemed surreal. But there was an unavoidable reality to the bright, drab hospital room. The clinical setting brought the situation into sharp focus, and it was all Sammy could do to hug his older sister rather than collapse.

“Will she be okay?” he said.

“Yes. Her attacker did a tonne of damage, but the doctor thinks she’ll make a full recovery. That’s a miracle, given what happened. She’ll be in pain after she wakes, and it’s a long road ahead. We’ll have to help her through it.”

“We will.” Sammy was still staring at his younger sister, thinking, remembering. “What happened? Tell me what you know.”

Izzy held her brother for a few more seconds, then forced herself to let go. Stepping back, she smoothed her top and combed her hair with a hand. Her eyes and the set of her mouth said she was done letting her emotions control her. It was time to bring back the lethal operator who had taken the political world by storm at such a young age.

“Police got a call earlier this evening. Anonymous tip-off. Said something was going on at a house on Clackton Street. You know where that is?”

Sammy lied and said he didn’t.

“Lucky you. Crap part of town. Every other house is a burnt wreck. Drug deals on every corner. An awful area.”

This was a gross exaggeration. Sammy had driven through a good portion of that part of town and had seen only one burnt-out house and no drug deals. Still, he took the point.

“They found Courtney like that.” Izzy waved a hand towards their sister. She’d done an impressive job of bringing the no-nonsense Isabel Lewis to the fore. Now, sensing she was again losing control, she turned from Sammy and stepped away from Courtney’s bed.

“Someone did that to her. Some vile monster beat our sweet, innocent sister. She’s lucky to be alive.”

While Izzy spoke, Sammy forced himself to approach the bed. His sister stood near the wall, her back to her brother. Sammy stared down at Courtney.

“What was she doing there, Sam? Why the hell was she there, and where were her parents? She was on her own. Why was she alone?”

The attack had left Courtney’s face misshapen and discoloured. Her eyes were swollen. There was a tube in her mouth. The picture above the neck was almost overwhelming, and below would be worse. Sammy was thankful a sheet covered the rest of the damage. He wasn’t sure he could have taken the full view.

“Have you spoken to them?”

Sammy was staring at Courtney, but he heard Izzy turn at his question, though she didn’t join him by the bed.

“Not Dad. I couldn’t get hold of him or that useless brother of ours. I left messages. The cops tried to get through to Dad and the evil stepmum but couldn’t get either. That’s why they rang me. After I got here, and when I couldn’t get hold of dad, I tried her and got through.”

‘Her’ was Courtney’s mum. Sammy was not close with his stepmother but had a better relationship with her than his full siblings. His younger brother hated her. Isabel hated their father but felt no warmth towards his second wife. The two women couldn’t be in the same room for more than a few minutes without an altercation – sometimes verbal, sometimes physical, sometimes both – kicking off. There were plenty of reasons for this mutual dislike; some valid, some not. Sammy guessed the non-valid reasons probably outweighed the valid ones for both women.

“She’s on her way.” Izzy never used their stepmother’s name if she could help it, as though their father’s second wife was a demon, and using her name would summon her.

Sammy didn’t want to think about their stepmother. He certainly didn’t want to let his sister get going on one of her rants about their father or his wife. He didn’t have the energy.

“Did the cops say anything else?”

Izzy took a step towards him and the bed. “They know nothing. They’re looking into it, but whatever they find, I promise we’ll learn who did this and make them pay.”

Sammy had to break eye contact. Izzy knew him too well, and he couldn’t risk her seeing anything in his eyes he might not want to reveal. Rather than his older sister, he looked to the younger. So sweet and innocent. Sammy remembered the first time he’d seen her. He was fifteen, living with his mother and brother. His mum had gone out, and his dad came over to introduce baby Courtney to her brothers. He’d invited Isabel, but Izzy wasn’t speaking to him. She hadn’t met her new sibling for another few weeks.

Sammy thought he loved his full siblings, even his annoying younger brother. Then he held Courtney, and the depth of feeling was like nothing he had ever experienced. Surely, this was love. What he felt for his other siblings and parents was merely affection. What he felt for Mrs Kenworth, his maths teacher – which he had called love on multiple occasions – was not worth considering.

He knew he would die for this little girl. He’d told her as much: he would never let harm befall her for as long as he lived.

What a foolish promise that had been. It made him sick to recall it.

The feel of warm skin against his palm made Sammy jump. He stepped to the side, then relaxed, realising it was his older sister. She had tried to hold his hand in another move that was nothing like the Izzy he knew.

Regaining his senses, Sammy returned to his sister’s side and took her hand. It was warm, and the sensation calmed him, even as he looked at the injured Court. Self-loathing continued to crawl over him, and he could feel tears in the corner of his eyes.

“We’ll get through this,” Izzy said. “All of us. Together.”

Sammy looked at his sister, and she looked back. He tried to force a smile, still terrified she’d read the truth in his eyes. His tongue felt tied, his voice box broken. Still, he would force himself to reply.

Someone entered the room before he could.

“A touching sentiment. Getting through it together.”

Sammy turned, and Izzy spun. Anger flared, as it always did when she heard that voice. Sammy noted her clenched fists, held by her side.

“Isabel,” said their stepmother. “It’s lovely to see you.”

“Doubt it.”.

She nodded and turned to her stepson.

“Samuel.”

Sammy forced himself to meet her eye. “Hello, Xylina.”

He turned away, stared at Courtney, and remembered her screaming in terror a couple of hours ago.

4

Nightmares tormented Sammy as he slept, and he woke with a start, almost falling out of the chair.

He was breathing hard. Sweat coated his brow and palms. He wiped the latter on his jeans – flashing back to when he had done similar to deal with the blood on his hands – and the former on his jumper sleeve.

As a child, Sammy had suffered frequent nightmares, but they had visited less often in his teens and only a couple of times a year since he turned twenty. The dark dreams he still suffered were never a problem. They were fantastical, so while Sammy would wake with a start, the ridiculousness of whatever scenario had terrified him in his slumber would quickly crumble and fall away in the new day’s light.

This nightmare was different because there was nothing fictional about it. This was a memory rendered in startling clarity and replayed for Sammy on a loop. The events in the abandoned home. His sister’s screams. Her blood-covered body.

Awake, the bad dreams clung on, intensifying rather than fading as he shook off the sleep and looked at his little sister. She seemed peaceful despite the tube in her mouth and bruises on her skin.

Sammy was glad he was alone. Tensions had risen fast earlier. After saying her hellos, Xylina had brushed past Sammy and Izzy and rushed to the bed. She fell into a chair and started babbling to her daughter about how everything would be alright.

Mummy’s here.

That comment caused Izzy to snort, triggering the first argument. Within minutes of Xylina’s arrival, a nurse popped her head through the door, asking what on Earth was going on. It was clear someone would have to leave. Unfortunately for Izzy, the patient’s mother would always get preference.

Sammy’s older sister had squeezed his hand and promised they would see each other soon. Seconds after Isabel left, Xylina had turned from her daughter to the eldest of her stepsons.

“We need to talk.”

Still trembling as the nightmare and memories clung on, Sammy rose from the chair and forced himself to pace at the bed’s foot. It wasn’t enough. He could hear his sister’s screams and remember his stepmother’s words. Worse, his response.

He needed to get out, if only for a few minutes. He came to the bed and gently touched Courtney’s ankle.

“I’m so sorry, sis. Nothing’s changed. I love you with all my heart.”

She said nothing. Of course. The doctor said she might not wake for another day, maybe longer. Currently, everything was in the air. The doctor was sure she’d live and thought she would make a full recovery. But nothing was certain. The hospital would do all it could for Sammy’s teenage sister, but only time would tell the full extent of the damage.

Memories swarmed him again, and he fled the room as he had earlier. Then, Xylina had followed, grabbing his arm. The corridors were quiet, but a few people were around — a doctor, a nurse, a patient, and a couple of visitors. Eyes had turned to the man in his late twenties and the woman only a few years his senior. They probably believed they were witnessing a lover's tiff. No one would guess Xylina was Sammy’s stepmother.

“What’s going on?”

The pain in Xylina’s eyes was almost too much to bear. Despite what Izzy might claim, Xylina was a dedicated mother. She feared for her beloved daughter and was desperate for answers.

“I can’t get hold of your father. You were supposed to keep an eye on him.”

“I know, and I failed. I lost him, and Courtney too.”

The lies did not come easily, but Sammy got through them. He told Xylina he had gone home after losing his father and Courtney and claimed to have stayed there until Isabel rang. He hated himself for the untruths, but his head was a mess. For the time being, he had to keep Xylina in the dark.

Hours later, he remained unsure if he’d done the right thing. There were plenty of tears. Sammy had made himself scarce, leaving the hospital for a while. Later, Xylina went looking for Sammy’s father, and Sammy had taken up vigil at Courtney’s bedside.

Where was his dad? Sammy’s relationship with his father had always been complicated, though it rarely descended into the blazing rows for which Izzy and their old man were famous. Sammy disliked how his father had treated his mother and wasn’t keen on the older man’s general attitude. But he didn’t have the headspace now to consider his father. He had room only for Courtney and what he had done.

Dazed, he made his way from Courtney’s room to a small canteen. During the day, a counter served warm food at reduced prices from hot plates. It was out of hours now, and the shutters were down, but the tables were free, and two machines sat in the corner, one for snacks and fizzy drinks, one for coffee. He went for the coffee machine. The screen was dirty. He had to lean forward and squint to make out the options, eventually selecting what he believed to be a latte. At least it took contactless.

Small paper cups were stacked on one side. Sammy grabbed one and placed it beneath the nozzle. Like a sick pensioner, the contraption spluttered and coughed up coffee. That was a horrible image, but the only one that came to mind as the brown liquid splattered into the cup.

When the machine fell quiet, Sammy took the cup and brought it towards his face. The aroma made his nose wrinkle, and he instinctively pulled back. Despite what the front of the machine professed, this did not smell remotely like café coffee. A desperate need for caffeine overrode his concerns, and he sipped. It was a mistake. He felt his face contort with disgust. Could the manufacturer legally call this coffee? Surely, the machine could be cited by some advertising standards agency?

“Damn, you are one brave soul.”

He jumped. What with the memories from last night and of his conversation with Xylina, plus the coffee’s scent and taste, Sammy had failed to take any notice of his surroundings, and the speaker had come within a couple of feet of him before speaking.

Brown sludge masquerading as coffee slopped over the side of the cup and onto his fingers. If this had been a proper café latte, the hot milk on his skin might have hurt. Sammy’s drink was tepid at best, so it caused nothing but sticky fingers and embarrassment.

“Floor’s the best place for it. I can’t believe you even sipped. It’ll probably put a hole in your stomach. You’ll see it leaking down your jeans. Not a good look.”

The woman’s arrival had caused Sammy’s heart rate to skyrocket, but he was quick to bring the organ under control.

“You shocked me.”

“I gathered.”

The woman dipped her words in sarcasm, but her smile seemed kind. Sammy’s first proper look revealed that she was one of the more attractive people he’d met. Long, silky brunette hair. Captivating eyes and lips that looked as though they would be as inviting when she frowned as they were now, smiling. She was tall for a woman, about Sammy’s height, and slim. Her tight clothes suggested an athletic build.

She wore little makeup, but her natural beauty demanded none. Given the time, it was remarkable how fresh and alert she looked. No doubt Sammy’s eyes were puffy red bags. He probably looked ready to drop.

If he didn’t get some caffeine, he likely would drop.

“There are napkins back there.” The woman pointed to a table between the closed shutters and the snack vending machine.

“Thanks.”

He placed his cup on the table and grabbed some, wiping the worst of the muck from his fingers and cleaning the side of the cup. That was better, but his skin still felt sticky. He would wash his hands as soon as possible.

Clean-up complete, he scrunched the used napkins into a ball and chucked them in the bin. When he turned, the woman was watching from a few feet away.

“All done.”

That was a dorky thing to say, and Sammy felt like an idiot as the words left his mouth. This woman was exceedingly attractive, making him wonder how he’d feel if it was a man standing this close, watching him. Or a less pretty woman. Was his libido leading him astray?

“What brings you to this café, then? I guess you didn’t come for the coffee?”

“Nope.” The woman nodded at the other machine. “Sugar hit.”

She brushed her hair behind her ear and perused the machine’s selection. Sammy felt an urge to say something else, but would that be weird? This was a hospital, not a bar. The woman didn’t appear to be a patient, so she was probably visiting someone. Given the time, it was likely someone important to her. She’d want to get back to them as fast as possible. As Sammy would be eager to return to his sister, if not for his guilt and those tormenting memories.

“Well, it was lovely to meet you.”

Another dorky sentence, and Sammy cursed himself again.

The woman stood tall and jabbed a finger at the snack machine.

“I’ve decided.” She looked at Sammy. “And it was lovely to meet you, too. If we bump into one another again, I’ll be more careful in my approach so you don’t make another mess.”

The smile was teasing, and Sammy felt his heart rate rise. The urge to strike up a conversation reared its ugly head, and he might have tried to say something witty or at least interesting. Until his sister’s screams rang through his head, and his knees went weak beneath him.

Courtney was in a bad way, and he wanted to chat up a woman at a vending machine. Really? Had he always been a repulsive human being, or was that new?

The beautiful woman was no longer watching, having turned away to punch in her chosen snack’s code.

“Enjoy your chocolate.”

He didn’t wait to hear if she would respond. Disgusting coffee in hand, Sammy rushed from the café to his sister’s room, suffering a shock when he saw a hooded man leaning over the bed, stroking Courtney’s face.

5

Finding a stranger in Courtney’s room was Sammy’s second shock in a few minutes, but unlike with the woman in the cafe, his heart rate did not rise.

The organ seemed to stop beating.

The hooded man at Courtney’s bedside was tall and dressed in black. He had pulled his hood tight around his face to conceal his features.

“Who are you?” Sammy asked.

The man kept his head bowed but removed his hand from Courtney’s face. The way his hood shifted suggested he had tilted it, his eyes rising from Courtney to the injured girl’s brother.

He said nothing.

“I asked you a question,” Sammy said.

The man did not respond but left Courtney’s bedside. Frozen in the doorway, Sammy watched him dip a gloved hand into a pocket and remove something from within.

Sammy saw the glint of steel.

Stepped back.

The man stopped a few feet away, between Sammy and the bed. He raised an arm, pointing his knife at Sammy’s face.

Terror had frozen Sammy to the spot. The knife should have increased his fear and made it less likely he would react. Instead, it did the opposite.

“I don’t know why you’re here, nor if you know who I am. Maybe you do. If not, I should warn you it’s my sister in that bed. When she was a few days old, I promised to protect her for as long as I lived, and I meant it. Every so often, I fail, but I always try my best.”

A flash of memory came – standing over his sister’s bleeding body. He pushed the thought away and refocused on the hooded man.

“Whatever you think you’re going to do, think again.”

Silence.

The hooded man with the bowed head gave no ground but did lower the knife to his side.

“Okay,” Sammy said. “Time to leave.”

The hooded man charged, raising his blade as he came.

Sammy focused on the steel, spinning to avoid it.

In doing so, he put himself in the hooded man’s path. A meaty shoulder smashed his chest, throwing him from the room. He came down hard and rolled to rise again.

The man was still coming. Sammy disliked fighting but was no stranger to physical altercations. This guy had the size advantage, but Sammy would have backed himself in any fight if not for the knife.

The guy closed in and swung. Sammy stumbled back, but that was his only move. Getting close to his aggressor was too dangerous, so he backed up repeatedly as the guy kept swinging. Until his left foot hit his right ankle, and he fell.

He rolled onto his back as the hooded man came for him. His only hope was to kick out. This would probably result in a knife through the foot, but maybe he’d get lucky, kicking the knife from his attacker’s hand without sustaining an injury. That was the hope.

Wishful thinking was the only kind he had. The hooded man brought the knife down, and Sammy fired his legs up.

Someone yelped.

The knife missed Sammy, and Sammy’s feet made contact only with the air. It took him a second to see why.

A newcomer had grabbed the hooded man’s wrist and yanked. This took the knife out of play, and the newcomer wasted no time in taking advantage of the situation, swinging a booted foot into the hooded man’s stomach, sending him coughing and spluttering to the floor.

The hooded man scrambled for his blade. He got it, but the newcomer got a boot into his face as he tried to rise.

In almost comical fashion, the hooded man stumbled, one leg hitting the other, like Sammy earlier. He nearly went down but managed to stay on his feet by grabbing the wall.

Sammy and the newcomer were unarmed, but at least they now outnumbered the knife wielder. Perhaps worrying about what this did to his odds of success, the aggressor stepped back and twisted his head towards Courtney’s door.

Sammy got up fast. “Wouldn’t go in there if I were you. You think that knife will save you once I’ve got you cornered? You’re in for a nasty surprise.”

The man’s head still tilted from side to side, assessing his adversaries. He took another step back, moving closer to Courtney’s room. As though a string connected them, this move yanked Sammy forward. He pointed at the hooded man.

“Will you risk it?”

This sounded good. The problem was Sammy did not know what it was. What was the hooded man’s plan? If it were to murder Courtney, that was an achievable goal. Sammy and the newcomer were close, and if the hooded man attacked, they would take him down, but it would be too late. He had enough of a lead to drive the knife into the teen’s throat before Sammy could stop him.

But was murder his intention? When Sammy had walked into the room, this man was stroking Courtney’s cheek, his knife concealed in a pocket. He could have killed her before Sammy showed, but he hadn’t.

Sammy remembered what had happened at the abandoned house. Something was going on here, and it was bigger than Sammy had realised.

He took another step forward.

“You enter my sister’s room; I’m coming for you. That’s a promise. Lucky you if you stop me, but let me warn you if you don’t, you’re screwed; I’ll make you pay for threatening my family.”

Strong words, but not enough to convince the hooded man.

The newcomer stepped forward.

“You might get lucky,” she said. “If you do, it won’t be for long. I’ll be hot on my friend’s heels, and if you take him down, you won’t have time to savour your victory before I’m on top of you on the floor, and not in a good way.”

This was too much for the hooded man. He was lost, with no idea what to do.

The newcomer continued forward until she stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Sammy.

“Time to choose,” she said. “In three seconds, I’m coming for you whether you’re in that room or not. One, two–“

The hooded man ran.

Immediate threat over, Sammy felt the strength leave him. The newcomer must have sensed this or seen him waver because she grabbed him under the arm and helped ease him to the corridor floor. Once he was down, she let go of his arm and crouched on the balls of her feet. Those beautiful eyes met his, and she smiled that inviting smile.

She looked at the entrance to Courtney’s room.

“I think you spilt your coffee.”

Sammy glanced over. He had completely forgotten about the drink: must have tossed it aside when the hooded man came at him with the blade. The coffee covered the floor at the entrance to Courtney’s room and was creeping into the hall. That didn’t concern Sammy. He looked at the woman who’d helped him.

“Who are you? That was pretty dangerous. Why get involved?”

Her smile grew, and she put a hand on Sammy’s ankle.

“Name’s Abbie King. As to why I’m here, well, I think you might be the man of my dreams.”

6

The coffee smelled disgusting. How this handsome man – Sammy – had taken even a single sip was beyond her. It certainly wouldn’t have taken a knife-wielding maniac to convince Abbie to throw that disgusting slop onto the floor.

After the hooded man scarpered and Abbie announced her name and made the silly dream comment, Sammy seemed lost. He introduced himself but was torn about what to do next.

“Go to your sister. I’ll call the cops.”

She did, and when she hung up, she stood by the door but did not enter the room, not wanting to intrude on a private moment between Sammy and his sister.

What had the hooded man wanted? There was no point asking until she had more information. She knew nothing of Sammy, his sister, or the dangers they might face. That Courtney was hospitalised suggested someone wished her – or her family – harm. But it was useless to speculate on that someone’s identity or motives, at least for now.

After a few minutes, Sammy emerged. He had checked Abbie out in the café. She had seen his conflict and knew he wanted to initiate a conversation. Then the guilt came because he had to return to whoever he was visiting. Abbie had stopped encouraging him, let him go, then followed, arriving in time to stop the hooded man from stabbing him to death.

That was all that had happened since they met. Yet, now his eyes showed not attraction but mistrust. Saving Sammy’s life had made Abbie worthy of suspicion. Or so he thought. That was the sad thing about this modern world. You hated those who hurt you and were suspicious of those who helped.

“How’s your sister?” she asked.

Sammy glanced back to his sister’s room, then to Abbie. The suspicion did not leave his eyes.

“He stroked her face.” Sammy shuddered. “Besides that, she’s no worse than before he arrived. I think I turned up before he could do anything.”

“That’s good. The police are on their way. They’ll want to ask you about what happened.”

“You too, presumably?”

This was phrased more like an accusation than a question. As though Sammy was sure she’d want to dodge the police because she was hiding something, Abbie couldn’t guess what he thought that something might be.

“I imagine so. I’ll certainly make myself available.”

“Why did you help?” Another accusation. “He had a knife. Why get involved? Why are you here anyway? In the hospital, I mean.”

“That’s three questions, and funnily enough, the answer to them all is the same: because someone needed help. You might not believe this, but some people in this world forget about personal risk when it comes to doing the right thing. I’m one of them, and before you come back with some sarcastic comment about me thinking I’m a saint or a hero, I don’t. I’ve hundreds of faults, including my inability to stop talking once I get on a roll. But helping people in need? That’s my thing.”

Given Abbie had believed she was unbothered by Sammy’s mistrust, she had delivered quite an impassioned speech. It wasn’t just the words. She’d heard it in her voice. Maybe she was more frustrated by his reaction to her saving him than she’d realised.

Sammy’s response was odd. He smirked, then shook his head and laughed. Abbie raised an eyebrow. For once in her life, she didn’t know what to say.

“Sorry,” he said. “I’m not laughing at you. It’s the ridiculousness of my reaction that’s funny. My job revolves around helping people. I take money, but barely enough to put food on the table, and that’s not why I do it. I always thought I was someone who’d do the right thing in any situation, regardless of the risk.”

Interesting. “You no longer believe that?”

Sammy was wary of giving too much away but could not keep his eyes from flicking to his sister’s room.

“I’m uncertain if I’m the person I always thought I was. Like you, people say I talk too much, but I have worse faults. Far, far worse.”

“True of everyone,” Abbie said.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

He was struggling with something. That much was clear. He thought he was a good person, but something had changed, and it had to do with his sister. Had he failed to save her when he had the chance? Was that why she was here? Or was it something worse? Had he been actively involved in hurting her?

These were questions Abbie wouldn’t ask, and it was he who spoke next.

“You said I was the man of your dreams. What was that about?”

Good question. Why had she said that? Abbie had seen Sammy in a nightmare, but referencing the dream had been stupid.

“Don’t be arrogant. It was ‘man of my dream’, singular, not ‘dreams’, plural.”

The mistrust had reentered Sammy’s eyes.

“I don’t know,” Abbie said. “Blame the adrenaline. I did dream about a handsome man last night, but I doubt it was you. Nor were we in a hospital, and crappy coffee did not feature. There was a physical exam and… too much information?”

This spiel did not help the mistrust. Sammy was an emotional mess, struggling with internal demons. Unfortunately, he was projecting his self-loathing onto Abbie.

“You said you were in the hospital because someone needed your help. Did you dream of that someone, too?”

More accusations, and Abbie could tell they would only get worse. Sammy was not in the headspace to make friends or build trust with a stranger. Not now. The picture might look different in the morning.

As she did before setting out on any mission, Abbie had chosen a new burner phone. She had jotted the handset’s number on several slips of paper. One of these she left on the kitchen counter back home, in case anyone needed to get hold of her. The others she had slipped into her trusty drawstring bag. She retrieved one now, offering it to Sammy.

“Speaking of why I’m here, the other man I saved tonight awaits my return, and he’s more eager to see me than you. This is my number. Text me when the police are ready to talk. I’ll come straight over.”

Sammy eyed the number, worried Abbie might have concealed an explosive device within the tiny folded sheet. He took it anyway, stuffing the slip into his pocket.

“Okay. I’ll text.”

“Great. Thanks.”

Abbie turned. She was prepared to walk away because she knew she’d see him again, even if he didn’t text. Something stopped her. She didn’t know what it was until she met Sammy’s gaze, saw those sad eyes, and could not help but speak.

“I meant it when I said I’d help anyone in need, regardless of who they were or the danger to me. For what it’s worth, I’m glad it was you today, and not only because you’re pretty. I always trust my instincts, and instinct tells me you’re a sweet man – one of the good guys. I’m sure you’d do anything to protect your sister, and I know how that feels. But we can’t protect everybody. Sometimes, the people we most want to keep safe are the ones we can’t reach in time. I know how that feels, too. Try not to beat yourself up over it.”

Not expecting a response, Abbie turned as soon as she’d finished speaking. She was halfway up the hall when Sammy called after her.

“Thank you.”

She turned back, and he smiled and raised a hand before disappearing into his sister’s room.

Once he was gone, Abbie recalled the dream she had awoken from at midnight, less than five hours ago. She would see Sammy again, and she would save him. If she didn’t, he would be dead in less than 48 hours.

7

Abbie hadn’t been lying when she told Sammy she was in the hospital after saving someone else that night. Unlike Courtney, the irritating Hugh did not have a private room. He was stuck in a ward housing sixteen beds, seven of which were occupied. A curtain provided his only privacy. Abbie pulled this back and tossed a bored Hugh the chocolate bar.

“That took ages.”

Abbie sat beside Hugh’s bed.

“I’m sorry, my records show you didn’t select expedited delivery when you ordered your free snack.”

Hugh still looked perturbed but made no more complaints. Not out of politeness, Abbie guessed. He was remembering how they’d met. Four men were kicking him to death. She’d intervened, as was her prerogative. As men often did, the attackers underestimated her, and she made them sorry for doing so. They departed sporting plenty of bumps and scrapes, but the most significant damage was to their egos.

The men had been in their mid-twenties, as was Hugh. A few years younger than Abbie. She knew nothing of the attackers except that they had attempted to kill or at least badly wound their victim. She’d learned plenty about Hugh in the last couple of hours. That he was entitled, mainly, but also generally annoying. She guessed he had wealthy parents who had spoiled him. Not all spoiled children ended up like Hugh, but everyone like Hugh was once a spoiled child.

Despite all this, Abbie did not regret helping him. That he was annoying did not change his status as an innocent, which he certainly seemed to be. He was also part of the process – a key cog in this latest mission.

Nearly six years ago, Abbie had allowed a mysterious organisation to perform dangerous and experimental surgeries on her. As a result, she would wake from a nightmare at midnight 10-15 times a year. The nightmare featured the face of a dying man, woman, or child. Long, harrowing experience had taught Abbie that this face’s owner would be dead within 48 hours if she did not act.

At first, it had seemed that nightmares were the only outcome of those secret and illegal experiments, but there was more to it. The prophetic dreams signified the beginning of an invisible thread Abbie could not possibly understand but had learned to trust implicitly.

Upon waking from such a nightmare, Abbie would take a pill, shower, dress, and gather what items she needed into a drawstring bag. She would leave her home, driving without reference to any map or sat-nav, allowing instinct to guide her. Within hours (six and a half was the record, this morning was two), she would arrive in a town, city, or village and know she was where she needed to be. She would park and go for a walk. Before long, she would find herself embroiled in one trouble or another. Often, the trouble would seem to have nothing to do with the person Abbie had come to save. These days, she knew better. The invisible thread led her only to people and situations that would help her do what she had set out to do: save the innocent in her dream, and if she was lucky, other lives besides.

Hugh had already shown his value. Abbie had warded off his attackers, but he needed medical attention, and Abbie had dutifully taken him to A&E. She might’ve left immediately; instinct told her to stay. Later, it suggested she agree to get Hugh a chocolate bar, though he didn’t deserve such kindness. She met Sammy as a result.

Perhaps that was all she required from Hugh. Maybe she could safely walk away. That was the temptation, but she wouldn’t. He was a pain in the arse but was equally in a lot of pain. Also, danger, and as it stood, he wouldn’t get the help he needed.

Abbie was his only hope.

“Why did you lie to the police?”

Hugh had already unwrapped the chocolate and stuffed two squares into his mouth. He did not wait to swallow before answering.

“What do you mean?”

She rolled her eyes. Why did people always have to treat her like an idiot?

“You know what I mean. You told them your attackers were random muggers.”

“That’s the truth.”

It wasn’t, but at least Hugh failed to maintain eye contact as he spoke. You had to worry about people who could be dishonest while looking you in the face. Hugh felt shame or embarrassment. Abbie could deal with that.

“By the time I arrived, those guys had already taken your shoes, phone, and wallet, but they hadn’t stopped kicking. Now, you might say they were psychos. Some people enjoy kicking others into a coma. For them, wallets, shoes, and phones are a bonus. Not the point of the attack.”

Hugh liked this. “Yeah. Exactly. That’s it.”

He had another couple of squares in his gob, and flecks of chocolate shot over his hospital gown.

“Please don’t talk with your mouth full, especially if you’re going to keep lying. Those men knew your name. When I arrived and told them to back off, their leader said, ‘I didn’t think you had friends.’ He knew you. So, what do you say? Fancy telling me the truth?”

This appeared to be a frightening prospect for Hugh. Perhaps remembering what Abbie had said about not speaking with his mouth full, he shoved the rest of the chocolate bar in and chewed it as slowly as possible.

Not a pretty sight.

“Come on, Hugh, I saved your life. I didn’t speak up when you lied to the police nor contradict your story in my statement. I’d say that’s pretty good of me. What a great friend I’ve proven to be. Now, be a friend to yourself. The police can’t help because they have duff information. I don’t, and if you can be brave enough to tell me what happened, maybe I can be of use to you.”

Abbie sat back and folded her arms. By this point, Hugh was moving his jaw about once a minute to ensure the chocolate and his talking amnesty lasted. He looked knackered. It was almost five in the morning. Sammy had looked the same. Had they wondered why Abbie looked fresh as a daisy? One of the perks of being associated with the company that had given Abbie her prophetic nightmares was the pills they provided. Unmarked, unregulated. Abbie had no idea what was in them or how they worked, but they eradicated any signs of tiredness inside and out.

Would it always feel like a perk? Abbie had no idea what these pills might do to her in the long-term. Alice, the wealthy woman who’d become almost a surrogate mother to Abbie, was paying someone to reverse engineer the drug. Maybe that would tell them something, but it was a work in progress. For the time being, Abbie was reliant on them. She’d quit the company, but a recent attempt to go cold turkey had almost cost her her life. Worse, the life of an innocent teen. As a result, when a company representative offered Abbie a new batch of pills, she had to take them. The only bright side was that, for now, the company that had controlled her life for so long were providing the pills with no strings attached.

“Those guys were furious,” Abbie said. “You know they’ll come again. Tell me why they wanted to kill you.”

Hugh could no longer maintain his chewing pretence. The chocolate and his last defence against talking were gone.

“They wouldn’t have killed me. It was nothing.”

“Nothing? It was hardly horseplay. You’re in hospital with a broken arm, two cracked ribs, and bruising to your face, torso, and legs. The doctors said you were lucky not to suffer worse. If I hadn’t turned up, you would’ve. You can’t tell me they were about to stop.”

Hugh turned his eyes to his lap. There was a healthy dose of shame in his eyes. Abbie guessed this was a masculinity problem. He hated himself for not standing up to his assailants. For losing.

“They outnumbered you. There was nothing you could’ve done.”

“They outnumbered you, too.”

He spoke these words with petulance, as though Abbie had done wrong by showing Hugh up. She hated this prideful attitude, so common amongst so many people, especially men saved by women.

“Fine. I apologise for saving your life. Tell you what, I’ll walk away. Then, when you get out of here and those guys come for you again, which they will, I’ll be sure not to intervene. You can die like a man rather than be rescued like a pansy. That’s what you’re after, right?” Abbie rose from her chair. “Enjoy your pyrrhic victory from the grave.”

She yanked back the curtain.

“Wait.”

She paused. He didn’t look like a spoiled child anymore. More like a drenched and desperate puppy.

“Well?” she said.

“Have you ever heard of Romeo and Juliet?”

8

Abbie pulled the curtain back into place.

“Have I heard of Romeo and Juliet?”

“Yeah.”

“Romeo and Juliet, as in, the play? One of the most famous pieces of literature of all time, written by probably the most renowned writer ever to have lived. Rings a bell, yeah.”

Hugh blushed. “No need to be like that. I thought it might be a private school thing.”

Abbie withheld a scathing response as she returned to the bedside chair. “This is a metaphor, right? You’re Romeo, in love with someone who loves you back, but neither family is happy?”

“That’s right. My father owns one of the area’s two most successful estate agents. Zaria’s father, Yusuf, owns the other.”

“Zaria is your girlfriend?”

“Yes. It was love at first sight.”

Abbie didn’t believe in such a thing so ignored the comment. “And your father and Yusuf don’t get on?”

“They hate each other. Things have got nasty over the years with smear campaigns, corporate espionage, and the like.”

“And they can’t cope with their children being romantically entangled?”

It was hard to believe, given how pathetic it sounded.

Hugh shrugged. “It’s difficult for them, after so many years of animosity, but they’ll have to learn to get on. We won’t have them fighting at our wedding… if we get married.”

Abbie mused on this. “You’re saying Yusuf arranged this attack because you’re dating his daughter?”

This could be true, however pathetic it would make Yusuf. Perhaps he was an innately violent man. Violent men often needed no encouragement to harm others, yet Abbie figured there was more to this.

“It must be, but I don’t get it,” Hugh said. “My father was fine with Zaria and me being together at first, seemed to be, anyway. I guess he was bottling it up because he demanded I end things a few nights ago; said I wasn’t welcome in his home until I did, but he’d never pay someone to attack me.”

“So it must be Yusuf?”

Hugh looked away, drying his eyes with a hand.

“I don’t get it,” he repeated. “Yusuf’s a ruthless businessman, like Dad, but he’s no crook. He doesn’t hurt people.”

Hugh broke off, and Abbie considered the young man’s words. It seemed clear he believed what he was saying, that his girlfriend’s father was inherently good, but he couldn’t be sure. Abbie had seen awful people portray themselves as saints to their nearest and dearest. She’d seen spouses and children break down when the truth came to light. When they realised they’d shared their homes and hearts with a monster. Maybe Hugh was right about Yusuf, but Abbie wouldn’t take his opinion as gospel. Not without more evidence. Especially if the conclusion of Hugh’s story suggests that Yusuf was not as kind as Hugh believed.

“I met him once, but it wasn’t a problem,” Hugh said. “Zaria’s so strong. She guessed her father might be unhappy, but she didn’t care. She’s a couple of years younger than me, twenty-two, but so much smarter and braver. She told her father about us and told him to make peace with it. End of story. She gave him no choice. When we met, he shook my hand. He still wasn’t happy – told me as much – but he said Zaria’s happiness mattered more than anything. He’d leave me be as long as I was good to her. That was a week ago.”

Beyond the curtain, someone entered the ward and made their way to one of the other occupied beds. Abbie heard someone pull back a curtain, step through, and close it again. Then, quiet conversation. She could not hear what was said, and no one would hear her conversation with Hugh. The bed to either side of the injured man was empty, which helped.

“You’ve not seen Yusuf since?”

“No. He’s busy, and Zaria’s parents are divorced; she splits her time between their places.”

“Her mother has no problem with you?”

“She’s been great.”

“Siblings?”

There it was. Hugh’s face said it all. Abbie recalled the group of men who had attacked him. They wore hoods, but Abbie saw flashes of flesh and noted that two were white and one was black. The fourth, the leader, was Asian – a man in his mid-twenties. It was no wonder Hugh didn’t suspect his father of orchestrating the attack.

“Zaria’s older brother assaulted you?”

“I don’t get it,” Hugh said for the third time. “I’ve met Tariq a few times, and he’s always been cool with me. Sure, there was that protective big brother thing, but he didn’t have a problem. The last time I saw him was three days ago. He said ‘Hi’ and asked how I was doing. That was it. What changed?”

This was a question Abbie could not answer. By the time she had stumbled across Hugh in the darkened alley, the beating was well underway. She had heard Tariq use Hugh’s name and make the no-friends comment. After that, she struck out at the attackers, convincing them to flee. Professional fighters, they were not.

If Hugh was telling the truth about Tariq being fine with him previously (and for the time being, Abbie would work under that assumption), then something must have changed. That alone made sense of the attack.

“You saw Yusuf a week ago? It’s 5 a.m. on Saturday, so I assume that was last weekend?

“Yeah, Saturday evening.”

“And you saw Tariq three days ago, which would have been Wednesday?”

“I think it was Tuesday.”

“Okay, and between Tuesday and now, have you seen anyone connected to Zaria, and how many times have you seen Zaria?”

“I’ve seen no one else,” Hugh said. “Zaria’s mum’s away, so we spent the night at hers on Thursday. I was working yesterday, so I left early. Then last night I went out with some friends. I was walking home from a bar when Tariq attacked.”

Abbie considered these elements. It seemed unlikely anything had changed while Hugh was working, which meant something probably happened on Thursday night. Something Zaria reported to Tariq. Something terrible enough that Tariq felt the need to round up some friends and go Hugh hunting.

Trying to discover what that something might be would take delicate probing. First, Abbie moved to the end of the chain of events.

“When Tariq found you, what did he say? Did he give any indication as to what inspired this beating?”

Hugh shook his head. The tears had returned, and it was difficult to tell if he was lying. Again, Abbie would operate on the assumption he was telling the truth. For now.

“He called me a piece of shit. I tried asking what he was talking about, but one of his mates shoved me to the ground. That’s when they started kicking. I curled into a ball like a pathetic loser. Tariq might have been talking; you said he said my name, but I couldn’t hear him. I thought I was going to die.”

The recollection made Hugh tremble. He began to lose control of his breathing as panic crept in. Abbie was going to offer advice on combating a panic attack, but there was no need. Hugh placed a hand on his chest and took long, slow breaths. This bout of anxiety was clearly not a first.

“Sorry,” he said.

Abbie shook her head. “You’ve nothing to apologise for, and you’re not a loser. You shouldn’t measure your worth on your ability to win fights. Unless you’re a boxer.”

“I’m definitely no boxer.”

“Well then. All this self-loathing for nothing.”

This earned Abbie a small smile. She was warming to Hugh. Since she had pushed him to open up about the attack, and once she got past his belief that only people who received a private education could know of Romeo and Juliet, he had become more ordinary. Scared and in pain, of course, but what was more human than that?

Hugh’s breathing was under control. He removed his hand from his chest, and it no longer trembled as he did. Abbie didn’t want to trigger another panic attack, but there was something she needed to know.

“There’s one more question⁠—”

“You want to know what happened on Thursday? The night I spent with Zaria?”

“Well, not all the sordid details.”

Another smile, but it was somewhat bitter, and as Hugh replied, he could not meet Abbie’s gaze.

“Nothing sordid to discuss. Zaria and I, our relationship, it’s pretty new. We know we love each other, but we decided to wait before we um… before we… you know.”

“I think I can guess,” Abbie said, thinking she was more likely not to have heard of Romeo and Juliet than not to understand what this stuttering admission meant. It was also clear the decision not to go to bed was not the mutual call Hugh wanted to portray it as, though there was no need to mention this.

“We shared a bed, but nothing happened. Just kissing. Before that, we had dinner and watched movies. That was it. We chatted. Zaria’s so easy to talk to. That’s what’s so wonderful about her. Everything feels easy when we’re together.”

There was a sweetness to these words that touched Abbie. On this cold January morning, she could not help but think of Pranil, a man she had met a year ago. The last man she had met for whom she had similar feelings as Hugh had for Zaria. Abbie and Pranil hadn’t lasted long, Abbie’s employer causing their break up, but she remembered the feeling. She hoped Hugh and Zaria held on to what they had. Hoped their families wouldn’t tear them apart.

“You didn’t argue? No cross words at all?”

“No. Zaria seemed off when I arrived, but she said it was nothing and was fine before long. Everything was perfect. We’re not like other couples. We don’t argue.”

Abbie could have told Hugh that no couples argue… until they do. He was twenty-four but obviously had little experience with romantic entanglements. That was okay – even endearing.

Or it should have been, had the vicious attack not marred everything.

“Thank you for being open with me,” Abbie said.

Hugh nodded. “I need to know what happened. Tariq took my phone, so I can’t text Zaria. As soon as I get out of here, I’ll visit. She might know why Tariq attacked me. If she doesn’t, I’d need to ask him.”

He broke off, and Abbie could see the question he wanted to ask.

“I can talk to Tariq. He knows I’m not to be messed with, so he’ll have to be open with me instead. I’ll find out why he attacked you.”

“Thank you.” Hugh’s eyes were glistening. “Thank you so much.”

Abbie smiled and told him it was no problem. She was already formulating her next steps. She would visit Tariq in a few hours. How would Hugh’s situation link with Sammy’s? Would it, or as she had earlier speculated, had the twenty-four-year-old already served his purpose? She didn’t know, and it didn’t matter. Abbie was committed. She would help Hugh, assuming she was able to balance the two developing and presumably dangerous situations.

Could she?

Her phone buzzed. She checked the incoming text.

Police are ready for you now.

It was time to find out.

9

It was eight a.m. when Lorna and Morgan stepped into the quaint, independent café and approached a wobbly wooden table in the corner.

This early, the place was quiet. A man with a newspaper occupied a table close to the counter, and a couple sat by the door, but no one was awaiting service when Morgan went to get drinks.

He returned a minute later and placed a coffee in front of Lorna. She took the spoon from the saucer and raised it to the rim of her mug, intending to stir the milky latte.

Then she saw Morgan’s drink.

“What’s that?”

He’d removed the plastic cap from the top. Lorna’s words stopped him before he could drink.

“What?”

“In your hand. What is that?”

“My drink.”

“I know it’s your drink, idiot. What else would it be? It’s not a backwards-facing camel, is it? I’m asking what drink it is.”

“What’s a backwards-facing camel?”

“We’re talking about your drink. Why are you bringing up camels?”

“It was you who⁠—“

Lorna slammed the table, making Morgan jump. The couple by the door looked up from their conversation. The woman at the counter glanced over. Only the man with the paper paid the noise no heed.

Lorna grabbed the bottle.

“I don’t like coffee,” Morgan said.

“Menu looks pretty extensive considering your implication that they only have coffee and… this.”

“Well, no, but I don’t like hot drinks.”

“None?”

“Okay, hot chocolate.”

“Fine.”

“With little marshmallows in. That’s how my mum makes it.”

“Of course it is.”

“But they didn’t have hot chocolate.”

“Nor juice?”

“I don’t like apple.”

“And orange? They have orange, don’t they? Christ, you’re going to say they don’t do smooth and you don’t like the bits, aren’t you? Please, say that so I can throw my coffee over you.”

Morgan’s flushed cheeks said it all.

“I ordered a drink I like and paid,” he said. “I don’t see the problem.”

“Because you’re an idiot. This is a child’s drink.”

“Doesn’t say for children on there.” He was sulking now.

“It says low sugar for stronger teeth.”

“Strong teeth are important, regardless of age. Unless you have false teeth.”

“There’s a cartoon bear on the front.”

That was enough for Morgan. He snatched the drink. Lorna let him take it.

“Why can’t I drink what I want?”

Lorna put her head in her hands. “This isn’t a normal day, Morg. Would I make a fuss about anything you ate or drank if we were alone?”

“The other day, you said you’d never sleep with me again if I ate spaghetti.”

“It wasn’t spaghetti. It was spaghetti shapes, and in this case, the shape was Thomas the Tank engine. In what world did you think that was an acceptable meal to serve on a night you planned to seduce me? Please don’t answer that.”

Lorna groaned. Had bringing Morgan been a mistake? Possibly, but what was done was done.

“This is different,” she continued. “We’ve an important meeting, and how we present ourselves matters. This guy has to believe we’re serious operators to trust us. Here I sit in my smart blouse and black trousers with my coffee, and I feel good. Then there’s you, with your cartoon bear drink, a T-shirt you probably haven’t washed since you bought it, and the shoes I told you not to wear.”

“They’re comfortable.”

“They’re tie-dyed. Could anything be less professional? Again, don’t answer.”

Lorna looked out of the café window. The hour was early, but the world was waking up. Staff arrived to prepare for the day ahead while eager beavers filtered into cafés until the shops opened.

A slurping brought Lorna’s attention back to the table. The flush returned to Morgan’s cheeks, and he lowered the fruit juice. His eyes turned towards his lap, and any desire to have another pop left Lorna. Morgan had mastered that hangdog expression over the years, and Lorna remembered her mother’s words whenever she saw it.

Lorn, loyal friends are hard to come by for most people. For you, any kind of friend will be hard to find, so you must do whatever you can to treasure and retain Morgan. God knows you won’t find another like him.

Lorna’s mother and Morgan had something in common. They pissed Lorna off. However, that did not make her wrong. Lorna had hardly any friends and none that cared as deeply for her as Morgan did. Just last year, he’d almost lost his life following her into danger. As her mum said, Lorna would never find another like him.

“Cute bear,” she said.

He picked up the bottle and glanced at it, but she lay her hand over his and waited for him to meet her gaze.

“I meant you. Dolt.”

His cheeks flushed for what seemed like the hundredth time. The difference on this occasion was his smile. The grin made Lorna’s lips turn up, too. There was something about Morgan when he was happy. You would never describe him as handsome, but his features were endearing. They made you want to like him, even when he was rating every Doctor Who episode with exhaustive commentary. Again.

“Sorry I snapped. I’m stressed, and you’re wearing stupid shoes, and you bought that drink and… but let’s not go there again.”

He was going to tell her it was okay. He always did. No matter how often she took him for granted. On this occasion, he didn’t get the opportunity. They heard the scrape of a wooden frame as the door opened and someone stepped into the café. Lorna turned her head and saw a tall, furtive-looking man enter. He wore no hood, but he had the high collar of his black jacket up and folded his chin into his chest, trying to hide and instead drawing second looks by his suspicious behaviour.

The door closed, and the man took a tentative step forward. His eyes flicked to the couple nearest to him, then to Morgan and Lorna, before settling on the man with the paper, who did not look up.

“Anything I can get you, love?”

This got the man with the paper to look up, although the woman behind the counter was talking to the newcomer. Before he could answer, Lorna stood.

“Give us a minute.” She flicked a hand towards the server before approaching the newcomer. “Bernard? My name’s Lorna. I’m a representative of Mr Delaney. Can I get you a drink?”

The man – Bernard – had briefly assessed Lorna when entering the café. Now, he gave her a longer look. As his gaze went down and up her body, his expression told her that taking the time to pick out a nice blouse, respectable trousers, and shoes was futile. So far as Bernard was concerned, Lorna had come dressed in the wrong gender.

“Lorna? I don’t understand. What are you doing here?”

The man with the paper was still looking at them. Lorna touched Bernard’s elbow and gestured to the table.

“Come. Sit. We’ll get you a drink and discuss. As I said, we are Mr. Delaney’s representatives. You called asking for his help, and he contacted us, so here we are. Ready to assist.”

Bernard stepped towards the table, then stopped. His eyes fell on Morgan. Morgan was a man. That went in the pro column. Then Bernard noticed the tee, the trainers, and the cartoon bear.

“I’m sorry, this is ridiculous.”

Lorna bristled. “What’s ridiculous? You need help. You asked Ian, and Ian delivered. Meet his crack team.”

The smile Bernard thought this statement warranted almost earned him a crack in the mouth rather than a crack team, but Lorna was determined to remain calm.

“Ian and I go back a long way, sweetie,” Bernard said, “and let me tell you that when he sends help, he sends the A-team. He’d come himself or send Harry or Glenda. I’ve never even heard of you, sweetheart.”

While somehow holding her smile, Lorna wondered if Bernard would dare call Glenda sweetie or sweetheart. It wasn’t something you’d try twice, that was for sure.

“I appreciate we weren’t who you were expecting⁠—“

“No, and this meeting’s over. I’ll call Ian when I get home, arrange something else. No one insults me like this.”

He turned to leave. Lorna blocked his path.

“Do you think Ian will answer? He didn’t the first time, did he? You had to leave a message, and he didn’t call back. I did. To arrange this meeting. What gave you the impression that Ian felt you were worthy of his top people if he couldn’t even be bothered to call you himself?”

Anger discoloured Bernard’s cheeks. “Ian and I⁠—“

“Go way back. You said. But people change. I wonder if your relationship means as much to Ian as it once did.”

For a moment, it seemed Bernard might hit Lorna. Bring it on. Then he remembered where he was and forced himself to relax. People were looking.

“We shall see.”

He stepped forward. She blocked his path, but he barged past without another word, disappearing through the door and onto the street.

Everyone was looking now. Lorna went to the table, grabbed her drink, saw off her coffee, and tipped the empty cup towards the lady at the counter.

“Lovely stuff, thank you. Come on, Morgan.”

He joined her on the street seconds later. Bernard had already disappeared.

“That didn’t go to plan,” said Morgan.

“Not quite. No.”

“How long do you reckon before he finds out Ian, Harry, and Glenda are all dead?”

Lorna shrugged. “Difficult to say.”

“Guess that’s game over for us.”

It was hard to miss the hope in Morgan’s voice. The tone reminded Lorna that this was another scheme with which Morgan would rather have no part. His idea of a good time was curling up on the sofa with Lorna and watching a crap film. Not that he would think it was crap. As usual, he was here for her.

“Sadly not,” she told him. “I slipped a tracker in his pocket when he barged past me. Let’s see where he goes next.”

10

After a tiresome conversation with the police, Abbie finally escaped the hospital to a nearby hotel and was in bed at close to six a.m.

Three hours later, she rose with her alarm and showered. Because of the pill she had taken nine hours before, she still felt fresh. She wouldn’t take another until she woke up tomorrow morning.

She phoned Alice, seeking an update on Felicity, the young teen who had fled her abusive parents last year, directly into the clutches of a vile man named Gerald. Abbie had rescued Felicity from Gerald, endangered her, and rescued her again. She offered the girl a place to stay, and Alice was happy to take her in.

Since then, Abbie had battled for custody of Felicity. Her parents weren’t a problem. By the time social services caught up with them, Felicity’s father was in prison, and her mother had openly threatened to “wring that brat’s neck” should Felicity come home. After that, the authorities granted Abbie temporary custody in short order.

The wheels moved slowly on the application for full custody, but Abbie was confident they’d get there. Meanwhile, there was schooling to consider. Felicity’s parents had been uninterested in the education of their only child, but Felicity cared about learning. She relied on charity shops for her uniform and books and walked several miles to attend classes each day. Still, she had struggled, and upon leaving home, Gerald prevented her from attending school altogether.

Private tutoring helped close the gap, as did Felicity’s attitude and natural intelligence. The kid enjoyed learning. Experience had led her to cherish the kind of educational opportunities Gerald had temporarily denied her. Even so, Abbie, Alice, the tutors, and Felicity herself had made the difficult decision to apply for Felicity to join the school year below the one she should have been in according to her age.

Monday was the start of the Spring term and Felicity’s first day. It had been a long time coming, and Felicity had grown more nervous with each passing hour. She was excited to return to school but terrified, too. Would she fit in? Would she keep up? Was this all a waste of time?

Abbie was determined to be home in time for Felicity’s first day and was frustrated about missing the weekend before. Alice read the guilt in Abbie’s voice and soothed her.

“Fee’s doing fine. She understands why you’re not here. You did save her life on one of your missions, remember? You needn’t worry.”

Alice was right. Of course, Abbie had known all this, but hearing Alice say it still helped. She thanked the older woman.

“No problem. You need anything from me on this one?”

She was talking about the current mission.

“Not now. I’ll call if anything comes up.”

“Please do. Ana’s as keen as ever to get involved.”

“Ariana has involved herself in three of my missions and was lucky to escape with her life on each occasion. I think I’ll leave her out of this one.”

“Maybe that’s wise. I’ll keep on at the lab while you’re away. Not heard anything yet, but they promise they’re hard at work. I’ve got a call with the investigators this afternoon too, although, to warn you, they say there’s no good news.”

“That’s okay. Thank you for keeping it going. Both things.”

“It’s no problem because it’s for you.”

Abbie thanked Alice again, promised to keep in touch, and hung up. The lab had nothing yet, but that was immaterial. Alice had offered to have the pill that kept Abbie going reverse engineered, and Abbie hoped they found something; she didn’t care how long it took, and if they failed, so be it.

As for the private investigators, Abbie never expected them to return with good news. Yet, grief flashed through her heart every time they sent a negative update. However much she told herself she was not expecting anyone to find the daughter stolen from her at birth, she still could not keep her hopes from climbing. The longer between each update, the higher they climbed. Only to smash back to Earth each time.

Abbie knew that thoughts of her daughter could be dangerous when she was saving innocent lives. They acted like steel pins through Abbie’s limbs, holding her to the bed and preventing her from rising to do her duty.

Forewarned is forearmed, and knowing how deadly such thoughts could be helped Abbie avoid them, but as she got out of bed, she still remembered her final conversation with Harry Delaney, thirteen years after the loss of her baby. His confession that his father, Ian, had paid balaclava-clad men to cut her open and steal her baby before selling the child to a despicable family with an abundance of wealth and a lack of morals.

As Abbie prepared to leave the hotel, she remembered the devil’s deal Harry had offered. Abbie had killed Ian and Ian’s top lieutenant, Glenda. Harry wanted to live. If Abbie spared him, he’d find the parents to whom Ian had sold Abbie’s baby.

There’d been temptation, but not much. Not then, anyway. Thinking of all the innocents who would suffer or die if she let Harry live made pulling the trigger easy. Only later, as Alice’s investigators continued to return with bad news, did she dwell on that Devil’s deal.

Yes, pulling the trigger that ended Harry’s life had been easy.

But living with the decision, knowing she might never find her daughter? Not so much.

11

Tariq worked as an estate agent for his father’s company, and it took Abbie only five minutes on the phone to persuade the receptionist to reveal the address of the showing he was holding that Saturday morning. She drove over at once, trying to remove her daughter from her mind.

Ben, her handler and reason for joining and quitting the company, also tried to occupy her thoughts. He’d stepped back into her life three months ago with an offer. His daughter, Elizabeth, was in danger. If Abbie saved Elizabeth, Ben would use the company’s vast resources to locate Abbie’s child. Abbie had completed her task only for the company to execute Elizabeth in front of Ben before terminating his employment. It seemed this act had destroyed Abbie’s chance of finding her daughter, even though Ben’s replacement, Patsy Oliver – known as Ollie – had promised to find the girl. Abbie hadn’t heard from Ollie since and was reticent to allow the organisation back into her life by calling for an update.

She put her head in her hands, massaged her temples, and forced the thoughts away. An opening door helped, and she looked up to see a smiling couple emerge from number fourteen. Their clothes suggested wealth, which made sense in this part of town. They paused on the drive as a third person exited the house. Tall and lean, with a narrow face and curly black hair, Abbie recognised the man who had the previous night concealed his features with a hood as he tried to kick Hugh to death.

Tariq wore a skinny tie over a cream shirt. His grey trousers fit snugly to his slim legs. His smile almost seemed genuine as he shook hands with the couple and walked them down the drive. He stood on the curb as they got into their electric car and set off. There was a clipboard under his arm. Details pertaining to number fourteen, she guessed.

His smile dropped the moment the couple were out of sight. Abbie noted the bags under his eyes. He’d had a late night, and stress would only compound his fatigue. He knew Hugh was alive. What did he think would happen next? Was he awaiting the oncoming sirens as the police rushed to arrest him? Did he believe his father’s money would save him from jail or fear the wealth of his victim’s family would negate his own? Was that playing on his mind?

When the electric car was gone, Tariq turned to a Mini parked further from the house, also on the curb. The drive of number fourteen was empty, and Abbie wondered why neither Tariq nor the couple had parked on the gravel. Perhaps the soon-to-be ex-homeowners forbade it.

Tariq had to turn his back to Abbie to face his car. When he did, Abbie left her vehicle and called out. He turned. There was a moment of confusion as his gaze fell on her, and his eyes scanned her body, then her face. She looked different in the light. Given she’d kicked his arse the previous night, he had probably transformed her appearance in his memory, Adding several hundred pounds of muscle and maybe turning her into a man. Anything to remove the shame of the defeat.

She saw the moment he realised who she was and wondered if he would run to his car. Doubtful. If losing a fight to a girl was embarrassing, how much worse was tucking your tail between your legs and fleeing the next time you saw her?

“What the hell are you doing here?”

He stormed her way as he spoke, stopping a few feet from her. They faced one another at the foot of number fourteen’s gravel drive.

“Isn’t it obvious? I want to view this beautiful home.”

Tariq glanced at the house and shook his head. Now, he’d come back to face her, he felt able to walk away. It would no longer seem like he was running.

“Book an appointment.”

He turned, fists clenched, ready to storm back to his car.

“But I want you to show me around. I guess I could request you when I booked, but time is of the essence. After all, you can’t do viewings from behind bars.”

Tariq froze, clenching his fists more tightly until his hands shook from the effort. His head twisted towards his car and she imagined the calculations going through his mind. She had thrown down the gauntlet, and Tariq would not want her to view him as a coward. On the other hand, he was not yet in jail and might fear staying with Abbie could be a step in that direction.

“I’ve good news for you,” Abbie said, “but we have to chat.”

It took Tariq a few more seconds – during which he stared longingly at his car – before he decided to take the risk.

“Go on.”

“Thank you.” Abbie examined the house. “I’ve been living with a woman named Alice for the past ten or so months. Her home’s massive, bigger than this, and in a beautiful location by the sea. But it’s not mine.” She met his gaze. “What’s that look for?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Houses. Alice has plenty of bedrooms, but there are loads of us. I’ve got a dependant now and was contemplating finding a new place for her, my brother, and me. This might fit the bill. Is it furnished?”

Tariq trembled with frustration and building anger. “You said you had good news for me.”

“Which wasn’t a lie. Shall we go inside?”

Tariq opened his mouth, and Abbie watched the expletives dancing on his tongue. Something made him reconsider. His eyes flicked left and right, and Abbie knew he was glancing at the street’s other houses. This was a neighbourhood watch area. Vigilant residents might peak out – especially if they heard a disturbance. What would they think if they saw Tariq yelling at Abbie? He was no doubt imagining older, wealthy white couples watching. It was a sad fact that such people often held preconceptions regarding Asian men, especially Asian men shouting at white women.

“Why would I invite you inside after what happened last night?” he said.

“You’re scared I might put you on your arse again?”

Tariq seemed well-practised at containing his emotions. That had to be useful with annoying clients.

“You wouldn’t have the element of surprise this time.”

“And you wouldn’t have your mates. Look, I could leave you unconscious on the gravel if I wanted, and don’t think I wouldn’t if it came to it. But remember what happened last night. I wasn’t the one kicking a defenceless man to death. Nor did I attack you for fun. I wanted to avoid a fight and gave you the opportunity to back off, intervening only when you refused because I don’t attack unless provoked. Invite me inside; as long as you don’t run me through with a poker, I won’t have to give you more of those.”

Tariq stepped back as Abbie raised a hand, then touched his right eye when he realised she was pointing. A bruise inflicted by Abbie. He cringed as he made contact.

“What’s the good news?” he said.

“Hugh told the police a random group of men attacked him. He hasn’t given them your name. Neither have I.”

“That’s no surprise,” Tariq said.

“Why not?”

“Because Hugh isn’t the innocent victim you think. Now, shall we?”

He pointed, then headed up the drive towards the house without waiting for a response.

12

Abbie followed Tariq inside. The front door opened onto a spacious hallway, with stairs on the left leading up to a bright landing. Through an arch at the end of the hall was a beautiful kitchen. Grand windows looked onto an immaculate lawn. The surfaces glistened, and the sun bounced off the sparkling white goods. Tariq had removed his jacket and thrown it over the back of a chair. As Abbie entered the room, he grabbed a glass from a cupboard and walked to the sink.

“There’s a gorgeous fireplace in the living room. As you were so nervous about the poker, I thought I’d come in here. Besides, showing houses is thirsty work.”

He turned on the tap, filled his glass, drank most of that, and refilled it. Abbie watched him slam the tap shut and turn to the breakfast bar. He placed his glass down and put his palms on the surface.

“No, I’m okay for a drink,” Abbie said. “Thanks for the offer, though.”

Tariq didn’t rise to the bait. “Why are you here?”

“You don’t believe I want to buy this place?”

“People who wear bags like that can’t afford places like this.”

Abbie looked at her cheap, drawstring bag. She’d owned it for years; it’d always served her well. The comment made her smile.

“That’s very judgmental. Or maybe it’s a sales technique intended to goad me into buying. It won’t work. I’m happy where I am for the time being.”

“Whatever. Why are you here?”

“Straight to business. Why does it always have to be straight to business? What happened to small talk? All I get these days is suspicious or aggressively flirtatious comments.”

“Just suspicion from me.”

“For which I’m thankful.”

“Why are you here?”

Abbie turned to the windows above the sink, looking at a garden of lush grass and exotic plants. Someone had spent much time and money turning it into a visual feast. Maintaining it had to be almost a full-time job. It amazed Abbie that anyone, having put in so much work, could bring themselves to leave such a beautiful space.

“I was just passing through town last night,” she said. “Didn’t expect to be here long, then I saw you and your friends attempting to murder Hugh. Once I’d seen you off, I accompanied him to the hospital. You’d taken his phone, but he preferred not to call his family, anyway. He mentioned no friends, and as for his girlfriend… well, we know something’s happened there, right?”

Tariq’s jaw was set with frustration. His words were stiff and uneven, as though he were forcing them out. “What did he tell you about Zaria?”

“Heartwarming things and family troubles. He mentioned love at first sight and the difficult relationship between your father and his. He said your dad accepted the relationship. So did you. You’d even been friendly before last night.”

“All true.” He shook his head as though ashamed of having shown kindness to Hugh. “I’m protective of my sister but would never dictate what she can and can’t do or who she can and can’t date. She only had one other boyfriend, and I was the same around him – friendly. After all, if someone’s good enough for Zaria, I assume they can’t be all bad.”

Tariq never broke eye contact as he spoke. Instinct told Abbie he was telling the truth, but she also believed Hugh. Why did she get the annoying impression that the two stories were about to come into conflict?

“Why did you attack Hugh? Daddy’s orders?”

Tariq shook his head. “I appreciate your first impression of me wasn’t good, but I’m not naturally violent, and I wouldn’t have attacked Hugh on my father’s orders. I had my reasons – good reasons.”

“Enlighten me.”

Tariq took his phone from his jacket and approached. His expression matched Sammy’s; all suspicion. The difference was that Abbie hadn’t saved Tariq’s life. She got in his way and left him bruised and embarrassed. This suspicion, therefore, was warranted.

“Why are you here?”

Abbie chose not to reply, so Tariq continued.

“You say you were passing through, but how do I know Hugh didn’t pay you to watch out for him? You’re here on his behalf now, so why should I trust you? Why should I tell you anything?”

Abbie lacked good answers to these questions so went for her usual cover story.

“I’m an insomniac who suffers from severe anxiety. When panic attacks attempt to overcome me, I combat them by going for long drives followed by walks in new towns late at night. That’s all I was doing last night. I also have an awful affliction which prevents me from walking away when I see someone in danger. I knew nothing about you or Hugh before last night. I acted on what I saw. You had Hugh outnumbered and showed no signs of relenting. If I hadn’t stepped in, Hugh might have died, so I risked saving him, hoping he wouldn’t turn out to be a cat murderer, abusive manipulator or, worst of all, a lawyer. When we reached the hospital, I forced him to open up. He told me about Zaria, and his affection seemed genuine. As did his confusion when he talked about the attack. That’s why I offered to talk to you. I want to help get to the bottom of it.”

This time, it was Abbie who held eye contact as she spoke, and Tariq had to decide if she was telling the truth or attempting to pull the wool over his eyes. She watched him wrestle with that and knew he remained unsure.

“Maybe you’re being honest. Assuming you are, I’m sorry to say Hugh’s fooled you. He’s not some innocent love-sick puppy, and he knows exactly what changed. Why I attacked him.”

“Why?”

Still conflicted, Tariq lifted his phone, unlocked the screen, and searched for something. After ten seconds, he looked up from the device.

“Maybe you’re working for Hugh, maybe not. I’ll tell you either way; know why? Because he knows what he did. Telling you makes no difference. I’ll still make him pay, and he’s never coming near my sister again.”

Abbie waited.

“Zaria bumped into Hugh a few weeks ago.,” Tariq said. “They started dating, and she soon realised she was falling for him. She thought he was kind and sweet. That was until he stayed with her at our mum’s place on Thursday night. I found her like this on Friday morning.”

Tariq slapped his phone into Abbie’s hand.

“Fuck love at first sight. Hugh pretended to care about Zaria, but he wanted only one thing. She agreed to let him stay over Thursday on the understanding nothing sexual would happen. She wasn’t ready. That was fine, Hugh told her, but he was lying. That night, he decided to push the issue.”

Abbie’s head snapped up from the phone. “Did he⁠—“

“Force himself on her? No. He tried, though, and when she refused, he did that.”

Tariq nodded at the phone. The screen kept fading to black. Each time it did, Abbie tapped, and the photograph lit up anew. Looking at the picture made her sick. She imagined the scenario that might have led to this outcome: Hugh trying to talk Zaria into it, then becoming more verbally forceful. Finally, grabbing his girlfriend and insisting she do as he said.

And when she continued to refuse…

“That’s the man you defended last night,” Tariq said. “The one you’re here on behalf of now. Not quite the Romeo he tried to make out, huh?”

The photograph showed the face of a young woman, her sleek black hair tied back. Her eyes sparkled blue. Abbie guessed she was pretty, but the swelling made it difficult to tell. Not one punch but a barrage of them had morphed her features in this way.

What rage her attacker must have felt. Was this Hugh? Had he lied to Abbie? The photographic evidence suggested he had.

“You look angry,” Tariq said. “Maybe you get why I did what I did. The question is, what’ll you do next? Because I’m not done with Hugh. Whatever he tells the police, I promise I’m not done.”

Her temperature rising, Abbie stepped forward and placed the phone in Tariq’s hand. She kept her voice calm as she met his gaze.

“I don’t know what I’ll do next, but I’ll tell you something.” She jabbed the phone. “If Hugh did this, I wouldn’t blame you for going after him, for finishing what you started. I might even help.”

Tariq was set to reply. Abbie raised a hand to silence him.

“If he did this.”

She left the house, intending to find out.

13

More nightmares. Until someone yanked him out of the darkness. A blurry shape above his uncomfortable hospital chair. He’d know that blur anywhere.

“Isabel. What time is it?”

“Ten in the morning. You’ve been here a long while. You must feel like crap.”

“I feel fine.”

“Well, you look like crap.”

“Thanks.”

He forced himself out of the chair and arched his back. Everything hurt, and none of it mattered. He rested a hand on Courtney’s arm. The teen was still and silent. Despite her injuries, she looked peaceful, and Sammy felt a tear in the corner of his eye.

Izzy placed a hand on his shoulder.

“I heard what happened last night. You should have called.”

“No use us both losing sleep.”

“What about Dad? You get hold of him?”

Sammy shook his head. “Didn’t even try.”

“Well, I did. Several times. And our idiot brother. Neither answered. I’m starting to worry.”

Sammy wasn’t. Isabel hadn’t been around much lately. Her career kept her busy. The result was that he knew their brother was prone to disappear without a word for days at a time. Isabel didn’t.

As for their father… well, Sammy didn’t care where his dad was.

“I spoke to Xylina,” he said. “She was going to come down. Guess she couldn’t make it.”

“She could.” Isabel gave a half smile. “Not that I’m one to defend her, but I hear she’s been here for hours. By the time she arrived, you were asleep. She felt it’d be better not to wake you. I sent her to get coffee when I got here just now. Like you, she looked like crap.”

Sammy glanced at the door through which Xylina must have disappeared. Then to the floor. He’d done his best to clean up the coffee with some blue roll before the police arrived, but a professional had been at it since. The floor sparkled.

How quickly had he fallen asleep once the police left? If Xylina left home immediately after his call, she’d have arrived ten or fifteen minutes after the boys and girls in blue had gone. He must have dropped off straight away. Some guardian he turned out to be.

“I could do with a coffee myself,” he said.

“Go. I want to spend some time with Courtney anyway.”

“You sure?”

Izzy must have sensed his fear and guessed why he was worried. She lay a hand on his arm.

“After that monster failed to kidnap our sister, he’s unlikely to try again. He’ll know we’ve arranged for greater protection, which I have, by the way. Even if he were to try, he wouldn’t do it today. Too many people about.”

“You’re right.”

Izzy smiled. “All that remains is to work out who keeps attacking our little sister and why.”

This was a rhetorical question. After another minute of idle chat, Sammy said goodbye and left, retracing his steps to the café where he’d met the mysterious Abbie. The shutters were now up, and Sammy was pleased to see the staff serving coffee at the counter. No need to return to the evil vending machine.

Sammy glanced over the tables and got in line. Once the server took his money and gave him a cup of coffee and a bacon sandwich, he placed his tray on a table near the vending machines.

“Mind if I sit?”

The table’s only occupant glanced up. Her eyes were blank for several seconds. She didn’t even seem to recognise him. Still, she nodded.

“Thanks.”

Izzy was right; Xylina did look like crap. It was strange to see. Sammy’s mother had never been a knockout but was an attractive woman, even after three kids and too much booze took its toll. Based on looks alone, many had considered Sammy’s father a lucky man to have ended up with her.

Then came Xylina, the clichéd younger model. Sammy was thirteen when his father met this stunning twenty-year-old Greek model. In the fifteen years since, Sammy had never seen Xy looking anything but her best. Stopping at one kid and remaining teetotal probably helped.

Today was different. Exhaustion and worry had robbed Xylina of her beauty. In an alarming turn of events, she looked like Sammy’s mother after one of her binges – the kind that became more common after her husband walked out for a woman half his age. Literally.

Xylina hadn’t had it easy. Her difficult home life during her teens convinced her to flee her homeland for pastures new. She arrived in England without the language or any friends to rely on. After six months, she was working as a model, making money. Her English had improved, but the friendship situation had not. She was lonely when she bumped into Sammy’s father. No wonder he won her heart with kindness and a few gifts. After another six months, she still had no friends, but her new man had convinced her she wouldn’t need any. She had him, and she had something even better. Or soon would have. She was pregnant.

Izzy hated Xylina for hurting her mum, while their younger brother hated her for stealing their dad. Sammy was more pragmatic. He struggled to get on with Xylina but tried to be kind. She hadn’t known the man she was falling in love with had a wife and three kids until it was too late. Izzy liked to imply that Xylina was only with their father for the money, but Sammy had never believed that. She’d loved their dad when he left their mother for her, and she loved him now, all these years later. Sammy had seen that yesterday when she came to his office almost in tears, begging for help, not only because he was a private detective, but because she still had no friends and, therefore, no one else to whom she could turn.

“I’m sorry I was asleep when you arrived,” Sammy said. “I know how awful you must be feeling.”

She met his gaze, and her eyes flashed with grief.

“My daughter’s my world.”

“I know. I love her, and it’s killing me to see her like this, but I know what I feel must be nothing compared to your pain. This is your daughter.”

She looked away, staring into the distance. Perhaps her mind was taunting her with memories of her child during happier times. What she said next indicated this was the case.

“Meeting your father was the first good thing to happen to me. I know what he did to your mother and you kids was awful, but he’s always been my rock.”

It was odd being called ‘you kids’ by a woman only four years older than his big sister, but Sammy took the point.

“Getting pregnant was the second good thing,” she said, “and it far dwarfed the experience of meeting your dad. I knew from the day of the positive test that the baby growing in my stomach would become more important to me than anyone or anything, including myself and my husband-to-be. And then when⁠—”

A wave of emotion hit Xylina.

“When what?” Sammy asked.

Xylina shook her head, crying silently, but continued her story.

“There were cramps, pain. I thought that must be what going into labour felt like, but thought that couldn’t be what was happening. I was two months from my due date. Then the pain didn’t stop. I called your father, but it intensified to awful levels before he arrived. When I called him back, he called the ambulance. They took me to the hospital, and the doctors rushed me to surgery. Something was wrong. I don’t know the details, but they went to work. They got my baby out, but that wasn’t the end of the trouble. One of the doctors was brave enough to tell me there was nothing they could do for my child. Within 24 hours of Courtney taking her first breath, she’d take her last. Can you imagine how that felt?”

Sammy could barely breathe, let alone get the word out. He shook his head.

“Am I crying?” Xylina asked the question and touched the corner of her eye. “It’s happening again. I’m going to lose my daughter.”

She continued to dab her eyes, and when she returned her hand to the table, Sammy took it in his. The move was instinctual, and he felt embarrassed initially, but Xylina seemed grateful.

“Courtney survived,” he said. “She defied expectations then, and she’ll defy them now. In fact, she won’t have to. We’ll protect her. I promise to keep her safe.”

Xylina squeezed Sammy’s hand, the tears rolling down her cheeks. There was desperation in her eyes as she asked her next question.

“What has my husband done?”

“I don’t know. But I’ll find out. I promise that as well.”

He squeezed her hand back and considered how he might unlock the secrets of his father’s actions before their enemies came for Courtney again, this time succeeding in their goals.

14

Abbie left Tariq, got into her car, and tried to rip her steering wheel free to deal with her fury as she recalled her conversation with Hugh. His touching story. Had it all been a lie? Could it be? She closed her eyes to recall his version of events. Not only his words but his expression. She searched for tells and found none. If he had fabricated the tale because, in truth, he’d assaulted Zaria when she refused to sleep with him, it meant one of two things: he was either a sociopath or in severe denial.

Abbie forced her grip to loosen. She took one hand from the wheel, started the car, and pulled away from the curb.

Her mind didn’t stop working.

If Hugh were a sociopath, it’d be the second time such a person had fooled her in a few months. The last deception almost led to the deaths of Abbie and Felicity, the teen Abbie had promised to protect, but that was different. Abbie had been off her pills, so she was far from her sharpest. It took a special kind of liar to fool Abbie when she was on top of her game.

It was possible Hugh didn’t know he was lying. This was a phenomenon Abbie had previously experienced. Some people, unable to cope with their evil deeds, rewrote history in their minds, displacing real memories with fabricated ones. If Hugh fled after attacking Zaria, perhaps his subconscious replaced his assault with the fictitious evening he’d described to Abbie to protect him from considering his true nature. If so, Abbie never stood a chance at finding the truth when conversing with him.

The roads were quiet, and Abbie made good time to the hospital. As she swung into a parking space, she felt the anger building. She could not stop picturing Zaria or imagining the young woman’s fear when her boyfriend attacked. In a way, Zaria was lucky. When the attack began, she’d have imagined how far Hugh would go to get what she had denied him.

It was the thought of what might have been that made Abbie so sick with rage.

If it was true.

It was hard not to get caught up in her anger, especially given everything she’d seen over the years. The sick acts she had witnessed and experienced. There was an alternative, though. Perhaps Hugh had told the truth, and Zaria or Tariq were lying. Abbie doubted the photo was fake, but that didn’t make Hugh culpable for the assault. Perhaps someone else had hit Zaria, and she’d lied to her brother. Or maybe Tariq hit his sister and wanted Hugh to take the blame. The former seemed unlikely but more likely than the latter. Abbie had looked Tariq in the eye as he told his story, and she believed him. She’d also believed Hugh. Did that make Zaria the liar?

Only time would tell. Abbie would have to talk to Zaria. That could reveal where the problem lay. If, on the other hand, Zaria told a story that matched her brother’s, and Abbie sensed no dishonesty, that created issues. In such a scenario, she’d have to work on the assumption that Hugh was the liar.

If Hugh had fooled Abbie yesterday, she wanted another crack at finding out before she spoke with Zaria. If Tariq’s story was true, then what happened on Thursday night had no doubt shaken Hugh’s girlfriend. Abbie didn’t want to force her to relive it if she didn’t have to.

Today, five rather than seven beds in Hugh’s ward were occupied. It was about to be four, as a nurse was helping Hugh into a wheelchair. The younger man had a carrier bag on his lap, which Abbie guessed contained his clothes. Tariq’s attack had left the garments bloody and torn. Most would need chucking out. The rest wanted washing before Hugh wore them again, so he remained in a hospital gown.

His face twisted in pain as he sat in the chair. The nurse wheeled him through the ward, and Abbie waited until they’d exited into the corridor to make herself known.

“Hugh.”

The nurse stopped, and Abbie watched Hugh’s eyes widen in hopeful anticipation. She tried to read something in that expression but was distracted by thoughts of what Zaria might have suffered.

“I’m a friend,” she told the nurse. “I can take over from here. We’ll leave the wheelchair at reception.”

The nurse wasn’t sure, but Hugh and Abbie were able to persuade her. Once she’d walked away, Abbie stepped in front of the wheelchair and looked down at Hugh.

“I spoke to Tariq.”

Hugh looked frightened. What caused his fear? Was he remembering Tariq’s attack and wondering what could have caused it, or did he fear that Tariq had told her what Hugh had done?

“What did he say?”

“Many things. He told me he saw Zaria on Friday morning and explained why he attacked you. He also showed me a picture.”

“Why did he attack me?” The words came out in a rapid jumble. So did the follow-up. “What picture?”

“Forget all that. What happened on Thursday night?”

Confusion and fear creased Hugh’s brow. He looked around. The corridors were quiet but not empty. Did he guess Abbie knew the truth? Did he fear reprisal?

“What do you mean? I already told you. I don’t know what Tariq’s said⁠—“

“Not just what he’s said. What he’s shown me.”

“The picture? I don’t know what picture you mean.”

The sociopath option did not fit what Abbie was seeing. Hugh looked utterly bewildered. No sociopath could fake such a reaction this convincingly. That meant either Hugh was telling the truth, and Tariq or Zaria were lying, or he’d attacked Zaria and blocked out the event.

Abbie leaned in. She wanted to see his reaction.

“Someone attacked Zaria on Thursday night.”

Hugh’s eyes widened. Someone was walking past Abbie, but they stopped at the sight of her.

“Abbie, why are you⁠—“

It was Sammy. His sentence broke off as he saw with whom she was speaking. His eyes widened as he took in Hugh’s face, and he rounded on Abbie.

“What the hell did you do to my brother?”

15

After talking with Xylina, Sammy tried to leave the hospital only to bump into Hugh and Abbie.

He had been recalling Xylina’s arrival in his and his siblings’ lives. The verbal assaults she’d endured from her lover’s wife, youngest son, and daughter. Sammy had hardly been welcoming. The pregnancy hadn’t changed things. Eventually, his father had had enough. The stress was too much for his new wife, and he’d stayed away from his existing children for the last few months of Xylina’s pregnancy and the first few of Courtney’s life.

The decision hurt Sammy at the time. Now he understood it. Had his father blamed his children for Courtney’s illness? Had he despised them while watching his new baby fight for her life?

Was he right to?

These thoughts seemed set to lurk in Sammy’s mind for the foreseeable but were driven out in an instant by the sight of a bruised Hugh in a wheelchair, talking to the mysterious woman who had saved Sammy in the early hours of the morning.

“What did you do to my brother?”

The accusation did nothing to unsettle Abbie. “It’s always recriminations with you, isn’t it? I told you about Hugh last night.”

“What? You didn’t.“

“I did. Unnamed.”

“Back off her, man.”

Sammy’s head snapped to his younger brother. “You what?”

“She saved my life. Beat the hell out of four guys who wanted to do me in. You should be thanking her for protecting your precious sibling.” Hugh turned back to Abbie. “What happened to Zaria?”

The information was coming thick and fast. Sammy put his head in his hands and tried to gather his thoughts.

“You were attacked? By who? What do you mean, ‘What happened to Zaria?’ Was she with you?”

Hugh opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again. His cheeks flushed, giving him the look of a man who believed he had said too much. His eyes flicked to Abbie, and Sammy turned to the attractive woman.

“What’s going on?”

“Like your brother said, I stumbled upon him last night. Four men were kicking him to death. They’d taken his phone and wallet, but I was able to stop them before they took his life.”

“All of them?”

She raised an eyebrow and smiled. She seemed to find the tone of Sammy’s question amusing, having read the accusation and disbelief in his voice.

“All of them, although it’s not quite accurate of Hugh to say I beat the hell out of them, whatever that entails. They all left the scene under their own steam.”

Hugh was playing with his fingers, staring into his lap.

“Who attacked you?” Sammy said. “What’s wrong with Zaria?”

This time, Hugh didn’t hesitate. “Randomers, and don’t worry about Z. She’s my responsibility.”

“Randomers?” Sammy laughed. “You always were a crap liar.”

The comment made Hugh flinch but did not compel him to speak. But he was lying; Sammy was sure of it. The attackers had taken Hugh’s wallet and phone, but this was about more than a mugging.

And somehow, Abbie was involved again. Coincidence?

“It seems I’m in your debt,” he said to her. “You saved my younger brother and little sister in a few hours. I should be grateful.”

The tone was regretful. He meant it to sound suspicious but feared petulance was where it landed.

Hugh grabbed his jacket. “What do you mean she saved your little sister? What happened to Courtney?”

“It didn’t occur to you to wonder why I was in the hospital? Not here for a stroll, am I?”

Hugh didn’t want to discuss his lack of analytical thinking. He repeated his question. “What happened to Courtney?”

“Someone attacked her.”

“What the hell? Who?”

“Randomers.” It was a mean-spirited thing to say, and he regretted it at once. “I don’t know.”

Except he knew more than he was letting on. He’d lied to both Hugh and Isabel, which made him as bad as his brother, if not worse.

He saw Abbie watching him closely, and he had the awful impression she was good at reading in the eyes the lies that people tried to conceal by holding their tongues.

“We need to talk,” he told her. “It’s clear you’re involved in this somehow, either as an innocent bystander or something else. I want to pick your brains.”

“Sure. I assume the shutters are up in the café by now? How’s the coffee?”

“Miles better than the slop from the vending machine.”

“That’s no kind of bar.”

“No, and I wouldn’t recommend either product. There’s a café across the street. One of the chains, I think.”

“Let’s go there.”

“Hang on.” This was Hugh. He was looking at Abbie. “What about me? I’m in pain here, and I want to see Courtney. I can’t walk, and you and I still need to talk.”

Sammy assessed his brother. There was facial bruising, and he was hunched in the chair, but there were no signs of severe damage. Even so, he wasn’t going to call Hugh a liar over this. He’d have to risk losing Abbie.

“Why don’t you go to the café and get us a coffee? Mine’s a medium latte. I’ll take Hugh to Courtney. My sister’s there. She can be on invalid duty for a while.”

“Hey,” Hugh said.

“Sounds like a plan,” Abbie said. “First, I’d like a private word with your brother.”

Sammy disliked the thought of leaving Hugh alone with Abbie. Hopefully, she was everything she portrayed herself as, but he had to consider the alternative. If Abbie had something to do with the trouble facing his family, alone time with his brother was the last thing he wanted to allow. Hugh was weak-willed and easily led. He always had been. Could Sammy risk letting Abbie get into his head?

“Bro, it’s fine. Give us a minute.”

Sammy could fight but doubted he’d win. He knew he didn’t have the energy, so he pointed down the hall.

“I’ll be over there.”

He walked off, outstanding questions plaguing his mind.

How would he discover the truth behind Abbie’s involvement in their lives?

What had his father done to lead them into danger?

And, most importantly, how was Sammy to deal with the man who’d tried to kill Courtney, about whom he’d so far told no one?

16

This close to lunch on a cold January morning, passers-by packed into the coffee shop across the street from the hospital to escape the cold and grab an early lunch or a hot drink. The queue was out the door, and when Abbie left the counter with her coffees, crisps, and sandwiches, she was lucky to grab a table in the corner. The previous occupiers were still gathering their belongings when she lowered her tray and sat facing the door.

She considered her quick conversation with Hugh. The moment Sammy had walked away, the younger brother had grabbed Abbie’s arm and asked about Zaria. He wanted to know if she was okay following the attack. All fear for himself seemed to slip away as he concentrated on his girlfriend’s wellbeing.

In all his questions about Zaria, he did not once deny attacking her. Of all the evidence Abbie had, this was the most compelling indication, so far as she was concerned, that Hugh was innocent of the assault. A sociopath could fake concern for Zaria, but Abbie had dealt with many such men and women. She knew from experience that bad people focused on denying their crimes, even if they tried to frame that within falsified concern for their victim. This might mean that Tariq had lied to Abbie or Zaria had lied to him. If the latter, Zaria was not the person Tariq or Hugh thought. She might have lied for many reasons, not all of which made her a bad person. Whatever the case, if she was lying, she was hiding something. She had to be.

It was still possible Hugh had attacked Zaria and blocked it from his memory. This seemed unlikely given how deep into the recesses of his mind he would have had to shove the truth for it not to re-emerge in the face of Abbie’s questions and information, but she couldn’t rule it out.

She was still considering all possibilities when the café door opened, and Sammy squeezed past the end of the queue, spotting Abbie in the corner. As he approached, Abbie nudged his latte towards the seat he would soon take, laying out both bags of crisps and sandwiches facing it.

“What do you fancy?” She gestured to the food as he sat. “I only picked stuff I’d be happy to eat, so take whichever you want. If you’re hungry, that is.”

“Starving, thank you.” Sammy chose the salt and vinegar crisps and the ham and cheese sandwich, leaving Abbie with prawn cocktail and chicken and bacon. She peeled back the front of her sandwich packet while Sammy got stuck into the crisps. “Delicious. What do I owe you?”

“An honest conversation.” He gave her a look, and she returned a smile. “I’m serious. I’m not worried about the money, but I’d like to think we could have an open discussion. Your look says it’s a bit rich that I’m asking you for honesty. You think I’m the problem?”

Sammy ate a particularly big crisp before answering.

“This is my hometown. Someone’s attacking my family. That incentivises me to be honest to get to the bottom of what’s happening. As for you… are you even local?”

“Nope.”

“Didn’t think so. Yet, you happen to be in the right place at the right time to save my brother and sister.”

“Considering I put my life on the line in both situations, some might consider your phrasing odd. Rather than a group of hooded men kicking your brother to death, I might’ve stumbled upon a handsome, humorous man seeking love. Rather than another hooded man trying to grab your sister, I could’ve fallen into a pit of money. What constitutes ‘right place, right time,’ is a matter of perception.”

Sammy took another crisp. His look was no longer accusatory but was certainly curious. People often treated Abbie as a riddle they could not solve and were unsure they wanted to.

“Those close to me typically get frustrated when I’m sarcastic and make jokes in serious situations,” Sammy said.

“You’re annoyed that I’m stealing your thing?”

“A bit.” He tipped the crisp packet’s crumbs from the bag into his mouth. “Hugh seems quite taken with you.”

“I wouldn’t read much into it. He’d be half as interested if my top weren’t twice as tight as is comfortable. I think it shrunk in the wash.”

Sammy did an admirable job of keeping his eyes from slipping to Abbie’s chest.

“Didn’t he tell you?” he said. “Hugh’s in love. I’m sure he’d be horrified to learn you think he has a wandering eye.”

“Perhaps wishful thinking on my part, then.”

“Yeah? I wouldn’t have thought Hugh was your type.“

“That so? What kind of man did you have pegged as my type? Considering you think I’m a secret supervillain, perhaps someone like Lex Luthor? Maybe Genghis Khan?”

Sammy rolled his eyes, folded the crisp packet, and placed it beneath his latte’s saucer. Abbie had finished half of her sandwich. She plucked the rest free as Sammy responded.

“The circumstances of your appearance in our lives are suspicious. That’s all I said. Why don’t you convince me you’re not all bad?”

“I don’t know if I can convince you of anything. I can tell you the truth. It’s up to you whether you believe me.”

After peeling open his sandwich packet and plucking a half from within, Sammy gestured for Abbie to go on, and she did, telling him what she’d told Hugh. Insomnia. Long drives into random towns. The stroll. That got the half truths out of the way. After that: honesty. The altercation with Hugh’s attackers. Accompanying him to the hospital. Visiting the vending machine.

“Then I met you. You know what happened after that.”

“For a while. What about after the police interviewed you?”

As yet, it was unclear whether Sammy believed Abbie’s story. Unlike Hugh, he had a keen mind. He liked to examine evidence from all angles. Abbie’s fictitious story – often used to explain her trouble-packed arrival in new towns in the middle of the night – was designed for people like Hugh and the police. The Hughs of this world believed her because they were desperate for help and not inclined to over-analyse information if it came from potential allies. The cops were often suspicious but could never disprove her story. In their world, proof and evidence were everything.

Doubtless, Sammy found Abbie’s story troublesome. It relied on plenty of coincidence, and intelligent people were often uncomfortable with that. On the other hand, he wanted help. Something was going on. His family was in danger, and he had yet to work out why or how. Whatever the issue, he realised he could not solve it alone. This pushed him towards the Hugh end of the scale, but was he yet desperate enough to ignore his suspicions and let Abbie in?

An honest answer to Sammy’s latest question could help to earn his trust. Still unsure if this was the right move, she decided to tread a fine line between honesty and omission.

“Between leaving you for the first time and speaking with the police, your brother and I chatted. He told me about his relationship with Zaria. After speaking with the cops, I headed to a nearby hotel and slept. Soon after I woke, I was back with your brother. That’s when you reenter the story.”

Sammy shook his head. He hadn’t eaten the crusts of his sandwich, and he dumped them into the box before grabbing the second half.

“You’re leaving out key information. I already know Hugh’s hiding something. He won’t tell me what it is, but I think he told you. You know who attacked him, don’t you?”

Abbie wiped crumbs from her fingers. She was a good girl. Unlike Sammy, she had eaten her crusts. She pushed the empty sandwich box to one side and picked up her crisps.

“Yes,” she said, “and I spoke to them this morning. As it stands, Hugh’s story conflicts with that of his attacker. I need additional information to get to the truth.”

“Who attacked him?”

Abbie squeezed the crisp packet, opening it with a pop. “I love doing that.”

Sammy sighed.

“Who attacked my brother?”

“I’m not sure he wants you to know.”

“I’m not sure I care. It’s not just about him. Someone tried to kill my sister. If a passerby hadn’t heard something and called the ambulance, there’s a chance she wouldn’t have survived long enough for that hooded bastard to sneak into her hospital room.”

Yet to eat a single crisp, Abbie watched Sammy as he spoke, picking up on something she was sure he would not have wanted her to see.

“A passerby?”

His cheeks flushed. He knew it and was angry at himself for failing to control the emotional reaction. Pressing on was his only option.

“It stands to reason that whoever beat my sister also came to her hospital room last night. Now I learn my brother was attacked the same night. What a coincidence. Unless it isn’t because something links the events. Who attacked him, Abbie?”

This impassioned plea was hard to ignore. Abbie still did not know what to think of Hugh but had taken to Sammy. Besides, it was the elder brother who had appeared in her dream. She was supposed to save him. Perhaps telling the truth about Hugh was the best way to achieve this aim.

Even so, she wouldn’t hand him the answer without taking something first.

“You don’t know who attacked your sister; are there any suspects?”

No answer was forthcoming. Sammy had finished his sandwich, crusts notwithstanding, and he pushed the almost empty packet towards Abbie’s. She had stuffed her crisp packet into her sandwich box, but he left his beneath his latte saucer. He kept his eyes on her face, considering.

“Answer my question,” Abbie said, “and I’ll tell you all I know about Hugh.”

There was still a long way to go before Sammy trusted Abbie, but she knew she had him with this comment. She had the information he wanted, and he would give up what he knew to get it.

“You’re right. I don’t know who attacked my sister, but I know who’s to blame.”

“Who?”

“My father.”

Abbie did not allow her face to change. She would show no emotion to Sammy.

“What makes you think that?’

“Many reasons. Not least of which is that he has form.”

“Form?

“Yeah. Because of him, I almost lost my life when I was fifteen.”

17

Because of him, I almost lost my life when I was fifteen

The words catapulted Sammy into his fifteen-year-old body in the large living room made small by the presence of those terrifying men. He went for his coffee, wishing Abbie had added a shot of whiskey or vodka. Or both. Her beautiful eyes were unnerving. His clients often praised him for his perception, but Abbie’s eyes gave the impression she could see right into your soul. He realised he was afraid of her.

It wasn’t too late to back out. He could walk away. But Sammy had dipped his toe in the pool of collaboration and knew he wouldn’t pull back and dry off. Besides, there was no need to dive deeper into his story. The deal was that she’d tell him about her conversation with Hugh if he told her who he blamed for Courtney’s attack, which he had. He expected her to be difficult, to press for more information, but she surprised him by opening up, beginning with Hugh comparing his relationship with Zaria to Romeo and Juliet’s and ending with his declaration that Tariq had attacked him. She told him about her conversation with Tariq, which ended with the photograph of Zaria, and the accusation that Hugh had caused her condition.

On this point, Sammy was emphatic. “My brother didn’t attack Zaria.”

“That was my read, too.”

“Okay. Good.” Sammy had been ready to argue and had to recalibrate in the face of Abbie’s agreement. “Tariq’s lying then.”

Abbie’s expression revealed no opinion. She said, “How well do you know Yusuf and his children?”

“Not well.” Sammy called their faces to his mind. “Dad and I don’t get on, and I’ve nothing to do with the business. I’ve probably met Yusuf and Tariq once each, but that was years ago. I last saw Zaria holding hands with Hugh in town a couple of weeks ago. They seemed happy, so I didn’t disturb them. Not sure I’ve ever spoken to her, come to think of it.”

“So you’ve no impression of them? Whether they might be liars?”

Sammy met Abbie’s gaze. “My brother didn’t attack Zaria. That’s all I know.”

“Well, as someone who has conversed with your brother and Tariq in the last 12 hours, I have to say neither struck me as a liar. No one’s infallible, but I’ll point out that my track record at spotting fibbers is pretty good.”

Sammy stared into the dregs of his coffee as if he had had tea and wished to read his future in the leaves.

“One of them must be lying,” he said.

“Beg to differ.”

Sammy looked up. “Zaria?”

Abbie nodded.

“You think, what, she faked the injuries?”

Abbie finished her drink and pulled the empty sandwich boxes towards her, gathering them around her mug.

“Let me start by saying I’m stating nothing as fact. I believe Tariq and Hugh are both telling the truth. There are multiple explanations for how that could be, but a compelling reason that fits is that Zaria’s the liar. That being said, I don’t believe she faked those injuries. I only saw a photograph, and maybe make-up could have pulled the wool over my eyes, but Tariq saw her first-hand. I think he’d have known if the bruises were prosthetic, and if we return to my belief that Tariq was telling the truth, that suggests the bruises are real.”

“So Zaria’s lying about who administered the punches?”

“It’s possible. Which is your brother’s dominant hand?”

Despite the grim subject matter, this question made Sammy smile. “Given the odds, I wish I could say left. Alas, the answer is right. What side of Zaria’s face were the bruises?”

“Let’s just say it’s lucky you didn’t play the odds.”

“The damage was on Zaria’s right side?”

Abbie nodded. “Which suggests a left-handed attacker. That doesn’t rule out your brother, but it’s compelling evidence in his favour.”

“I have a theory,” said Sammy.

Abbie glared.

“What?” said Sammy.

“I’ve never tried to help a private detective. It’s annoying. Theories are my thing.”

Sammy smiled. “We’re probably thinking the same.”

“I’d imagine we are.”

“Go on, then,” Sammy said. “I’ll let you lead.”

“What a gent.”

Despite the tinge of sarcasm, Abbie was smiling, and Sammy could not help but return the grin. Despite himself, he found he was coming to trust Abbie. Her appearance in their lives still had to be viewed as suspicious, but everything about her made Sammy want to believe she was on his side. Maybe that was dangerous, but it didn’t change the fact. That she was so good-looking didn’t help, either.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s have it.”

“Alright, alright.” Abbie settled back in her seat. “You believe your father’s responsible for what happened to Courtney. You’ve not said why or how, but you and your brother have revealed a few snippets of information that allow me to draw some conclusions.”

“For example?”

“Well, to start with the obvious, your father’s ambitious. He’s built a successful business, and that takes certain traits. A ruthless streak, for example. Perhaps a willingness to do things others wouldn’t. If not criminal acts, ones that fall in legal grey areas like tax avoidance. Hugh’s claims about your dad’s rivalry with Yusuf support this. He spoke of dirty tricks, which paints the picture of a man willing to do almost anything to come out on top..”

Sammy nodded and glanced again into his coffee. He would want another in a minute, but the queue was out the door, and he wanted to hear Abbie’s theory to the end to see how closely it matched his own.

“The thing about the kind of man I believe your father to be is they can often entangle themselves with the wrong kind of people – dangerous folk who don’t operate in the grey area but on the wrong side of the law. Ambitious business people often think they can handle such folk. They’re almost always wrong, and getting on the wrong side of the crooks I’m describing only ends one way.”

Abbie held up one finger, then another.

“Retribution. Revenge.”

She lowered the fingers.

“And what better way to hurt a father than to go after his children?”

Sammy shuddered. Abbie was on his wavelength, but hearing the theory out loud had a chilling effect.

“When you were fifteen, and your dad almost got you killed, was that the result of him pissing off one or more dangerous crooks?”

Sammy couldn’t speak but managed to nod.

“There you go, and people like him rarely learn. History repeats, except now you’re grown. The revenge is sweeter when the victim has yet to hit adulthood. Hence: Courtney. I’m sorry; I know this is a lot.”

Sammy had his eyes closed. He was struggling, but he shook his head.

“It’s okay. Go on. There’s more, right?”

“You know there is. We’re not only talking about Courtney, are we?”

“No.”

“Exactly, so what if, after whatever your father did to piss off these people, they don’t think going after the teenage daughter is enough. That move is straight for the jugular. Maybe they also want a punishment that targets your father indirectly. Something involving one of his kids that also stirs up an existing business rivalry. For example…”

“Attacking Zaria.” Sammy completed the sentence. “Forcing her to blame Hugh for the assault.”

“Right, which they’d anticipate would lead to a retaliatory strike from Yusuf.”

“Turns out they were right.”

Abbie raised a hand. “If they exist.”

“Good point.”

Working through this theory was like running flat out on a treadmill. Sammy fell back, drained, depleted. Paradoxically, there was also something invigorating about getting it into the open. It threaded together these separate events – the attack on his brother and the one on his sister – in a way that made sense.

“This is all guesswork,” Abbie said as Sammy stared at the ceiling. “It involves numerous leaps of faith using limited information. We’d be in trouble with Sherlock Holmes, who said⁠—“

“It is a capital mistake to theorise before one has data,” Sammy said. “Insensibly, one begins to twist facts to suit theories, instead of theories to suit facts.”

Abbie smiled. “Bingo. As a PI, Holmes must be your fictional idle.”

“Actually, it’s Winnie the Pooh.”

Abbie was right. The theory sounded good, but that did not make it accurate. In his day job, Sammy was good at remaining detached from situations and using logic and data to reach the truth. This was harder when the mystery involved your family. Emotional attachment was the enemy of logical assessment, and Sammy had to work hard not to let personal motivation and bias sway him as he sought to discover who had attacked his sister.

As Sammy assessed what they had discussed, Abbie gathered the sandwich boxes and grabbed the empty crisp packet from beneath Sammy’s saucer. She took the rubbish to the bin across the room. When she returned, Sammy leaned towards her.

“Okay, you’ve divulged your information about Hugh and explained your theory. I guess it’s my turn.”

“I guess it is.”

Sammy remained unsure whether to open up. Abbie had revealed the truth behind Hugh’s attack and helped Sammy work through a theory that linked the incidents affecting Sammy’s siblings, but this was his family. He had a right to know. As a passerby, Abbie had no right to anything.

On the other hand, if Sammy didn’t open up to Abbie, to whom would he talk? A confidante was useful in a complex investigation, but Sammy had no business partner and would drag none of his friends into this mess. He couldn’t trust his father, and Xylina was not the ally he needed. Courtney was unconscious and a child. Hugh would be of no use in unravelling the mystery of these attacks. That left Isabel. Sammy trusted Izzy more than anyone, but she didn’t need to be distracted from protecting Courtney.

Two options remained. Go it alone, or let Abbie in.

He looked across the table at the attractive woman who had appeared so suddenly in his life. He still found her presence suspicious, but she had done nothing but prove herself an ally so far. He would have to learn to trust her if he preferred not to do this alone.

Sammy pushed his empty mug across the table.

“Let’s get another drink, then I’ll tell you about my dad and what happened last night.”

Abbie smiled. “Sounds good.”

She took the empty mugs to the counter. That was it. Sammy had committed to telling Abbie everything.

Well, almost everything.

18

Abbie went to get drinks. The queue was shorter now, but there were still a couple of people between her and the counter. While she waited, she looked back at Sammy. How honest would he be with her? It was clear he had decided to let her help. There would be an amnesty on his suspicion, but that didn’t mean he’d tell her everything. Something hid beneath the surface. Something Sammy wanted to keep hidden from everyone. Not only her.

The barista made Abbie’s drinks, and she took them to the table. Exhaustion and stress painted Sammy’s face. He feared for his siblings and would be unable to rest until they were safe. He had no idea his life was in at least as much danger as theirs. It was up to Abbie to protect him while he protected them.

He thanked her for the coffee and offered to pay. She turned him down, suggesting he instead jump straight to discussing his father and what he knew of Courtney’s attack.

He touched the rim of his mug, allowing the steam to curl around his hand, and stared into the drink. What did he see in his coffee? Abbie guessed he did not see it at all. His eyes had lost focus while his mind played a film from his past.

“When it comes to Dad, there’s not much to say and nothing you haven’t already guessed. As you intimated, my father’s a man bursting with ambition, and occasionally, his ambition outstrips his means. I told you earlier I wasn’t involved with his company, and that’s true. I never have been, but I suspect he’s cut corners to make more money or grow his empire faster. Tax avoidance is one thing, but I know he’s in bed with people who don’t abide by the law.”

He took his hand from his coffee. Condensation had gathered on the tip of his index finger, and he wiped the digit on his top before continuing.

“A few weeks after Courtney’s birth, I visited my father to see her. Xylina was asleep upstairs, and Courtney was napping in her Moses basket. Dad was enjoying a few minutes of peace. It was clear he hadn’t slept much. He laughed about that. Told me that operating on a couple of hours kip hadn’t been a problem when Izzy, Hugh and I were born. Not so easy now he was older.” Sammy looked up. “Sorry, none of this is relevant. I guess I’m procrastinating.”

“Your clients must do the same.”

That drew a smile. “They sure do.”

Abbie said nothing.

“Anyway, Dad went to get drinks. While he was gone, someone knocked on the door. When I answered, they shoved a gun in my face.”

A shudder. Abbie knew Sammy wasn’t reacting as a man in his late twenties. Retelling the story had reverted him to his teenage self. Abbie got that. Not so long ago, she’d returned to her hometown, the location of so many traumatic events. As the memories came crashing down, she frequently felt like the teen she had been rather than the woman she had become.

“There were three of them,” he said. “Two heavies and the man in charge. One of the heavies had the weapon. The boss was tall and lean with terrifying eyes. Cold steel, I remember thinking, just like the gun.”

Abbie knew the sort. She had met many such people, men and women who exuded a cold, uncompromising power. These were the people you saw and at once understood what was at their core: why they were successful and what they would do should you get in their way.

“The boss gestured for me to return to the living room. I was terrified, but when this guy saw Courtney asleep in her basket, I put myself between him and her. The first time I held her, I said I’d die for her; I guess I thought I meant it metaphorically. Only when I stood between her and the man with the gun did I realise I meant it in the most literal sense. I’d take a bullet to keep her alive.”

“I know the feeling.” Abbie’s voice croaked, and she cleared her throat. She was thinking of Violet, her younger sister. There was no doubt in her mind that she’d have died for Vi. Unfortunately, on the night that mattered, she hadn’t arrived in time to do so.

“Yeah,” Sammy said. “Weird, isn’t it?”

Abbie nodded.

“When Dad returned from the kitchen, his face said it all. He was pale but unsurprised. He knew why the men were there. The guilt in his eyes suggested he’d done wrong. He started to speak. His voice was a babble, loud enough to make Courtney stir. I thought he’d be unable to stop, but the man – I don’t remember his name, so let’s call him Cold Steel – raised a hand, and Dad shut up. I’d never seen someone command my father like that. It was an odd experience.”

“I bet.”

“Cold Steel spoke in a whisper so as not to wake Courtney. Dad owed him money and had failed to pay promptly. I remember what he said next word for word.”

Sammy closed his eyes, but Abbie guessed he was unaware he had done so. He was inhabiting his teenage self as he repeated Cold Steel’s threats.

“‘How should we punish you for this transgression? Shall we take the baby? Or bring her mother here? Perhaps it’s too much to deprive you of the chance to dote on this precious girl. As he’s here, we could kill your son instead. Or maybe only maim him.’”

There was silence after Sammy repeated the words heard almost a decade and a half ago. It was as though the rest of the café had gone still, listening to Sammy’s narrative. Though, of course, they were not.

Sammy opened his eyes.

“The guy with the gun came over and pressed the weapon to my head. It was all I could do not to cry, throw up, and wet myself. It took everything I had to hold myself together. I thought I was going to die.”

Another silence, which Abbie couldn’t help but break.

“I’m guessing your father convinced them not to go even so far as to maim you. You look in pretty good nick to me.”

Retelling this tale had taken its toll on Sammy, but Abbie’s words brought the ghost of a smile to his lips.

“He begged, promising to pay within the week. Cold Steel agreed, and like that, it was over. He nodded to his guys, whispered goodbye to me, and disappeared. I never saw him again. To my shame, I never discussed what had happened with my father. Now, here we are, over a decade later. Someone’s attacked two of my siblings, and Dad’s gone into hiding. It’s the same again, isn’t it? He’s pissed off someone dangerous. He can’t help himself, and I can’t help but wonder, could I have prevented this? I mean, back then, if I’d confronted him, could that’ve been the butterfly flapping its wings, changing what’s happening now?”

“Doubtful,” Abbie said without hesitation. “In any case, it’s not worth considering. What happened then happened, and the situation now is what it is. We have to take it at face value. Do what we can to fix it and keep your siblings safe. Keep your whole family safe.”

Sammy considered. The memory of what happened then and the knowledge of what was happening now, what he had to do, weighed heavy on his soul.

“You’re probably right.”

They drank in silence. Sammy continued to dwell on the past and present, but Abbie wondered if his thoughts were constructive. Blaming himself for actions he had failed to take in the past would diminish his effectiveness in the present.

Once her mug was empty, Abbie replaced it on the saucer and pushed it to one side. Then she surprised herself by reaching out and placing her hand on Sammy’s. The move seemed to surprise him as much as her, but once the initial shock passed, he met her gaze and spoke before she could.

“Not even told you the most important stuff yet, have I? What I know about my father’s more recent actions. Courtney. I’m working up to it.”

“There’s no rush.” This was a lie, and Sammy knew it; the words comforted him anyway. He glanced at Abbie’s empty mug, then at his own. She took her hand from his, and he pushed his empty cup towards hers.

“Whether it’s wise or not, I want to tell you everything.” He glanced over his shoulder. “It’s busy here. Are you gasping for another café-made coffee?”

“Not at all. I’ve quenched my thirst on the coffee front.”

“We don’t have to stay here, cramped on this tiny table in the corner of this packed café. There’s more to discuss. It might be easier back at my place.”

How endearing it was to see his cheeks flush and his eyes turn to the table as he spoke like a teenager asking his crush to the dance. These were grave circumstances, but in a way, she felt a little like that herself, as though a cute boy were asking her on a date. That was not a professional way of thinking or feeling, but that didn’t mean she should reject the request. It made sense to stay with Sammy, given she hoped to keep him safe.

“Sounds good.”

He nodded, pleased.

“I want to see my sister first. Bit of family time. I don’t suppose you’d mind--“

“I’ll wait outside. As long as you need, it’s no problem.”

“Thank you.”

They rose, and Sammy met Abbie’s gaze as they grabbed their coats. His eyes narrowed, but Abbie saw he was forcing them to do so. This was manufactured suspicion.

“I’m trusting my gut here,” he said. “You could still be a wrongun.”

Abbie raised her hands in surrender.

“I promise I won’t try taking you down when we’re alone in your flat. Well, not in a violent way.”

Sammy’s cheeks flushed so red that he could have passed for a traffic light.

19

Clint woke to his mother yelling, her voice an echo chasing up the stairs. He was used to the sound, like fingernails on a blackboard. Twenty-two years he’d been on this Earth. During that time, his mother’s shriek, ripping him from his slumber, was the one constant.

What time was it? Clint rolled over and immediately regretted it. Someone had cut open his head and chucked a handful of gravel inside. When he moved, the tiny stones rattled around his skull, causing an involuntary groan to escape his lips. It was all for nothing, as the room had no clock, and his phone was out of battery.

He tossed the device aside and forced himself to stand. The world tilted, and Clint went with it. Only by grabbing the bed’s baseboard did he keep upright. His head swam, and he completely forgot what he was doing.

The time.

That was it. No way to know for sure, but the way the sun shoved through his cheap, good-for-nothing curtains suggested how late in the morning it must be.

Not good, although it should have been no surprise. When had he got home? 4 a.m.? Something like that. A good time to crawl into bed, but had he? Nope. Not stupid Clint. He’d pillaged the fridge, taken a few cans upstairs, and finished the job begun hours earlier by getting blind drunk.

If only he could have finished the other job. The one that mattered.

Apprehension swirled in his stomach. No wonder his mum was shouting. She’d want to know what went down and when she learned of Clint’s failure…

Not that it was Clint’s failure. She’d put Jared in charge, and Jared had sidelined Clint. Jared had screwed up; Clint only failed in trying to fix Jared’s mess. She should laud Clint for his efforts.

But she wouldn’t.

This would all be Clint’s fault because Clint was the screw-up. Golden child Jared could do no wrong. So it had always been with their mum. Their father, too, before he went to prison.

Was Jared back? If so, he was doubtless already pouring poison in their mum’s ear. Everything would have been okay if Clint had stayed home, that kind of thing. Complete crap, but that wouldn’t stop Jared from saying it or their mum from believing it.

More yelling. She’d come up soon, and Clint couldn’t handle that. He forced his legs to carry him to the bathroom, mumbling in the vague direction of his mother as he passed the top of the stairs.

“Down in a min.”

He turned on the tap and dropped onto the toilet. The sound of running water was soothing and had the added benefit of drowning out his mother. The world spun, and he fought the urge to be sick. Silly. Vomiting was preferable to facing his mother.

The stairs were a challenge. The world was already tilting, and descending made matters far worse. Each time his foot dropped from one step to the next, it felt like the world was disappearing from beneath him, and he would plummet into space. He persevered, but it took an age.

His mother was waiting in the living room. Tall and rake-thin, she was unlike her short, stocky husband and sons. Her height helped her to look down on the male members of her family, and her long, narrow fingers made Clint think of a witch rather than a pianist. Her face was a mask of fury when he appeared. This expression had been striking fear into Clint’s heart since he was a toddler. It made him tremble. Not good when he was already struggling to stay upright. His legs almost buckled, but he stayed up.

“You got drunk again?” She shook her head. “Pathetic. What a waste of space you are. I suppose I needn’t ask where the girl is. You screwed up, didn’t you? Another failure to add to the list.”

This was the moment. Now was the time to explain what had happened, how Jared had refused to involve him, and how Clint only had the opportunity to fail to grab the teen at the hospital because he had worked out where his brother was going and arrived in time to see the paramedics taking the girl away. Clint might have told her this if not for fear that he’d be sick as soon as he opened his mouth.

She closed her eyes. “You bring your father and me such shame.”

There was nothing else. She turned and walked away. It was funny; Clint had prayed his mum wouldn’t come up the stairs. He hadn’t wanted to see her, but now he had; he wanted her to stay. When she left, a pit of misery opened in his stomach. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes. He wanted her back.

An arch led from the living room to the dining room and a door from the dining room to the kitchen. Clint staggered after his mother, who emerged from the kitchen carrying a glass of water. She placed it on the smooth, black dining table and looked at her son.

“Sit. Drink. You need to get your head on straight, sharpish. Do you know what time it is?”

Clint shook his head, which was a mistake. The gravel started tumbled around like in a washing machine, kicking his headache into high gear. He grabbed his skull and groaned, then forced himself to slump into the chair closest to the water.

“Almost two in the afternoon.” She sat opposite Clint and waited as he drank half of the drink in one go. “You do remember we have a deadline?”

Clint nodded. Again, the gravel swirled and grabbed his head, but it remained safer than talking.

His mother sighed, rose, and went to the kitchen. A minute later, she returned with a rectangular, foil-covered packet. She chucked it next to Clint’s glass, then seemed to think better of her actions. With another sigh, she came around the table and grabbed the packet.

“Do you know where your brother is? He’s not answering his phone.”

She popped two pills free of the packet as she spoke. Clint forced himself to shake his head, then managed a word.

“Sorry.”

“As you should be. Midnight tonight. That’s the deadline. If we fail, we don’t get paid, and if we don’t get paid… well, you know what happens. To your father. Maybe that’s what you want.”

Clint looked at his mother but didn’t speak. She shook her head in disgust and dumped the pills into his glass.

“Drink.”

He did as she said, draining the water and swallowing the pills. The second he was done, she grabbed the glass and left the room. She returned twenty seconds later, having filled it to the brim.

“Drink more. Get yourself together, then tell me everything. I need to know what went wrong and what happened to Jared. Maybe I can fix it. I’ll have to, won’t I?”

Her expression told Clint what she thought of her younger son. The same as ever. That he was worthless. That he could do nothing right. That he was not to be trusted. Clint had strived for his parents’ respect and love his whole life, but he would never get it. He had tried again last night and had failed. Perhaps they wouldn’t capture the teen in time, and there would be no money. If so, dangerous men would murder Clint’s father. The same father who had spent years bullying and belittling him.

Clint remembered his mother’s words and rephrased the question she had implicitly asked.

Would his father dying be so bad?

20

After a couple of hours with his siblings and stepmother, Sammy met Abbie, and they drove across town in separate cars to Sammy’s tiny flat. He seemed uncomfortable as they approached the front door. Given he did not seem to be the type to concern himself with what others thought of his financial or living situation, Abbie could not imagine why.

Until he led her inside.

Bleach. The place stank of it. Especially the titchy shower room. This was suggestive. The flat was clean and tidy, but not obsessively so. The toilet stood out in the way it sparkled and smelled. There was a reason for that. Sammy feared Abbie working out what it was, and she attempted to defuse the situation with her usual dark humour when she poked her head through the toilet door.

“This must be where you butcher your enemies. Swinging the axe without bashing your elbows on the tiles or shattering the shower screen must be some task. I’m impressed.” She retreated from the room and almost closed the door, then changed her mind. “Better let the smell dissipate, or the next person to go for a wee will probably pass out.”

The tap ran. Sammy filled two glasses and turned to Abbie. He drained half of his in one go, then gestured to the bathroom.

“You’re way off base.”

“I am?”

“Yeah. It wasn’t an axe. It was a pen knife.”

“That would help with the space concern.”

“For sure. Also, I like to get up close and personal.”

He crossed the room and offered Abbie the second glass of water. She took it without hesitation, indicating her appreciation of his humour.

“I’ve never asked you to tell me everything,” she said. “There’s a reason for that.”

“I’m not a killer.”

Abbie shrugged. “I’m inclined to believe you, but that wasn’t the reason.”

“You don’t care if I’m a killer?”

“Something like that.”

Rather than immediately explain further, Abbie moved away from the toilet towards the dominant piece of furniture in the room: a sofa bed.

“I guess you didn’t bother turning this back into a chair because you were in a rush. Off to the hospital to see your sister? Either that, or you assumed you’d pull tonight. Which you haven’t.”

“Not with you anyway.”

She laughed and pressed a hand into the mattress. Hard. Lumpy. She couldn’t imagine sleeping on it every night, but it would serve for now.

“May I?”

Sammy nodded. “Of course.”

She slipped off her shoes and got on the bed, putting her feet atop the duvet and leaning against the headrest. It wasn’t cosy, and no amount of shifting improved the situation.

“Crap, isn’t it?” Sammy kicked off his shoes and sat next to Abbie. “You’ll notice I don’t make much money as a private detective.”

“And why’s that?”

Sammy looked at her, curious.

“That’s an odd question.”

“Is it?”

“Definitely. Most people assume I’m not great at my job.”

“Most people are idiots. Maybe you’re crap at your job, but I doubt it. From what I’ve seen, I’d guess you’re a man of principle. That’s what holds you back. Financially, anyway.”

“I’m not sure wanting to protect my siblings makes me a man of principle.”

“I don’t know. I’ve met many men and women who wouldn’t go as far as you to keep their families safe. Still, I wasn’t basing my judgment on that.”

“Then what?”

“Lots of things.” She gestured around the flat. “For one, your father’s wealthy, but you choose to live here. I assume he’d give you the money to get somewhere bigger.”

“He would.”

“But you won’t take his cash because you disapprove of him or what he does because you’re a man of principle. I bet you turn plenty of business away for the same reason, only taking the cases of those who deserve your help. Unfortunately, deservingness and wealth don’t often go hand in hand.”

Impressed by this quick analysis, Sammy said, “Don’t suppose you want a job?”

Abbie smiled but didn’t answer. They fell into a comfortable silence, broken only when Sammy gestured to the toilet.

“Why are you happy for me not to tell you everything? Why don’t you care if I’m a killer?”

“That’s not what I said.” Abbie followed his gaze. “My point was that you being a killer wouldn’t necessarily make me want to cut ties. I don’t believe in black and white, and I’ve met kind people who’ve killed and cruel people who haven’t. Typically, I operate on instinct and gut feel, and my gut tells me you’re a good man.” She pointed at the bathroom. “Something happened in there to make you want to clean it. Maybe it was something simple, but the strength of the smell means it happened recently. Shortly before you learned of the attack on your sister or in one of the few periods you’ve spent away from the hospital since. The timing is indicative. It makes it likely that whatever happened here links to your sister’s plight. But I won’t ask, and I don’t expect you to tell. I’ve decided to trust you. I’m here to help and to listen. Not to interrogate.”

This prompted another period of silence. Abbie had no doubt that Sammy was recalling what had happened to encourage him to clean the toilet with such vigour. She wasn’t worried about whether he told her. Before long, she’d know. She could feel it.

“I am hiding something from you,” he said. “It’s probably mad, but I’m tempted to spill the truth about everything. I can’t, though. Not yet. I couldn’t tell Izzy, my big sister, who I tell pretty much everything; there’s no chance I can tell you. I hope that’s okay.”

“More than okay. I meant what I said.”

“What happened in there…” he waved at the toilet. “It has to do with my sister, but I’m not responsible for her attack. I’d never hurt her. I’m not certain I’m a good person, but I know I’d wreak havoc on the world to keep Courtney safe.”

There was a tremble in his voice. He was struggling to keep it together.

“I believe you.” Abbie reached out and took his hand, relying on instinct, as in the café. He looked at her, and in a moment of madness, she almost kissed him. It was a shock to the system, and she looked away. His passion and humour, the way he talked about his sister – so reminiscent of how Abbie might have discussed Violet if her younger sibling had survived – made her feel a powerful connection to him. It was more than friendly. It was dangerous. Counterproductive. She needed information, not sexual gratification.

She had to cool off.

“Damn it,” Sammy said. “I’m more nervous now than when I stabbed that guy to death in my bathroom.”

Abbie sighed. Dark humour was the final straw. It pushed her over the edge, and she kissed the man she was supposed to save.

Damn it, indeed.

21

Clint’s mother devoted an hour to locating her elder and preferred son, phoning friends, ex-girlfriends, and colleagues, all to no avail. Clint tried to help but had no more luck. Jared might have been locked in a cell or comatose in a hospital bed. They might never see him again. Even if they did, it seemed inevitable he would not be back in time.

Between calls, Clint relayed the previous night’s events to his mother. How Jared had frozen him out and disappeared. How Clint had tracked him to the derelict house and followed the paramedics to the hospital. How he had tried – and failed – to make everything right. As he spoke, his mood improved. This was all Jared’s fault.

Then his mum replied.

“You’re pathetic. If your brother could’ve trusted you, we’d not be in this mess. Then again, if you were trustworthy, you wouldn’t have screwed up at the hospital.” She stared at her phone, hopelessness in her eyes. “Unfortunately, you’re all I’ve got. Let’s go.”

Clint followed his mother without question. They got in the car and set off, her at the wheel. Clint sat in the front passenger seat, resting his head against the cool window. It was good for his headache, which the paracetamol had done nothing to alleviate. He also had a two-litre water bottle clamped between his legs. His mother had insisted he bring it, and she kept slapping his arm and forcing him to take a few sips. A look of purest loathing accompanied each slap. Why did she hate him so? If he asked, she likely wouldn’t answer. If she did, he knew what she’d say.

Whitney Caulfield.

Just that name. No more was needed. At once, Clint would be tossed back to that night on his way home from the shops, seeing Whitney alone and confronting her. Shouting. Her contemptuous replies. Then, a blackout that might have lasted seconds or minutes. When it ended, Whitney was bloody and bruised. So were Clint’s fists. They ached. Whitney was unconscious.

Clint ran.

His parents could’ve supported him. After all, Whitney had made Clint believe he was special, only to ditch him when more popular friends came calling. She had treated him like shit, and he had responded accordingly. Why couldn’t his parents see that?

Fine, they had paid his legal fees and moved halfway across the country to escape the angry mob, leaving behind jobs, friends, and a home they loved. That was a kind of support, but not what he most needed. There were no hugs. No soft words, telling him it would be okay. Instead, His dad had beaten him, and his mum made it clear that the problem wasn’t that Clint had attacked Whitney. His crime was being too weak to finish the job and too stupid not to get caught.

Anyway, Clint didn’t buy that this was the reason his parents hated him. For as long as he could remember, his bastard of a father would beat him for such transgressions as being too loud when he was trying to sleep, too slow when bringing his beer, or too near when his football team lost. For as long as he could remember, his mother had belittled and humiliated him – no wonder he reacted so badly when Whitney abandoned him after pretending to care.

His parents didn’t hate him because he had attacked Whitney Caulfield. He’d attacked Whitney Caulfield because his parents hated him.

The car continued along its course as his mother continued on her mission to save Clint’s father, and Clint could not help but muse how much better his life had been since the cops busted the old man with all that cocaine. His mum was still cold, and Jared barely paid him any attention, but the beatings had stopped. After twenty-two years on Earth, Clint finally knew what it was like not to be in pain all the time.

That was a pleasure he could enjoy for another year. Longer, if his dad failed to make it to his release date alive.

“Can you not stop daydreaming for five seconds?”

Clint realised they had stopped.

“Okay,” his mother said, “here’s what you do.”

Clint listened and then nodded and told her he got it.

“Can I trust you? No, don’t bother answering. You’re useless, but you’re my only option.”

This wasn’t true. Clint was tempted to say that if he was so untrustworthy, perhaps she should deal with this herself. She wouldn’t because there was risk involved, and she wasn’t one to take chances that might see her locked up. Clint was disposable.

He said, “I can handle it,” because he was too frightened of his mother to say anything else.

“We’ll see.”

He didn’t hang around. He rushed from the car with his abusive, arsehole father still occupying his mind. He remembered the day his mum had returned from a prison visit, ashen-faced and afraid. Clint wasn’t used to seeing her like that. She was a powerful, dominating woman. That she could experience fear, like a human, came as quite a shock.

She explained the problem to Jared, and Clint listened in. Their father had organised the cocaine deal that led to his imprisonment, but the drugs belonged to a local crime boss, Isaac. Issac would’ve taken the lion’s share of the profit from the drug deal; their dad would have taken a commission.

Then the police intervened, arrested their father, and impounded the drugs. Now, Issac was out of pocket and expected Clint’s father to reimburse him. Failure to do so would result in execution at the hands of one of Isaac’s loyal lieutenants currently serving time behind bars.

It was a ridiculous amount of cash. Selling the house wouldn’t cover it, so there was no way they could get hold of it. Clint’s mum had already assessed all the options. She told Jared they would have to accept that the man of the house would die in jail. All that remained was to hope that a single killing satisfied Isaac. That he would leave them alone.

Until an unexpected opportunity fell into their laps.

Clint stopped outside the hospital and drained the rest of his water, chucking the plastic bottle into the bin. He knew where he was going. Same place as last night. What would his mum have said if he had succeeded then?

Something horrible, no doubt. For many years, he had lived in the hope that there was something, anything, he could do to make his parents love or respect him. He knew better now. They had formed their opinions of Clint and would never change their minds.

So, why was he doing this?

The lift doors opened, and he made his way into the hall. Courtney’s room was only a minute’s walk, but he stopped before proceeding. Again the question came to mind.

Why are you doing this?

The answer was close at hand, and it didn’t involve his father.

The money.

The opportunity came out of the blue. A stranger showed up at the door. He knew of Isaac’s demands and was happy to clear the debt if only Clint’s family would kidnap a teenage girl named Courtney and bring her to him.

That was it.

The man gave them information about Courtney and her family. He didn’t tell them why he wanted the girl, and they didn’t ask. They needed money, and the man had proof of funds. Perhaps he intended to torture, rape, and kill the teen. That wasn’t their business.

Incentivised by the cash, Clint proceeded through the halls, hesitating only when he turned into the corridor where Courtney’s brother – Sammy – and the unknown woman had defeated him.

Well, he had defeated himself. Hours have waiting had borne fruit when Samuel left the teen unattended for the first time. Knowing he wouldn’t have long, Clint had warned himself to make haste when he entered the room: unhook the girl from any machines, grab her, and run. Simple as that.

Things changed when he saw the girl. Memories swarmed. Courtney was a couple of years younger than Whitney had been when Clint attacked Whitney in the street, but there was a strange resemblance. Or maybe there wasn’t. Maybe Clint imagined it. Perhaps it was simply that this girl, too, had suffered a beating, presumably from Jared.

Whatever the case, Whitney wouldn’t leave Clint’s mind, and before he knew it, there was a tear in his eye, and his finger was on the teen’s cheek. Did he even whisper a ‘sorry’ to the girl? Perhaps. However much he told himself she’d brought the beating on herself, he could not remove the guilt.

Who knew how long he stood there, but Sammy had caught him and, with his mystery lady friend, caused Clint to flee with his tail between his legs.

A failure. The memory made his blood boil and drove him along the corridor to where the woman had knocked the knife from his hand.

There was hardly anyone around. A couple of men in suits loitered outside the room. Isabel, Courtney’s sister, was an MP. Maybe these were personal protection officers. Perhaps she’d persuaded someone influential to do her a favour. That was the problem with Clint’s failure. Courtney’s family was on high alert now.

Clint paid the men in suits no heed as he stepped past Courtney’s room. He did glance to the side as he went, looking through the door.

Two women and a man sat beside Courtney. The younger woman and the man sat close together, the older woman a little further away. There was a frosty silence between them. Clint knew them all. Their mystery benefactor had brought pictures of Courtney’s family: photos of Sammy, taken from his website; from Facebook, the man had grabbed an image of Hugh while there were shots of Isabel on the campaign trail. Xylina’s photos were from her modelling days. Clint had found them and more online once the man was gone.

That had been a fun night.

He proceeded along the hall. His mother would be impatiently awaiting feedback on the layout so that she could plot their next move.

Let her. Clint went down in the lift but paused near the door that would take him into the carpark.

What were his next steps? He’d follow his mother’s instructions and kidnap the girl. Next time, he would not fail. No one would get in his way. But when he had her, what then? Whether he would deliver her to Mr Mysterious was not in question. He couldn’t wait to see all that money again. To hold it.

One question remained: once he had the money, would he give it to Isaac or allow his father to die so that he could finally start a new life of his own?

22

Something about bleak, dangerous situations often led to people falling into bed with one another. Abbie did not know why this should be the case, but it was. They probably had courses on it when you joined the police: How Not To Get Hot And Heavy With Your Partner When Hunting For Dangerous Criminals.

Abbie had always been disciplined about not sleeping with those she encountered on her life-saving missions. Still, no one is perfect, and her ability to resist such situations seemed to have deteriorated since she met Pranil a year ago and almost fell in love. Since then, there had been a brief sexual entanglement with Abe, one of Alice’s sons. Now, there was Sammy, an unforgivable lapse, given the circumstances. On the bright side, at least he was someone she would have dated if she lived an ordinary life. He was kind and funny, but he also had an edge. Something he was holding back. Perhaps that shouldn’t have been an attractive quality, but it was.

He was frustrated now. Not because he hadn’t enjoyed himself but because he knew he should be using every minute to find the aggressors who sought to harm his family.

They were undressed beneath the covers of Sammy’s uncomfortable sofa bed. Abbie found Sammy’s hand beneath the sheets and squeezed. She could see him gathering himself. What was done was done. No use lamenting the lost time. That would only waste more now when they needed to get back on track.

He said, “We need to talk about my father.”

“I’m so glad you didn’t say that ten minutes ago.”

He made a face. “Gross.”

She laughed, happy to have diffused his guilt, if only for a moment. He shook off her comment with a mock shudder, then refocused.

“Okay: Courtney. I only learned something might be up yesterday afternoon, a few hours before the attack. Xylina came to my office in a state, begging for help.”

Their hands had become detached as Sammy spoke, and Abbie shifted in bed. He did the same, so they were each on their side, facing one another as Sammy continued his story.

“A bit of background on my dad, beyond his business exploits. In his younger years, he was a lady’s man with a track record of infidelity. He left my mum when I was a teenager for the twenty-year-old Xylina. She was new to the country with no friends or family and little grasp of the language. My father swept her off her feet, made her fall in love with him, and promised to leave his wife. Which, in fairness, he did. After he’d knocked Xylina up. That wasn’t his first affair, though.”

“Other women behind your mum’s back?”

“Possibly, but go back further in time. He was twenty-five when he met my mum. She was eighteen. Not new to this country but isolated and lonely, like Xylina, years later. As with Xylina, he also seduced and knocked Mum up pretty damn quick. Isabel, my sister, was the result.”

“Let me guess,” Abbie said. “He was already with someone when he met your mother?”

“Engaged, yeah. He dropped his fiancé, as he’d later drop my mum. I’m pretty sure he never spoke to this bride-to-be again. It would almost certainly be the same with my mum if not for me, Hugh, and Izzy. He’s not a good man.”

This comment seemed to give Sammy pause, as though it was not something he had previously considered.

“I don’t know if Dad cheated when we were young,” Sammy said, his tone pensive, as though he were genuinely trying to decide what he believed. “I doubt it, if only because he spent so many hours building the business. He was unsuccessful until I was ten or eleven, and he didn’t take his foot off the gas until I hit puberty. That’s probably when it started. Or resumed. The cheating. Until he met Xylina and finally cut ties with my mother.”

“And the cycle began again.”

Abbie had jumped ahead to the zenith of the point. Sammy nodded.

“History repeats. Entranced by my eighteen-year-old mother, Dad left his fiancée to be with her, and within months, they were married with a kid on the way. Fast-forward twelve years, and Dad meets and falls for a twenty-year-old Greek woman named Xylina. He seduces her, leaves my mum, and within months, they’re married with a kid on the way. History repeats.”

“It does. Fast-forward another twelve or thirteen years, and maybe I can guess why Xylina came to your office in a state.”

Sammy pointed an approving finger in Abbie’s direction.

“She’s suspected Dad of cheating for a while, but she couldn’t catch him. After all, he’s an experienced adulterer – probably good at hiding it. Xy was at her wit’s end, but I doubt she’d have spoken to anyone. That’s not the kind of woman she is. She’d have suffered in silence until she could confirm her suspicions or prove they were unfounded. She certainly wouldn’t have come to me.”

“Something changed?”

“Dad received a call earlier this week. He didn’t know Xylina was home. Even so, he took it in his office. Xylina didn’t catch much. From what she heard, she thought he was talking to a lover. Whether he was talking to his mistress soon became irrelevant. One sentence stood out.”

“Go on.”

“‘If the truth comes out, they’ll take my daughter. Would you leave my wife childless?’”

It was tough to imagine how Xylina must have felt hearing this, but Abbie tried to put herself in Courtney’s mother’s shoes: a woman far from her homeland, with few friends and family. Her husband and child are her world. She’s already come to believe her husband has broken his wedding vows. The thought of losing her child must have driven her to despair.

“When was the call?”

“A week ago. Xylina tried to keep a close eye on Dad, but it was impossible. She worked herself into a frenzy before realising she couldn’t handle this alone. That’s when she came to me.”

“She didn’t think you’d tell your father?”

Sammy smirked. “She knows we have a fractious relationship. Even if we didn’t, I take my job seriously, and she approached me in a professional capacity.”

Abbie tried to picture the scene. “She told you about the call, her suspicions about your father’s affair, and asked you to find him?”

“Sort of. She was in a state, barely making sense. Her focus wasn’t on the affair. She called my dad a bastard and said I needed to protect my sister, which is what I tried to do. I followed him all day; didn’t see much, but that was no surprise. I’ve been doing this detective lark long enough to know fast breakthroughs are unusual. I’m used to cases lasting weeks or months. So, the surprise wasn’t that nothing happened fast.”

“It was that something did,” Abbie guessed.

Sammy nodded. “Dad picked Courtney up from some after-school club in the evening. On the way home, he stopped at a junction. I watched the light go green, and saw him go. One second, everything was normal; the next, the world jumped into fast-forward.

“A beaten-up 4×4 came out of nowhere, running a red, and smashed into the driver’s side of Dad’s car. I’d barely registered the crash when the 4×4’s masked driver jumped out. By the time I’d come to my senses and realised I had to do something, the guy had Courtney out of the car and into the road. I saw what was about to happen and sprinted towards them, but it was too late. The guy was already driving off with my sister.”

Reliving the moment he’d seen a stranger kidnap his sister took a heavy toll on Sammy. He raised a hand and wiped away tears. Abbie could have said something. She was tempted to, but he wasn’t quite finished, and she sensed he wanted to get to the end without interruption.

“I never reached Dad’s car. Didn’t even think about checking on him. When the 4×4 set off, I ran back to my vehicle and gave chase. It was too late. I’d already failed Courtney. It’s a miracle she ended up in the hospital rather than wherever her kidnapper intended to take her.”

With this, Sammy brought his story to a close, although it was clear details were missing. The implication was that Sammy had failed to find his sister. He had continued looking, but the next he heard of her was when Isabel phoned and told him Courtney was in the hospital. Maybe this was what happened, but Sammy’s expression and everything he had said earlier suggested that was not quite so. Then there was the bleach. Abbie’s best guess was that the cleanup had happened after Sammy witnessed the crash and Courtney’s kidnap but before Isabel’s call. What could have happened in between that required such a thorough cleaning? Maybe the loss of Sammy’s sister had so upset him that he had come home and thrown up in his toilet. That was possible, but would he have gone to such extreme lengths to clean up after himself if so? Doubtful.

Sammy was watching her, wondering if she would push him on the bathroom clean and what had happened after the accident. She wouldn’t. She’d already told him she would trust him on that front. If he wanted to tell her the whole truth, he would. Until then, she’d let it go.

“Thank you for telling me all that,” she said. “It can’t have been easy reliving it. Now we know where we stand, we must decide our next steps. Agreed?”

“Sounds good to me.”

He spoke quietly and didn’t meet her eye. She knew this was not because he disagreed with her suggestion. He was shaken by his memories. Abbie couldn’t help herself. She kissed him again. After a second, he kissed her back. That seemed to improve the situation. If only on a superficial level.

When their lips broke apart, Sammy was able to meet Abbie’s eye, and they devised their plan of action.

23

Sammy parted from Abbie feeling confused and conflicted but determined to pursue the truth about his father’s actions and the danger he and his siblings faced. The problem was that thoughts of Courtney and his father tangled with thoughts of Abbie. What had come over him? Yes, she was engaging, funny, and intelligent. Also, ridiculously good-looking. He fancied her. Duh. That shouldn’t matter. He was a professional whose sole focus should have been keeping his family safe. Not sleeping with a woman he did not know and perhaps should not have trusted.

Could he trust Abbie? It was far too late to ask that. He would trust her because he’d left himself with no choice, but he’d feel a prize mug if she turned out to be the villain of the piece. For now, he’d put such concerns from his mind. All he could do was what he had agreed with Abbie while hoping she held up her end of the bargain. He gave himself a pep talk.

Forget questions of trust, put any guilt to one side, and please, for God’s sake, stop thinking about her naked.

Instead, he’d think of his father, which was a strange and slightly uncomfortable gear shift, but one made easier as he drove into the gated community where his old man lived. As always when passing those gates, he recalled the day his father had shattered his mother’s world by telling her about Xylina. In the argument that followed, over his mother’s screaming, he heard his father promise to be fair: his soon-to-be ex-wife could have the house and half of everything else. That was the vow he made to the mother of his children. He’d see her and the kids right.

The divorce was quick, and Sammy’s father proved himself a liar once it was over. He gave his ex-wife their four-bedroom home, but his lawyers convinced the courts his business was failing, and he had no cash or assets worth anything other than the house he was giving up. When the dust settled, he closed the company he’d started when Sammy was a baby, of which he now owned only half, and opened a new firm. Within weeks, it became clear this had long been the plan. He owned the new business in its entirety. Ditto the seven-bedroom home – complete with pool and outhouse bar – he bought to share with his new bride.

Even after he broke her heart, Sammy’s mother trusted the man she loved. As a result, he left her with a home but nothing else while giving his new wife everything. Already furious at her father, the new house was a betrayal Isabel could never forgive. She had rarely spoken to their father since, and Sammy had the impression she would have cut him from her life entirely if not for Courtney.

He parked on the four-car drive and got out. Xylina’s Ferrari was absent, but two of his father’s cars were in evidence. Sammy considered the wealthy man who had half-heartedly raised his first three children as he fought to build his empire. There was no doubt that Courtney got the best of him. Sammy didn’t begrudge her that. Nor did he hate his father with the intensity displayed by Isabel. He sat between Isabel and Hugh, the latter having long ago forgiven the man for his actions, instead blaming Xylina entirely.

Neither Xylina nor Isabel had been able to contact Sammy’s father, so Sammy half expected no one to answer his knock. But after thirty seconds, the door swung open, and he came face to face with a man who shared many of his physical characteristics: average height, lean frame, piercing blue eyes, sandy brown hair, and a smile women struggled to ignore.

“Hey, Dad. Fancy seeing you here.”

His father said nothing at first. The way he analysed Sammy suggested he was thinking of something he could say to get rid of his son without drawing suspicion. He must have known that was impossible – Sammy was a private investigator, after all – because he gave up fast.

“I live here,” he said. “Where should I be?”

He winced as he finished speaking, knowing how Sammy would respond.

“At your daughter’s bedside.”

This time, he didn’t let himself hesitate.

“My daughter? What do you mean? I don’t⁠—“

“Nope.”

Sammy’s father’s hands clenched into fists. “What?”

On the ride over, Sammy had decided not to take the softly-softly approach. His father was an intelligent man – Sammy could not con him into surrendering any helpful facts – but one not used to being confronted. He did the shouting; he went on the attack. Sammy would give him a taste of his own medicine.

“Xylina’s been trying to contact you since Courtney arrived at the hospital. So’s Isabel. Neither has heard back. Xylina’s worried sick. Izzy’s angry, and I can’t blame her. What kind of father dodges calls and hides while his teenage daughter fights for her life in intensive care?”

This was an intentional exaggeration of Courtney’s condition, designed to make his father feel guilty. But would it work?

“I’ve not seen my phone. Work’s been crazy. I’ve been⁠—“

“No.”

The older man’s fists tightened; the skin around his knuckles whitened.

“You’re attached to your phone,” Sammy said, removing and unlocking his own. “Isabel and Xylina left messages; you’ll have listened to them. You know what happened.”

“I haven’t listened to anything. I don’t even have my phone. I’m pretty sure it’s back at the office, but⁠—“

Sammy interrupted his father again, this time without a word. He had scrolled through his contacts and found DAD. He hit call, and a second later, his father’s ringtone interrupted the man’s lies. Sammy jabbed the phone outline in his father’s jacket.

“New office space? Bet you’re saving a tonne of cash, but surely it’s cramped and dark? Where does your secretary work? In your back pocket?”

Sammy’s father was not a violent man. He’d never hit his children.

He looked as if he’d like to change that.

“Your actions could confuse people,” Sammy continued. “Xylina’s messages explained your child’s condition. I know you’ve listened not only because I’ve uncovered your pathetic lie but because you haven’t asked why Courtney’s in the hospital. Are you going to deal with that, by the way?”

Sammy pointed at his father’s jacket, and his father stared at Sammy’s phone. He knew Sammy could end the call, but as the ringtone continued to blare, he decided not to argue, snatching his phone and killing the call instead. Father and son slid their phones away simultaneously. Sammy noted that being caught in a lie did not seem to have embarrassed his old man; it only further angered him.

“People will believe your reluctance to visit Courtney means you don’t care,” Sammy continued. “That’s not my opinion. I think guilt keeps you away. You know you’re to blame for what happened, and you fear that seeing Court in a hospital bed will bring it all home; the weight of your actions will crush you.”

“How dare you suggest that I⁠—“

“I could be more charitable,” Sammy cut in. “Maybe you’re staying away to protect her. If so, you’ve failed. Since the initial attack, someone’s already reached Courtney in her bed. They’ll try again. Your absence protects no one but yourself. Maybe that’s the point.”

That was it. His father’s hands came up, and he stepped forward. Sammy realised the older man was planning to backhand him. He glanced at the hand but didn’t flinch. He met his father’s eye and waited.

After a few tense seconds, the hand fell.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” his father said.

“I know more than you think. I followed you yesterday and saw a car ram into you before the driver kidnapped my sister. I know enough to understand you’ve been up to no good. Someone’s punishing you, and I doubt they’ll stop at Courtney. I’ve seen evidence of that, too.”

All of the evidence of his father’s facial expression suggested the older man hadn’t expected his son to know so much.

“What do you mean you’ve seen evidence they won’t stop at Courtney? What evidence?”

“Hugh. Someone attacked him last night. Like Courtney, he ended up in the hospital, but he’s luckier than her. He’s been discharged.”

“Hugh? I don’t understand. Who’d attack Hugh?”

The confusion on his father’s face looked genuine, but Sammy would take nothing for granted.

“Tariq.”

“Yusuf’s son? Why?”

“Someone assaulted Zaria. She told her brother Hugh was responsible. It was a retaliatory attack.”

Sammy’s father did not at once respond. How much did the older man know? Was he beginning to appreciate the severity of the consequences of his actions? And what would he tell his eldest son?

“Come on.” He grabbed Sammy’s arm. “Come inside; I’ll tell you everything.”

Sammy freed his arm but nodded. Did his father mean it? Was he telling the truth? Maybe, but Sammy remembered his promises to his ex-wife and recalled what happened later.

He would hear his father out, but could he trust the man?

No chance.

24

While Sammy drove off in search of his father, Abbie set about tracking down Zaria and learning the truth of her attack. She had addresses for Yusuf and his ex-wife, and she started with Zaria’s mother’s place. This was the 22-year-old’s last known location, but it was a bust. No one answered Abbie’s knocks and a quick recce was enough to confirm that no one was home.

She found more success at Yusuf’s, a well-maintained property in a quiet part of town. A knock at the door summoned Tariq, who did not seem pleased to see her.

“Oh, good. It’s you.”

Abbie put on a scowl. “Your sarcasm wounds me. Because of it, I shall not protect your feelings by pretending I came here to find you. Why are you here anyway? Have you not a place of your own?”

“I do. You find it unusual that I’d visit my father?”

“Well, I’d never visit mine, but I suppose the logic stands up to scrutiny, not least considering what’s going on with Zaria. I’m sure you’re pulling together, maybe lining up your next attack.”

“Enough of that.” Tariq glanced over his shoulder, then stepped out and pulled the door closed behind him.

“Not big on hospitality, then? Won’t you invite me in and offer me a drink? I’d love a lemonade.”

Tariq ignored Abbie. “No need to ask why you’re here. You’re not after me, and I doubt you came to see my dad. You want Zaria, yes?”

Abbie dismissed this question and looked at the closed door. She replayed Tariq’s expression when she had mentioned the attack. The way he had silenced her before putting the door between him and whoever was inside.

“Is Zaria here?”

“No.”

Abbie studied Tariq’s face. “I’m inclined to believe you. Someone is, though. Your father?”

“Yeah. It’s the two of us.”

“Which means he doesn’t know you attacked Hugh. Why’s that, I wonder?”

Tariq offered no answer other than to fold his arms, displaying his annoyance that Abbie had reached this conclusion.

“Are you worried your father will learn what you did to Hugh? Or what someone did to Zaria?”

“Not someone. Hugh.”

“Zaria was at her mother’s when it happened. Your father doesn’t know about the assault, does he? Why wouldn’t you tell him?”

More frustration. Why was it so rare for people to congratulate Abbie when she made clever deductions? She never got the credit she deserved.

“How far do you think the silent treatment will carry you? I think we both know the answer is not very. As I’ve proven, you’re no match for me in a fight. What if I decided to go past you and knock on the door? How long before your father answered, and what would he say when I asked for his thoughts on the man or woman who attacked his daughter?”

“It’s not ‘someone’,” Tariq said, clenching his fists. “It’s not ‘the man or woman’. It’s Hugh.”

“Hugh’s not a man or woman?”

“He’s a rabid dog but less intelligent.”

“I don’t know about the rabid dog bit, but I’ve always suspected the private school system wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.”

“Do you think humour masks your threats? Or isn’t it supposed to?”

“I never use humour in any capacity,” Abbie said. “Don’t believe in it. Jokes are the last recourse of the idiot. By the way, you’re standing pretty close. Do you plan to beat me or kiss me? Honestly, I don’t know which I’d prefer.”

“You—“

Tariq saw Abbie’s smile and declined to play into her hands by mentioning that she’d made another joke. He ran a hand through his hair. The anger seeped away, and Abbie glimpsed what Tariq was taking on. The stress aged him.

“My father isn’t well.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

The strained man’s look and the way he studied Abbie suggested he was attempting to discern whether she was being genuine or making another joke. It didn’t take him long to realise she meant her words wholeheartedly.

“I’m not looking for sympathy. Just making a point. His heart’s weak. The doctors say stress isn’t good for him. They’ve implored him to give up work, and I’ve been battling with him for months to do the same. Finally, I've got him to reduce his hours and let me take command of the ship, but it isn’t enough. He’s struggling.”

Tariq’s expression painted a clear picture. Sammy and his siblings, at least the grown ones, had problems with their father. The relationship was fractured almost beyond repair. Tariq was different. Abbie saw not a man concerned about the business’s future but a boy afraid to lose his dad.

“You fear what the stress of learning what happened to Zaria might do?”

Tariq nodded.

“Then he won’t learn it from me. You have my word.”

“Thank you.”

“But,” Abbie said, “that doesn’t change why I came here. It was never to see your father. As you guessed, I’d like to speak with Zaria.”

“My sister may not have a weak heart, but it’s broken, and she’s delicate.”

“I understand, but I must speak with her.”

“Why?”

No use beating around the bush.

“Because I don’t believe Hugh attacked her.”

This prompted a short, barked laugh from Tariq. “I get it. Although you said you were impartial, you’ve decided to take Hugh’s side. You believe his BS story against the word of my sister. Let me guess: you think Zaria faked the attack. Am I in on it, in your theory, or has my little sister, who I’ve known her entire life, pulled the wool over my eyes?”

Abbie did not rise to Tariq’s tone.

“Sometimes we’re fooled more easily by those we love than those we don’t. You know Zaria’s honest, that she’d never lie to you. Therefore, without compelling evidence, you’ll believe whatever she says. Will you not?”

“I’m not listening to this.”

Tariq tried to turn; Abbie caught his arm.

“Hear me out.”

“Why should I?”

“Because you misunderstand what I’m saying. I don’t believe your sister faked her injuries. Based on the picture you showed me and my instinct that you’re telling the truth, I think the attack happened. I also doubt any untruths she’s told are born of ill intentions. As you say, you know Zaria. You say she’s a decent person. Under normal circumstances, she’d never lie to you. So, why would she fail to tell you the truth about her attacker?”

“That question has a faulty premise,” Tariq said. “She didn’t fail to tell me the truth. I know who attacked her.”

“Except I’ve spoken to Hugh and believe he’s innocent.”

“What you believe is meaningless to me. I’ll take my sister’s word over your impression any day.”

“Makes sense. Except I think your sister is probably afraid.”

“No shit. Her boyfriend attacked her.”

“I don’t think he did. I think someone else attacked her. Someone frightening enough to compel her to blame Hugh for the assault.”

“This is complete⁠—“

“I know you think that,” Abbie cut in. “But remember the situation. You saw the bruises. I’m guessing you demanded to know who did it, and she resisted, right?”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean⁠—“

“You forced her to give you a name, and she did, and maybe that name was the truth, but I bet you didn’t probe to make sure she wasn’t leading you astray.”

“Why would I?”

“Because terrified people don’t always act rationally.” Abbie was losing her temper. “Fear changes our personalities and can make us act out of character. It can make us lie to our loved ones. What if you didn’t take her answer at face value? What if you asked if she was sure? What if you promised it’d be okay but told her how important it was to tell the truth? If you did all that, and she looked you in the eye and gave you a name, you could be pretty sure that person was the culprit. Maybe she’d say Hugh; as it stands, can you be sure she’s given you the real perpetrator? Can you? I mean, if you’re honest with yourself?”

Thankfully, Tariq did not respond right away. He considered the points. As he did, Abbie saw his expression soften. At last, he sighed.

“There’s no reason for you to see my sister.” This was an expected response, but it addressed none of her points. “I think Hugh attacked her. I believe she told me the truth.”

Still, Abbie said nothing. Another sigh from Tariq.

“I’ll talk to her. Tell her I can help if she’s lying. If she’s lying, which I doubt.”

Abbie put her thumbs up. “All I can ask is that you approach the conversation with an open mind. And that we exchange numbers, so you can call and tell me when you’ll be apologising to Hugh.”

There was some grumbling, but Tariq was keen to get Abbie off his doorstep, so he handed over his phone.

“Thank you,” Abbie said. “I look forward to hearing from you. Please resist the urge to send me pictures of your genitals. I’ll do the same.”

The joke did not lighten Tariq’s mood, and he was quick to end their meeting. Abbie returned to her car and paused before setting off. She knew there was a chance Tariq wouldn’t speak with Zaria. Alternatively, he might have a half-hearted conversation but not push for the truth. He might again accept the first thing she told him. In either case, he’d continue his campaign against Hugh. This was a risk worth taking and a low risk, so far as Abbie was concerned. She believed Tariq was thinking about what she’d said and that he would press his sister in case she’d lied. If he did and Zaria was the person he asserted, Abbie guessed she’d give in and give up the truth.

If so, maybe they would learn not only the identity of Zaria’s attacker but that of Courtney’s failed kidnapper and of whoever was set to end Sammy’s life before tomorrow was out.

25

Sammy’s father led them through the entrance hall into the living room where, many years before, a dangerous man had threatened to end a younger Sammy’s life because of a debt owed by his dad.

“Drink?”

Sammy shook his head and pictured the scene: a bulky man aiming a gun at his head, the Moses basket behind him, Courtney asleep. The shot would have woken her.

“Are you okay?”

Sammy’s father was studying his position and the look on his face.

“Just thinking about the crook to whom you owed money. I was standing here when he threatened to kill me. I guess you paid him in the end.”

No response. If Sammy’s father had been apprehensive about letting his eldest son in before, he certainly regretted doing so now.

“Why are you bringing that up? It was years ago and has nothing to do with your sister.”

“Except it does because it has to do with you. Your actions. Endangering your children. Your decision to get into bed with criminals almost got me killed. It’s the same with Court, isn’t it? The man who hurt her wanted to hurt you.”

Sammy’s father opened his mouth to respond, then changed his mind and pointed to the kitchen door.

“You might not want a drink, but I do. I’ll be back in a minute.”

Sammy’s father disappeared, but Sammy had no intention of waiting around. He followed his old man into the kitchen.

“We never talked about it. Someone threatened my life, and we never discussed it. Don’t you find that odd? Isn’t it weird that you never felt the need to explain yourself?”

The answer was immediate and firm.

“No. It’s unfortunate what happened, but my dealings with that man were none of your business.”

“He pointed a gun at my head, but it’s none of my business?”

“You were a kid. You wouldn’t have understood.”

“I was fifteen. Old enough.”

“It wasn’t a problem. He’d never have hurt you. I’d not have allowed it.”

That made Sammy laugh. “Please. Like you could have stopped him.”

His father had the fridge open, a beer in hand. He paused at his son’s derision, then returned the can to its shelf.

“That won’t be enough. Not if you intend to continue attacking my character.”

“I’m not attacking anything.”

No answer. His father slammed the fridge and moved to a cabinet packed with spirits. He grabbed a whiskey bottle and showed his son.

“Sure you don’t want a drink? This stuff’s expensive.”

“Unlike you, Dad, I don’t base my preferences on how expensive an item is. I’ll pass.”

“You’re in a foul mood today.”

“Separate but possibly related attacks hospitalised two of my siblings last night. I’m lucky neither died. How would you expect my mood to be?”

Shame flushed his father’s face. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

The reaction and response made Sammy wonder if he was being too harsh. He believed his father was to blame for Courtney’s condition, but it wasn’t as though the older man was malicious. Stupid, maybe, but not cruel. He’d made an awful mistake, and his family was paying the price. How must that feel? The guilt was probably crushing.

“I know I have a… difficult relationship with you kids. Isabel never talks to me if she can help it. Hugh despises my wife. You and I have our problems, but you’ve never cut me out, and you’ve always tried with Xylina. I hope you know how much I appreciate that. How happy it makes me, after everything.”

“Everything with Mum, you mean?”

“With your mum, yeah, but not just her.” He placed the whiskey on the counter and grabbed a tumbler from another cupboard while avoiding Sammy’s eye. “I wasn’t there for you kids when you were growing up. Too focused on the business. I see that now. Then there was the divorce and a new baby. You probably thought I didn’t love you. I can see why you would, but it isn’t so. I do love you, Sammy. I love all my kids.”

Sammy had never been one to recoil in the face of emotion. He happily expressed his feelings where appropriate and had never fallen into the ‘masculinity trap’ of believing men should be stoic, handling their problems by bottling them up, getting drunk, or flinging fists. He cried whenever he watched Lion King and didn’t care who knew it, and yet, his father’s words left him shifting on the spot, with no idea what to say in response. Maybe this was partly because he couldn’t remember his father ever saying the L word to him before. It was new and strange, out of keeping with their relationship over the three decades since Sammy entered the world.

His father put the whiskey away and returned to his tumbler. He glanced at Sammy but gave no sign that he was waiting to hear those words back. I love you too. That was for the best. Sammy loved his father, despite everything. That didn’t mean he could say it.

“There’s a point to all this,” the older man said when Sammy didn’t speak. “I love you, Izzy, and Hugh, but I never showed it. I was a crap dad with you three. It was too late when I realised the kind of dad I wanted to be. I’d missed my chance. Or so I thought. Then I met Xylina, and I became a father again.”

“And you promised this time, you’d be different.”

Sammy’s father had tears in his eyes, but Sammy’s words caused a spark of annoyance.

“I was different. Am different. You’ve seen me with Courtney. You know how much I love that girl.” He shook his head. “I know what you’re thinking. “If I love her so much, how could I endanger her? How could I hide out here while she fights for her life in the hospital? How could I let her and her mother down so badly?”

This seemed to be a challenge. He wanted Sammy to confirm his suspicions and fight him on each point. Maybe Sammy could have done that, but he wished to avoid making this conversation a battle. Before speaking, he took a breath, stealing any aggression or disappointment from his forthcoming words, leaving his tone flat and unemotional.

“You don’t know what I’m thinking. Maybe those are the questions you’re asking yourself, although you must know the answers. I’d guess the answer to the first and third is that you’re weak. You let your ambition get the better of you. I’ve already suggested an answer to question two. Guilt keeps you from Courtney’s bedside. But maybe there’s more. The danger hasn’t passed, has it? You know you aren’t best served sitting with your daughter, holding your wife’s hand. Not when you could be getting whoever you’ve pissed off to leave your family alone.”

The older man took a while to respond. Then said, “This has nothing to do with ambition. You’re right on the last point, though.” He finished his drink and placed the tumbler on the side. “Let’s sit.”

They went through to the living room. Sammy’s father took the seat in front of where Courtney’s Moses basket had sat all those years ago. Sammy sat in the room’s only armchair and twisted his legs to face his father on the sofa.

“Courtney’s so much like you,” his father said. “That blend of compassion and intelligence. How blessed I’ve been with my children. I’m so proud of you all. I won’t let anything happen to any of you.”

“You already have.”

The words were out before he knew they were coming, and he watched his father flinch.

“I remember that day, you know.” He flicked his hand towards the living room’s centre. “That man, threatening your life because of my mistake. Just because we never spoke about it doesn’t mean I forgot.”

Sammy spread his hands. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about it?”

“I didn’t. I don’t. But it’s relevant.”

“Because it’s happening again?”

“Sort of.”

“But worse, by the looks of things. Is it the same man?”

A shake of the head.

“Then who?”

Another shake. “I know what you’re doing.”

“Trying to help?”

“You’re a private detective, and I’m sure you’re excellent at what you do. But I can’t be your client.”

“Why not?”

His father’s smile was bitter as he forced himself to meet Sammy’s eye.

“Because you only help good people.”

This took Sammy by surprise, but he ploughed on.

“I can make an exception.”

“Not if I don’t let you.”

“You can’t keep the truth from me.”

“Nor do I intend to. Like I said outside, I plan to tell you everything. Most of it, you’ve already guessed. There are things you don’t know, though. Not mitigating circumstances, as such. Supplementary information. For example, you know I angered a dangerous man who subsequently threatened your life when you were a teenager. As you’ve intimated, another angry, dangerous person has attacked my daughter. You’ve probably inferred that I’ve been doing dangerous deals with dangerous people since Courtney was born and before that as well, but that isn’t true. As I said, ambition has nothing to do with this.”

“Is what went on between then and now relevant?” Sammy asked.

“Not to Courtney. Not to the danger my family faces because of me. But to a selfish man who can’t stand the thought of his son thinking any worse of him than is necessary? Sure. I’ll reiterate that I love you. What happened when you were a teenager – the incident with the dangerous man and the gun – affected me deeply. When it was over, I swore never to involve myself with someone like that again.”

Sammy resisted searching his father’s eyes for the truth of this statement, knowing he could not trust what he saw. Would he see the truth, what his father wished to portray as the truth, or what he wanted to be the truth? He couldn’t know, so it was best not to try.

“What changed?” he asked. “Are you an addict; illicit deals with dangerous people being your drug? Why get into bed with another crook after all these years?”

“I didn’t. I wouldn’t.”

After a few seconds, Sammy thought he had this one puzzled out.

“What’s happening now isn’t history repeating, is it?”

His father shook his head.

“Back then, dangerous people helped me to take something that did not belong to me. All these years later, it’s finally time to pay the price.”

26

Sammy was stuck in the past and struggling with the present. Nearly fifteen years had slipped by since his father had promised to pay the man threatening his son, but he’d failed to put the situation to bed. Now Courtney was paying the price, but the man who’d threatened Sammy wasn’t the problem.

“Two questions,” Sammy said. “What did that bastard help you steal? And from who?”

Sammy’s father shifted in his chair, and his eyes flicked to the kitchen. Sammy guessed he was thinking of whiskey, but he stayed put. Sammy admired his restraint.

“You don’t need to know what I stole.”

“Seriously? Feels pretty fundamental.”

Sammy’s father shook his head. “It isn’t. Just know, I had no choice.”

“Why not?”

“Stealing it saved your stepmother’s life.”

“Xylina? How?”

No answer was forthcoming. Sammy pictured the vicious smile of the man who had threatened his life. What could his father have possibly needed so badly he’d risk requesting help from such a person? And how could it save a life?”

“As to your second question⁠—“

“You’ve not answered the first.”

“—I never knew my victim’s identity. Whoever they were, they’d not soon forget the loss. I prayed they’d never learn I was the item’s recipient. For months, I worried incessantly, but as the years rolled by, I began to believe I was safe.”

“Now you know otherwise.”

“Yes.”

“You know for sure it’s them?”

“I can’t see who else it would be.”

“Why now? Who would’ve told them?” Sammy considered. “Surely, it can only be the man who threatened my life.”

“It isn’t.”

“You’ve spoken?”

“We don’t need to.”

“Why not?”

“Because I know who’s responsible for giving me up.”

“Who?”

It could not have been clearer that this was not a question his father wanted to answer, and Sammy wondered if he would clam up. On the assumption that he would, Sammy sat back and replayed what his father had said, unpicking the words and forming patterns with the information he had.

“Whoever you stole from knows you’re the thief,” he said. “They retaliated by attacking Courtney. You’ve said that much, but what about Zaria? She says Hugh assaulted her, but you and I know it can’t have been him. So, who? The timing of the attack suggests a connection to Courtney. Is this all part of the same revenge plot?”

No response. Sammy’s last question harked back to a theory he and Abbie had discussed: that whoever attacked Courtney also attacked Zaria, hoping to escalate the bitter rivalry between Yusuf and Sammy’s father by forcing her to blame Hugh. The theory had a certain logic, but did it ring true? No. Whatever Sammy’s father had done, attacking Courtney had to be punishment enough. If not, why not attack Hugh directly? Involving Yusuf and Zaria felt like overkill.

A more straightforward solution swam into view.

“When Zaria and Hugh first got together, you weren’t best pleased,” Sammy said. “That made sense, given how you treat your rivalry with Yusuf, but it was only later that you demanded they break up. Why was that? What changed your opinion of that nice young woman?”

“She’s not that nice.”

There it was. The words were out before he could stop them, and they revealed much.

Sammy looked around. “This place is much bigger than Mum’s, and I know Hugh loves to show off in front of the ladies. I bet he brought Zaria here more than once. Gave her the tour. Did she see something she wasn’t supposed to? What you stole, for example.”

The tears had returned to his father’s eyes. “Despite what you think of me, I’m a good man. I wasn’t always. I’ve confessed to being a crap father and husband the first time around, and I involved myself with some dodgy people. That all changed after Courtney came along. I changed. No more neglecting my kids. No more shady deals. No more affairs.”

“Then Zaria saw something she wasn’t supposed to?”

A nod.

“What did she do?”

“Came to me. Well, the coward phoned. I begged her to keep quiet. I told her that⁠—“

“‘If the truth comes out, they’ll take my daughter. Would you leave my wife childless?’”

Dad stared at Sammy. “Yes. That’s exactly what I said.”

Not wanting to explain how he knew his father’s exact words, Sammy pushed on.

“How did you know they’d go after Courtney?”

“Because nothing could hurt me more. I told Zaria that, but she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. She’s to blame for what happened.”

This was false. Sammy’s father was to blame, but Sammy didn’t want to get into an argument about that. Besides, something else had piqued his curiosity.

“Who did Zaria tell? If you don’t know who you stole from, how could she?”

“Does it matter? The wrong person, that’s who. Information never travels faster than when you want it to stay contained, and now I’m in a position where I must do whatever it takes to protect my family.”

It occurred to Sammy that he’d never seen his father like this, all passion and conviction. In the past, he had spoken of his business with something like love and adoration, but this was a step beyond, and Sammy believed his father meant it. To protect Courtney, he’d do almost anything.

“It’s quite the leap,” Sammy said, “to assume Zaria, not knowing who you stole from, happened to tell someone who was in a position to get the information back to the victims of your crime. The chances of that must be infinitesimal.”

“It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

Sammy doubted this. It was possible but unlikely. Still, it was what his father believed.

“What did you do? Demand she keep her mouth shut? But that didn’t satisfy you. She was also to break up with Hugh, but you didn’t trust her. You watched her, didn’t you? How angry you must’ve been when you saw Hugh turn up at her mother’s place on Thursday. How it must’ve made your blood boil. You always did have a temper.”

“I’ve made many mistakes in my life; I won’t apologise for keeping my family safe.”

“You waited until Hugh left and then barged in, didn’t you? Confronted Zaria.”

Sammy put a hand to his head as though trying to hold back the burning rage in his skull. The words escaped through gritted teeth.

“Hugh didn’t attack Zaria. You did.”

27

Abbie returned to Sammy’s flat and found him in a foul mood.

They ordered pizza and discussed what they’d learned. Not much, in Abbie’s case, but Sammy’s afternoon had been more successful. His father wasn’t having an affair. The phone call Xylina had overheard was between him and Zaria. Hugh’s girlfriend had discovered his big secret. If he was right, her inability to keep it put Courtney in the hospital. Then there was the biggest bombshell: the identity of Zaria’s attacker.

“He confessed?” Abbie couldn’t quite believe it.

“He didn’t deny it. After I suggested that was what had happened, he closed down, just kept repeating that he’d do whatever it took to protect his family. As if he wasn’t to blame for the danger in the first place. In the end, I’d had enough, and I stormed out. Though not before warning him that I’d learn the truth. I need to, if I’m going to keep Courtney safe. Dad thinks he can save the day, but he’s delusional.”

Sammy groaned and put his head in his hands, slumping on the bed. Abbie came and sat beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Your frustration is understandable. This is a tricky situation, but we’ll work it out. I promise we’ll save your sister.”

Sammy leaned into Abbie. He kept his head in his hands for a while longer, but when he looked up, there was curiosity on his face.

“Do you have any family?”

“Doesn’t everyone?”

He rolled his eyes. “I don’t understand why you’re here. Have you not people to look after? Your people.”

It did not occur to Abbie not to open up to Sammy. It seemed only fair, given all he’d told her.

“I’m estranged from my parents. I have an older brother who lives with me, but most the people I consider family aren’t related to me by blood. A woman called Alice is the closest thing I’ve ever had to a proper mother. Her daughter Ana is like my sister. I can’t say her son Abe is like a brother because we’ve had sex; that’d be weird.”

“It really would.”

“Yeah. He is like a brother, though.”

Sammy laughed.

“Then there’s Felicity. She’s... like a daughter. I’m in the process of adopting her.”

“Wow.” There was no sarcasm in Sammy’s tone. “That’s amazing.”

“Not really. She’s a great kid. She makes it easy.”

“You don’t need to be with her?”

“You trying to get rid of me?”

“I don’t understand why you’re helping me when you’ve got so many people back home.”

Abbie couldn’t tell him about her prophetic dreams. In any case, they weren’t the first thing to come to mind.

“There’s someone I’ve not told you.”

“Yeah?”

“My sister. Violet.”

The tears that came to Abbie’s eyes seemed to shock Sammy. He didn’t know what to say.

“She died. Murdered. I was nineteen, and I should’ve saved her.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“It hurts every day, but it also gives me impetus.” She took Sammy’s hand. “You don’t have to feel my pain because I can help you succeed where I failed. I can help save your sister.”

Neither of them could speak for a few moments, and Abbie saw she wasn’t alone in having tears in her eyes.

“I’m so sorry about Violet.”

“Forget it,” she said. “Maybe I’ll tell you all about her when this is over. She was a great kid.”

“Having met you, I believe it.”

That made her smile. “Right now, I want to hear about Courtney. Is she like you? Lucky her, if so.”

“I don’t know if she’s like me. I certainly don’t know if that’d be lucky.”

He looked at the ceiling. His smile suggested he’d escaped the memories of the attack and skipped further back in time.

“She’s remarkable. Funny and smart, with a cutting wit, but kind. Always has been. I learned today she almost died in her first hours of life. Xylina was rushed to hospital for an emergency delivery two months before her due date. The doctors told her and my dad their daughter wouldn’t last two days. Can you imagine? She was fine, obviously, but the mere thought creates a vice around my heart.”

“I’d love to meet her when she gets out of the hospital.”

“I’d like that too.”

Sammy leaned in, and they kissed. It was a great kiss, but Abbie couldn’t stop the voice in the back of her mind from yelling. It was a mistake getting emotionally involved with someone from her dream. It would only cause problems further down the line. But she was too weak to pull away and was only saved by the bell.

“That’ll be the pizza,” said Sammy, reluctantly breaking the kiss. A minute later, he returned with the food, and Abbie helped him get plates and napkins. They put the pizza on the bed with a tea towel between the box and the duvet to keep the grease from ruining the sheets, and they sat at either end of the mattress and ate. For several minutes, neither spoke, but they were not simply enjoying the comfortable silence. If only. Abbie was thinking of Zaria and Courtney and was sure Sammy was doing the same. It was the private detective who first verbalised his thoughts.

“Everything I know about Zaria makes me think she’s not malicious. She wouldn’t wish my family harm. Based on that, I cannot believe she sought out the person my father wronged to tell him Dad was responsible for that decade-old theft. That’s assuming she even could find the victim.”

“I agree.” Abbie finished one slice of pizza and went for another. “If she’s to blame for the secret getting out, I doubt she meant for the truth to cause Courtney’s attack. The question is, who could she have told?”

“There’s no one. It’s too far-fetched.”

“Sure, but hypothetically.”

“Well…” Sammy mulled it over. “I suppose it’d have to be her father. His grudge against my dad might have prompted him to break his daughter’s trust and tell the wrong people what she’d discovered. That’d explain how this all kicked off.”

“Maybe.”

Sammy studied Abbie. “You don’t like it?”

“No.” She told him what Tariq had said about Yusuf’s illness. Would a man in his condition worry about acting against one of his business rivals? It was a stretch, so far as Abbie was concerned.

“If it’s true he’s dying,” Sammy said, “and if he does hate my father, maybe he feels this is his last chance to get one over on his rival before he dies.”

Abbie raised an eyebrow. “How serious is this rivalry? Series enough for Yusuf to put Courtney’s life at risk? A kid.”

“Maybe he didn’t know what revealing the truth would do. Murdering a child is extreme. Maybe he couldn’t envision that that’s how they’d react.”

“Your dad warned Zaria, though.”

“Yeah, but maybe Yusuf didn’t believe his threats.”

“True.”

“You still don’t buy it?”

Abbie reached for another slice of pizza and took a bite. She could see why this was Sammy’s favourite pizzeria; the food was delicious. So delicious that she’d have to force herself to stop eating before long, not only because there was a box of cookies on the table she was dying to try, but because things could kick off at any moment. Abbie didn’t want to spring into action on a full stomach. That way, failure lay.

“Hypothetically speaking,” Sammy said, “if not Yusuf, then who? Who is she close enough to that she’d tell them such a big secret, but who also has the means and desire to find the person my father wronged and play snitch? I can’t believe there’s anyone.”

“Me either.”

“So, what are you thinking?”

“I’m out of ideas,” Abbie said. “So let’s leave this hypothetical. Stick to facts.”

“Go on.”

As well as pizza, they’d ordered garlic bread and a chicken side. Sammy took a slice of the former and a piece of the latter, and Abbie did the same.

“It can’t be a coincidence,” she said. “Zaria learns the truth, and days or weeks later, all this kicks off. Come on. But here’s the thing: someone knows the secret your dad’s kept for a decade. So what’s your dad do?”

“Panics,” said Sammy.

“Right.”

“And warns off Zaria.”

“Naturally. What else?”

Sammy’s mind worked similarly to Abbie’s. He seemed to follow her chain of thought.

“Probably does what he can to ensure no one else can learn his secret. Who knows how he’d go about that, but maybe in trying to keep it locked down, he does something that allows someone far more dangerous than Zaria to find out what he did.”

“Bingo.”

Abbie pushed away her plate. Already, she could feel the food weighing down her stomach, and she was afraid of what would happen if a group of armed killers burst through Sammy’s door and started shooting. She’d probably have to lie down and await the end.

“I’m still unsure how that’d happen,” Sammy said. “How Dad’s attempts to cover his tracks could get him caught.”

Abbie chucked her chicken bone into a box. “Me neither, and do you know what the problem is?” She wiped her hands on a napkin. “We don’t have enough data. We need more if we’re going to learn the truth. At the very least, we need enough to start ruling out some options.”

“You want to talk to Zaria?”

“I do, right away. She’s probably back at her mum’s by now. What do you say?”

Sammy started packing up boxes.

“Let’s do it.”

Abbie smiled and joined him on the bed. Without thinking, she kissed him. Then she helped gather the boxes, and they set off to find answers.

28

Morgan was bored. Having known him for years, Lorna could read the signs: the way he picked up his phone every few seconds, only to put it straight back down, the way he kept huffing and shifting in his seat, the way he kept saying he was bored. It was clear to anyone who wanted to see it.

Part of the problem was that he didn’t understand what they were doing. Or, at least, why they were doing it. Lorna was not behaving in the manner to which he had become accustomed.

They’d met as teenagers and bonded over their aversion to hard work. As they grew closer, they spent more time sneaking off to drink and smoke weed than attending class. By the time they left school, they had one major thing in common. They both loved Lorna.

As they hit their twenties, Lorna befriended Harry, the firstborn of Ian Delaney, one of the country’s most powerful criminals, and began doing jobs for him. She’d never directly hurt anyone, but she wasn’t naive. She knew she was helping to facilitate an organisation that ruined lives. Luckily, she could switch off her conscience at will, so long as it meant having a good time or earning a bundle of cash.

That Lorna, the one who ditched school and didn’t care who she hurt so long as she could party, was the one Morgan knew and loved. Then Abbie King stepped into their lives, and everything changed.

Abbie had only been around for 48 hours, but Lorna had fought alongside the unstoppable woman as she dismantled Ian Delaney’s empire, killing him, his son, and many more besides. After killing Harry, Abbie had stolen half a million pounds from the Delaneys and given it to Lorna with the hope that she, Lorna, would change her ways and do some good in the world.

Upon learning of this conversation, Morgan assumed Lorna would disregard the advice. Lorna suspected she would do the same until Bernard’s call. That was a lightbulb moment for her. She knew what she needed to do.

“There he is.”

Lorna elbowed Morgan, and he jerked up in his seat, looking at the house they’d been watching for several hours. Bernard opened the door and went to his car. A moment later, he was pulling out of his drive.

A quick check of her phone was enough to tell Lorna Bernard was still wearing his coat and that the tracker was still active. That meant no stress about keeping up with their prey. Lorna chucked the phone at Morgan.

“Directions, please.”

He glanced at the screen but said nothing, which was unlike him. Although she was focused on starting the car and pursuing Bernard, his reaction sent a funny sensation through Lorna. It distracted her, again forcing her to recall her mother’s words and reminding her she took him for granted.

Lorna had taken Bernard’s call, and it was immediately evident that he didn’t know Ian was dead. She was careful not to let the truth slip out as they spoke, and she had an epiphany while hanging up the phone. Though Bernard had given little away, he had clearly done wrong. If Lorna found him, she could do some good for the first time.

Without an explanation, she told Morgan she was going on a trip. She expected him to come along, and he dutifully had, as he’d dutifully sat in the car for hours watching Bernard’s house despite there being no sign that Lorna knew what she was doing. As he had followed a thousand instructions over the years for no other reason than because they came from Lorna.

She never said thank you. What a bitch.

Strange that she should be thinking all this as she drove on quiet, darkened streets, following a man she suspected of performing ill deeds. Why concern herself with Morgan’s feelings today when she had so rarely done so in the past? Presumably, this, too, had to do with Abbie. In coming after Bernard, she strove to be a better person. And a better person wouldn’t treat Morgan the way she always had. He alone in the world who meant something to her.

“I want to do something for you.”

Morgan was staring at the phone, but his eyes flicked to Lorna as she spoke. The way they widened suggested he feared a trick – one of Lorna’s cruel, cutting jokes. That he assumed something so negative reaffirmed in Lorna’s mind that she was awful and did not deserve his friendship, let alone the countless times he had bent over backwards to help her achieve her latest pointless goal.

Overcome by emotion at the sight of those eyes, Lorna could not follow up on her initial comment. This seemed to confirm his fear of a trick, and he cleared his throat and looked back at the phone.

“It’s a right here.“

Lorna took the turn and gripped the wheel. Having forced the words out about doing something for Morgan, she was determined not to let the comment die. No longer would she have Morgan believe she did not care for him.

“I mean it. Everything you’ve done for me, I want to do something for you.”

A flush ran up Morgan’s neck. He was coming to realise that she was serious, and he was embarrassed, presumably at the thought of asking for what he wanted.

“Like what?” was all he could say.

A tough question. Lorna shrugged.

“Whatever you want. I can afford to buy you almost anything, but it doesn’t have to be a material good. Hey, what about sex? You’re always banging on about your fantasy.”

“Missionary without the need for a safe word?”

“Exactly. It’s weird, but I can get into it.”

Silence. Morgan concentrated on the phone in his lap. After a few seconds, he gave another direction and another thirty seconds after that. The flush had spread from his neck across his face and even to his scalp. If he got undressed, Lorna would probably see his whole body blushing. Poor guy. She was no good at being kind, and he was crap at receiving kindness. Perhaps that was why they had always made such a great match. Could she be ruining their relationship by changing the dynamic?

She pushed that thought aside and tried again.

“There must be something. A new PlayStation or a trip paintballing or–“

“I want to go on a date with you.”

“You…” this request so threw her that for a few moments, she couldn’t respond. When she got over that, she said, “We go on dates all the time.”

Morgan still couldn’t look at her, but now he had made his request, he would not let it drop.

“No, we don’t. We go out boozing and end up in bed. Or we order Chinese and end up in bed. Or you text me a message saying, sex, and we end up in bed.”

“Those all sound like dates to me.”

He glanced at her, then immediately looked back to the phone. Though she doubted he was paying attention to the screen.

“This was your suggestion,” he said. “You wanted to do something for me, and if you meant it⁠—“

“I do mean it.”

“Well, if you mean it, we should turn left.”

“What?”

“No, sorry, it’s left here. There.”

Lorna slammed on the brakes. Too late. The turn was gone, but the roads were quiet. She was able to perform a U-turn and return to the missed junction.

“I’m sorry,” Morgan said.

“Don’t worry about it. We were both distracted, and I got there in the end.”

“No, I mean, about the date.”

“Ah. Why would you be sorry about that?”

Morgan shrugged like a sulking child. While this might have annoyed Lorna on another day, she found it endearing this evening.

“I meant it,” she said after Morgan’s next instruction, “and you’re right. I want to do something for you. I can’t dictate what I think a date should be. Why don’t you tell me what it’ll entail?”

Rather than answer, Morgan gave another instruction. As they proceeded down the next road, he took a breath and prepared to open up. Before he could, there was another instruction to deliver. It turned out to be the final one.

Bernard had parked on a residential street. Lorna and Morgan weren’t far behind and saw their prey climbing from his vehicle. As he locked his car, Lorna pulled up on the side of the road, ten houses from where their quarry had parked. Even so, Bernard glanced their way as Lorna killed the engine. The night was silent, and he was in a suspicious frame of mind, but he couldn’t make them out in the car and must not have believed he was in danger because he didn’t wait to see them emerge from the vehicle. After glancing their way, he bowed his head and rushed up the closest driveway.

“This is it,” Lorna said.

Sitting outside Bernard’s house all day, she hadn’t known what she was waiting for. How would she discover what the suspicious man was up to? If he had stayed in all night, she probably would have stayed put until sure he was asleep, then broken in and searched the place, maybe finding a knife and convincing him to tell her what he was up to. His leaving the house after dark changed everything.

“He’s up to no good. We need to get closer.”

She removed her seatbelt, opened the door, and was halfway out when she stopped and turned back to Morgan. He was in his seat with Lorna’s phone in his hand, and his head tilted towards his lap. He looked shy and worried, no doubt afraid Lorna had already forgotten the promised date. She hadn’t, and she leaned back into the car and kissed his cheek.

“Think about our date. We can do whatever you want. Even after dark.”

She winked.

He said, “I was thinking we wouldn’t have sex.”

“You were what now?”

“I’m seeing this like a first date.”

Lorna got out of the car, shell-shocked. The passenger door opened, and he emerged. Lorna pointed at him.

“I always have sex on the first date.”

“You’ve never had a first date.”

“I’ve had loads of first dates. I just haven’t had any second ones.”

“Those are one-night-stands.”

“Are not.”

“Do you remember the names of these men you dated? Even one of them?”

“I–“ Lorna closed her eyes and clawed back over the memories of her many men.

“I think there was a… Morgan.”

“That’s me.”

“Oh yeah. I meant, um, Myron.”

“That’s made up.”

“Shut up.”

But he was smiling, and it was wonderful to see. Forgetting for a moment why they were there, Lorna put her arms around Morgan’s neck and kissed him.

Just as someone screamed.

29

Abbie drove across town and parked outside Zaria’s place.

The front door was ajar.

Abbie glanced at Sammy. “I’m thinking that’s not good.”

He’d gone pale, which Abbie understood. She knew exactly what he was thinking.

“Come on.”

They got out and headed up the driveway, not running but moving briskly.

The hall light was on.

Abbie reached the door first and pushed it open. A wide hallway greeted her: wood flooring and cream wallpaper. A coat stand encircled by shoes, two bodies, and a crouching woman.

One of the bodies belonged to a man, the other to a young woman. The man lay on his front, his head to the side. Blood matted his hair and dotted the floor. Abbie couldn’t tell at a glance if he was dead or alive. There was no ambiguity with the woman.

Sammy stepped into the house. His eyes flicked to the young woman, and his hand went to his mouth. Abbie was striding towards the unconscious or dead man. The crouching woman was with him. She began to turn as Abbie approached, and then Abbie had her arm and was yanking her up. The woman cried out, and Abbie shoved her against the wall and put a hand around her throat.

“You’d better⁠—“

Abbie stopped, her eyes widening, her hand falling away.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Sammy had dropped to his knees beside the young woman. He was turning her over. As Abbie threw the crouching woman against a wall, he went for his phone, no doubt hoping to call an ambulance. He paused at Abbie’s words.

“Abbie,” Lorna said. “I’ve no time for questions right now.”

She shoved past and dropped back beside the man. Morgan. Lorna’s partner in crime.

“What’s going on?” Sammy said.

Lorna offered him half a glance. “Don’t bother calling an ambulance. They’ll be here any second.”

Sammy hesitated but did not return his phone to his pocket. His eyes went to the young woman. Abbie was sure he would have continued dialling if he thought there was any point.

“Zaria?” Abbie asked.

Sammy nodded. Abbie cursed.

She was dead. Someone had put a knife through her heart.

Abbie looked at Lorna.

“You’d better start talking.”

Lorna did not respond or even look at Abbie. She was leaning over Morgan. Abbie remembered the last time she had seen these two: in a hospital in her hometown. Morgan had been recovering from a gunshot wound, and Lorna was visiting. Today must have felt like déjà vu.

“I don’t understand.” This was Sammy. “Who is this woman? What happened?”

The trust Abbie had built with Sammy was crumbling. Abbie and Lorna knew one another, and here was Lorna with Zaria’s dead body. What was he supposed to think? But Abbie had no time to ease his mind. She crouched beside Lorna and checked on Morgan. Someone had smashed his skull with something heavy. There was blood, but the wound appeared superficial. Abbie told Lorna as much.

“I didn’t realise you were a doctor.”

This comment might have made Abbie smile if not for Zaria’s dead body, mere feet away. Instead, she gripped Lorna’s arm and squeezed until Lorna yelped.

“Get off me.”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on. Why are you here, and what happened to Zaria?”

“She the dead girl? I guess she must be. I’ve never seen her before today.”

“Why are you here?”

“Because of you.”

Abbie raised her eyebrows. “Me? I hadn’t heard of Zaria before today, and I’ve not spoken to you in months. How can you be here because of me?”

The way Lorna shook her head suggested she believed Abbie was being purposely obtuse.

“I was happy,” she said. “My career, such that it was, consisted of doing odd jobs for Harry. Easy stuff that paid well. The rest of the time, I was drinking, taking drugs, and having sex with a procession of beautiful and nameless men. Well, they were beautiful when I was drunk. I usually got out before I sobered up, so I don’t know how they looked in the cold light of day.”

The front door was still open, and Abbie could hear the sirens now. Before long, the ambulances and police would arrive.

“We don’t have time for your life story. What happened?”

The sirens grew louder. They seemed to catch Lorna’s attention because she looked at the door before answering.

“Morg and I have been following some guy all day. We knew he was up to no good, but we didn’t know in what way, so we’ve been waiting for him to show his hand. Half an hour ago, he left his home and came here. Morg and I planned to sneak up to the house to see what he was doing. We assumed he’d come to make some dodgy deal, but we were wrong. We’d barely got out of the car when we heard the scream.”

Lorna turned to Zaria as she spoke, doubtless still hearing that scream cutting through the air.

“We ran to the house. Morg entered first. It was already too late. The guy we were following had stabbed her. He was taking back his knife, and she was falling to the floor as we burst in. I shouted at him to stop, but he charged at us. The knife was in one hand, but he had something in the other. I don’t know what, but it was heavy. One blow and Morgan was down. Unconscious. I was lucky. He barged me aside and ran. I let him go.”

Lorna’s head dropped. Abbie released her arm and rested a hand on her shoulder.

“You did the right thing. You couldn’t have known that Zaria was dead, nor what Morgan’s condition would be. It made sense to check on them rather than chase after whoever did this. Especially as he had a knife – you could’ve died.”

Lorna nodded, although she looked unconvinced. The sirens grew nearer. How far away were they now? Thirty seconds, maybe.

“We have to get out of here,” Lorna said, but Abbie shook her head.

“You and Morgan can’t. There’s no way you could get him out in time, and besides, his blood’s all over the floor. Your best bet is to say you were passing and heard the scream. From then on, you can tell the truth, except don’t mention that Sammy and I were here.”

“What?” Sammy said. “Hang on, what are you suggesting?”

“We have to go. First, I need to know who killed Zaria.” She grabbed Lorna again. “Do you know his name?”

Lorna nodded. “Bernard.”

“What?” Sammy said. “Is this a joke?”

Abbie ignored him. Focused on Lorna. “Bernard what?”

“Um, Lewis?”

“No, no, no.” Sammy was shaking his head. “This is a joke. What do you take me for?”

Abbie grabbed a slip of paper from her bag and pressed it into Lorna’s palm.

“Call me as soon as you can. There’s plenty to discuss. Sammy,” She turned to him. “We have to find your father.”

“No. This isn’t right.”

He was in shock, which was to be expected. Seeing the dead girl was one thing, but discovering his father was responsible was too much. Abbie grabbed him by the elbow.

“We have to go.”

He jerked away.

“No way. You know her.” He pointed at Lorna. “This is a set-up. It was stupid to trust you.”

“Then don’t. That’s fine, but we can’t stay. Whatever you believe, you must know we need to find your dad as soon as possible. It’s no mean feat when we’ve no idea where he’ll be hiding.”

Sammy was still stepping away, shaking his head, when Lorna spoke.

“He’s not hiding.”

Abbie spun. “What?”

“We put a tracker on him this morning. That’s how we kept on his tail.” She had her phone out. “Look, he’s the marker on this map. Rubbish hiding place if that is what he thinks it is.”

Abbie snatched the phone. Her eyes widened as she saw the marker on the screen, indicating where Bernard Lewis had gone after killing Zaria. She showed Sammy the phone.

“Come with me or don’t. I’m getting your dad.”

She didn’t wait for a response but ran from the house, hoping to find Bernard before he fled the hospital with his youngest child.

30

Clint’s mother had claimed to have a plan, and Clint had believed her. Leaving the hospital, he returned to the car, buzzing with excitement, expecting her to lay out this plan. It wasn’t that he needed whiteboards, diagrams, and maybe a musical number. He did think it would be intricate and possibly ingenious.

It wasn’t.

She told him to be patient. The plan was to wait for something to happen, but she seemed disinclined to say what this something might be. Before long, he was restless. He shifted in his seat and could not help but release deep, frustrated breaths. After a while, he caught sight of his mother’s narrowed eyes.

“What?”

“Look at you,” she said. “No patience. You can’t sit still for more than five minutes if you don’t have a drink in your hand. It’s pathetic. This is why your brother and I wanted to avoid involving you in this scheme in the first place. Well, one of the reasons.”

Several responses occurred to Clint, most revolving around the fact that he was only so heavily involved because his precious brother had failed to get the girl and was now missing. There was no point saying anything like that, though. His mother had already made clear her belief that Jared’s failure was Clint’s fault.

Rather than raise the subject of his brother, he said, “I thought we’d have done something by now, is all. Time’s running out.”

She stared at him, then shook her head and looked at her watch.

“Plenty of time. We don’t get paid extra for bringing her early, you know? Why act now and risk messing it up when an opportunity might fall into our laps? That would be stupid. Oh, I suppose that explains why you said it.”

Clint clenched his fists by his side but said nothing. His mother continued.

“We wait. If it looks like we might run out of time, we’ll use desperate measures to get the girl. But that’s a final resort.”

There was more Clint could have said. He still thought his mother’s plan was stupid, but there was no way she would let him devise an alternative. They would have to do things her way, so Clint remained in his seat and allowed his anger to simmer. To calm himself down, he imagined getting hold of the girl and collecting the money. He wondered how it would feel to have all that cash in his hands. Even better, how it would feel to shove his mother down and tell her the money would not be used to pay his father’s debts. It would be used for him and him alone.

He imagined walking away, the money in a bag over his shoulder, his mother heaped on the floor. What could feel better?

Nothing.

Of course, Clint’s dreams could only come true if he delivered the girl on time, and he could only do that if they took her soon, which looked increasingly unlikely. Time rolled on, and Clint found it more and more challenging to maintain his cool. He kept checking the time. What would he do if he had to take matters into his own hands? How would he get the girl? He didn’t know off the top of his head. Something would come to him, though. He knew that.

It would have to.

The sky grew dark, and their chances of getting the girl in time moved into the danger zone.

“This is ridiculous,” he told his mother, but headlights swept across the car park before he could explain how she was jeopardising their chances of getting paid and telling her what he intended to do about it.

She touched his arm. “Look.”

The car was going too fast. Rubber squealed as the driver slammed on the brakes, and the front bumper hit the concrete barrier at one end of the carpark, making the car jump.

A few seconds later, the door opened, and a man stepped out. Clint’s mother still had her hand on his arm, and a beam split her face as the man stepped away from the car and under artificial light.

She recognised him.

“There you go,” she said, “everything’s coming up roses.”

They watched Bernard Lewis rush towards the hospital, and Clint turned away before his mother could think to say, I told you so.

31

Abbie raced down the drive, threw open her car door, and jumped in. Then, she waited, her hands tight on the wheel, praying Sammy would appear.

He did, falling from the house in a daze, making it halfway along the drive before his eyes found Abbie.

He froze.

For a few seconds, it seemed he would come no further. Then he stumbled the rest of the way to the car, dropping in as the first ambulance turned into the road. Abbie set off before he had closed his door, spinning out of the street as the emergency vehicles slammed to a halt.

She headed for the hospital. Whenever she blinked, she saw Zaria spread out on the floor, and her grip tightened on the wheel. She imagined an older version of Sammy stepping into the home and pictured Zaria retreating, cowering, begging. She watched the older Sammy lash out with the knife, killing the girl he was so sure had wronged him.

The scene continued as Zaria collapsed. Morgan and Lorna entered, and Bernard escaped. Why were the duo there? Was it a coincidence? She didn’t think so, but all that could wait for later. She and Lorna would talk once Abbie had dealt with the Bernard situation.

Sammy’s gaze was fixed on the road. Veins stood out in his neck, and Abbie got the impression he was resisting the urge to turn to the driver. His eyes spoke of a man desperately trying to keep his temper under control. Abbie wanted to talk to him, but would that help or hinder? The sound of her voice might soothe him or send him into a frenzy. She could not risk the latter. They’d never catch Bernard if Sammy caused Abbie to crash.

The roads were silent, and Abbie drove too fast. How long before she arrived at Zaria’s house had Bernard left? It could only have been minutes. Zaria’s wound was fresh, and Lorna had just called the ambulance. Bernard probably only had a five-minute head start. That would mean he had arrived at the hospital seconds before Lorna showed Abbie her phone, and there was every chance he was still there.

She flew into the carpark and slammed to a stop. Before she could get out, Sammy grabbed her wrist.

“You tricked me. You’re a liar.”

His eyes burned with confused hatred, tears, and loathing. Abbie made no move to remove her wrist from his grip. She kept her tone soft when she spoke.

“Months ago, I returned to my hometown after years away. I was only there for a couple of days. I met Lorna and Morgan, who we saw at Zaria’s house. Lorna and I hit it off, but – aside from my brother, who came with me – I wanted a clean break when I left that awful place. Lorna and I didn’t exchange numbers, and I’ve not spoken to her since. I had no idea she was in town.”

Sammy was shaking his head the entire time Abbie was talking. She doubted he was listening.

“You’re not thinking straight,” she said. “Yes, it’s suspicious that someone I know was at Zaria’s place when she died, but Lorna didn’t kill your brother’s girlfriend. You know who did.”

“No.”

“Denial won’t protect your sister.”

“You’re lying. You set this up. I should never have trusted you.”

“Wrong. I’m precisely who you need to trust, but I don’t have time to discuss why. You know why your father’s here, don’t you? You must. I won’t let him get away with what he did.”

Sammy’s grip on Abbie’s arm loosened, and she yanked free as she stepped from the car and scanned the carpark. One of these vehicles belonged to Bernard. She had no way of knowing which, but none of them appeared to be occupied. Bernard was most likely inside.

She turned to the entrance as Sammy exited the car and slammed the door.

“Oi,” she said. “You break, you buy.”

He ignored the joke. “Why would my father do this? The damage was done. Killing Zaria wouldn’t put the genie back in the bottle, so what would be the point? Don’t say revenge. You don’t know my dad. For all his faults, he’s not evil. He’d never do that. It’s not him.”

“Okay.” Abbie walked towards the hospital.

“‘Okay’? What the hell is ‘okay’ supposed to mean?”

Sammy was following. Abbie cast him the briefest glance before focusing on the hospital entrance.

“You tell me it’s not revenge, and maybe you’re right. That doesn’t mean your father didn’t kill Zaria.”

Sammy grabbed her arm again. “If not for revenge or to keep his secret, why? Riddle me that.”

This question had occupied Abbie on the ride over, and she paused halfway between her car and the hospital entrance. Sammy stopped, too, and Abbie put a hand on his arm.

“You don’t know what your father stole. He refused to tell you, and I wonder why. What could he have taken a decade ago that he didn't feel able to tell you the truth about now? Why couldn’t he?”

“I don’t know,” Sammy said. “I don’t know what it is.”

“You say your father wouldn’t kill Zaria for revenge, and you’re probably right. I think he did it to stop anyone else from learning the truth. Think about it: if this stolen item only held value to him and the person from whom it was taken, he could’ve told you what it was, but he didn’t. He did tell you about Zaria, and what did you say?”

The answer to this question remained unspoken, but Abbie watched its effect as Sammy remembered telling his father he would do whatever it took to learn the truth. It was impossible not to wonder about the ramifications of that statement. If Bernard dreaded Sammy knowing what he’d stolen, what might he do to keep him from finding out?

“I’m sorry,” Abbie said.

Before Sammy could respond, the hospital doors slid open. Bernard appeared, followed by Xylina. Sammy’s father had Courtney in his arms. She was a slight teen but still hampered Bernard’s progress down the ramp.

Sammy sprinted toward them, and Abbie followed. Even in the darkness, she could tell Courtney was unfit to leave the hospital. No doctor would have signed her discharge papers. Bernard was acting against medical advice.

“Dad. Stop.”

Bernard had parked near the ramp. He arrived before Sammy caught up and threw open one of the back doors as his son shouted.

“Please, Dad.”

Sammy stopped a few feet from the car. Xylina had reached the front passenger side but hesitated when her stepson shouted for the second time.

“Sammy?” she said. “What are you doing here?”

Bernard managed to get his daughter into the back seat. He grabbed the seatbelt but jerked to a halt when he tried to yank it across Courtney.

“I came from Zaria’s,” Sammy said to his stepmother. “Someone stuck a knife through her heart.”

Xylina let out a low moan and put a hand to her mouth. Sammy’s fists were clenched again. His whole body trembled. As she approached the scene, Abbie wondered how close the investigator was to attacking his father.

“Bring Courtney back inside, Dad. Should she even be out of bed?”

“She’ll be fine,” Bernard said. “I know how to look after my daughter.”

This made Sammy laugh a harsh laugh, and he turned to Xylina.

“Surely you won’t let him put your daughter’s life in danger?”

Distressed and on the verge of a breakdown, Xylina’s eyes flicked from her stepson to her husband. The latter pointed at the car.

“Get in, Xy. We’re leaving.”

“Xylina, please.” Sammy hesitated, but only for a second. “I think Dad killed Zaria.”

“No.” Xylina looked ready to collapse. “Don’t say that.”

“Dad,” Sammy said. “You can stop this. Or I can.”

It was Bernard’s turn to laugh. “You think you can stop me? You’ve no idea what’s going on. None. You want to think me a monster? Go ahead. I know I love my family. I love Courtney more than anything. So does Xy. No one will take her from us. No one.”

Bernard slammed his daughter’s door without fastening her seat belt. He turned from Sammy, and as he did, a hooded man appeared between the car and the barrier, rushed forward, and plunged a knife into Bernard’s stomach.

“Guess again.”

A moment of silence. Then Xylina screamed and stumbled from the car. Bernard fell, and as he tumbled, Sammy and Abbie set off sprinting.

Headlights blared, and a car shot forward. Sammy was ahead of Abbie, and the car hit his hip and sent him flying. Abbie skidded to a halt as the vehicle stopped between her and Bernard’s car.

The hooded man already had the back door open. Abbie bolted forward as he dragged his victim from one car to the other. She dived over the bonnet of the kidnapper’s vehicle as a screaming Xylina ran for her daughter.

The two women collided.

Abbie spun and hit the ground, her head smacking concrete. The world blurred. By the time focus returned, Courtney was in the kidnapper’s car. The doors were closed. Abbie rose, but it was too late.

The car reversed. Abbie gave chase, but it was no good. After a few seconds, she stopped, watching the vehicle burst from the carpark and speed into the distance.

Behind her, Sammy lay unconscious, Bernard lay bleeding, and Xylina howled into the concrete.

32

What a rush.

Clint’s body trembled with excitement. Adrenaline overload prevented him from sitting still. While his mother hit the gas, he bounced in his seat. It was all he could do not to giggle with glee.

The highlight probably should have been getting the teen in the car while the mystery woman – who had embarrassed him before – watched on, helpless. But it wasn’t. The highlight was stabbing Bernard and delivering his film-worthy quip.

Guess again.

Brilliant.

He looked at his mother, but her eyes were fixed on the road. Clint couldn’t tell if their success excited her. Nor if she was finally proud of her second son.

“We did it,” he said, hoping to prompt a response.

At first, she said nothing. She only looked at him when they reached a red light.

“We did it. Well done.”

The light went green, and Clint sat in stunned silence all the way home.

Well done. She had congratulated him on a job well done.

How about that?

They made it back without trouble. No sirens filled the air. They saw only one car between the hospital and home. The world was peaceful. It was almost unnerving.

“Can you handle the girl?”

The garage door was closing behind them. Clint didn’t hesitate.

“Of course.”

She seemed unsure, but she nodded. “Don’t screw up.” She got out of the car and went inside without another word.

Don’t screw up.

She would never know how much those words meant to her son. They showed trust. He had proven himself, and she was rewarding him with further responsibility. This had to be what Jared felt like all the time. Their parents were not affectionate people. They showed love by including their children in their work. It had happened for Jared a lot over the years but never for Clint.

Things were different now. He’d proven himself. At last, he was part of the family.

Still smiling, he went into the house and grabbed a few bits. Back in the garage, he popped open the boot. Their new friend was a skinny thing. It was no trouble plucking her from the car and dumping her on a wooden chair in the garage. In no time, he had her bound and gagged.

“Don’t go nowhere.”

He laughed at his joke. The girl did not. She’d been asleep when Clint had grabbed her at the hospital, but her eyes were wide now, filled with desperation and terror. She should thank him for that. Her fear seemed to override any pain she might otherwise have felt, having been taken too soon from the hospital.

There were tears on her cheeks. Despite this, she was still pretty. She did look just like Whitney. Before Clint knew what he was doing, he had raised a hand and rested a finger on her cheek. The girl flinched when he made contact, and he smiled as new tears formed in her eyes.

“It’s okay. I won’t hurt you. I’d never hurt you.”

He stroked her, still thinking about Whitney. How different things might have been if only she could have been stronger in the face of peer pressure. He wouldn’t have had to hurt her. He had never wanted to hurt her.

He had simply wanted her.

More tears rolled down Courtney’s cheeks, and Clint stroked them away. He cupped her face in his hand but pulled away when his fingers, seemingly without his permission, began to squeeze.

Courtney was not a conduit to the past. Clint had to walk away before he lost control and caused irreparable damage to the merchandise.

His mother was in the living room, examining the lines on her face in the mirror.

“You look beautiful, Mum.”

She shook her head. “Don’t be weird.”

As she continued examining herself, Clint dropped onto the sofa. His smile remained. He could laugh at his mother’s comment now that things were different between them. Now that he was part of the family.

“Girl’s all tied up with nowhere to go.”

His mother grunted but did not reply, and Clint began thinking ahead. How long before she told his father how well he’d done? He could picture the conversation.

Hi, honey. You’ll never guess which of our sons failed to save you and which succeeded. We have a new favourite.

A giggle escaped his lips; he tried to turn it into a cough when it caught his mother’s attention. He did not want to tell her how excited he was for Jared’s return. For once, Clint could act smug while their mother had a go at his big brother.

With a final grunt of dissatisfaction, his mother left the mirror. “Call Jared.”

It was as though she’d read his mind and wanted to get on with shaming her elder son. Clint could barely contain his excitement.

“Will do.”

She watched him grab his phone, a curious expression on her face.

“Why are you smiling like that? You look like a baby with trapped wind.”

Oops. Busted.

“Just pleased we got the girl.” He raised his phone. “What should I say if I get through?”

It was clear that Clint’s got the girl line had failed to impress his mother, but she let it go.

“While you were restraining Courtney, I was on with Isaac. He’ll be here in the morning. We’ll give him his money, and the nightmare will be over.”

Clint nodded, trying to look wise.

“You want me to ask Jared to stay away? Can’t have him showing up mid-meeting and embarrassing us.”

“What? No. Issac’s dangerous. I’d rather not handle the meeting alone.”

Clint laughed.

“Why are you cackling?”

“Well…” Clint’s smile faltered. “You won’t be alone, will you? I’ll be here.”

Confusion filled his mother’s face, but not for long. It was her turn to laugh.

“You?”

Blood pumped into Clint’s cheeks. Surely, this was still part of the joke. She was proud of him.

“Jared messed up and ran off,” he said. “I screwed up too, but I returned and proved myself.”

“Proved yourself?” She laughed again. “Come now.”

Anger threatened to overcome Clint. He pointed towards the door.

“Check the garage, Mum. Sitting out there is our payday, and she’s there because of me. Not Jared. Me. You don’t need him.”

His finger was shaking. He stepped back as his mother’s bemused expression became a look of pity. She cupped her son’s chin as he had done to the girl.

“Oh, my foolish boy. Do you want to know the difference between you and your brother?”

Clint nodded, although he didn’t. She saw through him and continued anyway.

“Your brother is a successful man who screwed up. You’re a screw-up who succeeded. Should I write Jared off for one mistake? No. While your success at the hospital does nothing to change who you are.” She tore her hand from his chin. “I mean, come on, you stabbed a man and bundled a skinny teen into a car, and what? You think you’re ready for the big leagues? To deal with a man like Issac? Can you not see how ridiculous that sounds?”

Clint’s whole body had been trembling when he jumped into the car after kidnapping Courtney. It was trembling now, but this time, misery and shame, not excitement, caused the tremors.

“Leave the business to the big boys and girls. You stick to drinking. In fact, what a good idea. I must pop upstairs. Once you’ve called your brother, why not go to the fridge? There’s a bottle of champagne in there. I’ve been saving it for a special occasion. If this doesn’t qualify, what does? You know where the flutes are, don’t you? Think you can manage to pour us each a glass?”

Clint still could not speak. His mother pinched his cheek.

“Sure, you can manage it. You’re a big boy now.”

She went upstairs, laughing all the way. Left behind, Clint felt tears creep into his eyes. What a fool he was, thinking things had changed. Earlier, he had made the empowering decision to get one over on the bastards who had mistreated him his whole life. Then what? A few kind words from his mother revealed Clint for what he was at his core – not a man of action but a pathetic child who craved love and affection from those who could never give it.

What now? He could have collapsed and wept on the carpet or rushed into the garage to steal the girl away. Instead, he made his way into the kitchen and opened the fridge. The bottle of champagne was in the door, and he took it to the counter. The flutes were on the high shelf in one of the cupboards. Clint got two out and placed them next to the champagne. With trembling fingers, he removed the foil from around the cork.

It was time to celebrate because his mother said it was time to celebrate. All he had to do was pop the cork and pour, and the two of them could drink to her success and his continued marginalisation within his own family.

He scrunched the foil into a ball, tossed it aside, and grabbed the bottle’s base with one hand. With the other, he took the cork and prepared to twist.

His mother was back when he returned to the living room.

“Did you get through?”

Clint didn’t know what she meant. His look must have said as much because she sighed.

“To your brother. Did he answer?”

Somehow, Clint had forgotten this particular request.

“I didn’t ring.”

“Wow. How foolish I feel for saying you weren’t up to meeting a dangerous man. You’re so on the ball. Please accept my apology.”

The words were like daggers, and Clint closed his eyes as though that could protect him from their deadly cuts.

“What’s that?”

He opened his eyes. His mother was looking at his hand, and he lifted it.

“Champagne.”

“I can see it’s champagne, Clint. That wasn’t really what I was asking. Why did you bring the bottle rather than filling two flutes? Were my instructions not clear? Did you fail to find the flutes? Or were you simply too pathetic to remove the cork?”

Over the years, Clint had buried many horrible memories deep in his mind, locking them in chests. His mother’s words were like keys, sliding into his brain and releasing the memories. As his mother scolded and mocked him, he remembered all the previous times she had done so. Not only her but Jared and his father. Hundreds of occasions. Thousands.

“You’re a waste of space,” she said when Clint failed to answer. “Give me the bottle.”

She approached, and Clint backed up, twisting to shield it from her grasp.

This made her smirk.

“What’s this? Some small act of defiance because I said you weren’t up to meeting Issac? Does it make you feel better? Because I have to say it’s pretty childish. Please don’t think it gives you worth. Nothing could. You’ve proven repeatedly how worthless you are. Such a disappointment to your father and me. Such… what are you doing?” Her smile grew as Clint turned the bottle, holding the neck in a tight fist.

“And what,” she said, “do you plan to do with that?”

Clint said nothing. After ten seconds of silence, his mother smirked.

“See, son. You’re⁠—“

Clint raised the bottle and brought it down with all his might onto his mother’s skull.

The bottle held firm. The woman crumpled.

Clint stepped over her, and her eyes widened. She raised her hands in a pathetic defensive gesture.

Tears in his eyes, Clint shook his head.

“You should have been a better mum.”

She crossed her hands in front of her face, and Clint smashed them apart with the second blow of the bottle.

With the third, he caved in her nose.

With the fourth, he shattered her jaw.

Thereafter, he lost count as he hit her again and again and again, not stopping until his arm grew too tired to continue, and the bottle slipped from his grasp as he collapsed to the carpet in a sobbing heap.

33

After only two hours of sleep, Abbie woke in her moderately comfortable hotel bed, thinking of Sammy. She wasn’t family, so the doctors had refused her access to his bedside, but he had been awake in the carpark – the devastation of losing his sister causing him more pain than any physical damage caused by the car.

Before the doctors took him away, Abbie had promised Sammy they would find Courtney. This was a mistake. ‘Never make a promise you’re not 100% sure you can keep’ was a rudimentary rule Abbie rarely violated: another sign she was more attached to Sammy than was wise.

She took a shower and used the time to work over everything she knew, as well as the holes that remained in her knowledge.

First, what had someone stolen on Bernard’s behalf? That he had murdered Zaria to keep her quiet even after she had supposedly tipped off the crime’s victim suggested he feared more than retribution. He could not stand the thought of his son learning what he had done, and it seemed he had achieved his aim. Abbie could no longer ask Zaria about the item, and Bernard was in no position to talk.

That left Xylina. Like Sammy and Bernard, she had entered the hospital on a stretcher last night. Watching a man stab her husband and take her daughter was too much, and she had collapsed into a near-catatonic state. Abbie doubted she was any better now, only a few hours later. Who could say what she knew of her husband’s crimes even if she was?

Abbie left the shower and took one of her pills. It wiped away the fatigue and filled her with the energy she needed to take on whatever trauma came her way. Back in the bedroom, she considered her other major plot hole. What on Earth were Lorna and Morgan doing following Bernard? What with police interviews and exhaustion, there had been no time to meet the previous night, but they had arranged to get together at a nearby café in half an hour.

While she dressed, she recalled the scene at Zaria’s house. That poor, innocent young woman, sprawled on the floor, covered in blood. And why? Because her boyfriend had taken her on a tour of his father’s house, and she had accidentally seen or heard something she was not supposed to.

Abbie thought of Tariq, a man desperate to protect his sister from harm and his father from the truth. Now Zaria was dead, and there was no way Tariq could keep that from his old man. What would happen when Yusuf learned of his precious daughter’s demise? Could he survive such a blow?

She tried not to think about it. As awful as it sounded, Zaria’s fate was no longer relevant to her ongoing mission. The best she could do was hope Bernard survived so the justice system could punish him for his crimes. Or someone else could, perhaps with a blow torch and thumb screws. That would be fitting.

Abbie was ready but had time to burn. She placed a call and smiled when Felicity answered.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Abbie, hey. I didn’t think you’d call. I mean, I knew you were busy. I wasn’t annoyed. I just meant⁠—“

“I know what you meant,” Abbie said, sparing Felicity further embarrassment.

“I’m so glad you rang.”

These words, filled with genuine affection, boosted Abbie’s smile. They also filled her with sadness. She wanted to be there with Felicity today of all days.

“I’m calling to say good luck on your first day of school. Not that you’ll need it.”

“I think I do.” There was a pause and then a breath as Felicity gathered her courage. “I’m a bit scared.”

Abbie closed her eyes and wiped away a tear. She wished she could ignore her dreams and be with Felicity. Unfortunately, that was not an option.

“You’ve no reason to be afraid. You’ve worked hard for this, and you’re smart. Brilliant, even. You’ll excel in every class, I promise.”

The voice that replied was meek, uncertain. It seemed to belong to someone far younger than the teenage Felicity.

“What if I can’t make friends? What if no one likes me?”

“That won’t happen.”

“How can you be so certain?”

“Well, for a start, you’re slim and pretty. Those are key advantages straight off the bat.”

To this, Felicity gave an exaggerated sigh that did not entirely cover her laughter.

“Sorry,” Abbie said. “That’s not helpful, is it?”

“Not really.”

“Well then, how about I’m honest? Of course, I can’t say for sure if you’ll make friends, but I think you will. You’re confident, kind, and funny; I think people will be drawn to you. Like I was when we met.”

“We met when you almost ran me over.”

“I almost ran you over because you ran into the road. You could do that again if you want to recreate the circumstances of our meeting.”

“Some evil people were also chasing me.”

“That bit would be harder to recreate. Also, I’m unsure if you’d want to.”

“I don’t think so.”

They fell into a comfortable silence. Abbie imagined Felicity sitting on her bed, smiling, distracted from her worries by this conversation.

“Tell me about your mission,” Felicity said. “Pleeeassee.”

Abbie smiled. The girl knew she’d be reticent to open up. They’d had this conversation before. Felicity had seen Abbie in action first-hand, taking on awful people and coming out on top. Before meeting Abbie, she had seen terrible people do horrific things. She had watched an evil man murder an innocent child. These events had affected her deeply, but Felicity argued they meant she was ready to hear anything now. Nothing could shock her.

Abbie, on the other hand, believed that Felicity’s experiences meant there was more, not less, reason not to involve her in any future trauma, even in anecdotal form. Felicity had spent so long wrapped up in the horrors of life, and Abbie wanted the child to have a chance to be an ordinary teenager, away from the darkness of her potential adoptive mother’s work.

“I’m not sure if it’s a good idea,” she said. “Besides, don’t you have to get to school?”

Something about those words sent a tremor of happiness through her. Felicity knew Abbie disliked speaking with the teen about her work because she wanted to give Felicity an ordinary life. What she did not realise was that Abbie also liked the idea of having Felicity removed from that side of her existence because it gave Abbie, too, a chance to feel like an ordinary person. Or, dare she say it, a normal mother.

“I have a few minutes. Please. I get why you don’t want to tell me, but these are exceptional circumstances.”

“Are they now?”

“Yeah. It’s my first day of school, and I’m scared shitless.“

“Don’t swear.” Another mum thing to say. How wonderful.

“Sorry. Scared shiteless.”

“That’s worse.”

“Scared… lots. Really scared.”

“There you are.”

There was silence, and then, “I just need something to take my mind off it.”

Abbie sighed. She could argue, but what would be the point? She knew she couldn’t resist that beseeching tone for long.

“Fine, but we both have places to be; I’ll have to keep this brief.”

She outlined what she had been up to for the past day and a bit in broad strokes. She didn’t mention Zaria’s murder, but did end with Courtney’s kidnap, even though this was one subject she was always nervous about raising with Felicity. When she was done, she waited. Within hours of meeting Felicity, Abbie knew she was a thoughtful, intelligent girl who never spoke to avoid silence. Instead, she took the time to process what she had heard and form a reasoned opinion.

At last, she said, “I hope the parents of this kidnapped girl are okay, but it’ll probably be for the best if they’re out of action for a while.”

“Why’s that?”

“Something Gerald used to say.”

Upon finishing this sentence, Felicity faltered. Gerald had taken Felicity in after she fled her abusive parents. She was lost, alone, and afraid, and he co-opted her into his gang of criminals.

Their primary line of business? The kidnap and ransom of children from wealthy families.

Mentioning Gerald took Felicity back to a dark time in her life. Worse, she was worried Abbie might not like her talking about him.

“It’s okay,” Abbie said in a light tone. “What did he say?”

There was a brief pause, then, “Money and fear are powerful motivators, but there’s no one easier to control than the parent of the child you have in your possession.”

Abbie struggled to believe Gerald had ever been so erudite. She guessed he’d stolen this phrase from someone else.

“You think their absence means I’ll be able to operate without worrying about the kidnapper making them do something that could jeopardise my mission?”

“Exactly.”

“That’s smart. You’re absolutely right.”

“Thank you.”

“Only problem is I’m not sure if they want the child for ransom. Their purposes might be more… nefarious.”

Again, Felicity took the time to consider this. At last, she said, “Nefarious means, like, evil?”

“Pretty much.”

More thought, then, “I doubt they’ll kill her.”

“Why’d you say that?”

“Well, they must have taken her for a reason, right? Besides, killing her would be dangerous. Another thing Gerald used to say was he’d never kill a kid unless he was desperate. A parent who’s lost a child loses all traces of sanity. They do things they’d never previously dreamed of doing. They become much more dangerous.”

Something about this statement chimed with Abbie. She was mulling it over when a voice on Felicity’s side of the line shouted.

“That’s Alice,” the teen said. “Guess it’s time for me to go. Thanks for taking my mind off things.”

“No worries. And Felicity?”

“Yeah?”

“Stop worrying. You’ll be spectacular.”

They said their goodbyes and hung up. Alone in the quiet hotel room, Abbie placed the phone in her pocket and stared at the wall. Cogs turned in her head. She was unsure, but she thought some crucial pieces of the puzzle were falling into place.

Why had the kidnappers taken Courtney? If all this was only about punishing Bernard, they could have slit her throat in the car park last night. No. They wanted something.

The stolen item?

That seemed the most likely answer, but as Abbie continued to consider the information and Felicity’s words continued to ring in her ears, another scenario fell into place –one more terrifying than anything Abbie had previously imagined.

A scenario she could possibly verify at her next meeting. She grabbed her phone and looked at the screen. Lorna would be waiting, and the truth was within Abbie’s reach.

It was time to grab it.

34

Lorna arrived first and went to the counter to order.

It was not the same café as yesterday, but the fridge caught her eye. She looked at the colourful bottles on the bottom shelf – kids’ drinks, cartoon animals. She recognised the one Morgan had bought and remembered her disgust.

What a dork he was.

A tear came to her eye, and she wiped it away before the barista could see. She took her drink to a table in the corner, out of the way. By the time Abbie arrived, a few minutes later, she had composed herself. More or less.

“How’s Morgan?” Abbie asked. Of course that would be her first question, the considerate pain in the arse.

“Fine,” Lorna said, then shook her head. “Except he isn’t. Because he’s friends with me. Because he does whatever I ask, and I keep asking him to risk his life. Gunshot wound at home, now this. What’ll I get him into next?”

“Gunshot then a blow to the head,” Abbie said. “Given the trajectory, I’d imagine he’ll come off worse in a pillow fight.”

Lorna smiled, but it was short-lived. She was changing. Classic Lorna was impulsive, reckless, and fun-loving. She liked to drink and party. She had experimented with all kinds of drugs. What she was not was introspective. She preferred to act now and think never. Thinking led to misery. It was easier to do bad things if you didn’t stop to consider how performing such acts might make you a bad person.

Since meeting Abbie, Lorna had changed. She was prone to become mired in self-examination, obsessing over her actions and their consequences. Thoughts of what she had achieved and what she could achieve devoured her time. Ditto the impact she had on the world. More importantly, the impact she had on the only person who really mattered: Morgan.

“He’s not cut out for this stuff,” she said. “I can’t keep involving him; I’ll get him killed. I couldn’t live with myself if I did that.”

Those last words shocked Lorna even as she said them. Never had the fate of another had any impact on her. Let alone a life-ending one. Would her world truly stop if Morgan was no longer in it? Probably not, but the effect would be devastating. She saw that now.

She glared at Abbie.

“You cursed the money you gave me. That’s the only explanation.”

Abbie smiled. “That’s why you’re here, then? In this town. Makes sense. Still, what are the chances we’d end up in the same place?”

Lorna shrugged.

“I’m glad you’ve decided to be a better person,” Abbie said.

“Yeah? I regret it every day.”

Abbie said nothing. Lorna grabbed her mug, drank some coffee, and gestured to the café at large.

“Why did you want to meet?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Lorna shrugged.

“I don’t know what you know about Bernard,” Abbie said, “but his actions have endangered his children. Less than 48 hours ago, someone attacked his daughter. Soon after that, presumably the same someone tried to kidnap her. Last night, we rushed to the hospital in time to see Bernard leaving with the kid. Before he could get in his car and drive away, someone stabbed him and took the child. We have no idea who has her or where she is.”

“Will Bernard live?”

“It was touch and go, last I heard.”

“You saw what he did to that Zaria woman. He deserves to die.”

“Maybe. Some might call death the easy option. The dead don’t suffer for their sins. Unless you believe in an afterlife.”

“Nor do the living. Unless you believe in the justice system. When it comes to men with money, I don’t.”

“Fair point.”

“Also, as I remember, you weren’t keen to see Harry and Ian behind bars. Did they not deserve to be punished for their crimes?”

Something flashed in Abbie’s eyes. Lorna had come to like the other woman within minutes of meeting her months ago. She was funny, and she exuded power and confidence. But there were facets to her personality she tried to hide. Sometimes, these slipped through. There were times when looking into Abbie’s eyes terrified Lorna.

“Sometimes,” Abbie said, “it’s a balancing act between seeking to punish the wrongdoer and protecting the innocent. What I did with Ian and Harry let them off the hook for their crimes but guaranteed they could hurt no further innocents. In my eyes, that was a justifiable tradeoff.”

“But Bernard is different?”

“Hard to say, but I believe so. I think Bernard made some terrible mistakes and committed some heinous crimes. For what he did to Zaria, he deserves to be punished to the full force of the law. However, I’ve seen nothing to indicate that his demise would protect further innocents from harm. I believe he’s done all the direct damage he’ll ever do, whether or not he sees the inside of a cell.”

“You’d put money on that?”

“No, but I’ve been doing this a long time. I’ve known many people like Ian and even more like Bernard. You get a feel for those who’ve endangered people through stupidity and desperation and those who’ve done it actively to acquire money and power. Bernard doesn’t strike me as the latter.”

Lorna took this in. Before she could respond, a powerful urge overcame her, and she left the table. Abbie raised an eyebrow as she returned with a new drink and yanked off the cap.

“What?” Lorna said. “Embarrassed to be seen with me?”

“Why would I be embarrassed?”

“This bottle has a cartoon bear on it.” Lorna pointed. In case Abbie had missed the grinning character.

“So?”

“It’s for children.”

“It’s marketed towards children,” Abbie corrected. ‘No laws prevent over eighteens from partaking. It’s probably delicious, though you should know that cartoon animals lead to hiked-up prices. I’m guessing they’ve ripped you off.”

Lorna stared at the drink, then put it to her lips and took a swig.

She closed her eyes.

It was delicious.

She bit her lip. It was all she could do not to burst into tears.

“You okay?”

Lorna opened her eyes. “I’m a terrible person,” she said.

“There are worse crimes than overpaying for children’s drinks. Getting yourself a second drink without offering me a refill, for example.”

Abbie tapped her empty mug, and Lorna laughed, then almost burst into tears when she had another swig of her drink. It was delicious, and the bear’s smile was delightful. As she had told him, it reminded her of Morgan’s goofy grin.

“We need to cut to the chase,” she said. “I should be at the hospital with Morg.”

Abbie nodded and wasted no more time.

“A teenage girl is missing. I need to find her. The more I learn, the closer I get to the truth. Plenty doesn’t add up, but my conversation with Felicity shook some new pieces loose, and it’s coming together.”

“Who’s Felicity?”

“Just a teen I’m adopting.”

“The word ‘just’ is doing a lot of heavy lifting in that sentence, no?”

“I thought you wanted to get on with this?”

Lorna raised her hands in surrender. “What do you want to know?”

“The reason you came here. You mentioned me cursing the money, so I’m guessing you came to do good. I think I know the answer, but how did you know Bernard was up to no good?”

Lorna drummed her fingers on the table, letting her mind drift back to that day in Ian’s office: grabbing the ringing phone. It was not the first time she’d picked it up, but it was the first time a call led to her taking action.

“He’s done business with Ian,” she said. “He called, asking for help, and as he was prattling on, do you know what I thought?”

“That you could do some good?”

“That I could be like you. Can you imagine? Here you are, this unstoppable force of nature, flying into town and destroying baddies without breaking a sweat. And me? I’m a drug-taking party girl who’s never done a proper day’s work. Who was I kidding? I got into this, and right away, I was lost. Sure, I got a tracker on Bernard, but what did I achieve? Zaria’s dead. Bernard’s dying. Someone’s taken that poor teen. Then there’s Morgan. Once again, I risk both our lives, but it’s him who takes the hit.”

Lorna wiped her eyes. She felt dizzy. She was a talker used to monologuing about crap that didn’t matter. This speech was different because it mattered. It hurt.

“I’m not unstoppable,” Abbie said. “It sometimes seems I am because I’ve had years of practice, I spend hours every week in the gym, and some of the world’s leading experts in numerous fighting styles have trained me. But I’m not, and I don’t always come out on top. Not so long ago, someone stabbed me. I was lucky to survive. As for last night, you already know how that went. Because of your tracker, we reached Bernard on time, but I still failed. I should’ve stopped the kidnapper, and I didn’t. No one knows where Courtney is because I’m not unstoppable.”

Abbie took Lorna’s hand.

“If I could in any way be described as unstoppable, it wouldn’t be about short-term success. I’m unstoppable in that I don’t stop, no matter how many setbacks I face. I’ll keep going until someone kills me. One day, someone will. No one has yet. Last night, you didn’t reach Zaria in time, and I failed to save Courtney. The key to protecting the innocent isn’t not failing. It’s not giving up when you do.”

The café was almost empty. Even if every table were packed to capacity, it would have seemed like Lorna and Abbie were alone. Abbie had that power to draw you in. It was almost hypnotic.

“I’m not saying you must keep going, by the way,” Abbie said. “You want to protect Morgan, and that’s great. I’d give anything to lead a normal life; you have that option. My point is that whether you wish to keep playing hero or not, you can’t punish yourself for what happened to Zaria. You just can’t. Doing so is the surest path to self-destruction.”

Lorna closed her eyes and thought of Morgan. Then Zaria. She saw the poor girl dead on the floor because Lorna was too slow.

“Not punishing yourself is a tough ask,” she said.

“I know.”

“But I don’t want to give in. I want to help.”

“Lucky for you, you can,” said Abbie.

“What do you mean?”

“You spoke to Bernard on the phone, and I need to know what he said. No—“ Abbie raised a hand to stop Lorna from replying. “Take your time because I don’t need the general picture. I need his words verbatim.”

“What good will that do?”

“Possibly none, but I suspect that knowing what Bernard said will confirm my theory, and I’ll know everything: what Bernard stole, who he took it from, and most importantly, who has Courtney and what they want.”

35

The room was small and bland, containing only a bed, a bedside table, and a wardrobe. There was space for little else, but that was okay. What mattered most was that the bed was comfortable. Clint had needed a good night’s sleep.

After waking, he remained in bed for half an hour, staring at the ceiling. It was white, a ripple effect. Near the light was a grey smudge. Clint fixed his stare on that as though afraid it might slip away if he let it out of his sight. He tried not to blink. When he did, he saw himself repeatedly smashing his mother’s skull and face with the champagne bottle.

He hated reliving this scene but was unsure how he felt about what he’d done. As with Whitney, he had blacked out during the attack and had at first experienced confusion when he came around. When he remembered, he burst into tears. But after Whitney, guilt consumed him for many months. Whereas an hour after murdering his mother, there was only a numb sensation in the pit of his stomach.

The numb feeling was gone by the time he woke the following day, but his emotions were too much of a mess to pick out how he truly felt. Soon enough, he gave up on working it out, rose, dressed, and left his room, only to pause at the top of the stairs.

The previous evening, once his mother was dead, Clint had acted on autopilot. He went to the garage and bundled the girl into the car. Less than an hour later, he had arrived at a small cottage on a quiet road and was delivering Courtney.

The teen’s new owner was surprisingly friendly. Once he got over his surprise that Clint had come alone, he offered the young man a bed for the night, and Clint gratefully accepted. He couldn’t go home, after all. Sleeping in the same house as a corpse would be far too morbid. Soon enough, he would have to do something about the body, but he wasn’t yet ready.

The cottage’s upper floor was quiet. Clint could hear birdsong outside and movement downstairs. Fear overcame him that this was all a trick. The friendly man was a monster who would knock Clint out and sell him into slavery, or chop him up and eat him for dinner, or…

No. Clint was too used to cruelty. Not everyone was like his family. Smiling at his foolishness, he went downstairs and followed the sounds of life to the kitchen, a small, square room dominated by a round, wooden table. White goods, cupboards, and surfaces lined the walls. One door led into the room from the hall; another led from the kitchen to the back garden. There was a single window above the sink. When Clint entered, his host was edging around the table with a platter of toast.

“Morning,” the man said. “Glad you could make it down. I was about to call you, anyway.” He shook the platter to draw Clint’s attention to it. “Breakfast.”

He placed the toast on the table and gestured to the chair closest to Clint.

“Please, take a seat.”

The man turned as he spoke. Cutlery and plates were on the table along with the platter of toast, and Clint’s host grabbed the butter and several glass jars from the fridge. When he turned back, he seemed surprised that Clint was still standing.

“Something troubling you? I’m sure you must be hungry. Don’t you like toast? I don’t have much else, but I’m sure I can rustle something up.”

The older man started checking the cupboards at his back.

“No,” said Clint, “I like toast. I just⁠—“

What was he supposed to say? That he was struggling to sit and eat because he couldn’t understand this man’s demeanour? That was what it boiled down to. Clint didn’t know if he believed in evil but knew everyone in his family was bad, including him. No one would be surprised to learn that any of them had stolen, kidnapped, or killed. They fit the villain mould.

This guy – with his neat white hair and beard and his kind smile – was different. Given how he’d treated Clint and his jovial nature, it was hard to believe he’d offered Clint’s family such a large sum to kidnap an innocent teenage girl.

It was hard to believe he could hurt a fly. And yet…

Clint realised he hadn’t finished his sentence and blushed.

“Sorry. Toast would be awesome.”

Even after saying this, he had to force himself to pull out the chair and sit down. His host did the same and then twisted the jars so Clint could read the labels.

“I’m glad you like toast. Breakfast, as they say, is the most important meal of the day. I believe that. Especially on days like today. Days of monumental importance. To me, especially. Although I hope it’ll be a big day for you, too.”

These last words sent a tremor of concern through Clint, which his host noticed as he grabbed the butter and one of the knives on the table.

“I know what you’re thinking. That I plan to stiff you or move the goalposts. I offered to pay your family a healthy sum for retrieving young Courtney, which you’ve done. Now you’re thinking I might say I’ll still pay you, but only once you’ve done something else. That about right?”

It was, but Clint was afraid to offend this friendly man.

“It is right,” said the host without batting an eyelid. “An understandable fear. This isn’t a very trusting world. Unfortunately, plenty of its inhabitants are unworthy of trust. It’s a vicious cycle.”

By now, the host had buttered two slices of toast. This done, he offered the slab to Clint, who shook his head.

“Just jam for me.”

The host frowned. It was the first sign that he could feel emotions besides happiness and excitement.

“No butter, just jam? How peculiar. Still, each to their own.” He looked at his toast and then back at Clint. “Where was I?”

“Um, trust?”

“Ah, yes.” The host grabbed the blackberry jam and unscrewed the lid. “Trust. You needn’t worry about that with me. Your money is bagged up and ready to go. Don’t fancy sticking around? Grab it and leave. We need never see each other again. That was the deal, and I’m a man of my word. However—“ the host began plastering jam onto his toast “—if you wanted to stay, there’s more money to be made. I don’t know where your family are, and I don’t care. I only require one of you. Maybe you have to split the kidnapping cash with your brother and parents. This money would be all yours.”

The host screwed the lid back on the jam jaw and sliced his toast into triangles.

“What’d you say? Interested?”

Clint was still spreading his jam. He’d wanted raspberry but had picked up strawberry by mistake and was too embarrassed to put it back and choose again. Strawberry would be fine.

Money would be better.

“I’m interested.”

“Excellent. Best eat up, then. We’ve a big day ahead: blackmail and revenge. Potentially the murder of a teenage girl. You’ll want to keep your strength up.”

The host smiled, bit into his toast, and hummed a melancholy tune.

36

There was plenty of pain, both physical and emotional. The former was uncomfortable, the latter unbearable. A doctor came round and offered painkillers, which Sammy accepted gladly. Then, the physical pain was gone, and only the emotional remained, and Sammy regretted taking the drugs.

Thoughts of Courtney consumed him. Whenever he closed his eyes, he saw her in an empty room, surrounded by strangers, terrified.

Finding his little sister in that crummy house, covered in blood, had been the worst moment of Sammy’s life.

Until the kidnapping.

Seeing her in a ball on the floor, her body twisted and bruised, had torn at his heart and shredded his soul. But at least he knew where she was and what to do. He had phoned for an ambulance and watched as the paramedics took her away. He knew she was alive and in safe hands.

Where was she now? What peril did she face? These were the questions that killed. Was she a bargaining chip to be used in a trade to reacquire the item his father had stolen? Or was she to be used for revenge? Might her captors kill her on camera and send the footage to Bernard?

The terrible possibilities raced around his mind. He could not stay in this room with only his thoughts for company. He got out of bed, in so doing learning that the painkillers were not quite strong enough. The world span. His heart pounded in his ears.

The door swung open, and two people strolled in.

“Sammy, what the hell are you doing?” Isabel came over and grabbed his bicep. “You need to lie down.”

He smiled at his sister, even as his body screamed at him to collapse.

“Can’t. Got something I need to do.”

That was to find out what their father had stolen. His only hope was that Courtney’s kidnapper wanted to trade Sammy’s sister for what they’d lost. Whether that would be possible was a question for later.

“Is Dad alive?” he asked.

“Just about,” Hugh said.

“He’s in critical condition,” Isabel said. “What happened last night? What’s going on? The doctors said he insisted on taking Courtney home, against their advice.”

Sammy scoffed. “His plan wasn’t to take her home. How did he get her out anyway? You were watching her, and she had protection. That’s what you said.”

Isabel looked equal parts guilty and defensive, but Sammy was in too much pain to feel bad for the harshness of his words.

“Hugh and I weren’t there,” she said. “The protection officers were, but what were they supposed to do when Court’s parents came along? They weren’t exactly going to rugby tackle Dad and throw Xylina over their shoulder, were they?”

Despite seeing the logic of this, Sammy’s anger would not fade.

“I have to go.”

He staggered to the door, wondering if his siblings would force him back to bed. In his current condition, they no doubt could. Luckily, they decided to be helpful, flanking him and keeping him upright as he proceeded into the hall.

“Why was Dad running?” said Izzy.

“Guilty conscience. He did something awful a decade ago. I don’t know what. Zaria did, so he stabbed her to death, then fled with Court and Xy. Or tried.”

Despite his siblings’ assistance, all Sammy’s energy was going into keeping his body moving. He was barely paying attention to what he was saying.

More importantly, who he was saying it to.

He felt Hugh yank away, and when he turned, his younger brother shoved him to the floor. In Sammy’s injured state, he went down easily.

“Liar.”

The words were a tortured scream of despair. Sammy looked into his brother’s face from the floor and could not comprehend why he looked so horrified.

Then it hit him.

“Oh, Hugh…”

A flood of self-loathing filled him, washing away all else. He didn’t know how to end his sentence and had to force himself to say something.

“I’m sorry. I⁠—“

This time, he stopped not for lack of something to say but because Hugh had fled down the corridor.

No need to ask where he was going. Sammy closed his eyes, hating himself for being so careless.

Izzy held out a hand and helped him to his feet. It hurt like hell, but he made it. His sister’s stare was hard and accusatory. He expected her to chastise him for the insensitive way he had told Hugh about his girlfriend’s demise. But she held back on the recrimination.

“Where’d you want to go?”

Sammy looked down the corridor after his brother. He wanted to check on Hugh. In a perfect world, he would have. Unfortunately, this world was far from perfect, and Hugh’s grief did not trump Courtney’s peril.

“If Dad’s in a critical condition, I need to see Xylina.”

“Fine,” Izzy said. “Her room’s this way.”

They turned 180 degrees and headed along the corridor. At first, Izzy led the way in silence. But not for long.

“Do you think we’ll get her back?”

The pain in her voice was unmistakable. She wasn’t one to show emotion, but Sammy could see she was on the verge of despair. He knew the feeling.

“I don’t know.”

These words made Izzy pause. She put her hand over her eyes and took a deep breath. That was all she needed. Izzy had always been the strongest of Bernard’s children. Her face was set when the hand came away, and she was ready to continue.

“If we don’t get Courtney back,” she said, “Dad had better die. If he doesn’t, he’ll soon wish he had.”

Two minutes later, they reached their destination. Izzy knocked, then opened the door and helped Sammy inside.

There were two people in the room – a patient and a visitor.

Xylina’s eyes were open, but it was unclear if anything was happening behind them. She was flat on her back. The blanket covered everything below her neck except for her arms. Her skin was pale, at least compared to her usual Greek complexion.

The visitor was Abbie.

“What are you doing here?” Sammy asked.

“I came to offer Xylina my condolences.” Abbie pushed back the chair and stood to face Sammy. “You don’t look so good. I’m glad to see you up and moving, though. I feared the worst when the car made contact.”

Sammy wasn’t listening. The world had stopped. Condolences? What was Abbie talking about?

Who was she talking about?

Sammy couldn’t speak, so Izzy took over.

“What do you mean condolences? Is it… my father? Is it Bernard?”

“No.” Abbie bowed her head and looked at Xylina. “There’s nothing worse in this world than losing your child. It’s a bereavement from which you can never recover. I’d know. For what you’ve suffered, Xylina, I’m sorry. You⁠—“

“No.” The word escaped Sammy as a strangled cry. “This isn’t right.”

Xylina stared at the ceiling, silent. Abbie only cast the woman another glance before returning her stare to Sammy.

“I worked it out,” she said. “I know who Bernard robbed, and I think I know who took Courtney.”

“How can you think one and know the other?” Sammy said. “The kidnapper and the victim of Dad’s theft must be the same.”

“And how can you know that Courtney’s dead?” said Izzy.

Abbie looked from one sibling to the other, then shook her head in sympathy. Her expression made Sammy want to kill her.

“You’ve misunderstood. I never claimed Courtney was dead, and the victim of your father’s theft is not the same person as her kidnapper. In fact, until a couple of hours ago, the victim of Bernard’s theft didn’t know Bernard had stolen from her. This was never about them.”

“What?” Izzy said, “You’re not making any sense.”

“I’m making enough sense. You just don’t get it.”

“You said Courtney was dead,” Sammy said.

“No, I said Xylina’s child was dead, which is true. As far as I’m aware, Courtney is alive and well. But Courtney isn’t Xylina’s daughter. Nor Bernard’s. No, Courtney is the missing item. She’s what Bernard stole. As for the victim of this theft. Well, that would be me.”

A cold, terrible silence filled the room. It held until Abbie was ready to break it.

“Courtney’s my daughter.”

37

Sammy’s legs were in pain following the car accident, but it was Isabel who went to her knees on the cold hospital floor following Abbie’s revelation. Sammy kept his feet, angry eyes fixed on Abbie’s face.

“This is all some sick game to you, isn’t it? You’re twisted, messed up.”

“I’m many things,” Abbie said. “A game player isn’t one. You came here to learn if Xylina knew what your father stole, right? If she was complicit? I can tell you she was. She’s been in on it from the beginning.”

Abbie grabbed the visitor’s chair and spun it towards Sammy.

“You might want to sit.”

Sammy turned away. “I’m calling the police.”

Abbie sighed but said nothing. If he didn’t want the chair, she would take it, which she did as he hobbled for the door, wincing with each step.

Isabel looked up from the hospital floor, staring into Abbie’s face. “What the hell is going on?”

Abbie looked at Sammy’s sister. Sammy was almost at the door, but if he would rather not hear what she’d learned, so be it. An audience of one was all she required.

“When was your sister born?”

“February,” Izzy said. “Uh... 2009?”

“Thought so. That means Xylina fell pregnant in mid-2008. In February of the following year, she was rushed to hospital, her baby delivered two moths before her due date via emergency C-section. I don’t know if you know all that. You can check with your brother; Xylina told him the other day.”

Izzy looked towards her brother, but he was behind Abbie. She had no idea if he indicated the truth of this one way or the other.

“The doctors delivered the baby, but all was not well.” Abbie paused and looked at Xylina. Despite everything, her heart filled with sympathy for Bernard’s wife. “The doctor told you your child wouldn’t survive 48 hours. That must’ve been awful, and as I’ve said, I’m truly sorry for your loss.”

Xylina stared at the ceiling. It did not appear as though she was listening.

Isabel was.

“This can’t be true. You can’t know this.”

“It can, and I can. Although I’m sure Bernard will have greased many palms to ensure the truth stayed buried, I’ll be able to verify it. Until I can, I’d again ask you to look to your brother. He’s the one who told me all this after Xylina told him.”

Sammy had reached the door but had not gone through. He had his hands on the frame to steady himself, and he twisted towards his sister.

“It’s not like she says,” he said.

“The doctors didn’t give Xylina’s baby less than two days to live?”

“No. I mean, yes, they did. But they were wrong. They got it wrong. Courtney survived. Obviously. Because she’s our Courtney.” He looked at Abbie and drove the point home. “They got it wrong. Courtney survived. She’s a survivor.”

There was desperation in his voice. Abbie knew why. He was an investigator, trained to assess evidence and draw conclusions. When Abbie told him the truth about Courtney, his heart rejected it at once because Courtney was his sister. His mind was another matter. It began to sift through everything he knew, assessing it against Abbie’s explanation.

And it fit.

But the heart is powerful. For now, it was overpowering the mind Sammy had always relied upon. Abbie got that. She was willing to be patient.

“No one’s perfect,” she said. “Doctors are not infallible. They do get things wrong, but there are degrees. Take Xylina’s newborn. The medical professionals ran their tests and said the baby wouldn’t live longer than 48 hours. Maybe they get that wrong, but how wrong?”

“What do you mean?” Isabel asked.

“If a doctor gives a patient a month to live, perhaps that patient defies expectations, but what does that mean? They probably make it to six months or a year, but the illness still gets them in the end. Only in the rarest of cases would a doctor be completely wrong. The illness turns out not to be terminal.”

“Courtney was one of those cases,” Sammy said at once. “She’s a fighter.”

“Everyone thinks their loved one’s the fighter in these situations, Sammy. Come on. What was your newborn sister like when your father introduced you to her? And what do you imagine a premature baby given two days to live would be like in the following months if they did defy those expectations? Most would die before the end of the year. The ones who survived could be disabled for life. Even if they weren’t, there’d likely be development issues in their formative years. Even in those rarest cases where the baby pulls through with no long term ill effects, a baby born two months early will still be tiny. Tell me about Courtney’s development. Tell me how small she was.”

Neither sibling spoke, but Abbie could tell she had given them plenty to think about. Not wanting to lose momentum, she moved forward as though Sammy’s denial hadn’t happened.

“Nothing in this world hurts more than losing a child. You can’t imagine the grief. Even a baby you never got a chance to know. You can believe I know about that.”

There were still no signs that Xylina was listening. Even so, Abbie lowered her voice.

“Xylina’s baby died, and she was lost in her grief. She begged her husband to fix it. She couldn’t wait the months or years it’d take to try again. She wanted her child back now.”

Abbie’s whisper carried, but Isabel leaned in anyway, and Sammy moved away from the door frame into the room, although he was struggling to stay upright.

“Broken, miserable, Bernard acted without thinking. He picked up the phone and called a dangerous man with whom he’d presumably worked before. He outlined his problem and the amount of cash he’d pay to fix it, and this monster’s eyes lit up. He loved money, and it just so happened that Bernard’s call had come at the perfect time. His son was under investigation for rape. The victim of his crime was almost at full term with a baby conceived during that assault. He wanted to punish the girl for going to the police by taking her baby away forever.”

It took Isabel a few moments to figure out who the girl mentioned was. Sammy realised right away. This stole the power from his legs, sending him to the floor on his behind, a little way back from his older sister.

“On the 16th February 2009,” Abbie continued, “masked men sedated me and cut my baby from my stomach days before my due date. I never saw the child again. Those fallible doctors told me she was surely dead. They didn’t realise the man who paid to have my stomach cut open could afford a professional procedure that left both mother and baby alive. This monster’s men delivered my baby to Bernard, who decided to call her Courtney. Now it was me tearing myself apart with grief while Bernard and Xylina took my daughter home to introduce her to her new family.”

Saying it out loud wasn’t easy. Abbie heard the volume of her voice increase and felt her fists clench into tighter and tighter balls. The skin around her knuckles was white, and she resisted looking at Xylina for fear of what she might do.

“Courtney’s my daughter,” Abbie forced herself to say.

Still, Sammy was shaking his head.

“It can’t be. It makes no sense.”

“You know that’s not true. How did Bernard know Courtney would be the target of a kidnap attempt? Because he believed the attackers were Courtney’s parents, trying to reclaim their daughter. Why was your father willing to murder Zaria, even when he believed the truth had already reached the victim of his crime? What could he have stolen that would persuade him to kill rather than risk his family learning the truth? Then there’s the timing. Does the name Ian ring any bells?”

Abbie waited, although she knew Sammy wouldn’t respond.

“Doesn’t matter. I can prove Bernard called Ian the day after Zaria learned what he’d stolen all those years before. I can prove that evil men cut my baby from my stomach soon after Xylina’s child died. I already know, but I have people looking into it anyway because I want it verified. Ian stole my baby and sold her to Bernard. When Bernard didn’t pay up fast enough, Ian came to Bernard’s house and held a gun to your head, Sammy. And what did he say? What was his threat?”

Sammy met Abbie’s gaze but still refused to talk. As they stared at one another, Isabel’s eyes flicked between them, confused.

“What’s she talking about?”

Sammy said nothing, so Abbie repeated the words Sammy had quoted. “‘How should we punish you for this transgression? Shall we take the baby? Or bring her mother here? Perhaps it’s too much to deprive you of the chance to dote on this precious little girl. As he’s here, we could kill your son instead. Or maybe only maim him.’”

Silence filled the room once more, but Abbie could see the effect she was having. Confusion still reigned supreme for Isabel, but war raged within Sammy. Heart vs head, and as Abbie continued to talk, the heart was losing power, the head taking ground. How much longer could he deny the truth?

“Ian threatened to take away the baby or bring her mother here,” Abbie said. “You assumed he meant Xylina, but you weren’t listening properly. Those were threats with the same outcome: losing Courtney. The next part proves it. He describes ‘bringing the mother here’ as too much because it would deprive Bernard of the chance to dote on his precious little girl. See, he wasn’t talking about Xylina. He was talking about me – threatening to bring me to the baby so I could take her away. An empty threat, by the way. Ian hated me and would never reunite me with my daughter, but the point is why he said it: because I’m her mother. I. Am. Her. Mother.”

With these last words, everything changed. Sammy’s heart lost the war. The truth finally clunked into place. For Abbie, the full force of everything she had lost hit home.

As one, they dissolved into tears.

Isabel went to her brother, put her arms around him, and held him close.

Unable to face the siblings, Abbie turned away, her mind filling with loss, pain, and grief. In physical terms, she had never been closer to her daughter, and yet the pain of the loss had never felt more acute.

She turned away and found herself facing Xylina.

Whose eyes were no longer glazed over. Were instead filled with the purest loathing Abbie had ever seen.

38

The doctor had told Lorna Morgan would be fine. Nonetheless, relief flooded her when she reached his room and found him sitting up and eating. Happiness followed relief when he looked up, gave her a goofy smile, and put aside his yoghurt as she entered the room.

“Don’t stop on my account.”

“I’d rather not enrage you.” He picked up the pot to show her the grinning cartoon polar bear. “Promise, I wasn’t given a choice.”

He laughed as Lorna came to his bedside and took the yoghurt.

“He has a monocle. Why does a polar bear need a monocle?”

“Maybe he has a dodgy right eye.”

“Left eye,” Lorna corrected.

“Not from my position.”

“What? What are you talking about? That’s not how left and right work. If you’re facing a right-handed man writing a letter, it doesn’t make him left-handed, does it?”

“No, but, to me, they’d be using their left hand, wouldn’t they?”

“No.” She couldn’t believe it. “How can you be so stupid? How can you possibly⁠—“

She stopped, groaned, then leaned in and gave him a kiss that started as a peck and ended several minutes later. When she pulled away, his smile was dopey.

“We should do that more often.”

Lorna frowned. “We kiss all the time.”

“Not sober.”

“We’ve kissed sober.”

“When?”

Lorna trawled through her memories and found nothing.

“Shut up. How are you feeling?”

“My head’s sore, but there’s been no permanent damage.”

“I suppose it helps, having no brain to damage.”

Morgan rolled his eyes. “Doctor says I can leave today.”

“I’m glad. Have you thought any more about our date?”

He played with his sheets and looked at his toes.

“I wasn’t sure you’d still want to go.”

“Why wouldn’t I want to go?”

His eyes remained on his toes, and he did not respond. Not until Lorna took his chin and twisted his head in her direction.

“Why,” she repeated, “wouldn’t I want to go?”

“Because I screwed up.”

He tried to turn away, but she didn’t let him.

“What are you talking about?”

“I was supposed to stop that guy after he killed that woman, but I failed. He clocked me over the head and knocked you down. He should never have got to you. I screwed up.”

Lorna’s fingers slipped from Morgan’s chin as she looked into that wonderful man’s eyes. She didn’t deserve him as a friend, a lover, or anything else.

“You’re a dope,” she said. “You didn’t screw up. I did. I shouldn’t have put you in danger. I won’t again. No more little jobs for criminals, and no more playing hero. I can’t take the risk. Not if we’re going to start dating, you know, properly.”

These comments prompted Morgan to give Lorna a long, hard look.

“What?” she said.

“You think I have a problem with what you did last night?”

“Yeah. I’m not having a go, either. You should have a problem with me constantly putting us in danger. You always used to moan when I did jobs for Harry, and I never listened. Now I am.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m not? Feels like I’m listening.”

“Well, then, you’re an idiot.”

“Wow.” For a moment, Lorna was too taken aback to continue. “I’m not sure you’ve ever insulted me before.”

“I’m not sure I have either.”

“I think I kind of like it.” She placed a hand on his chest. “Kind of sexy, hearing you say what you think.”

“Yeah? Because I think, sometimes, you can be a bitch.”

She leaned in further. “Is that so?”

“Oh yeah, a real bitch.”

She kissed his neck. “Maybe I can work on that.”

“Good, and maybe you shouldn’t slag off my mother so much. You’re actually a lot alike.”

Lorna pulled back from his neck so fast she almost fell off her chair. “Okay, maybe that’s enough speaking your mind.”

He flushed. “That was too far, wasn’t it?”

“Way too far.”

“I felt it as soon as I said it.”

She folded her arms and glared until he reached out and held her hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“I should bloody hope so. I’m nothing like your mother.”

He tilted his head to indicate he wasn’t sure, then opened his mouth. She raised a finger.

“Don’t.”

Smiling, he fell into silence and looked at the ceiling. He didn’t release her hand, and she felt no urge to pull away. She recalled all the times Morgan had moaned about the jobs she had taken on. Had he not always mentioned how it was too risky?

As though he could read her mind, he said, “I’ve no problem putting my life at risk standing by your side when it’s in pursuit of something like what we were doing yesterday. We did a crap job, but our intentions were pure. I wish we could’ve arrived sooner, but I’m glad we went.”

“Same,” said Lorna, and Morgan looked at her.

“It was never the risk. It was the employer. Harry was your friend, remember? Not mine. He was nice enough, but a job for him was always a job for Ian, and Ian was vile. By working for Harry, we were assisting an organisation that destroyed lives. That’s what I hated.”

Lorna nodded but did not at once speak. Morgan was not a big talker. It was weird to hear him say so many words at once. And to give an opinion. He seldom did that.

“Why did you never say anything?”

He met her eyes and squeezed her hand.

“Why do you think?”

“I don’t know.”

Except she did, didn’t she? Why did Morgan hang around and do whatever she said? Why did he cancel his plans instantly to help her with a job? And why did he continue to fall into bed with her – and never date anyone else – even though she knew he craved monogamy and a proper relationship?

Somehow, despite Lorna’s personality and attitude, Morgan had fallen in love with her, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not climb out.

This silence was uncomfortable. Lorna knew she should break it. Morgan had just bared his soul, albeit non-directly. Lorna knew she could not tell him she loved him, but could she not say something? Tell him he was terrific. Let him know how much he meant to her.

At the very least, she could have patted him on the head.

Instead, she sat in awkward silence until he came to the rescue.

“I’m so proud of you. I thought you’d take Abbie’s money and double down on your normal lifestyle. I’m glad I was wrong, and if you want to continue rushing into strangers’ homes to save lives, please don’t stop on my account. I love you just the way you are, Lorna, but if you wish to better yourself, don’t think I can’t love you more.”

That was almost too much for Lorna to take. She had to rise from her seat and look away from that incredible man before emotion overcame her, and she burst into tears.

Once she was facing the wall, Morgan at her back, she regained some strength.

“I wish I could tell you everything I was feeling,” she said. “Unfortunately, I’m emotionally stunted.”

“I understand.”

“I do want to be a better person, though. I do want to earn your love. Earlier today, I spoke with Abbie. She’s here to save lives, and she’s not done yet. I think she could use my help.”

“Our help. I’m ready to get out of bed.”

A smile creeping onto her face, Lorna turned as he sat up. She went to him. Sat on the hard mattress and held his hand.

“You’ve always followed me, Morg. This time, I don’t want you to.”

His face fell, but her smile only grew.

“Because I want you to stand at my side. I want us to do this together.”

His face lit up, and she leaned in and kissed his smile.

39

The world was spinning.

The painkillers were wearing off. That was part of it, but a small part. It was the words that came from Abbie’s mouth, crashing into him far harder than the car had and shaking everything he believed.

Why had his father killed Zaria?

Izzy had her father’s eyes. Hugh had his ears. Sammy had his jaw. Courtney shared none of his features, but nor did she look like her mother. With such pale skin, she didn’t look like someone with a parent who came from the Mediterranean. People had commented on that, but Sammy never gave it a second thought.

How wrong could the doctors have been? Abbie was right. Courtney was a few weeks old when Sammy met her, but she didn’t seem like a baby who had been unwell. Nor like one born two months before her due date. And why had his father never mentioned that his daughter had almost died so soon after birth? It would be nothing to be ashamed of. Given Courtney had supposedly defied all expectations in surviving, wouldn’t he have been keen to tell as many people as possible? It was something worth celebrating, not hiding.

But Bernard had hidden it. He took a vow of silence to protect his crime, one he never broke. Xylina had held on to the lie until Courtney’s life was at risk. Then, the truth slipped out. What had she said?

There was nothing they could do for my child. Within 24 hours of Courtney taking her first breath, she would take her last

Then what? Had she gone on to talk about Courtney’s miraculous survival? No. She said it was happening again.

Again. As though she were talking about another daughter entirely.

“Sammy.”

It was Isabel. They were on the floor, but Izzy rose as she spoke and looked at the bed. Sammy looked, too. From this angle, he could not see his stepmother’s eyes, only that she had turned her head towards Abbie.

“The game’s up,” Abbie said. “Courtney’s my daughter. I know what you did, and I can prove it.”

“You can prove nothing,” Xylina replied. “Courtney’s my daughter. My baby girl. I’m her mother.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“Then do a maternity test.”

Xylina laughed, but there was no humour within it. Only fear and madness.

“In your dreams.”

The pain grew more acute, but Sammy found the strength to grab the bed frame and heave himself up. Izzy saw him rising and came to help. They stood side by side so Izzy could keep him from falling.

“Fine,” Abbie said. “I don’t need to prove anything right now. All I need is to find Courtney. If I’m right about who has her, that’ll prove I’m her mother anyway.”

Xylina wanted to say more, but Abbie turned from the bed as she retrieved her phone. Before she could do anything with it, Izzy grabbed the handset.

“Okay,” Abbie said. “That’s not ideal.”

“You’ve not finished explaining yourself.”

“Nor will I. I’ve wasted enough time as it is. Give me my phone.”

“You’ll give this madwoman nothing,” Xylina said. “I want her out of our lives.”

“You’d condemn Courtney rather than reveal she isn’t your daughter?”

“She’s my little girl.”

These words were a strangled screech. Sammy looked at Xylina. Something occurred to him.

“You knew there was no affair.”

Xylina looked at him. Said nothing.

“In the phone call you overheard, my father warned someone – Zaria, as we now know – he’d lose his daughter if she didn’t keep her mouth shut. You were in such a state when you came to me, I didn’t even question you about the call, but that doesn’t sound like an affair. It sounds so much more serious. You knew the call was about what you’d done. You were desperate. You made up the affair story to get me to help.

“Isabel,” said Xylina. “For your sister, get rid of this woman.”

Izzy still had the phone. She didn’t return it to Abbie, but she looked at her stepmother and shook her head.

“No.”

“But she’s a vile, evil⁠—“

“What she is or isn’t doesn’t matter right now. Courtney. She’s the one who matters. Abbie, you say you know who has my sister. Make me believe you.”

Sammy thought the way Izzy said my sister was pointed, intended to warn Abbie that, whatever was true in biological terms, Courtney would always be Izzy’s sister. Sammy felt the same. Maybe his father and Xylina had lied, but he hadn’t. Courtney was his sister and always would be.

If Abbie understood Izzy’s tone, she ignored it.

“It comes back to how I unravelled this mystery. Sammy and I discussed how someone could have found out what Bernard did. We knew Zaria learned the truth when Hugh showed her around his father’s house, but we could not work out how Zaria could accidentally leak the information to anyone who might come after Bernard. In my mind, it was always more likely that Bernard had given himself away.”

Abbie looked from Izzy to Sammy.

“This is where the two people we saw at Zaria’s house enter the story. Your father was terrified Zaria would expose his secret. So, what does he do? Phones the man who committed the crime on his behalf, intending to ensure there’s no way the truth can come out. The problem is that that man, Ian, is dead. Rather than the crook, he gets Lorna. That’s the woman we saw at Zaria’s.”

Abbie moved as she spoke, and all eyes followed her. Even Xylina’s.

“Lorna didn’t tell Bernard that Ian was dead, but Bernard wouldn’t tell her what he wanted. He did leave a message, though. Something cryptic but which Ian was sure to understand.”

“What message?” Sammy said.

She quoted, “‘The work you did for me in early ’09. I need to know our secret is safe. Mowgli can never go home.’”

It took everyone a few seconds to process this quote. Izzy got there first.

“Mowgli was taken from his parents and raised by wolves.”

“Right. Bernard probably hadn’t spoken with Ian in a decade. He needed a way to jog the crook’s memory without revealing to Lorna what he’d done. And it worked. Lorna had no idea. The problem was, someone else heard the call.”

“What do you mean? Someone was listening in?”

“Not listening in. Months ago, I learned that my daughter had survived after evil men cut her from me shortly before my due date. At the same time, I discovered Ian had sold her to another family. Since then, I’ve been trying to track her down, but not alone. There are others involved. People with the resources to tap Ian’s phone in case anyone ever called with information that might lead to my baby. It was a long shot. No one could’ve thought it’d come to anything. Then it did.”

“Who?”

As Sammy spoke, Abbie’s phone, still in Izzy’s hand, started to ring.

“Him.” Abbie nodded at the phone. “Because Courtney’s kidnap isn’t about a trade. It’s about revenge.”

Izzy stared at the phone. Abbie raised a hand, gesturing for her to hand it over.

“I called him on the way to the hospital after I worked it all out. Pass me the phone; let me deal with this.”

izzy looked like she was about to. Before she could, Sammy grabbed the phone, answered it, and put it to his ear.

“Hello?”

Silence for several seconds.

Then Courtney screamed.

40

The scream tore into Abbie’s heart and ripped it open.

“Courtney?”

She grabbed the phone from Sammy’s limp hand, but the scream was gone. It would not return because it had done its job – proof of life. Evidence that Abbie’s daughter was there to be rescued.

Her daughter.

Abbie composed herself. “Ben, I know it’s you. Or should I call you Perry?”

After a beat, his voice floated down the line. “I knew you’d work it out. You’re an exceedingly clever girl.”

“Woman,” Abbie corrected, more out of habit than anything else.

“Apologies,” he said. “Blame my age.”

Sammy and co. were silent. None could hear Ben’s side of the call, but all had heard Courtney’s scream. They understood the conversation’s stakes.

“I made a mistake,” Abbie said.

“How so?”

“When you burned down my house, I promised I’d kill you if I ever saw you again. Then you came swanning onto my balcony, and I proved myself a liar. I should’ve slit your throat and dumped you in the sea.”

“You wound me. We always had such a good relationship.”

“Give me my daughter.”

“You know, I planned to get the girl and then call you to make my demands. Yet, somehow, I knew you’d find out before I could get in touch. A dream brought you to the right place at the right time, I take it?”

Abbie did not answer. There was no need.

He chuckled. “I knew it. Those dreams are incredible. Scientists may have put them in your head, but never believe they aren’t magic. Never for a second assume the people who cursed you with them know everything they’ve done. Most of the time, they’re flying in the dark.”

“Give me my daughter.”

Silence. Abbie imagined Ben – real name Peregrine – sitting at a table somewhere, phone to his ear, thinking. She recalled her conversation with Felicity, during which she had come to believe that Courtney was her daughter and Ben was behind the kidnapping. It came back to the grief of losing a child. Ben had watched his colleague put a bullet in his daughter’s head. Abbie was there, and another handler from the company waited outside. Ben blamed them all for his child’s demise, though Abbie had nothing to do with it. In fact, the shooter was only there because Ben’s daughter, Elizabeth, had planned to have Abbie killed.

Which mattered not at all to Ben.

“She’s been good as gold, by the way. Hasn’t kicked up a fuss or tried to attack or escape. She hasn’t screamed except for when we needed her to. She’s a thoroughly likeable young girl. Someone’s done a fine job raising her.”

“Stop wasting time. Your barbs won’t hurt me.”

She wished this were true. The raising Courtney comment had caused Abbie’s eyes to flick towards Xylina. The ex-model was complicit in cutting Abbie open and stealing her baby… but had probably given that baby a wonderful life, moulding her into a beautiful, intelligent young lady.

What would happen if Courtney learned the truth? Maybe she would hate her mother; even if she did, it did not follow that she would love Abbie. More likely, she would resent her biological mother for destroying her childhood memories and ruining her happy home. In other words, there was no winning. Not that that mattered. The only victory Abbie cared about right then was saving Courtney.

“I apologise,” Ben said, “for the childish digs. You want to get down to business.”

“I do.”

“Okay, here it is. Am I right in guessing you woke up from your dream the night before last? If you don’t act, whoever you’re supposed to save will be dead by midnight tonight.”

Abbie hesitated, unsure how much to give away. Ben was a wealthy man with access to impressive resources, as evidenced by the tap on Ian’s phone. On the other hand, he no longer worked for the mysterious organisation that gave Abbie her dreams, hence the need to hire an unreliable kidnapper. He likely did not have Abbie under surveillance, and knowledge was power. Did she want to confirm his suspicion?

The answer was no, but she had to. This conversation was a balancing act. She had to give enough away to convince Ben to reveal his hand without surrendering any knowledge he could use against her.

“You’re correct.”

“Excellent, so there’s already a deadline in place, and you doubtless know what I want.”

“I had nothing to do with your daughter’s death. You might recall that your precious child tried to kill me and almost succeeded. Despite that, I delivered her safe and sound when I got hold of her. Most people would’ve killed her. Maybe I should have.”

Ben didn’t reply. Although Abbie had turned her back to them, she was aware of the siblings and Xylina staring, listening, taking everything in. She ignored them as she continued.

“Please. You’ve committed some abhorrent acts, but you’re not a bad person. You dedicated your career to helping people; you must have a good heart. My daughter’s innocent. You couldn’t kill her. I don’t believe it.”

“Would you take that risk? Gamble with her life?”

Ben’s voice was low and breathy. Abbie heard something in it she’d never heard before. He had always been unflappable. His daughter’s death changed him, and she realised that while she might have gambled on the person Ben used to be, she could take no risks on this post-loss iteration of the man who had trained and nurtured her, changed her life, and who had once, ironically, been something of a father stand-in for her.

“No,” she said. “I wouldn’t.”

“Thought not. Luckily for you, I have no interest in killing your daughter.”

“Nor in being fair. Ollie ordered your daughter’s execution, and Blake pulled the trigger.”

“Yes, but you and I had a deal. You’d protect my daughter, and I’d find yours. Well, guess what? I found your daughter. I’ve upheld my end of the bargain. What about you?”

Abbie squeezed her fist and turned towards Courtney’s non-biological family. Sammy’s focus was intense. All his thoughts were on his sister. He knew what this call meant, and Abbie knew she couldn’t let him down any more than she could fail her child.

Still, responding to Ben’s latest question was pointless. She wouldn’t.

“You can’t save her,” Ben said. “We watched her die. She’s never coming back.”

His voice broke. The emotion overwhelmed him, and he had to stop to get himself under control. Still, Abbie did not reply. The silence was too much for her audience, and Abbie could see that Isabel was about to ask what was happening. She raised a hand to stop Sammy’s sister from interjecting, then turned away as Ben continued.

“You can’t uphold your end of the bargain, so I am within my rights to take your daughter and disappear.”

“If you think I wouldn’t track you down, you’re mistaken.”

“Maybe. We’ll never have to find out because I’m willing to alter the deal. You already know how.”

“Yes. I can’t save your daughter; you want me to avenge her.”

“Correct. You failed to save my Ellie, but you did bring her to me when one might have forgiven you for wringing her neck. For that, I’ll happily return your child. Give you a chance at that happily ever after.”

Abbie knew there would be no such thing, even if Courtney returned without a scratch. She tried not to think of what would come next as she replied to Ben.

“But only if I kill the people who took your daughter’s life. You want me to take out Blake and Ollie.”

“Bravo. You got it.”

“But I can’t. I’m not an assassin, as you well know. I kill only in self-defence or in the defence of innocent life.”

“Tell that to Ian.”

Abbie ignored the jibe and refused to dwell on Ian’s demise. Killing him had saved innocent lives, but Ben was right. It had been an execution motivated not by defence but by the discovery that Ian was responsible for the murder of Abbie’s sister and the theft of her baby.

Ben continued. “I’m not interested in a debate on morality. My daughter’s death destroyed me. You’ll avenge her if you want to see your girl again. Blake and Ollie must die. The latter should be easy. I imagine Ollie offered to be your handler.”

“Yes.” Abbie had her card. She’d come if Abbie called.

“We’ll discuss Blake later, but let’s keep this simple for now. If you ever want to see your daughter again, you must send proof that Ollie’s dead by midnight. That’s the deal, and there’ll be no more discussion.”

“Hang on⁠—“

She had wanted to try one more time to talk to the man Ben had been before his daughter died. The man who had done terrible things but who was inherently good. That man had burned down Abbie’s house in a failed attempt to keep her in line. Even so, she didn’t believe he’d have kidnapped and threatened an innocent teenage girl. Saving lives was his life’s work.

Perhaps Ben knew what Abbie had planned. Maybe he feared she might succeed because the line went dead, leaving Abbie alone with Sammy, Izzy, and Xylina. Fighting the urge to break down, she slid her phone into her pocket and faced her audience.

“Tell us everything,” Sammy said, “and tell us now.”

Abbie nodded. She had no problem filling him in, but they couldn’t take long. They would talk, and then it was time to act. Abbie had liked Ollie, but that didn’t matter now. She would save her daughter’s life.

Whatever it took.

41

Abbie left Xylina’s room and phoned Ollie, asking for a meeting to discuss her dreams. She said she had questions. Her former handler, Perry, also known as Ben, had refused to tell her anything. She thought Ollie might be more open.

Ollie sounded as giddy as ever. She seemed delighted to hear from Abbie, though she did manage to add a tinge of seriousness to her tone as she responded to the request.

“If I were your handler,” she said, “I’d like to think I’d be more open than Ben. And I would be your handler if you came back to us. Are you coming back, Abbie?”

This was a tricky question. The impulse was to say yes because Ollie would more likely agree to meet if she believed Abbie was returning. But would she believe it? Abbie was dead against returning to the fold the last time she and Ollie spoke. A sudden change of heart might make Ollie suspicious.

Rightly so, as it happened.

Abbie settled for the middle ground. “It’s unlikely, but not impossible.”

“How tantalising.”

“I should add that opening up won’t convince me to return, either.”

“But I suppose it can’t hurt?” Ollie mused.

“I wouldn’t have thought so.”

“In that case, I’d love to meet and answer your questions as best I can, so long as you understand that my knowledge is far from complete. There’s plenty I don’t know.”

“Fine by me. Are you free today?”

There was a brief silence. What would Abbie do if Ollie said no? She had no reason to push for a meeting that wouldn’t make Ollie suspicious. If Ollie couldn’t meet today, Abbie would have to move to plan B.

Just as soon as she’d come up with one.

Luckily, it was a non-issue.

“When and where?”

Another question with an answer that could potentially cause problems. Ollie knew where Abbie lived, but Abbie was nowhere near home. She couldn’t confess to being on a mission because explaining why she wanted to meet partway through a time-sensitive life-saving situation would be impossible. There was only one alternative.

“I had a dream a couple of days ago. I saved the subject but am yet to return home. There’s a park near me, though.”

Abbie gave Ollie the location and waited. She had never previously stuck around in a place following the completion of her mission. Her only hope was that Ollie didn’t know this.

“Of course. I’ll make myself available. Five o’clock work for you?”

“It does.”

“Good. See you then.”

They ended the call, and Abbie fell into a padded chair in an empty waiting room a few corridors from where Xylina lay. She wasn’t far from where she’d first met Sammy. Soon after that, she’d helped him drive away the kidnapper she now knew was working for Ben. After that altercation, she’d watched Sammy walk into his sister’s room. She’d considered following. It was incredible now to think how close she’d come to meeting her daughter. What would she have felt if she had? Pity for a young stranger, brutally attacked? Or would she have known? Would it have clicked as soon as she set eyes on the teenager’s face? More importantly, what would happen if she failed to bring Courtney home? How would she live with herself knowing how close she had come to seeing her daughter? Knowing she had missed what might have been her only opportunity to look upon her little girl’s face.

Footsteps, rounding the corner. Abbie dried her eyes and looked up as Sammy approached, determination in his eyes. It faded as he stopped a few feet from her, replaced by indecision.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Not particularly.”

He nodded, and Abbie went on.

“I’ve been thinking about Courtney. When I was seventeen, I spent hours and hours trawling through baby name books, trying to pick one for my unborn child. I think I drew up about fifty shortlists and probably considered over a thousand names, but I never considered ‘Courtney’. With good reason.”

It took several seconds for the words to sink in. When they did, Sammy smiled, and the tension in the air seemed to splinter. The situation no longer felt so heavy. Though it undoubtedly was.

He took the padded seat next to her. “I don’t much like it myself.”

They stared at the wall opposite.

“I’m still struggling with all this,” he continued.

“That’s understandable. She’s your sister.”

“Yeah, except she isn’t, is she?” Sammy gave a bitter laugh. “How could I have been so stupid?”

“That one’s easy: you weren’t. Your stepmum was pregnant. She went off to have a baby, and with a baby she returned. Your father told you Courtney was your sister. No one would’ve looked at that child and guessed they weren’t a blood relative.”

“The signs were there.”

“The signs were subtle at best, and you were too close to the situation to pick them up. You had no chance, so stop beating yourself up. Now.”

Sammy glanced at Abbie, and she thought he gave her a grateful smile before turning away.

“You were on the phone with the woman you’re going to kill?”

This time, it was she who glanced at him, although he refused to look back.

“I know it sounds awful,” she said. “I’m tempted to tell you that killing Ollie is the last thing I want to do, but that’s demonstrably untrue. The last thing I want to do is fail to save Courtney. If I have to kill a couple of people to save her, I will.”

“You’ve killed before, haven’t you? That’s what you said to Courtney’s kidnapper.”

Abbie considered dodging this question, but what would be the point?

“This is different.”

“Why?”

“Because I don’t believe Ollie or Blake deserve to die. I don’t expect ever to forgive myself.”

“Don’t do it then.”

Abbie laughed a desperate laugh. “Have you another idea? How else can I save your sister?”

Sammy said nothing, but Abbie sensed something in his silence.

“You have an alternative?”

There was a straightforward answer to this question, but it seemed Sammy was not ready to give it.

“Why did this man take Courtney?”

“You know why.”

“No. I know he wants two people dead, but not why you’re the one he wants to do it.”

“Ah.” Abbie played with her fingers. “Because I promised to keep his daughter safe, and I failed. Blake killed her on Ollie’s orders. An understandable decision. She was a monster, although Ben doesn’t see it that way.”

“Now he wants you to take revenge on them on his behalf?”

“That’s right, and I’m a good choice. As you said, taking lives is nothing I haven’t done before.”

“And if you do, he’ll return Courtney unharmed?”

“That’s the deal.”

“Is he a man of his word?”

“I believe so, but I’d rather not find out. Look, Sammy, I appreciate you don’t know what to think of me, but if you believe there’s a way to save Courtney that doesn’t involve me killing Ollie and Blake, I need to hear it.”

The handsome man with whom she had become quite taken sat at her side and worried over his options. She could see the thoughts racing around his head and knew he was weighing up the pros and cons, deciding what to do for the best.

Eventually, he said, “I still have a horrible feeling you’re playing me.”

“I can understand why that would be.”

“I believe Courtney is your daughter, but I can’t understand why you were here in the first place. You claimed not to know about your link with my sister, yet you happen to arrive right as the truth is about to come out. How can I believe that’s a coincidence? Especially when you add in the arrival of your two friends.”

“Ah, well, their appearance actually does make sense. They have access to Ian’s phone, and Bernard⁠—“

“Yes, yes, whatever. What about you?”

Abbie sighed.

“I can’t explain why I arrived at the perfect time because I don’t understand it myself. You’re not going to like that answer. It won’t help you trust me, but I don’t have time to work for your trust right now. I know you want a reason to throw your lot in with me, but I can’t offer you one. Logic won’t make me seem a reliable ally. You have nothing to work with except your gut. Your options are simple. You take the plunge and let me in on whatever plan you’ve got cooking, or you decide it’s not worth the risk and exclude me. If it’s the latter, I’ll accept that and continue with the plan I’ve got, such that it is. I hope it doesn’t come to that, though. I hope your instinct tells you to take the plunge.”

It was becoming too much for Sammy. He stood from his chair and ran his hands through his hair. Worry tortured his face.

“I don’t know whether you’re a good person,” he said. “But I know for a fact I’m not.”

Abbie said nothing.

“I’ve long hated myself for my dark side. My crueller tendencies.”

“But not today?” Abbie ventured.

“Not today. Today, I think my dark side might help us save Courtney’s life.”

42

Once Lorna had decided to become a sidekick in Abbie’s fight to protect the innocent and destroy the wicked, her imagination kicked into gear. She pictured car chases through narrow streets, shoot-outs in burning buildings, and big bombs with digital displays, counting down to oblivion. Naturally, she would defuse the latter with one-second remaining.

Raring to go, Lorna was thrilled when the doc gave Morgan the all-clear. Soon after, they left his room in search of Abbie and bumped into her in the corridor.

Determined and energised, Lorna didn’t hang around.

“We want to be the good guys. We want to help.” She said this to Abbie, but as she spoke, Abbie’s friend (Sammy, was it?) caught her eye. She remembered him from the previous night. “Hello again. You’re very handsome.”

“Hey.” Morgan nudged her.

“What? I’m just saying. It’s nice to make people feel nice, isn’t it? Moreover, he is very handsome. Look at those eyes and that jawline. You can’t tell me⁠—“

“Lorna,” Abbie cut in. “We’re in a rush.”

“Saving the day,” Lorna said, smiling.

“Saving my daughter.”

“Right, yes.” Lorna threw on a more sombre look. “We want to help.”

After a second’s consideration, Abbie looked at Sammy, who floundered. Lorna supposed that was fair enough. He barely knew Abbie but had decided to trust her. It would be unreasonable to expect him to extend that trust to two more strangers.

Abbie read his discomfort and shook her head at Lorna.

“Not on this errand.”

Lorna felt her face fall. Maybe Morgan’s might have, but he had been glaring at Sammy since Lorna called him handsome.

“I’m sorry,” Abbie said. “We can’t hang around, but you will be able to help. I’ll call you the moment we know what happens next.”

Lorna was upset but would await her opportunity. Before she could say as much, Sammy threw her a bone.

“There is something you can do.”

“Yes, handsome?”

“Hey,” Morgan repeated.

Sammy ignored him. “Could you deliver a message?”

Lorna wanted to be a hero. She had pictured bombs and guns and car chases. What she got was a debate with a frustrated British politician and an incensed Greek ex-model.

“I don’t take orders from people I don’t know,” said Isabel. “I don’t take orders from anyone except the leader of my party. Even then, it’s begrudgingly. If Sammy wanted something from me, he should have had the decency to ask me himself. Not run off with his new girlfriend.”

That was the politician's answer. The ex-model was less verbose.

“Drop-dead.”

Abbie’s revelations about Courtney’s true parentage had dragged Xylina from her catatonia. Between Sammy and Abbie leaving the room and Lorna and Morgan arriving, she’d got up and got dressed. Now, she was waiting to be discharged. There was no love lost between her and Isabel. Lorna figured the politician had only remained with her stepmother because she had believed Sammy would return any minute. Now that Lorna had revealed that was not the case, she was gearing up to leave.

The question was, what would the women do once they left the building?

“You’re both frustrated,” Lorna said, “I get that. You also trust Sammy, and he’s imploring you not to talk to the police. He thinks he can find Courtney.”

“I don’t care what he thinks,” Xylina said.

“Even if he’s wrong, Abbie’s set up a meeting later today with the woman the kidnapper wants her to… deal with. She’ll bring Courtney home.”

“I said I didn’t care what Sammy thought,” said Xylina. “As for that cow… let’s not forget she’s the reason someone took my daughter. I don’t trust her to put it right. I wouldn’t trust her to tie her shoelaces.”

“Well, you should. I’ve seen her tie laces, and I can assure you she’s proficient.”

The joke went down like a lead balloon.

“As much as I hate to admit it,” Isabel said, “Xy’s right. We don’t know Abbie, so we can’t trust her. Maybe Sammy does, but I think we can agree that he’s not thinking with his head when it comes to the sexy stranger.”

“She is pretty sexy,” Lorna agreed. “Almost as sexy as me, wouldn’t you say, Morg?”

“Uhhhh… Almost.”

“Whoever she is,” said Isabel, “we know someone took Courtney because of her. That’s valuable information. We must inform the police.”

“Even if it risks Courtney’s life?”

“Her life’s already at risk. I trust the police more than a woman I don’t know.”

Lorna opened her mouth to respond and then closed it again. Isabel had crossed her arms and seemed resolute in her assertions. Lorna guessed that reasoned debate would not get her the result she wanted.

“I’ve had enough.” Xylina had gathered her belongings. “I’m going to see my husband, then calling the police.”

Lorna watched her march towards the door. The meeting was slipping through her fingers. She had imagined car chases and shoot-outs, but Abbie had started her out small. One little job, and she had failed. Now, she’d never be given a chance to defuse a bomb.

Maybe that was for the best.

“What are you doing?”

This was Xylina, and Lorna turned to see Morgan standing in the door frame, blocking the ex-model’s path.

“You can’t go,” he said. “Or call the police. I’m sorry.”

“Get out of my way.”

Thoughts of failure continued to rear their ugly head, and as Lorna turned from Isabel to Xylina, her mind churned, seeking a solution.

It came as she met Morgan’s eye.

“We have to let her go,” she said. “If she wants to talk to the police, she can.”

“Thank you for seeing sense,” Xylina said. But Morgan didn’t move, and Isabel was not so quick to accept that Lorna was giving in to their demands.

“You’ll let us talk to the cops?”

“We’ll all go,” Lorna said. “We can add any context you might miss.”

“There it is,” Isabel said.

Xylina twisted to her stepdaughter. “There what is?”

“The threat.”

“What threat?”

Isabel glanced at Lorna, and Lorna was sure there was a hint of begrudging respect in the politician’s eyes.

“Lorna’ll let you see the police, but she’s coming.”

“So?”

Rolling her eyes, Isabel looked to Lorna, who picked up the conversation’s reins.

“You want to help the police find Courtney by telling them Abbie is the reason she’s missing. The cops will want to know why she’s to blame, and I’m prepared to tell them.”

“I don’t know—“ Xylina stopped, her eyes widening as the truth sank in

“They’ll need to know of Courtney’s true parentage,” Lorna confirmed. “Oh, I suppose they’ll be curious to know how you came to raise Abbie’s daughter. Maybe I’ll let you lead on that one.”

“Courtney is my daughter.” These words came out low and ice-cold.

“The police will want to carry out their enquiries on that matter.”

“You can’t threaten me,” Xylina lied. “Courtney’s my daughter. Any investigation will show that. However long it takes.”

“It won’t take long. Once Courtney’s home, the cops will insist on a maternity test. You’ll be unable to refuse.”

Lorna had no idea if this was what the police would do, but Xylina bought the story. Her rage continued building, but Lorna could tell it was an impotent fury. It would go nowhere but inward. As it stood, it looked like it might make the ex-model sick.

Lorna decided to press her advantage.

“Morgan. Fetch the police.”

Xylina’s anger was paralysing. She said nothing, nor did she move. It was Isabel who spoke.

“That’s enough.” Her eyes flicked from Lorna to Xylina. The women disliked each other, but Lorna wondered if that was a flicker of sympathy she saw in the stepdaughter’s eyes. Her next words seemed to confirm this.

“Maybe we can wait a couple of hours. What do you say, Xy? Might it be worth trusting Sammy a while longer?”

This was a get-out-of-jail-free card. The ex-model saw that and grabbed it with both hands.

“A couple more hours. For Sammy. Not for that woman.”

“Great.” Lorna fought the urge to gloat. “What should we do in the meantime?”

Isabel and Xylina glared at Lorna.

Morgan said, “How about a game of charades?”

Which was great because it meant the women stopped glaring at Lorna and glared at him instead.

43

After their brief conversation with Lorna and Morgan, Abbie and Sammy rushed to the carpark. She drove. He tried to navigate while growing more apprehensive with every mile covered.

Was he really about to show Abbie the worst part of himself?

“I suppose I’m set to discover why your bathroom was so clean?”

They had been driving in silence before Abbie asked this. The roads were quiet, and she chanced a glance in his direction. He looked back but couldn’t respond. Fear and guilt had clogged his throat.

Abbie turned back to the road.

“You’re a good person, Sammy. Whatever you did won’t change that.”

His throat remained clogged while memories flooded his mind. What he’d done. Abbie was wrong. She didn’t get it.

“You might not think I understand,” she continued, “but I do. Self-loathing, self-doubt, and self-flagellation. I’ve dealt with them all over the years, and do you know what I’ve learned?”

At last, Sammy managed to force out a word.

“What?”

“The people who spend the most time worrying that they’re evil are usually the same people who do the most good in this world. Your real rotters? Funnily enough, questions of morality rarely trouble them.”

This was a neat statement. Sammy liked it, but it reminded him of something she’d said earlier.

“How many people have you killed?”

He thought she might refuse to answer, but she surprised him.

“Lots.”

He waited, although he wasn’t entirely sure what for. She didn’t seem ashamed of what she’d done, but her face had darkened, and there was sadness in her eyes. For the lives she had taken? He doubted that was it, exactly. For her soul? Maybe.

“Do you worry you’re a bad person?” he asked.

“Constantly. Every life I end takes a toll. You might think there’s a solution to that: stop killing. I wish it were so easy. I wish I could explain why it isn’t. Maybe when this is all over, I will. For now, I’d like to mention that I’ve saved far more lives than I’ve ended. Countless more.”

Countless. Sammy had started his business to help people, and many men and women could count him as a primary reason for their improved fortunes. But countless? How must it feel to know you had saved more lives than you could quantify? If it was true. If he could trust Abbie. So much still made no sense. Why had she arrived in town and crashed into their lives? How had she got herself into a position to save countless lives and end many more? Why couldn’t she stop killing?

If not for Courtney, Sammy knew he would steer clear of Abbie. Being close to her felt like too much of a gamble. But there was nothing he wouldn’t risk to bring his sister home. However dangerous she might be, Abbie felt like his best hope of saving her.

Perhaps Sammy’s willingness to continue working with a confessed murderer was more evidence of his innate evilness. Abbie’s history of bloodshed should have made her repellant to him. But while it made him uneasy, he could not help but be fascinated. Maybe that should have been no surprise. After all, people love James Bond, and he’s a mass murderer.

“Does it help to know I try only to kill in self-defence or defence of others?” Abbie asked. Perhaps she could read his mind.

“Try to?”

“I’ve let myself down on occasion.”

“For example?”

A T-junction lay ahead, and Sammy pointed the way while Abbie considered his request. Perhaps she worried why he was interested. If so, it made her hesitate but did not stop her from answering.

“Ian Delaney.”

The name floated across the car and touched Sammy with an electric shock. He jumped and was back in his father’s living room all those years ago. The tall man he now knew to be Ian was threatening his life so he could get his grubby hands on the cash he was owed; cash he’d earned by cutting open a teenager and stealing her baby.

“Bastard,” Sammy said.

“If evil exists, it existed in him, all right.”

“You can’t regret killing him?”

“Not exactly. It wasn’t that I ended his life, but why I did. Ending his existence undoubtedly saved innocent lives, but that wasn’t why I killed him. I did it for revenge.”

Given how uncomfortable Sammy had believed he was with Abbie’s killing, he was surprised to hear himself say, “No one could blame you for that. Not after what he did.” He meant it, too, but Abbie shook her head.

“It shouldn’t have mattered. I’ve been doing this job for years, and the only way I convince myself I’m not a monster is by leaving emotion at the door. I never kill for myself, never for satisfaction, only to save lives and protect the innocent. Because that’s what the good guys do. Monsters kill for self-interest.”

They passed a school, and Sammy looked out the window at the children in the playground. That show of innocence was a startling contrast to his conversation with Abbie. The kids played cops and robbers while he sat beside a non-fictional Jack Reacher.

“I’m glad Ian’s dead,” Abbie said, “but I hate myself for killing him.”

Two minutes later, they reached their destination: a small carpark encircled by a chain-link fence. The gate was open, but a small mesh door stood at the opposite end of the lot. Only a key could open this. Abbie glanced towards it.

“I guess we’re not breaking in?”

Sammy held up the key. Abbie nodded, and they got out of the car and made their way to the mesh door. Sammy was thinking about everything Abbie had said. The look of utter misery on her face as she described killing the man who had cut her open and stolen her baby. She was a killer, yet she had a strict moral code.

Stricter than his, anyway.

“Forgotten how keys work?”

Abbie’s words sprung Sammy from his reverie. He looked at his hands. He was crouched by the door but had yet to insert the key and turn. Still, he didn’t let them through.

“Learning you’re a killer should have changed my opinion of you. At first, I think it did.”

“Understandable.”

“Yeah, except it didn’t last. You’re still the same strong-willed, moralistic person I thought you were before I knew about the killings, and now… well, I’ll open this door, and your opinion of me will change. You’ll probably hate me. Funny, given I’ve not killed anyone.”

“I know what you’ve done.”

“What?”

“I know what you’ve done. It’s obvious.”

“You…” he couldn’t quite process. “You can’t know.”

“Sure I do. Xylina came to your office and asked you to follow your father. You did, and you saw a masked man crash into your father’s car and kidnap your sister. He took her away and beat her senseless. Then he vanished, but someone called the ambulance. Come on.”

Sammy didn’t know what to say. He let Abbie continue.

“You followed them, didn’t you? You caught this monster in the act and did what anyone would have. I cannot imagine the rage you must’ve felt. The red mist. It’s a miracle you didn’t kill him.”

“I got lucky.”

“Maybe. Or perhaps you have an inbuilt sensor that stopped you before you could go too far.”

“I’d already gone too far.”

“Again: perhaps. The point is you did to him what he’d done to your sister, and then you panicked. Naturally, you didn’t want to go to jail, but you wondered what this man knew. You suspected he might be part of a wider conspiracy, so what do you do? I guess you chucked him in your boot, called the emergency services, then jetted off here once you were sure your sister was in good hands.”

Abbie tapped the door.

“That explains the bathroom. You came home covered in blood, binned your clothes, showered until your skin was raw, and probably threw up in the loo. Then, you bleached the place to within an inch of its life and waited for the call about your sister. Since then, you’ve likely returned to your captive a couple of times, but I doubt you’ve questioned him. You probably can’t look at him without seeing what you did, but now you no longer have a choice. If anyone knows where Courtney’s kidnappers have taken her, it’s him.”

There was stunned silence. Then Sammy said, “Are you sure you don’t want a job as a PI?”

Abbie smiled. “You couldn’t afford me. Now, come on. Let’s find Courtney.”

This was enough to galvanise Sammy into action, and he turned the key and led them beyond the door, revealing long corridors with bruised metal shutters on either side. Sammy had purchased a unit here a few years ago and had held on to it even when money became tight. As though he knew it would become helpful in the end. As though he knew he would do something like this.

Why could he not have controlled his temper?

It was not a large facility. Two turns, and they were in the correct corridor. His unit was only five down on the left-hand side. Once they reached it, he produced another key and crouched. The lock was set into the metal shutters, only a couple of inches off the floor. Once Sammy was kneeling, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

A hand squeezed his shoulder. Abbie.

“It’ll be alright. Whatever you see, it doesn’t make you a bad person.”

Biting his lip, Sammy nodded. He took the key and moved it to the lock.

Paused.

“Shit.”

The key slipped through his fingers, and he grabbed the shutter.

“What is it?”

Sammy didn’t respond. He stood, and as he stood, he brought the shutters with him.

They made a racket as they rolled up, revealing the small space beyond, filled with little more than an empty chair and some useless rope on the floor.

“Well,” said Abbie, “that’s not ideal.”

44

Abbie drove to Bernard’s home. Sammy was unhappy. He wanted to come with her to meet Ollie, but that was out of the question.

“Don’t worry about me,” she said. “I’ve had plenty of practice with the killing.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I just don’t think you’d enjoy it.”

Sammy stared, trying to work her out as she pulled up the cold front and made her jokes. When he shook his head, she thought he’d seen through her. She hoped he had, but that wasn’t her primary concern.

“I spoke to Lorna,” she continued. “She and Morgan convinced your sister and mother not to call the police.”

“She’s not my mother.”

“Whatever. They went to see your father. His condition remains critical.”

“Good.”

He didn’t mean that. Abbie ignored the comment and moved on.

“Then they came here. Before long, Isabel and Xylina will be talking about calling the police again. Lorna and Morgan won’t be able to hold them off for long, so that’s your job. I can save your sister, but I need you to keep the cops out of it. Okay?”

Sammy still didn’t leave the car.

“If you get her back,” he said, “what then?”

“Well, I was thinking cake and balloons, Prosecco for the adults, but I’m open to suggestions.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant, and it’s another one for later.”

“You must have considered it.”

“I’m trying not to. Distractions aren’t what I need right now.”

“But—“

“Sammy, stop. We’ll do this later, okay? Please, go inside. And keep the police out of this.”

“I can do that.”

Abbie touched his wrist. “When you saw that man beating your sister, the red mist descended. You pummelled him. I know how that feels. It happened to me before I beat Ian Delaney to death. You’ve had it happen before?”

“Yes.” Sammy’s voice was quiet, but Abbie picked up the word.

“You think you’re a bad person?”

“Yes.” He was now speaking so quietly that he would soon need to look up so Abbie could read his lips. Then again, she could probably convince him to raise the volume.

“Ever killed anyone?”

“No.” That did it.

“How many times have you hit Hugh or Isabel?”

“None.” Louder again.

“Courtney?”

“Never!” Almost a shout now. Time to level him off.

“Of all the people you’ve assaulted, how many were like the man you locked in your unit?”

“All of them.”

Abbie smiled. “That’s what I thought. You probably need to work on your temper, but you’re not a bad person. Far from it. You’re a good guy. I’m willing to bet you’re a hero to your little sister.” She leaned over him and opened his door. “Here’s what happens next.”

“What?”

“You let me pull the trigger, end the life. Let me do what I do best, so you can continue to be your sister’s hero.”

“It shouldn’t have to be that way.”

“But it is. Now get out. I’ve work to do.”

Once he was gone, Abbie checked herself out in the mirror, took a deep breath, and dried her eyes. She started the car and pulled away from the curb.

Stopped five seconds later.

On a whim, she grabbed her phone and made a call. No one answered, but that was no surprise. She’d guessed she would have to leave a message.

“Ben, it’s me, and there’s something I need you to know.”

She spoke for a while, getting it all off her chest. Once done, she hung up the phone, shoved it in her pocket, and drove to the local park, where she had agreed to meet Ollie. She found the woman sitting on a wooden bench, slightly to the left of the plaque that indicated it was dedicated to a man named Reginald – loved by all. Behind the bench, maybe twenty yards away, was a van serving hot coffee. She could smell the grounds and was tempted to walk past the bench to grab a cup. Somehow, she resisted.

“Howdy,” Ollie said. “Lovely to see you.”

Her smile was wide, and her wave eccentric. Vivid purple hair cascaded down her back, and she wore bright pink trousers. Her white blouse boasted far more frills than should have been legal. Around her neck was a pendant that appeared to be in the shape of a duck.

“Isn’t it a beautiful day?” she continued. “Bit nippy for my liking, but the sun has been on grand form this afternoon. Have a seat.”

The way Ollie patted the bench was exaggerated and clumsy. Everything about her appearance and demeanour made her seem ditsy and harmless.

First impressions meant a lot. Most people could never shake them, and most of those who met Ollie would underestimate her thereafter, regardless of what she went on to accomplish.

Abbie was not most people. She always tried to look beyond the obvious. Not to judge books by their covers. She knew Ollie operated at a high level within the organisation that had turned Abbie into a killer and vigilante. She was as important as Ben had been, but while Ben was fast approaching old age, Ollie had to be in her thirties. The speed of her ascent said much, and Abbie believed Ollie had carefully cultivated her appearance and mannerisms. She wanted people to underestimate her. Abbie would never make that mistake.

“Pleasure to see you again,” Abbie said as she reached the bench. The smell of coffee grew stronger with every step. She craved a cup but resisted the urge and sat beside Ollie. “Thanks for coming.”

“No problem. Happy to be here.” Ollie’s smile looked genuine, but Abbie found it safer to assume it was not.

“I’ll get right into it if that’s okay?”

With a theatrical sigh, Ollie gave a heavy shrug and a put-on pout.

“I knew you’d say that, and it’s a shame. I travel the country talking business with all sorts of people, and I’m good with that. But, you know what I love?”

“Unicorns and rainbows?”

Ollie burst out laughing. Again, Abbie chose to assume the sound was manufactured.

“Confession,” Ollie said. “I’m ambivalent towards rainbows.”

“I’m sure they’d be devastated to hear it.”

Another potentially fake laugh from Ollie.

“I do love unicorns, but that wasn’t what I was going to say. I love a nice long chat about all manner of inconsequential topics: who’s sleeping with whom, what we’re watching on TV, any book recommendations. No business meeting is complete, so far as I’m concerned, without a charming chat to kick things off — just to get warmed up. What do you think?”

Abbie let this question drag through the air before sighing and repeating herself.

“I’ll get right into it if that’s okay?”

“You’re no fun.”

“There’ll be nothing fun about this meeting. I have some questions for you.”

“Questions can be fun.”

“Also, I have to kill you.”

This assertion prompted Ollie to raise an eyebrow. Her smile dimmed, but her expression was more bemused than concerned or fearful. Abbie took these as signs that she was correct in her assumption that Ollie’s clumsy, hyper attitude was no more than a persona. A ruthless, fearless operator hid beneath the surface.

“I suppose you’ll want to start with the questions?” There was no edge to Ollie’s voice, but it had lost some of its bubblegum feel. No chance they would fall into inconsequential chat now.

“If that’s okay with you?”

“Oh yes, fine. However, you’ll excuse me if I seem a little distracted. I suppose you feel entirely ready to end my life?”

“I’ve had plenty of practice.”

“That you have. As for me, I have to say I feel unprepared. Most days, I carry a compact pistol in my bag. Compact doesn’t do it justice, really. It looks like a key ring it’s so small. But, believe you me, it does the job. It’d put a hole through that pretty body of yours, and no mistake.”

“But you don’t have it today?”

“Don’t even have my bag.” Ollie raised her arms and twisted to show Abbie the truth in this statement. “Isn’t that always the way? You can guarantee the day you forget your umbrella is the day it’ll rain.”

There was still no sign that Ollie was shaken. Abbie was unsure whether this should make her nervous, but a sense of unease was beginning to creep in.

“I have my driver,” Ollie said. “He’s armed but not here, which isn’t helpful. I suppose you wouldn’t let me text him to come over? He wouldn’t be good enough to stop you from killing me, but there’s a chance he could kill you in retaliation. To avenge my death, you know? I’m not certain, in my final moments, I’d find any comfort in that. But it’s possible.”

Abbie didn’t respond. Her eyes were scanning the park. It was almost empty, but there were a few dog walkers, and Abbie saw a group of kids playing football on the far side of the green. Then there was the coffee truck. No one was waiting to be served, and the barista stood with his arms folded, staring out at the field.

“Thinking about witnesses?” Ollie asked. “That’ll be a problem.”

“Not for me. Prison will be no more than I deserve for what I’m about to do.”

Abbie had stopped looking around. Despite staring straight ahead, she could feel Ollie’s gaze on her.

“It feels as if ending my life isn’t what you want to be doing with your afternoon.”

“I thought we were doing questions before murder?”

Ollie raised her hands in surrender, a smile playing on her lips. “You’re right; let’s get to it. You ask, and I’ll answer, then you can end my life.”

A broad smile followed this assertion, and Ollie leaned back, spread her arms, and tipped her head towards the sky. In doing so, she exposed her throat. As if she wanted Abbie to cut it.

Abbie doubted Ollie had a death wish. More likely, she believed Abbie was incapable of ending an innocent life.

Abbie feared Ollie was right. She would fail, and Courtney would pay the price.

45

It was a beautiful day. There were birds chirping in the trees, and Abbie heard a woman laughing nearby.

Soon, she might hear her scream.

To Ollie, she said, “The doctors who gave me my dreams never spoke to me. Ben was my only contact at the company. Perry, I mean.”

“Perry, Ben, call him whatever’s easier.”

“Ben then. It was up to him to explain my dreams, and he told me very little. I would experience occasional prophetic visions of people soon to die, and I could save them. That was pretty much it. The rest of my knowledge comes from experience. The 48-hour window; the thread that leads me from the dream to the people I need to meet; the nightmares I suffer of the people I’ve failed… all that I worked out myself.”

“I’m not surprised. You probably thought Ben was holding out on you. The truth is, we don’t know an awful lot about these dreams. We knew more when you lay on that table than when we started, and we’ve learned more again in the six years since your operation, but there’s still so much we don’t know and plenty we’ll probably never know.”

“See that I struggle with. I always thought the doctors who worked on me were in control of the procedure. Sure, I knew it was experimental, but you make it sound like they were studying some naturally occurring phenomenon. That can’t be right,”

Ollie considered this, then said, “There is an operation, and the doctors are in control. There’s so much mystery because the operations don’t give people the prophetic dreams.”

Abbie raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“Well, I suppose in a way they do give people the dreams. You wouldn’t see the faces of people who will soon be dead if you hadn’t laid on that table, gone under those knives.”

“This is as clear as mud,” Abbie said.

“I know.” Ollie pressed her palms together. “It’s like this: every human has the potential to experience these prophetic dreams, plus the supplementary abilities you’ve described. However, something about our brain chemistry inhibits these gifts. Our scientists worked out how to set these powers free. It’s an exceedingly difficult procedure, and they don’t always get it right, but when they do, the result is miraculous.” Ollie pointed at Abbie. “Exhibit A”

A nearby bark made Abbie jump. A dog raced past, and she rose from her seat.

“I need a drink.”

“You and me both. Is there a bar nearby?”

“Not that kind of drink.”

She left the bench for the coffee kiosk. She doubted Ollie would take the opportunity to run, and she could have handled it if she’d tried. That wasn’t necessary. She’d called the situation right and was unsurprised when the company woman appeared at her elbow while she ordered her drink.

“And whatever she wants,” Abbie said.

Unsurprisingly, Ollie ordered the most colourful drink on the menu: a stark contrast to Abbie’s black coffee. While the man in the van made the flamboyant second drink, Abbie grabbed a lid and pressed it onto the disposable cup.

“So it’s all innate?” she asked. “The 48-hour window, for example? Your people didn’t impose that?”

“Absolutely not. How would that benefit us?”

“Good point.”

“What’s interesting is that it’s different for everyone. We’ve experimented on numerous subjects – no, I won’t tell you how many – but only you get the 48-hour window. Some people get a week, some as little as six hours. There are even a couple without a fixed window. When they wake from their prophetic dream, they have no idea how long they have to save the subject. Another interesting point is that the location is tied to the time frame. The person with the six-hour window only sees people close by in their dreams. Those without windows are sent all over the world. Like James Bond.”

The barista placed Ollie’s drink on the counter. Opaque card encased Abbie’s coffee, hiding the contents when the lid was on. Ollie’s was in clear plastic, so all the world could see the strange concoction within.

“Straw?” the barista asked.

“Of course.”

Abbie had already paid. She walked away as Ollie got her straw and thanked the man. She was picturing the lost souls like her, convinced to submit to dangerous experiments. People who, like her, agreed to the treatment because they had nothing left to live for. Or thought they didn’t. Abbie had tried never to think of the others. Knowing a little more about them made their existence harder to ignore.

Ollie returned with her drink. “Have we covered your questions now? Why do I get the feeling your main query is still to come?”

“You’re a perceptive person.” They reclaimed their seats on the bench. “I think I may already have the answer to my main question based on what you’ve told me.”

“Oh yeah?” Ollie sipped her flamboyant drink. “Delicious. Go on.”

“Do I have any subconscious control over where my dreams take me? Over the person I end up saving?”

Ollie smiled over her straw. “I thought that might be your question.”

Because this was not an answer, Abbie said nothing.

“I’m guessing this comes from your current mission.” She chuckled. “No need for that look; I never bought that your mission had ended yesterday. You’re in the midst of it, aren’t you?”

Abbie held her tongue.

“Fine, don’t say. Given your determination to kill me, I could hazard a guess at what you’ve found. Or who. Still, I’d think compelling evidence that you have some control over your visions came when your dreams drew you to your birth town.”

Memories circled of the prophetic dream that had taken her to the town of her birth after a decade away, reuniting her with her hateful parents. Also Harry and Ian, the monsters who had destroyed her as a teenager.

“That was the last place I wanted to go.”

“Yet, there you went. And when?”

“When an innocent girl needed me.”

“An innocent girl whose plight led to you learning what happened to your sister and baby. Information you had always craved, but maybe more so than ever in the months leading up to the dream that took you home. Alice had taken you in. Violet and your daughter must have been at the top of your mind more than they had for years.”

These words gave Abbie more than a pause for thought. It was true that finding a surrogate family in Alice and her children had led to her dwelling on the sister and baby she’d lost. Not to mention her imprisoned brother.

“I arrived in town at the same time as Gray,” she told Ollie. “He’d been in prison. I had no idea they’d let him out, let alone that he’d come home.”

Ollie could only shrug.

“The human mind is incredible. Our scientists make it even more so. We know you get visions of people soon to die and that you can subconsciously direct those visions to allow you to address the issues in your life. Who knows what else is possible? Not us, but we can’t rule out a connection between your ability and your arriving home at the same time as your brother. Perhaps it was a coincidence. After all, the dreams rely on there being someone who will soon be dead that you can be shown in the first place. Unfortunately, some mysteries will never be solved.”

Too right. Abbie would never understand certain aspects of her ability, but she couldn’t leave this meeting disappointed. After years of knowing next to nothing about the experiments, she now understood something of how her dreams worked beneath the hood. Ollie had also answered her big question.

Ben had suspected Abbie would find out he had her daughter before he could call, and now she knew why – all that time spent thinking about her child. Naturally, her ability would use the first opportunity to send her to meet her daughter.

“This mission,” Ollie said. “Care to tell me what it’s about?”

Abbie looked at her. “Wouldn’t I be wasting my time?”

“I see. Question time’s over, isn’t it?”

Abbie nodded, and Ollie sighed. The other woman’s eyes were resigned, and for the first time, Abbie wondered if Ollie would roll over and let this happen. They held each other’s gaze. Abbie had a weapon. She went to her jacket, felt the handle and grabbed it in a tight fist.

Took a breath.

How many lives had she taken? This was simply one more.

Ollie closed her eyes.

Abbie whipped the knife free and, in one swift motion, brought it to the other woman’s throat.

46

Clint took a deep breath and placed the call. He was afraid, but it would be fine. Perry had told him so.

Perry was nothing like Clint’s parents. He was kind and considerate. Easy to talk to. Clint explained that his family needed the kidnapping money to pay off Isaac. He told the older man that he hated his father. Perry listened and asked probing questions. Clint became comfortable in the other man’s presence.

Which was why he made the mistake.

He confessed to having killed his mother. The moment the words were out of his mouth, he realised what he’d done. But it was too late to take it back, and he feared Perry’s reaction.

But, rather than express his disgust, Perry seemed to understand what Clint had done. Furthermore, he suggested Clint take the money. Rather than pay off Isaac, he should give the gangster a call. His idea made sense, and Clint came upstairs smiling. This had to be what having a proper parent felt like. Clint would never have hurt Whitney if Perry had been his father. If Perry had been his mother, his mother would still be alive.

Imbued with confidence, Clint placed his call, introduced himself to Isaac, and then told the crook what was what.

“There’ll be no meeting with my mother this morning. Or ever. We’ve decided the debt is my father’s, and it’s up to him to pay. You won’t receive a penny from us.”

“I’ll take your mother’s word for that. Not yours.”

This made Clint smirk. “Sure, you wait for Mum’s call. Or, why not try getting in touch with her? Go on, give it a go. You won’t get far. We’re done with you.”

The breath that came down the phone burned Clint’s ear.

“Are you sure you want to sign your father’s death warrant? You realise that’s what you’re doing?”

“We realise, don’t worry. This family’s done with you, and it’s done with my father. He’s yours. Torture him, execute him, chop him up and feed him to your dogs. You’re not getting a penny out of us.”

“If I were you, I would think long and hard⁠—“

Clint hung up and spent the next few hours in bed, revelling in his success. He had always lived like a man carrying a piano on his back, and his parents had ensured it stayed in place. With them gone, all it took was for Clint to meet someone kind enough and strong enough to help him remove it.

Enter Perry.

When Clint was done enjoying the afterglow of his call with Isaac, he went downstairs and found his mentor at the kitchen table with a cup of tea, staring at his phone. Clint couldn’t help but smile. Perry was not only the father figure he had always craved but the Obi-Wan to his Luke Skywalker.

“What a great day.” Clint rounded the table and gazed out the window at the small garden and the blue sky. “It’s the start of something, this day. It’s quality.”

Perry said nothing. That was okay. He was probably contemplating his next steps. Clint admired the older man’s mind and did not want to disturb its process. He grabbed a glass, filled it with cold water, and edged around the table to sit opposite his Obi-Wan.

One of Perry’s hands clasped his mug. The other hovered over his phone as though he wished to make it levitate. Using the force, perhaps. Why did he look so sullen and lost? What had happened to the man Clint had breakfasted with?

“The call went well,” Clint said when he could no longer stand the silence. “He’s less scary than I was expecting. I can’t believe my parents spent their lives sucking up to him. Doing his bidding. It’s pathetic.”

Clint finished his water. It was refreshing but not what he needed on such a monumental day. He held up the glass and caught Perry’s eye.

“Got anything stronger?”

Perry said nothing.

“You alright, geez? You had some bad news or something?”

Perry tapped one of the cupboards behind him. It took Clint a few seconds to realise he was answering Clint’s alcohol question.

“No bad news,” Perry said. “I’ve simply fallen into a moral quandary.”

“Yeah? I don’t know what that means.”

Perry clearly did not intend to provide a definition, so Clint stepped past the older man to the cupboard indicated.

“I’ve been thinking about the future,” he said. “After we deal with Courtney, I mean. That’s your gig, and we can handle it how you like. Give the girl back or drown her in the nearest river. It’s all good with me. But after that…”

In the cupboard were two bottles: vodka and whiskey. Clint was a vodka guy, ordinarily, but there was nothing ordinary about today. He had never previously enjoyed whiskey. But again, today was extraordinary. It called for something special.

He grabbed the bottle and placed it on the table, smiling at Perry.

“Can I tempt you?”

Perry shook his head, and Clint went to get a glass, hoping his enthusiasm would rub off on the downbeat Perry.

“I’m thinking about how everyone fears Isaac. Why? He probably threw some people from some buildings or under some trains when he was younger, but now? What is he? Nothing, man. He’s living in the past, and people let him get away with it. He thinks he has this town in the palm of his hand. Do you know what I reckon?”

Clint chose a glass that looked clean and turned to Perry.

Who said nothing.

Unperturbed, Clint continued. “I reckon he’s lost his touch. He’s there for the taking.” He brought his new glass and a wide grin back to the table and poured himself a healthy measure of whiskey. “I guess you’re wondering what makes me think that. It’s a gut feeling, and I reckon I got to trust my gut. You taught me that.”

This comment drew a curious look from Perry, and Clint thought the older man might finally speak. But he didn’t.

“Forget history. Look at our assets. People have always underestimated me, but I’m ready to prove them wrong. As for you, I can see you’re ruthless with the brains to set up a proper operation. We can destroy Isaac and create an empire that has us rolling in cash. What do you say to that? I say cheers.”

He threw back his head, downed the whiskey, and then almost spat it over the table as he spluttered and choked.

“Rank.”

He rushed to the sink and refilled his water, chugging it. When he returned to the table, he was still coughing.

“You done?” Perry asked when Clint had fallen quiet.

“Think so.”

“Good, because I’ve been thinking, and now I want to talk.”

“About what?”

“Abbie and Elizabeth.”

“Abbie…” Clint let the name roll off his tongue. “She the one who’s going to kill some people for you?”

“Supposedly.”

Clint recalled his first kidnapping attempt. He’d been too slow, and Sammy had arrived. But Sammy wouldn’t have stopped him. Not without the help of someone far more talented than himself.

“I can see why you chose her.”

“She’s a formidable woman. Some of the things I’ve seen her do—“ he whistled. “Incredible.”

That caused a jealous pang, which was stupid. Perry had known this Abbie for years but had only recently met Clint. Before long, Perry would be discussing Clint in such reverential terms.

He smiled at the thought.

“That job I mentioned,” Perry continued. “I planned to ask you to follow Abbie to ensure she did as I asked.”

“I can do that.”

Perry wasn’t listening.

“How foolish I was to consider sending you into the world with your vicious dreams and violent temper. You’d lose control the first time someone jostled you in the street. Then what? I have the blood of an innocent man, woman, or child on my hands.”

“That’s not right.” Why was Perry saying this? “I can control my temper.”

“Oh yeah? Would your mother attest to that?”

That hurt. Clint looked at his hands and saw they had become fists. He forced them apart, but it was too late. Perry had seen.

“Why are you saying all this?” Clint said.

“Because I’ve been a fool.”

“You haven’t. Remember why you’re doing this. Your daughter.”

“My daughter?” Perry barked a laugh, and Clint flushed. “Sorry, you’re quite right. Hearing it just made me think. Did you know that in the minutes before she died, Elizabeth revealed that she’d murdered her brother and mother? At last, I could see who she truly was, and I was ready to disown her. Then what happened?”

“She died,” Clint said, though he knew it had been a rhetorical question.

“Indeed she did, and everything changed. The grief hit me like a train. I went home and obsessed. Elizabeth was my last living family member; all I could think of was how Ollie and Blake had taken her away. I should have remembered the reason she was my final family member. Because she killed my son and ex-wife. What a wicked girl she was. A wicked, wicked girl.”

Clint’s heart was pounding. The more Perry spoke, the more wrong everything felt. This was supposed to be his fresh start. Perry was supposed to guide him along his new path. So why did it feel as though Perry hated him? No, despised him.

Perry grabbed his phone. “I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“What do you mean?”

Perry was scrolling through his contacts. Before he hit dial, he looked at Clint.

“Abbie left me a voicemail. I listened before you came down. Know what she said?”

Obviously, Clint had no idea. He shook his head.

“She reminded me of my lowest moments. Like the time I burned down her home with her boyfriend inside.”

This made Clint laugh. Perry’s look shut him up, and the hatred in those eyes made him recoil.

“She also reminded me that I was always a good man despite the cruel stunts I’ve pulled. I worked for a company that improved the world, and I loved my job. Over the years, I teamed up with some incredible people. I turned Abbie into an unstoppable force. Now look at me, partnered with a matricidal halfwit who dreams of becoming the next Al Capone. No offence.”

How could Clint respond to that? This time, he did not unclench his fists. Nor did he care if Perry saw.

He was on the verge of weeping.

“Everything you said about my ruthless nature and criminal mind,” Perry said. “I was inclined to shout you down, but what were you supposed to think? All you’ve seen is what I’ve done to an innocent teenager. Why wouldn’t you believe I’m like you? A monster.”

Clint recoiled again at that word. Monster. Images of Whitney and his mother flashed into his mind. Both women were beneath him. His rage was a screaming void.

But he wasn’t a monster. He was not a monster.

“I am a good man,” Perry said. “Grief pushed me onto the wrong path, but it’s not too late to put things right.” He pressed a button and put the phone to his ear.

Dragged by disgust and misery, Clint stood, his chair scraping along the tiles. His mind swam with rage, but he had no idea what he might do with such fury.

“Abbie, it’s Ben. No, don’t talk. I need you to listen.”

Ben? Who was Ben? Clint stepped back, his fury becoming an inferno, raging through his body. He could no longer hear Perry’s words. He couldn’t hear anything.

Not even the cars which pulled onto the drive or their occupants, who got out, crunching through the gravel towards the front door.

47

Abbie’s blade touched Ollie’s flesh.

Cutting a person’s throat is not as easy as the movies sometimes imply. The neck is more resilient than it looks. It resists attempts to slice it open. Still, Abbie was experienced, her blade razor sharp. All she had to do was step into Ollie and drive her weapon home.

“Come on,” Ollie said. “Ben will be waiting.”

It did not surprise Abbie that Ollie knew Ben had ordered her murder, nor did she let this knowledge knock her off her stride.

“You seem to have dropped the front there, Ollie. I never did buy that ditzy, bubbly schtick. Like Ben, you’re a ruthless operator. I’d kill Ben, and I’ll kill you.”

“If you think⁠—“

“Enough.” Abbie nicked Ollie’s throat with the blade, prompting a gasp. She spun the company woman around and met her gaze. “You think you know me. Maybe you’ve got an idea, but not like Ben. He knew there was only one way to get me to kill in cold blood.”

It took a few seconds, but Ollie’s eyes widened when she realised.

“He found your daughter. He has her.”

“Yes.”

All pretence dropped. Real fear entered Ollie’s eyes.

“Hang on.“

“No.”

As Abbie prepared herself mentally, her phone began to ring. Without removing the knife from Ollie’s throat, she answered.

“Abbie, it’s Ben. No, don’t talk. I need you to listen. You were right. I’m a good person at heart. I’ve made terrible decisions and done awful things, but this is a step too far. My daughter was a monster. I guess she got it from me, but I don’t want to be like that anymore. Don’t kill Ollie or Blake. I’ll deal with them myself. I’m texting you my address. Come and get your kid. I’m so sorry I took her. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I always saw you as a daughter. I loved you, Abbie. I love you.”

The line went dead. Abbie took the phone from her ear and stared at the screen. Waiting. For several seconds, nothing happened.

“Well?” Ollie asked.

Abbie ignored the question. Her phone vibrated. The number on the screen could belong to only one man. She took the knife from Ollie’s throat and slipped it into her pocket, then checked the text.

An address.

“Abbie?”

“You’re off the hook.”

Ollie responded, but Abbie was already sprinting away, her phone again to her ear. By the time she reached her car, she’d spoken to Lorna. Ten minutes later, she had pulled onto the gravel drive outside a small cottage on a country lane.

Her heart was pounding. Over the years, she had stormed into many situations, knowing she would meet armed resistance and understanding that her life was on the line. Occasionally, the thought of such charges had made her nervous. They never scared her. The idea of coming face to face with her daughter did.

A minute of paralysis passed, breaking only when a car pulled in behind her. Movement still proved problematic. She had to fight her insecurity to get onto the drive. A glance told her Lorna had not come alone. The vehicle’s doors opened as she faced the cottage, psyching herself up for going inside. Fighting memories of the previous night, of rushing up Zaria’s drive, seeing the open door, and knowing what that must mean.

Footsteps in the gravel, then Lorna was at her shoulder.

“Is that⁠—“

The words were like a hot poker on a donkey’s behind. Abbie shot towards the cottage door. Before she reached it, she knew she had seen exactly what she’d thought. Someone had kicked the door, smashing the lock and bursting it open.

Aside from the small knife in her jacket pocket – which she did not touch – Abbie was unarmed. Regardless, she burst into the house and stopped in the hall.

Silence.

Bodies filled the hall behind her. Lorna and Morgan; Sammy and Isabel. She didn’t even look at them as she gave the order.

“Search every room.”

It didn’t take long. A few minutes after they had split, they reassembled in the kitchen – or tried. The table dominated the room, and while Abbie managed to squash herself around the other side of the furniture piece, the other four bottlenecked in the doorway.

Lorna was the first to pass through the door. As she spoke, she made her way left around the table.

“I’m sorry.”

Isabel was next. Rather than round the table, she faced Abbie across it as her brother pushed in behind her.

“Someone’s made a mug of you,” she said. She turned to her brother. “No more games. It’s time to call the police.”

Sammy ignored his sister and looked at Abbie. Profound sadness brimmed in his eyes. It was too much. Abbie had to turn away, her eyes finding the back window.

Morgan entered last. He stepped to the left and then had to step back as Lorna barged past him towards Isabel.

“We call the police when Abbie says we do. Not before.”

Isabel laughed.

“This has nothing to do with you. We’re talking about my sister, and I won’t let you tell me what’s best for her.”

“Your sister,” Lorna agreed, “but Abbie’s daughter.”

“Not as far as Courtney’s concerned.”

“Iz–“ Sammy started, but she cut him off.

“No. Do you think I condone what Dad did? What’s done is done, and in case you haven’t noticed, Courtney’s happy. She loves her mum and dad. The people who raised her.”

“The people who stole her and almost killed an innocent teenager to do so,” Lorna said.

“I don’t know if she was innocent. All I know for sure is that Courtney was until her biological mother showed up. Yet, we’re supposed to trust she knows what she’s doing? If she wanted Courtney, she’d have come looking years ago.”

There was a lull of silence, and then everyone spoke at once.

Sammy said, “That’s enough,” as Lorna said, “You evil cow, I’ll—“ and Morgan said, “Are you okay?”

Sammy and Lorna had stepped towards Isabel, closing her down by the door to the hall. Only Morgan had continued around the table towards Abbie. He looked nervous approaching her and frightened when he touched her elbow. When she looked at him, he flinched.

“I’m not that scary,” she said. “Not to you, anyway.”

“What do you think happened? Where’s Courtney?”

Morgan had flinched when Abbie looked his way, and she did the same when he said her daughter’s name.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t be.”

She left it at that, but it was impossible not to speculate. There were many possibilities as to why Courtney wasn’t here. The one that stood out was that this was all a game. Ben hated Abbie. She’d abandoned him. Then, after he burned down her home and almost killed her boyfriend, she threatened his life. Finally, she failed to save his daughter’s life.

Perhaps kidnapping Courtney wasn’t enough. Maybe the plan was always to torment and terrorise Abbie. They say it’s the hope that kills you, and Abbie’s cup of hope had overflown when Ben called to say she could collect her daughter.

She turned to the back door, imagining what she’d do if she discovered Ben was playing games.

Kill him for a start.

“Come on.” She nudged Morgan and went to the back door. “If I don’t get some fresh air, my head might explode.”

Lorna, Sammy, and Isabel were still yelling at one another as Abbie opened the back door, and she and Morgan stepped outside.

Abbie breathed out. “Much better.” The voices were quieter and less annoying with a door in the way.

It was a small garden, but they were high up, and the view was beautiful. The garden sloped towards a fence, beyond which were miles of farm and woodland.

“Bet the sunrise looks great from out here.”

This was Morgan, and Abbie smiled. “You’re a genuinely nice guy, aren’t you, Morg?”

His cheeks flushed as he shrugged.

“How’d you end up entangled with scum like the Delaney family, anyway?”

Morgan didn’t need to answer that. His eyes flicked towards the house. The message was clear. Lorna.

“Love can be a pain in the arse,” she said. “Not that I have much experience.”

She patted his shoulder and meandered down the garden slope, turning as she went to see the entire width of the property.

“We’ve not searched everywhere yet.”

She pointed at a garage – bolted to the side of the cottage – but her cup of hope, now almost empty, did not refill as she made her way towards it. Unusually, its shutters opened onto the back of the property. A wide path exited the garage, looping around towards the front of the house.

The shutters were up. It was clear from a distance that no cars were inside.

“Do you think⁠—“

“No,” Abbie said, cutting Morgan off.

She did not expect to find Courtney inside. She didn’t expect to find anyone.

The shouting dimmed to silence as she walked up the slope towards the garage. If this was a game, perhaps the cottage was the first square on the board. Might Ben have left something inside to indicate where she should go next? If she saw such a clue, her anger would spike. What was so infuriating was that her hope would renew. Following some sick puzzle laid out by Ben would make Abbie’s hate intensify to deadly levels, but if it took her to her daughter, it would feel worth it.

She came up the slope with Morgan behind. Before long, the concrete floor came into view.

The garage was almost empty, the one exception being the slumped shape in the far-right corner: a man lying on his side, facing the wall, his back to the garage entrance.

Blood surrounded him.

“Oh, man.”

Abbie didn’t respond to Morgan. She jogged the final few steps into the garage and stopped on the hard floor. Although the shutters were open, the space seemed far colder than the outside world. As though the spectre of death had caused the temperature to plummet.

The pool of blood was voluminous. Once again, Abbie’s memories drew her back to the previous evening. Zaria’s mother’s home, seeing Zaria on the floor, surrounded by her blood, knowing at once that she was dead.

This man was dead. Someone had taken a heavy object and caved in his skull. Abbie didn’t know the killer’s identity. She did know the victim. Staggering steps carried her to the corner of the garage to the edge of the red lake. She felt her legs waver and stepped back. She did not want this man’s blood to soak her jeans if she fell onto her knees.

Morgan was a couple of paces back. She sensed his presence even before he spoke.

“Is that…”

He couldn’t finish the sentence.

Abbie’s legs grew weaker. Getting ahead of her collapse, she lowered herself onto her haunches, then slipped onto her behind, beyond the blood’s reach.

Grief clawed at her heart.

Morgan spoke again.

“Is that him?”

“Yeah, that’s Ben. Or Perry. Whatever you want to call him. Someone killed him, and they’ve taken my daughter.”

She looked back at Morgan, meeting the frightened but kind man’s eyes.

“Now, I’ll probably never get to see her alive.”

48

Aringing phone. Clint knew who it’d be, and his heart rate rose accordingly as sweat appeared on his brow.

How rapidly the world could change – your outlook on it, at least. If Clint closed his eyes and squeezed… if he took deep breaths to clear the fear and insecurity from his mind, he could just recall the hope and elation that had filled him less than an hour ago when the world had sat in the palm of his hand.

Everything was perfect. He had handled his oppressors by killing his mother and ensuring Isaac would execute his father. His brother had run off, never, Clint hoped, to be seen again. He had a bag full of cash and a mentor who would help steer him to the top.

Then, it all came crumbling down.

The ringtone was like a drill pressed to his skull. It wouldn’t stop. Why wouldn’t it stop?

Perry – or Ben – had betrayed him. The Obi-Wan to his Luke Skywalker had become the Jabba the Hut to his Princess Leia. Belittling him. Insulting him. All hope that the duo could rise together, toppling Isaac’s little empire, had crumbled.

His mobile was on the bag of cash on the seat beside him. Clint tried to ignore it, trying to look on the bright side.

He still had the money; that was the main thing. Even if Isaac let Clint’s father live, the bastard would remain in prison for years, and his mother would never rise from the grave. Clint had not cowered under Perry’s insults. There had been so much rage, but he had refused to let it burn him up from the inside. As enemy boots had rushed up the gravel drive, Clint had allowed Perry to lead him to the garage. Only once there did Clint unshackle his fury, wielding it like a weapon.

Perry was evil. Like Whitney, he had pretended Clint meant something only to tear him down. What a twisted pair of individuals they had been. Whitney had deserved to die. Clint should have killed her when he had the chance. At least, with Perry, he hadn’t failed.

The phone stopped ringing, and Clint breathed a sigh of relief.

Twenty seconds later, the sound kicked in again.

Clint roared and slammed the steering wheel. The car jolted, and he almost took it off the road into a low wall, saving himself at the last second.

Horns blared as he swung back into his lane. Another car had to make evasive manoeuvres to avoid slamming into him. He smashed his horn right back and swore at the window. He twisted the wheel and almost drove into a lamppost.

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” He glanced at the rearview mirror. “I’m worked up. I’m sure you know how that is, being a teen.”

Get calm. Stay calm.

Yes, a dark cloud had consumed the beautiful sky of his future, but he had already picked out several rays of light. Perry, his parents. How he’d handled them gave him hope that he could vanquish the cloud and reclaim his destiny.

The phone went quiet again, but Clint knew it would soon resume ringing. Tears in his eyes made the road ahead blur. He needed to focus. He needed to get off the road until he had a firm plan of what to do next.

The caller tried again and gave up as Clint pulled into a quiet supermarket carpark, turned off the engine, and closed his eyes. Silence. Peace. Several beautiful seconds where the world was empty but for Clint and his thoughts.

Then, the ringing again.

Back in the cottage, Clint’s rage had draped him like a blanket as Perry made his call. But he’d fought it, pushed it off, and stepped back. That was when he heard footsteps and knew Isaac had come to claim the money he believed belonged to him. He also knew there was no way Isaac could have found him so quickly.

Unless someone had told him where to go.

Four people had known where Courtney was to end up. Perry and Clint were already here. Clint’s mother was dead.

That left only one.

Clint grabbed his phone and hit answer.

“Whatever you have to say, I’m not interested.”

Good. That was a strong start.

Silence was the response.

More silence.

Clint’s hand tightened on the handset.

More silence.

Clint bit his lip to stop from screaming.

More silence.

Then, “Hello, little brother.”

“Jared. I’ve already told you I’m uninterested in⁠—“

“I screwed up.”

Back at the cottage, Clint and Perry had fled to the garage with Courtney. After killing Perry, Clint had bundled the teen into the car. He had expected Jared to appear with a gun and was ready to run the bastard down.

As it happened, Jared appeared a few seconds too late, and Clint flew past rather than through him in the car.

“You still there, little bro?”

“Don’t call me that.” Clint’s voice was a rasp. “I’m not your bro.”

“No,” Jared agreed. “You’re a worthless toad, but I didn’t think you’d want to be called that, either.”

Clint had no idea what to say but refused to fall silent.

“You’re a smell.”

“Good one.”

“Piss off. I’m hanging up.”

“No, you’re not. I was telling you how I screwed up.”

Silence.

Damnit, speak.

But he couldn’t. It was Jared who continued from where he had left off.

“The plan was fine. I crashed into the kid’s daddy and got her to the house. All I had to do was wait a few hours and take her to Mum, and we could have collected the cash and saved Dad. Honestly, I was giddy when I got to the house. No plan ever ran so smooth.”

A lull in Jared’s speech gave Clint a chance to do what he had failed to do before.

Speak.

“Why do I care about this?”

It wasn’t much, but it was a well-delivered dig. Clint was happy with it.

“We’re brothers; we’re supposed to talk about things.”

Clint said nothing. This time, by choice.

”Anyway, I had her in the house, all nice and well-behaved in a chair. Too afraid to move, too frightened to scream. I had nothing to do, but everything had gone so well that I thought I should celebrate. Luckily, there were a few bevs in the fridge. I cracked open a beer.”

Something cold seemed to trickle down Clint’s spine. He supposed it was fear, anticipation. Dark memories surfaced. Times Jared and their father had enjoyed a few bevs before turning their sights on Clint. The abuse that followed, both verbal and physical.

“I was bored,” Jared continued. “I took my beer to sit with Courtney. I thought we could chat.”

Clint’s eyes flicked to the rearview. The teen had come a long way even in the short time she’d been in the hospital. The painkillers they’d no doubt pumped into her shortly before she left had to help. Even so, the signs of the beating were more than prominent: cuts and bruises, mostly. She struggled to keep her eyes open, not because she was tired but because of the swelling. Despite the painkillers, the slightest movement made her groan in discomfort.

Clint felt pity rise in his stomach and forced himself to look away.

“Chatting was my plan,” Jared said. “Then, I got a good look at her. She’s with you now, isn’t she?”

Clint said nothing. He couldn’t.

“She’s pretty, right?”

“She's thirteen.”

“So? What does that mean these days? You know what girls were like when we were thirteen, so ready to grow up. It’s even more so now. How many thirteen-year-olds these days you reckon are virgins? Just the ugly ones? Not even them.”

Clint doubted this was true but did not want to argue about statistics.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“We’re bonding. Anyway, I went to get things started with the girl, and she fought back. At first, I thought, great; I like it rough. Then, she poked me in the eye. The pain, man, you cannot believe. I thought she’d blinded me on that side.”

Clint smiled, glad Courtney had fought back. Perry might have thought Clint a monster, but the idea of his brother sexually abusing a minor repulsed him. If Clint were a monster, he would at least never be as sick as that.

“I lost it,” said Jared. “All these years ribbing you for your temper, and it turns out I’m the same. Can you believe it? Guess we get it from Dad, huh?”

“I guess so.”

“One moment, I’m holding my eye; the next, the girl’s at my feet, and someone else’s in the house, coming at me. Took me right by surprise he did. I never stood a chance.”

Never stood a chance sounded like a good description for Courtney against the fully grown, stocky Jared. Clint glanced at the teen, then away.

“Tell me there’s a point to this story.”

Jared sighed. “I told you already. Why don’t you listen?”

“Bonding.”

“That’s right. Because I lost control of my temper, and as a result, I spent over a day chained up. As for you, well, you’ve made so many mistakes because of your temper. Don’t need to list them all cause the last one takes the prize. Know what I mean?”

Clint did. He didn’t know who had chained up Jared or where, but he knew where Jared had gone the second he got free. And what he’d found.

“Mum.”

“Mum,” Jared agreed. “That was a shitty move, you know that?”

Clint didn’t feel shitty about it, but he said nothing.

“I loved Mum. Can’t ever forgive you for what you did, but I do understand. After what happened with Courtney and me. I know Mum used to push your buttons, so I ain’t surprised. I won’t punish you.”

Clint had always hated his brother. Only today did he realise how despicable the older man was. Clint had put Whitney in the hospital all those years ago, but unlike his brother, he would never sexually abuse a child. He had killed his mother, but she was awful to him. On the other hand, she had loved and cherished Jared, but now she was dead, and Jared didn’t seem to care.

“Bro,” Jared continued. “I get the Mum thing – heat of the moment and all. Dad, on the other hand... you have to rethink. If you keep that money, Dad dies. It’s that simple.”

Clint laid a hand on the cash, as though he feared Jared might reach down the phone line and snatch the bag.

“I hope so.”

“Don’t do this, Clint. Isaac and I are coming, and this is how it’ll go: he gets the money; the girl comes to me. The only question is how you respond. It doesn’t have to be difficult. Isaac ain’t holding a grudge. Just hand over the girl and cash and walk away.”

“And if I don’t?” Clint’s ability to keep his voice steady amazed him.

“You know the answer to that, but I’ll tell you anyway. We kill you. Remember what you did to Mum? We do that to you, but maybe worse. More painful. Don’t think I’ll protect you because you’re my brother.”

“I never would.”

Jared laughed. “Guess not.”

“Are we done?”

“Not until you see sense. We’ll find you. You know we will. Don’t make this harder than it has to⁠—”

Clint hung up. It felt like a bold decision, and for all of five seconds, he felt empowered for having made it. Then came the realisation that hanging up had been tantamount to signing his death warrant, and a tidal wave of dread drowned any sense of achievement.

Jared and Isaac would not give up on tracking him down and making him pay. And they would succeed before long.

Fleeing was Clint’s only option.

His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror.

He would leave the country. And he would take the girl with him.

49

The arguing continued, but Sammy eventually realised that two of their number were missing. He stepped towards the kitchen table. Neither woman noticed. Lorna stepped forward to occupy the space he’d vacated, and she and Isabel continued to tear strips off one another.

He stepped outside. The sun was setting, and the view was spectacular. Like Abbie and Morgan, Sammy took a few seconds to enjoy the landscape and then faced the house. Like Abbie, he noticed the garage and realised it was the one place they had failed to search. Abbie and Morgan had to be inside.

He jogged over and found them with a dead man. Abbie was on her knees at the edge of the pool of blood that encircled the corpse. Morgan stood further back and spoke as Sammy entered.

“He’s dead.”

If he lived to be 100, Sammy figured he was unlikely to hear a more redundant comment. Still, it drew Abbie’s attention, and she rose from her knees.

“Meet Ben. He spent most of his life doing the right thing, and he died trying to do the right thing. Unfortunately, that bit in between those two points seems to have got him killed.”

Sammy had noticed early on that Abbie liked to talk. She had said as much. She used words to entice people and to defeat them, to be funny and to be cruel. Here, she was showing that she could also use them as a shield. Her eyes were red. It was evident how this death had affected her. Talking kept the grief at bay.

“Despite what he did…” Sammy felt a lurch in his stomach as he said this, and Courtney popped into his mind. His sister. Gone again. “Despite his actions, it’s okay to mourn him.”

“I’m upset because his death means we don’t save Courtney. At least not yet.”

“It’s more than that,” Sammy said. “You know it.”

Abbie stared at him, and Sammy kept his eyes fixed on hers. Inside, the fear was becoming unbearable. Where was Courtney? Who had her, and why? Sammy had to hope they still wanted something he could provide – that they would get in touch and ask to trade.

What could he get hold of that a kidnapper would want?

Anything. To save his sister, he would get hold of anything.

“He made me the woman I am.”

Sammy glanced from the body to Abbie, registering her words.

“Ben did?”

Abbie nodded. “I had a great childhood. My mother was cold, and my father disinterested. I didn’t care. I had my siblings. We were tight as anything – the best of friends. I was ordinary, until Ian Delaney’s son and several of his friends raped and impregnated me. My brother went to prison for assaulting and almost killing Ian’s son. My mother disowned me, and my father pretended I didn’t exist. I’d have fallen apart if not for Violet and my baby.”

She bowed her head. Sammy knew where this was going and could feel his heart breaking. His siblings were all alive, but he was struggling to hold it together, knowing Courtney’s life was in danger. Hope kept him going. If she died… if any of his siblings died… he had no idea how he would go on.

“I lost them both,” Abbie said. “Gray was in prison. I left town and fell into a deep depression. I killed a man after he raped and murdered a woman. The cops arrested me. I was set to serve a lifetime in prison until a fancy lawyer appeared as if from nowhere and got me off, no charge.”

It did not take a genius to work out what had happened. Sammy looked again at the corpse.

“Ben’s work?”

“Yes. Once I was free, he took me in. I was given elite training in numerous fields. He did many awful things, including isolating and cursing me. Yet, I cannot escape the fact that I’d have remained lost without him. I wouldn’t have survived prison. I didn’t want to. Ben gave me purpose. Hope.”

Abbie’s voice cracked at the last words, and she turned from Sammy. Stepping to the edge of the pool of blood, she crouched again and leaned forward, getting as close as possible to the corpse without getting blood on her clothes.

“You were a bastard,” she told him. “A control freak, a manipulative arsehole. But I’ll never forget what you did for me. My parents raised Amber Carter, but you were the father of Abbie King. I hope you knew that.”

The scene was touching. Enough so that, for a moment, Sammy forgot this was the man who had kidnapped his sister and hired the man who stabbed his father. For a moment, he saw only what this dead man had meant to Abbie. And he wished he could take her grief away.

He stepped forward. Before he could reach her, footsteps distracted him, and he turned to the entrance as Isabel and Lorna appeared. Sammy’s sister’s eyes went to Sammy, Abbie, and then Ben.

Lorna joined Morgan.

“That’s him, isn’t it? The man who took our sister?” Isabel’s eyes returned to Abbie, and although Abbie looked away, Isabel picked up on the emotions on the other woman’s face. “Are you mourning him?”

“Izzy, don’t.”

Isabel spun to her brother, shaking her head in disgust.

“How long before the scales fall from your eyes? Doesn’t matter, don’t bother answering. I’ve had enough.”

She turned on her heel and made to storm from the garage.

“What are you doing?”

“What do you think? The man who might have given our sister back is dead. Whatever you believe about Abbie, you must accept she can’t help us now. It’s time to do what we should have done hours ago. Call the police. We know the dead man had her. We know she was here not long ago. Let’s let the professionals deal with this.”

She left the garage. Lorna started after her, but Abbie grabbed her friend’s arm.

“Isabel’s right. I can’t get her back. I can’t save my daughter.”

“Abbie’s half right,” said Izzy from outside the garage. “You can’t do anything, but Courtney isn’t your daughter. And she never will be.”

She unlocked her phone and dialled the emergency services. It was the right move, and Sammy didn’t try to stop her; instead, he turned to Abbie, intending to offer comfort.

Before he could open his mouth, his phone rang.

“Wait.” He raised a hand to halt Isabel as he put the phone to his ear. “It’s Xylina.”

“Actually,” said a voice down the line. “It isn’t.”

50

Clint had changed his mind. Again. He would not leave the country. This was a decisive move, even if it was made because he doubted he could escape without the police arresting him. It wasn’t as though he could put Courtney in a suitcase and stow her in a plane’s baggage hold. Not that he hadn’t considered that option.

Even if he was willing to release the teen, the thought of smuggling all that money out of the country made him quiver. If he lost it… Well, that didn’t bear thinking about. Anyway, he couldn’t bring himself to let the girl go. There was something about her. He met her gaze in the rearview mirror and was unnerved by how calm she seemed, as though she had run out of fear. Was that possible? All he saw was fortitude and fierce determination. Incredible, after everything she’d suffered.

Her courage lent him strength and helped clear the fog from his mind. Her bravery kicked his brain into gear, and ideas began to percolate. There was no need to flee. Clint saw another route to success: a way to thwart his brother and Isaac.

He smiled at Courtney.

“My older brother put you in the hospital. Now, he wants to finish what he started in that busted-up house. Worse, he wants my money.” Clint patted the bag at his side. “He thinks he scares me. He thinks I don’t stand a chance, but he’s wrong, and I’ll prove it.”

Courtney said nothing. That was probably good. It wasn’t as though she would wish him the best.

Not yet, anyway.

“I’m not my brother. I’d never do what he tried to do to you, and I won’t let him hurt you again. I thought we’d have to flee, but we don’t. What do you think about that?”

Nothing from the girl. Clint took her silence in his stride.

“You’re going home. But you won’t be safe unless we deal with Jared. I wish that weren’t the case, but it is. Luckily, I have a plan. I’ll handle our enemies. I just need your address.”

At last, the girl spoke up. Half an hour later, Clint parked at the end of Bernard’s drive and called his brother. Why not? He had nothing to fear. He had been afraid of his mother his whole life, and look what happened when he stopped. She was dead, and Clint was free. Jared and Isaac thought they could take him on; they hadn’t met the new him.

And they didn’t know about his secret weapon.

Jared answered. The call did not take long. Once it was done, Clint hung up and got out. The adrenaline was pounding. He was excited and had it in his head that Courtney would be, too. She was home, and the man who had tried to sexually assault her would soon be dead.

Happy days.

Except, when Clint threw open the back door, Courtney’s face was not a mask of excitement. Far from it.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?”

He expected more silence. She surprised him.

“Why did you tell him where you were?” Her voice was raspy, the words causing discomfort as they made their way up a bruised throat and through swollen lips. It didn’t stop her. “That was stupid.”

Clint bristled. Then admiration replaced annoyance. The girl had already shown strength and fortitude. It was natural that being home would make her braver still. But to look into the face of the man who had stabbed her father and kidnapped her and to call him stupid was something else.

“Stupid? I told you what he wants. He’ll chase us until we deal with him. Best to face him now, on our terms.”

“On your terms. We’re not a team.”

“Fine. On my terms.”

“Stupid terms.”

Clint closed his eyes and gritted his teeth.

“I know what I’m doing, kid. I can deal with my brother. As for his friends, I have allies who can deal with them, too. Now come on.”

But the girl did not move.

“And they’re in my house, are they?”

“Pardon?”

“Your allies – the ones who will stand with you against your sicko brother – are inside?”

“Not yet. Look, let the adult worry about the plan. You think about whatever it is teenage girls think about. Ballet and boys and whatever.”

“I don’t like ballet, I like football, and the only guy I’m thinking about is you. I wonder how hard I could kick your special place. Could I make you cry?”

Clint stared, gobsmacked. The girl stared back, refusing to be the first to blink.

“You know, you’re cocky for a teenager with ropes around her wrists.”

“I’m done being afraid.”

“I noticed. Now get out of the car.”

Courtney did but refused to move when he tried to grab her elbow.

“You should have called your allies before you phoned your brother.”

“What?”

The girl rolled her eyes. Clint had to resist the urge to hit her.

“You should have called your allies, got them set up, then called your brother. That way, you could have set a trap. This way, you’re hoping your allies arrive first. What if they don’t? What if they get held up, and your brother arrives an hour before them? You could die because of bad traffic.”

Clint stared at the girl, horror filling him. The shock rendered him speechless.

“Call them now,” she said.

“Okay. Come on.”

“What do you mean, ‘come on’? Call them now.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t have their number.”

This time, Courtney was the speechless one. Clint knew he had to move fast. He could not wait for Courtney’s acceptance. Lurching forward, he grabbed the teen’s arm with one hand and drew a knife with the other.

“Come with me.”

He dragged her up the drive and pounded on the door. It was clear it hurt her to move, but he couldn’t worry about that. He could hear nearby cars. There was no reason to believe any of these vehicles belonged to his brother, but they might, and Clint flinched each time an engine zoomed past.

“I can’t believe you’ve done this,” Courtney said.

“Shut up.” Clint pounded on the door, then shoved the knife in the teen’s face. “Talk again, and I’ll cut off your ear, Picasso style.”

The girl stared at Clint, and Clint stared back. For ten long seconds, neither said anything.

Then, in a quiet voice, Courtney said, “Van Gogh.”

Clint brandished the knife. He would do it. He would cut up her face.

The front door swung open, revealing a tall woman holding a glass of wine, unsteady on her feet. She looked much older than in the pictures Clint had seen online. Much older, he guessed, than she had yesterday. Still beautiful, though.

“Xylina,” he said. “I’ve come to return your daughter.”

“Hey, Mum.”

The glass slipped through Xylina’s fingers, and she came towards her daughter with outstretched arms as it smashed on the step.

“No.” Clint shoved her back. Showed her the knife. “I’m not done with her yet.”

Xylina’s eyes widened. The dropped glass of wine had clearly not been her first. Clint doubted she was on her first bottle, yet the sight of her daughter and the knife had sobered her up in a hurry.

“What do you want?” Her voice was a croak.

“To survive. Then thrive. Don’t worry. I only need your daughter for the first bit.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Contact Courtney’s biological mother. I need her.”

Already terrified, Clint’s request increased Xylina’s fear. The blade was at her daughter’s throat. Still, he was unsurprised when she lied.

“I am Courtney’s biological mother.”

Five seconds. That was how long Clint gave the Greek ex-model to confess. When she didn’t, he moved the knife. Xylina squealed as the blade touched her daughter’s throat.

“Two choices,” he said. “Stick to your pathetic lie and watch me cut Courtney’s throat, or fess up, make the call, and save your fake kid’s life.”

This should have loosened Xylina’s tongue. Still, she held it. Her eyes flicked to her daughter.

“Mum. Is it⁠—“

“Courtney is my biological daughter,” Xylina said. “But I know who you want. I’ll get them for you.”

Clint sighed.

“I suppose that’ll have to do.”

Xylina backed away from the door. Clint followed, dragging Courtney with him, but only after he glanced backwards, listening to the cars on the nearby roads. Would Abbie make it on time? Or was Courtney right?

Would bad traffic spell his end?

51

They went inside and upstairs via the kitchen. It was a big house. Once upstairs, they rushed to the end of the corridor, hunkering down in a small spare room, the furthest from the home’s only staircase. Clint kept his knife to Courtney’s throat while Xylina placed the call, then snatched the handset when the ringing kicked in. Two minutes later, he hung up and chucked the phone aside. A stony silence followed, and there was much tension in the air. Xylina was furious with Clint, but Courtney was suspicious of her mother. More than suspicious. And the weight of this suspicion led to her breaking the silence.

“Who’s Abbie?”

In addition to making her speak, Courtney’s suspicion seemed to act as a restorative force. The teen’s face remained marked with cuts and bruises, her eyes and cheeks remained discoloured and swollen, and her voice still rasped, but she seemed stronger now. She stood straight, and her words didn’t waver.

Clint glanced at Xylina as Courtney spoke. This was juicy, but he couldn’t afford to become distracted. He was not too proud to admit that Courtney had been right earlier. Contacting Jared before Abbie had been an error. Hopefully, she still arrived first. If not, Clint had prepared as best he could. Before they headed upstairs, he had taken a large kitchen knife from the block on the counter. This went nicely with the smaller blade already in his possession. Isaac’s people would be armed, though. Clint would be outnumbered and outmatched. The idea behind coming to the room furthest from the top of the stairs was to buy them time. Clint had invited Jared and Isaac here, so the two men would suspect a trap. Clint hoped they would take their time working through the house. The longer it took them to reach Clint, the more chance this supposedly formidable Abbie would arrive to spoil the party.

Xylina failed to respond to her daughter, so Courtney repeated her question.

“Who’s Abbie?”

When Xylina still refused to speak, Clint said, “She’s your mother.”

“Shut up. I’m not talking to you. Mum, who is she?”

Xylina couldn’t look at her daughter. She feared Courtney would read in her eyes the truth she had concealed for so long. In the end, she realised she had no choice. Better to meet the gaze of the questioner and hope you can keep your eyes from betraying you than to imply your guilt by not looking at all.

“She’s nobody. A friend of Sammy’s. She’s been helping us find you. Unsuccessfully.”

Courtney let this sink in. She held her mother’s gaze until Xylina could stand it no more. When her mother looked away, Courtney turned to Clint.

“How do you know her?”

“He doesn’t.”

This was Xylina, but she wilted under Courtney’s glare. Yet again, Clint found himself impressed by the teen.

“The man who paid me to kidnap you knew her well,” Clint said. “He blamed her for his daughter’s death and kidnapped you to punish her. Although you heard about his change of heart in the garage.”

“Before you killed him.”

Clint met the girl’s gaze. Unlike her mother, he would not look away.

“Yes.”

“This can’t be right.”

“It isn’t right,” Xylina said. “This man’s a liar.”

“Then why did that Perry guy kidnap me?”

The question came fast, and Xylina had no answer. She stuttered. “Your dad.”

“What?”

“Something he did, I think.”

Clint chuckled.

“Shut up,” Xylina said. “Why are you laughing?”

“Because he knows you’ve messed up with your ridiculous lie,” Courtney said. “Did you not hear him say I was there when Perry had his change of heart? He took me to get back at this Abbie woman. I heard that from the horse's mouth, so tell me, Mum, why would he do that if Abbie is just some stranger Sammy knows?”

“I—” Xylina froze. She had nothing to say.

“Mum? Please. Make me understand.”

Xylina was lost; her house of cards was crumbling.

“It’s not what you think⁠—”

Clint couldn’t imagine the drivel Xylina was about to spout, and he would never find out what it was about to be.

“Shut up,” he said.

His harsh tone shocked the teen and her fake mother into silence, giving Clint the space to listen. To ensure he had heard what he thought.

Cars pulling up outside.

There was total silence for several seconds, and Clint dared to dream he had imagined the sound.

Then, several car doors opened, and people shifted from the cars.

Doors slammed.

Low voices replaced that sound. It was impossible to determine what they were saying or to whom the voices belonged, but Clint knew.

Even so, he had to see for himself.

With his small knife in his right hand, he eased Courtney from her haunches to her behind, then edged his way towards the room’s single window, keeping his back pressed to the wall to be sure no one outside could see him.

The voices were louder now, and footsteps brought the newcomers towards the house. Clint had to look before the arrivals moved out of sight.

He pushed away from the wall and peeked out the window. At once, he saw the two cars at the end of the drive and the group walking towards the front door – seven in total. Isaac led the precession, followed closely by Jared. As they neared the house, Isaac gestured to three of his people and spoke. A moment later, the trio proceeded towards the back of the house while Isaac, Jared, and two others took the front.

They moved out of view.

How long before they were inside? Clint doubted they would kick the door in. Even so, it would not take more than a minute. Sixty seconds to get inside and maybe a couple hundred more to reach Clint’s hiding place. It could be over in five minutes. If he was lucky, he might get ten. If he were really lucky, they might stop for a bath.

The situation was out of his hands. If Abbie didn’t show soon, it was on to plan B: give Isaac and Jared what they wanted and beg for forgiveness. That might work. He just had to keep his bargaining chips close at hand. The money and⁠—

“Courtney. No.”

Clint spun from the window to see a sobbing Courtney shove her mother and run for the door.

Clint moved in her direction.

“You don’t want to do that.”

He used his most menacing tone.

Courtney ignored it and fled.

Xylina tried to chase her daughter but was too slow. Clint darted across the room and barged the ex-model to the floor.

“You’re going nowhere.”

He grabbed her hair and yanked her towards him. The small knife was in his free hand, but he looked for the other blade.

Oh, no.

It had gone.

Clint stared at the spot where it had been. Then, he turned to the door.

Downstairs, a dangerous crew were breaking into Bernard’s house.

When they got in, they would soon run into a headstrong teen with a heart full of grief and a blade sharp enough to pierce anyone’s chest.

52

They split, Lorna driving Morgan and Abbie taking Sammy and Izzy, and drove to Bernard’s street, parking a few doors down from his grand home. Further along, two black, menacing vehicles blocked Bernard’s drive. Abbie pointed them out.

The man who had taken Xylina’s phone to call Sammy had introduced himself as Clint before getting straight to the point. There were no maniacal threats or annoying attempts at small talk. He confessed to stabbing Bernard, killing Ben, and taking Courtney, bringing her home to Xylina. He made Courtney talk as proof of life – the first time Abbie had heard her daughter’s voice, if you didn’t count her scream from the previous call. Her accent reflected the region in which Xylina and Bernard had raised her and matched the voices of Sammy and Isabel. Unsurprisingly, it sounded nothing like Abbie’s. It still hurt. It made the girl feel distant, like she had nothing to do with Abbie. As though the sound of your voice was what made you family. Abbie couldn’t help but think that Felicity’s voice was a much closer match for her own.

She could only manage silence when greeted by that voice. Sammy and Isabel promised to save their sister, and Clint told them how. He told them about Isaac and his brother Jared. As he discussed the latter, Sammy and Abbie looked at one another. This was the man Sammy had tied to a chair in his lock-up. Clint told them they were coming to Bernard’s. If Abbie killed them – saving Clint – he would let Courtney go.

“Clint’s enemies arrived in those,” Abbie said. “Two cars. Eight enemies. Max.”

“That’s your professional opinion, is it?”

Abbie ignored Isabel’s sarcasm and approached the cars, stopping alongside Lorna. A high hedge prevented anyone in Bernard’s home from seeing them.

Sammy had detailed the property layout on the way over, and Abbie relayed this to Lorna and Morgan with quick, quiet words when they met.

“Got it,” Lorna said when Abbie finished. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Call the police,” Isabel said.

“Inadvisable,” Abbie said. “Clint said Isaac and Jared want to kill him but capture Courtney. That means they’ll use warnings rather than bullets to get their way in the first place. If they hear sirens, though…”

“They’ll start shooting and flee,” Sammy said.

“Right, and we lose any control we might have had over the situation.”

“That’s assuming we trust Clint, isn’t it?” Isabel said. “Why would we?”

Abbie sighed. “It’s difficult, especially when you’re predisposed not to trust. I get your dilemma. You don’t trust me, and I’m trying to dictate how this rescue mission goes. You certainly don’t trust Clint, and guess what? I’m not inclined to think he’s the most trustworthy guy either.”

“Yet, you’re willing to risk my sister’s life on his word.”

“I’m willing to risk your sister’s life on the odds. Why would Clint say Jared and Isaac wanted to take your sister and kill him? Saying they wanted to kill both would have had the same effect, so why vary it? Moreover, if the police arrive, we can be damn sure these guys will start shooting, so why not take a punt on Clint telling the truth?”

Isabel said nothing, which made for a nice change.

“Going in without calling the cops gives us the best chance of saving Courtney. But I know you don’t trust me, and this is your sister and your father’s house, so I won’t stop you from calling if that’s what you want. Either way, I’m going in. Clint ended our call ten minutes ago. Those cars could have arrived seconds later; I can’t afford to wait.”

“I’m coming with you,” Lorna said. Morgan and Sammy echoed this sentiment. Abbie started to respond, but Sammy spoke over her.

“We’re adults. We understand the risks.”

“Fair enough. What about you, Isabel? Will you be out here waiting for the police?”

“Oh, I’ll be inside. Don’t you worry.”

“In which case, the way forward is clear.”

Abbie outlined her plan. It took a couple of minutes, and then they were on the move.

All the curtains were open. Abbie could not see anyone through the windows but knew they were exposed on approach. Hence, they moved with speed up the drive, although never running.

They split at the garage shutter. Morgan and Lorna went one way around the house, Sammy and Isabel went the other. Abbie went to the front door and stood against the wall alongside it.

It was open. This was no surprise. She expected the French doors at the back would be too. The side door would likely still be closed, but that was okay. Isabel had a key.

Abbie had the knife she had planned to use on Ollie. She hoped to find a more deserving life to end. The plan was to use it only once. Soon after she entered Bernard’s house, she would have a gun. Or a bullet through the skull, depending on how things went.

The footsteps of Abbie’s comrades vanished, and she leaned closer to the front door, listening. No sounds emerged from inside, but she would take nothing for granted. The door was thick; even ajar, it would cover any noise made by a cautious guard.

Options were limited, and time was of the essence. Abbie could burst in and hope an astute guard with rapid reflexes wasn’t waiting with his gun aimed at the door, but this felt too great a risk. There might even be two armed guards inside, in which case the burst-in approach was guaranteed to end her life.

An alternate plan came to mind.

As always, Abbie hoped for the best and prepared for something much worse. Two steps brought her in line with the door. A deep breath steadied her nerves and focused her mind. She hoped to take out anyone beyond the door without alerting their colleagues to her presence.

The sun was setting. Abbie watched as it dipped below the horizon. Time ran short for Sammy. For Courtney, too, unless Abbie acted now.

She took another deep breath, pushed open the door, and went inside with a smile and a pace that suggested she hadn’t a care in the world.

53

Clint was determined not to panic. Courtney had been so calm and confident. No matter what happened, she stayed strong. Clint had taken strength from her attitude. Now she was gone, and he was falling apart.

But he would not surrender to fear without a fight. Keeping his remaining knife in one hand and Xylina’s feeble arm in the other, he stood near the wall opposite the door, the bag of cash between his feet, awaiting his last stand.

He had heard his enemies moving through the house. They had entered from either end and checked every room on the ground floor before ascending. They had split at the top of the stairs, some going left, some going right. He heard more doors opening and wondered who they would find first: Courtney or him.

The footsteps grew nearer. At his side, Xylina whimpered. Courtney would likely react to being discovered with more bravery than him, but at least he would show more courage than the ex-model.

He tightened his grip on the knife, which did nothing to stop his hand from trembling. As the feet drew within a few feet of the door, he raised the blade and aimed it towards the entrance. Seconds later, he lowered it again. What was the point when he was two metres from the door? The men soon to enter would not be carrying knives.

Someone grabbed the handle and turned. Xylina whimpered, then whined. Her legs gave way, and she slipped to the ground. Clint tried to stop her but failed as two strangers entered, flanking Jared.

“Hello, Clinton.”

Clint’s legs turned to jelly, and it was all he could do not to collapse beside the ex-model. Had his brother always been so tall, so broad? Had he always looked so like their father?

“Have you nothing to say? I take it that’s Isaac’s money?”

Jared gestured to the bag at Clint’s feet. Clint looked down, but his eyes could not focus on the cash. He was too busy trying to conjure Courtney’s image, hoping that imagining the girl might capture some of her confidence.

It wasn’t working.

Jared sighed.

“Okay, we’re getting nowhere, so here’s what we’ll do. First, one of Isaac’s guys will take the cash to the cars. Second, you and I will discuss Courtney. I don’t know whether you’ve hidden her or let her go. Seeing her mother sobbing at your feet makes me think she’s here somewhere. Maybe Isaac will find her. For your sake, I hope he does. Otherwise, things could get painful for you real fast. Assuming you don't tell us where she is.”

Jared stepped forward and leaned in. Clint’s fingers twitched, but his brother was nowhere near close enough for him to strike. Seemingly realising what Clint was thinking, Jared smiled.

“Oh, bro. You’re pathetic.” Laughing, he turned to the man on his right. “Take the cash and consider our family’s debt paid. Isaac can leave my father be.”

The man gave a curt nod and approached Clint, whose mind raced.

Oh, bro. You’re pathetic.

Those words bounced around his mind, growing ever louder. Then, another voice joined them.

You’ve proven repeatedly how worthless you are. Such a disappointment to your father and me.

Awful words spoken by an appalling woman. His mother, who had treated him like a joke until her final moments. He remembered her eyes widening as she looked at him from the floor. As he proved her wrong.

Isaac’s man stopped inches from Clint. He glanced at the knife and smiled. Like Jared, he didn’t see Clint as a threat.

Nor had his mother.

The man was tall and broad, with dangerous eyes. Those eyes alone made Clint want to drop to the floor, curl into a ball, and weep.

He hated that.

The man leaned down and collected the bag, and Clint plunged the knife into his right eye.

There was a second of total silence.

Then the tall man screamed and retreated from Clint, who let the knife go. It remained in the tall man’s eye, and Clint was pleased to see that the other no longer looked frightening, full as it was of pain and shock.

His move had stunned Jared and Isaac’s other man. They stared at their screaming comrade as he staggered, scrabbling to remove the blade and failing repeatedly to do so.

Clint wasn’t stunned. He was laughing, full of joy as he shoved his victim, and the tall, broad man tipped and went down like a felled tree.

He crashed into his slightly smaller, slightly less broad friend, and the two men toppled to the floor in a heap. The thump of their impact was enough to pull Jared from his reverie. He raised his gun.

And Clint tackled him, and they went to the floor alongside the other men. Clint was on top. He raised his fists and repeatedly pummelled Jared’s face.

Next to them, the man with the knife in his eye was still moaning and writhing about. His friend was rising, gun in hand.

Jared had dropped his weapon. Clint grabbed it, firing three times at Isaac’s rising man. One bullet missed. Two hit the chest and threw the guy backwards. As he was falling, Clint smashed the butt of his new gun into his brother’s face, then rose.

He stepped forward, placing himself between Isaac’s men. The one he had shot was propped against the wall, blood pumping from his chest. His gun lay limp at his side, and he tried to speak to no avail. The man with the knife in his eye had fallen still.

Clint shot them both in the head. Once each.

It felt good. It felt superb.

He looked at the gun, realising he hadn’t heard a sound as he had fired five shots from his brother’s gun, but not because of the silencer attached to the end. He’d been in the zone.

Clint was no longer afraid. He went to the man he had stabbed and grabbed the hilt of his knife. With a smile for Xylina, he yanked the blade free.

Part of him had expected the eye to come out with the blade. That would have been funny, but it wasn’t to be. Blood covered the steel, but the eyeball, now a pulpy mess, remained in the dead man’s head.

Clint grinned at the mess he’d made, then turned to his brother.

Jared was conscious. That was good. He lay on his back, his face covered in blood, coughing and wheezing, looking at his younger brother.

“Fine. You’ve proved your point.”

His voice was cracked and hoarse. Each word caused him considerable pain. Excellent. Clint beamed as he walked over, stopping with one leg on either side of Jared’s hips.

“What point?” he asked.

“We underestimated you – Mum, Dad, and me. We shouldn’t have. We…” A coughing fit overtook Jared. It took him twenty seconds to recover. “We shouldn’t have treated you the way we did.”

These words were music to Clint’s ears, but they changed nothing. They only validated what he already believed.

He slid his gun into the back of his trousers and almost laughed as he saw the hope in his brother’s eyes.

“You’re right,” he said. “Whitney underestimated me all those years ago, and I showed her who was boss. That should have been a confidence booster, but you and our parents kept me down and made me feel like shit.”

“You’re right. That was wrong of us.”

“Dad underestimated me. Now, he’ll die in prison. You saw what happened to Mum. Ben underestimated me, and he ended up like her.”

“Who’s Ben?”

Clint ignored this. “You underestimated me.”

“I’m sorry. You’re my brother. I should’ve treated you better. I spent too much time listening to Dad and Mum and not enough⁠—“

“Stop. You regret nothing. You’re scared. You’ll say anything to save yourself, but it’s pointless. Nothing will work.”

Jared believed his brother. Seeing that words couldn’t save him, he sat up and swung his arms at Clint in one swift motion.

Clint had expected the move.

As Jared’s torso and arms came towards him, Clint plunged the knife into the centre of Jared’s chest and shoved his brother back to the ground.

Jared hit him, but not with enough force to do damage. Clint pushed harder on the blade’s hilt, shoving the steel further into Jared’s chest.

A strangled scream struggled to escape Jared’s throat.

“Everyone underestimated me,” Clint said. “But you know who underestimated me the most?”

Jared’s mouth opened and closed, but he was no longer capable of speech. Clint had to answer.

“Me. I repeatedly underestimated myself, but no longer. My family are gone, and it’s my time to shine.”

“Please—“

The word came out as a pained, prolonged whisper.

Clint yanked the knife from his brother’s chest and plunged it back through his heart. He raised the knife again and drove it in a third time. He continued to perforate his brother’s chest in as many locations as possible. Only when his arms hurt too much to continue did he know he was done.

Breathing hard, he yanked the blade from Jared’s chest and rose. He was knackered, but he felt incredible. Like he had just won a gold medal in an Olympic event.

Unlike with his mother and Whitney, there was no guilt, shame, or misery.

Only triumph.

His eyes turned to the door, and his smile grew. Something he had not realised was possible. Seven men had come for him. The thought had sent tremors up his spine. He had feared he would fail, even if Abbie turned up to save the day. Now, look. Almost half of those men were dead at Clint’s hand, including the brother of whom he had always been so afraid. What did he have to fear from Isaac and the crook’s remaining three cronies?

Nothing. Nothing at all.

Almost giddy with excitement at the thought of what was to come, Clint made to grab the gun in the back of his trousers.

It wasn’t there.

The smile dipped. A frown creased his brow.

He turned, assuming he must have dropped the weapon.

He hadn’t.

In all the excitement of killing his brother, Clint had ceased to pay attention to his surroundings. He hadn’t noticed the gun slipping away.

He hadn’t noticed Xylina taking it.

Now he saw her standing a metre away, the gun clasped in trembling hands, aiming at his head.

54

Abbie entered the house, smiling at the man in the hall. Then, her look faltered, and confusion emerged.

“Oh, are you a friend of Bernard’s?”

It was a masterful performance. Isaac’s man bought it hook, line, and sinker. She watched his body shift as he hid the gun behind his leg. He put on a smile and didn’t panic when Abbie stepped forward.

“He’s not here.” The guard stumbled over the words. “Gone out.”

“Oh.” Abbie took another step. “Okay. Would you mind giving him something from me?”

She ensured her smile was nervous and unthreatening. It was working. The man remained calm, unconcerned.

She took a third step.

“What is it?” he asked.

While bridging the gap between them, Abbie opened her left hand and showed the guard her empty palm. Confusion crossed his face, and as he prepared to ask what was the meaning of this, Abbie punched him in the throat with her right hand.

He gagged, and Abbie grabbed the back of his head and slammed a knee into his stomach. She tripped him, took him to the floor, and rendered him unconscious. Then, she stole his gun.

She stepped over his prone form and waited, motionless, for several seconds, listening. The take-down had been quiet, but the conversation might have carried. She wanted to be as sure as she could that no one had heard. That no one was coming to investigate.

There were footsteps upstairs, but no one seemed to be rushing towards her position. That was a good sign.

With the front door at her back, the staircase was directly ahead. To her right was a door she knew from Sammy’s description led into a living room that ran the length of the house. There was a second door into that room further up the hall: the door Abbie would take in a couple of minutes.

She moved towards it, keeping her eyes on the stairs. Eight steps led to a half-landing and a large window. The rest of the stairs were out of Abbie’s view.

Before the staircase, a corridor led off to the left. Off this corridor were doors into the kitchen and a dining room. At the end of the hall was a thicker door. This opened as Abbie turned into the hall. Although she knew who would appear, she played it safe and raised her gun, not dropping it until both Sammy and Isabel had emerged, closing the door behind them. She gave them the thumbs up. Just in case they weren’t sure if she had won the battle at the front door. Isabel started towards Abbie, but Sammy caught her arm. They had agreed to the plan. As much as they might feel uncomfortable, their job was to stay downstairs, near the side entrance. Abbie, Lorna, and Morgan would ascend. Once they found Courtney, Abbie would attempt to get the teen downstairs. If she couldn’t, Lorna and Morgan would take her while Abbie lived or died ensuring no one could give chase. If Lorna and Morgan fell trying to get her out, Sammy and Isabel would be waiting downstairs to complete the job.

Once sure Isabel would listen to her brother and stay put, Abbie proceeded towards the furthest entrance to the living room, beyond which she knew she would find French doors onto a patio and the back garden. She expected an armed guard to be watching this entrance. She and Lorna would attack simultaneously from two sides. Once the guard was out of the way, Abbie would give her gun to Sammy. She would take the second guard’s gun and attempt to save Xylina and Courtney, killing anyone who got in her way.

At the door to the living room, Abbie removed her phone and sent a text. This done, she waited for the signal.

Which didn’t come.

She began to stress after a minute. Her concern grew for the next sixty seconds. By the time they hit minute three, she was sure something must have gone wrong. Someone had found Lorna and Morgan before they could reach the back of the house. Or they had tried to enter ahead of Abbie’s signal, and the guard had killed them.

Surely, Abbie would have heard them die? The guard would have shot them.

A text came in. Abbie grabbed her phone, but it was only Sammy asking what was happening.

She couldn’t wait around. The seconds were ticking, and Courtney’s life hung in the balance.

He didn’t know it, but so did Sammy’s.

Abbie phoned Lorna and put the handset to her ear.

No answer.

That settled it. There was no way Lorna would not have her phone to hand. Her failure to answer told Abbie all she needed to know.

She grabbed the door handle and prepared to barge in. There would be no messing around. No performance. Abbie would enter, pinpoint her target, and fire.

She turned the handle.

Upstairs, guns fired. Bullets flew. It was a short burst, but the noise ricocheted down the stairs, bouncing off the walls.

Someone screamed.

Silence followed.

To be broken three seconds later with a cry.

“Courtney.”

Pounding feet followed Isabel’s shout. Abbie spun to see her and Sammy charging towards the stairs. She called for them to wait as they hit the bottom step and ascended, but neither sibling listened. Nothing could stop them now.

The sun was beneath the horizon. Night had fallen on day two after Abbie’s dream. She had to act or watch Sammy die.

She started towards the stairs.

The door behind her flew open. She spun as the back door guard burst into the hall.

Went down as he started firing.

55

Isabel used her key and stepped through the side door of her father’s house. Sammy followed.

The door opened onto a small passage. At the end, on the left, was a heavy black door that led into a small storage area. Halfway down on the right were two stone steps leading up to a white door. This, too, was locked, but Isabel produced a second key.

She paused. If Isaac and Jared had left anyone to guard this entrance, the siblings would find them upon opening this door. Sammy hoped Abbie was right, and they had only considered the front and back.

“Want me to go first?” he asked when Isabel showed no signs of moving.

“No, I was just thinking.”

“About Courtney?”

“About how I’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt her. That’d be the end of my political career. But I wouldn’t regret it for a second.”

“Good.” Before Isabel could turn the handle, he touched her arm. “For what it’s worth, if we see someone hurting Courtney, I’ll happily do the murdering. I think your career could probably survive a murderous brother, don’t you?”

“Just about. That’s very sweet, thank you.”

Isabel opened the door, revealing an empty corridor.

“Good start,” she said.

There were two doorways along the hall – kitchen and dining room – and the foot of the stairs at the end. Abbie was there when they opened the door. She had a gun, and she gave them the thumbs up. Isabel started towards her, but Sammy grabbed her arm. She flashed angry eyes his way, and a tense moment followed. Sammy knew she hated Abbie’s plan. Now was the moment of truth. Would she do as Abbie had asked or go her own way?

The tense moment stretched. Then, Isabel nodded. She leaned against a wall, watching as Abbie proceeded to the living room door, out of sight.

A minute passed.

Nothing.

There was still only silence after two minutes, and they had seen no more of Abbie after three.

“Something’s wrong.” Isabel moved away from the wall. “I can’t wait any longer.”

“Hang on. Please.”

Sammy sent a text. Waited.

“She hasn’t replied, has she?” Isabel shook her head. “She won’t. She’s letting you down.”

“Please, Izzy, have faith.”

She checked her watch. “Two more minutes.”

“Fine.”

Izzy resumed her position by the wall.

Upstairs, several shots were fired.

Isabel shoved off the wall and charged down the corridor. This time, Sammy did nothing to stop her. He was hot on her heels, thinking only of his little sister. At the foot of the stairs, he vaguely registered Abbie calling for them to wait. A pang of guilt pierced him, but stopping was out of the question. Who knew who was firing a gun or why, but if Courtney was upstairs, the danger to her life had reached new levels. Sammy wouldn’t leave her for another second. Nothing Abbie said would have changed that.

They reached the half-landing and turned. Abbie had predicted a maximum of eight enemies in the house. They knew one was gone because Abbie had a gun, but there was a chance seven remained upstairs. Maybe two or three were on the landing. If that were the case, racing up was suicide.

That didn’t stop them. They turned at the window and charged to the upstairs landing.

Only now did they stop. Not because they had lost the will to save their sister or because they were suddenly considering the consequences of their reckless actions. They stopped because they did not know where the shooters were.

There were three doors within sight. To their right was a corridor. Four more doors led off that hall, none of which were visible from their current location.

Two of the doors they could see were closed. The third was open. It was a bathroom, and Sammy could see no one within.

He looked at his sister. A silent question passed between them.

How should we proceed?

They needed to find Courtney fast. If possible, they needed not to die. When no clear ideas formed, they remained still and silent on the upstairs landing, listening – wondering if this would bear fruit or if they would need to search room by room.

No search was required. After thirty seconds, muffled sounds reached them, followed by shouting. They couldn’t tell who was speaking but could follow the sound. It led them down the corridor to the room furthest from the stairs. They heard more shouting, all seemingly from one man, then silence. Isabel was slightly ahead of Sammy, but she hesitated at the door. Perhaps the reality of their situation had hit home. They had no weapons. Their enemies had guns. Perhaps Isabel was considering her mortality.

Sammy recalled the night before last, watching a man drag his sister into a car and speed away. He’d given chase but lost them. He recalled the panic as he drove the streets, desperately searching for the kidnapper, and the relief when, finally, he’d spotted the car outside a derelict property.

Although Sammy did not see himself as courageous, he’d jumped from his car and burst into the home without concern for his safety. The second he had seen the man with Sammy’s sister at his feet, the red mist descended. Sammy attacked.

Those actions had saved his sister’s life. It was a dangerous approach, but Sammy had not worked to a plan. It was instinctual.

Now was no different.

He barged past Isabel and burst into the room.

He first saw Xylina, then the gun in her hand.

His entry stole her focus, her head turning his way. As she looked at him, he saw who she was pointing the gun at.

A roar, and this man charged across the room. Although Sammy had stolen her focus, Xylina had not lowered the gun. She had only to squeeze the trigger to blow the man away.

But she didn’t.

He hit her, and she flew into a wall, the gun flying from her hand and spinning across the floor.

Sammy tracked it.

Dived.

The other man also seemed to go for it but swerved at the last instant, bringing his shoulder into contact with Sammy’s side. Hewasn’t expecting the move. It took him from his feet and tossed him to the floor.

Isabel entered the room.

The man grabbed the gun and turned it on Sammy’s sister.

Pulled the trigger.

The bullet threw her backwards, and Sammy screamed and leapt up.

The man aimed the gun at Sammy’s head.

“You want to save your little sister; you’ll stay right where you are.”

56

Abbie hit the deck, and the bullets smashed into the staircase where she’d been standing instants before.

The guard was a wiry man with wide eyes that bulged when he realised he had missed his target. He adjusted his aim, his triumphant smile swelling like a tumour.

Abbie fired twice. A bullet to the head and another to the throat tossed the guy into the living room, dead.

She followed, stealing a couple of spare clips from the dead man’s jacket and the half-spent one from his gun. She didn’t take the gun. Carrying two weapons could be more trouble than it was worth. Besides, she only needed one.

Her eyes went to the French doors. Open. A light breeze swept into the room. No signs of anyone in the garden, though, and the side path leading from the front to the back of the house was out of view.

The desire to go outside and search for Lorna and Morgan was strong. Extreme willpower carried her back into the hall and upstairs to an empty landing. She saw Sammy and Isabel charge into a room at the far end of the nearby corridor. Before she could follow, a podgy man in a blood-stained shirt appeared from the door opposite the top of the stairs. He had a gun jammed into Violet’s lower spine.

The world stopped. Abbie blinked, and the landing disappeared. She was back in that empty building, cradling her precious dying sister. Blood had covered Violet that day, and blood covered her now.

Abbie held her gun up but did not aim it at the man behind Violet. If he had been as alert, focused, and unstoppable as Abbie usually was, he would have put a bullet through her skull. Or at least into her chest if he was nervous about making the tougher but deadlier shot.

Instead, he moved his gun, pressing its barrel into Violet’s temple.

Abbie was still trying to process the scene when someone fired another shot.

The man with the gun to Violet’s temple looked to his left as Isabel flew out of a room and crashed to the floor in the corridor.

Years ago, a group of men had pumped Violet full of bullets. Now she had returned from the grave, as she was on that day.

Except that wasn’t right. Violet died at seventeen. This girl was several years younger.

There were other differences. Sure, this girl’s raven black hair and pale skin were reminiscent of Violet. Ditto, her narrow face and anime-character nose. But her lips were plumper than Violet’s, she was taller, and her ears were visible through her hair.

Violet’s eyes had been turquoise. This girl’s were deep green like…

“Move aside, or I’ll blow out her brains.”

Like her mother’s.

The teen was staring at Abbie. Her jaw slackened, but she pulled her face back into a neutral expression within a few seconds.

“You’re Abbie.”

The girl was covered in blood. Also, cuts and bruises. A dangerous man stood inches behind her, pressing a gun to her skull. Yet, there was no fear in her voice. Her words were clear. It wasn’t a question – the girl knew she was looking at Abbie – but it also was. The teen knew she was looking at Abbie because she, too, saw the similarities between them. The implicit question was not are you Abbie? but, is what I’ve heard about you being my mother true?

“Shut up.” The plump man shoved his gun into Courtney’s skull, forcing her head to tilt almost onto her shoulder, and spoke to Abbie. “I told you to move. Get out of the way, or I’ll kill the girl.”

Abbie’s eyes went again to the blood that coated Courtney, and now she noted more. The teen had no visible wounds, and her clothes appeared to be intact. What was more, she stood straight, and there were no signs that she was in any pain. All of this pointed to one conclusion…

“You took out one of his men?”

The girl stared at Abbie. At first, it seemed she wouldn’t respond. Then, she gave a defiant nod.

“With a knife. But I couldn’t take them both.”

“Too right,” said the man. “You got lucky with my pal, but there was no chance you’d ever get me. Many better have tried over the years; all have failed.”

It was as though a switch flicked in Abbie’s head. A combination of Courtney’s incredible strength and this man’s arrogant delusion did it. All the hesitancy dropped away, and Abbie felt the real her return with a bang. Like a light coming on.

She smiled.

“You must be Isaac.”

“That’s right. Heard of me?”

“Only recently, and don’t think I’m impressed.” She turned to Courtney. “Men like him can so rarely handle people like us. Just being in our vicinity pisses them off. It brings them out in hives. Why? Because they know we’re not as good as them; we’re better, and they can’t stand it. Too much for their dainty masculine egos. Don’t worry. You get used to it.”

“Shut up,” Isaac said. “You’ve no idea who⁠—“

“No, you have no idea.” Abbie’s voice was rising, and there was no stopping it. “Courtney asked if I was Abbie, and I am. I’m Abbie King. People might’ve heard of you, Isaac, but no one’s heard of me. I’ve never been on TV or in any films. Not even on the radio. I have met hundreds of men and women like you. You might wonder why I’m not a word-of-mouth sensation in the criminal underworld, and I’ll tell you. None of them lived to tell of our meeting. Neither will you. Oh, and, bonus fact: I love a speech.”

These last few words made Isaac laugh, causing him to relieve the pressure on Courtney’s skull.

The teen dived forward, the podgy crook said, “Hey,” and Abbie shot him in the head.

Somehow, she resisted the urge to say I told you so.

57

Lorna had spent years acting the part-time villain. Doing odd jobs for awful people to earn enough cash to ensure she never needed a real job. When she wasn’t ‘working’, she had spent her days lounging around watching crap television and her nights partying, drinking, and doing drugs. She had only one friend, and she relied upon him. Although she would never say it, he was her rock.

She knew Morgan loved her. That never prevented her from treating him like shit, forcing him to do jobs for her while she slept with an endless procession of nameless, faceless men, forgotten the moment they left her bed.

Forgotten by her, anyway. Morgan never forgot. Each tryst broke his heart anew.

Why had he never walked away? Why hadn’t he told her enough was enough and gone to find someone more deserving of his affection? His devotion.

He should have. She wished he had.

She sat in Bernard’s back garden, out of view of the room beyond the French doors. The patio slabs were cold and dirty; Bernard and Xylina did not clean them often enough. They were also covered in blood, but Lorna couldn’t blame the homeowners for that.

Morgan lay with his head in her lap. She stroked his hair while clutching her stomach, hoping to keep at least some of her precious blood inside her body.

After all those years of treating him like dirt and facilitating evil people as they lived their rotten lives, she had finally decided it was time to change her ways. There would be no more jobs for awful people, no more one-night stands. She would change the world for the better and open her heart to the man who had stood by her through thick and thin, little though she deserved it.

It had felt freeing, that decision. She had seen a brighter future around the corner.

Then, she took the first step down this new and wholesome path, and the results were catastrophic. Lorna didn’t know if she would survive the wound to her stomach, and she didn’t care.

Morgan lay in her lap, wide, blank eyes staring at her.

She had never been a crier, but she cried now.

The world was not right without Morgan; she could see no reason to stay in it. Her hand remained on her wound not out of any great desire to remain alive but out of instinct. Her mind had given up, allowing her subconscious to take control.

There were birds in the trees. She could hear their song. It was almost enough to drown out the sound of Morgan’s murderer. But not quite. He paced back and forth, just through the French doors, muttering and geeing himself up as he considered his next steps.

Lorna let him get on with it. In the past, people had often commented on her short temper. The way she flew into a rage at the slightest provocation. She had never minded the accusations. They were true, and she knew it.

There was no anger now. Strange, considering no one had ever provoked her quite like this. Her only friend and the man she might have loved was dead. His killer stood only feet away, but Lorna had no appetite for revenge.

The man hadn’t intended to kill either of them. Lorna was sure of that. He intended his knife only to threaten. Then, it had all gone wrong. Rather than move aside, as the man demanded, Morgan had rushed him, planning to take the knife. The man had held his ground. The two men came together in a tangle, resulting in Morgan’s death.

For a brief moment, the rage had come, and Lorna had screamed at the man and attacked. Perhaps thinking in for a penny, in for a pound, the accidental killer stabbed Lorna as she tried to scratch out his eyes, shoving her to the ground as the blood began to pour.

He had stepped past them, stopping by the door. There was a guard in the room beyond, and the guard must have been armed because Morgan’s killer hesitated, not knowing what to do.

Then came the gunshots. Soon, they heard the guard open a door. More gunshots followed, and then they heard him die. Someone entered the room but left a few moments later. Once they were gone, Morgan’s killer looked back at Lorna.

“I’m sorry.”

By then, the anger was gone. It wasn’t because the man had never intended to kill Morgan, but because her best friend was dead. All that remained was a numb emptiness. Nothing mattered.

The man stepped into the house. Lorna heard him grab the dead guard’s gun; he’d been pacing ever since.

The tears rolled down her cheeks. She stroked the face of the man to whom she had promised a date. The only man who had ever meant anything to her. Her best friend and possibly the love of her life.

She closed her eyes. Soon, the last of her blood would leave her body. Her heart would cease to beat, and that was okay.

Nothing mattered anymore.

Indoors, Morgan’s killer finally found the courage to do whatever it was he needed to do. Lorna heard him leave the room and move towards the stairs. Her hand was in Morgan’s hair. Those dead eyes stared up at her, and she had to close her own. He spoke in her mind. Not just words but instructions.

Lorna was no fool. She knew Morgan wasn’t speaking from beyond the grave. Her conscience had taken his voice, using her love as a vehicle to make her do what, deep down, she knew she needed to.

Although she understood this, she responded out loud as though she were conversing with the dead man in her lap.

“I can’t.”

But she would. She had no choice.

She stroked his face, closing his eyes. The tears fell faster and more heavily as she leaned forward and kissed his head. She eased him off her lap.

“I don’t want to leave you.”

She had no choice. It was clear where Morgan’s killer was going and what he wanted. Given her current condition, there was every chance she would fail to stop him, but she had to try, even if it killed her.

Perhaps it would be for the best if it did.

Morgan lay on the hard patio slabs. She wished she could move him, but there was no time. She was probably already too late to stop the killer from achieving his goals.

Everything hurt, but Lorna rejected the pain and grabbed the wall. She gripped the ribbed stone at her back and forced herself to a standing position. The world spun, but she ignored the experience, hoping it would stop. Only forward momentum, pushing her body far past its comfort zone as she bled over her clothes, and blind luck could ensure she succeeded.

With a groan of pain and fatigue, she pushed away from the wall and stumbled towards the French doors. There was a step into the house, and she almost tripped, catching the frame at the last second. That was important. If she had fallen, it would have been game over.

She made it into Bernard’s home. For several seconds, she swayed, and blood loss, combined with the crushing pain of her grief, almost brought her down again. Somehow, she managed to stay upright. Morgan’s voice sang in her mind, telling her what she needed to do.

She nodded as though he were at her side, then continued, staggering through the house, determined to do one final good deed before she closed her eyes for the last time.

58

For a few moments, that familiar fear crept back into Clint’s soul.

It didn’t last.

What did he have to fear? The ex-model was on the floor, afraid to get up. The MP was in the hallway, Clint’s bullet somewhere in her body, maybe dead, maybe alive. The private detective wasn’t even armed.

Clint knew these people from Perry’s files. He aimed his gun at Sammy’s head and noted the rage behind the PI’s eyes. Sammy wanted to rip out his throat; perhaps that was understandable, but what he wanted didn’t matter. Clint held the gun. Clint had the power.

Luckily for Bernard’s family, Clint was in a magnanimous mood. After killing his mother, his brother, Perry, and two of Isaac’s men, he felt no need to continue his spree. It wasn’t a hobby. He murdered the people who tried to bring him down, but that wasn’t Sammy. Bernard’s family were not his enemy.

“I’m sorry about your sisters. Kidnapping Courtney, shooting Isabel–“

“Don’t say their names.”

Clint hesitated. He was surprised at how angry Sammy’s interruption made him. Then, he thought of his family and understood. His parents had liked him to be silent at all times. When he tried to speak, they would shut him down. He had let them because he believed he was powerless. Now, he knew otherwise. The old Clint was gone. The new Clint would not be silenced. It was Sammy’s good fortune that his spirits were so high. He decided to let the PI off. Just this once.

“I wanted to say I regret kidnapping your little sister and shooting the big one. It just happened that way, but I’m sorry. There, I apologised. I didn’t have to do that. You should appreciate the gesture.”

Sammy did not look appreciative, but at least the private investigator stayed silent, allowing Clint to pretend they were on the same page.

“Seven men came here tonight to kill me and take your sister. I killed my brother and two of Isaac’s men. That leaves four. I don’t know their situation, but our deal is complete if they’re all dead.”

“They are.”

It wasn’t Sammy who spoke. Abbie entered the room as she delivered this news. Sammy spun to her.

“Courtney?”

“She’s okay. I killed Isaac, and if we give Clint the benefit of the doubt and assume he can count to seven, I think all targets are down for the count. You are Clint, right?”

“I am, and it sounds like we’re all square. I’ll kill no one else tonight.”

“How sweet of you to spare us.”

Clint opened his mouth to respond but faltered when he recognised Abbie’s tone. His cheeks flushed.

“There’s no need to be sarcastic.”

“Apologies.” This still sounded sarcastic, but Abbie turned away before Clint could respond. She gestured to a corpse at her feet. “This is your brother? Jared, was it?”

“That’s him.”

“I can see the resemblance, although he’s better looking. Even with half his chest missing. You do that?”

Clint responded to Abbie through gritted teeth.

“I did.”

“You must’ve hated him.”

“He’d treated me like shit since I was born.”

“That’s rough. I’m sorry to hear it. Isn’t your arm hurting?”

She nodded to his gun, still aimed at Sammy’s head. As it happened, his arm was hurting.

“What’s your game?” he said.

“Of choice? Probably football, although I do like F1. Does that count as a game? Why do you ask?”

“Don’t tease me. I will not be teased. I could end your life.”

“You could try.” Abbie smiled. She was armed, too, but her gun was by her side. Why wasn’t she aiming it at him? How was she so relaxed? Her demeanour unnerved him, and his arm was aching more by the second. He couldn’t drop his weapon, though. He didn’t dare.

“This day’s over,” he said. “You fulfilled your end of the bargain, and you have Courtney back. Our business is done.”

“Excellent news. How do you propose we proceed?”

Clint stepped towards the door. His gun remained aimed at Sammy, but his hand shook. He was outnumbered, and these people hated him. He had the upper hand, but that could soon change.

“Simple,” he said. “I walk out, and no one tries to stop me. What do you think?”

“It’s an interesting idea.” Abbie’s expression was thoughtful, but Clint got the impression she was putting it on, teasing him again. Her attitude was beginning to piss him off. If she kept on like this, he would have to do something about it. “My concern is that there’s a lot of anger in this room, all directed at you. “You took Courtney, and sure, she’s safe now, but what about your other crimes? Sammy’s father fights for his life. Ben wasn’t my dad, but he was a father figure, and you killed him. Then there’s Isabel. She’ll probably die.”

Sammy’s head whipped to Abbie, fear flooding his face.

“What?”

Nerves crept back into Clint. The situation could not continue along its current trajectory.

“I’ve had enough,” he said. “What I did is irrelevant. I need to know if you’ll let me go. Or should I start shooting?”

Sammy stepped forward. “Start shooting. See if you can end my life with a bullet before I end yours with my fists. I don’t like your chances.”

“Me neither,” Abbie said, “but I don’t think violence is the way forward. We need to get Isabel help. I say we let him leave.”

Sammy’s eyes narrowed. It was clear he was unconvinced. Despite his sister’s condition, he was reluctant to let Clint go. He wanted his pound of flesh.

“Don’t, Sammy.”

Courtney followed her words into the room. Tears welled in Sammy’s eyes, and he went to his knees, spreading his arms.

“Don’t move,” Clint said. “Nobody moves.”

Courtney ran across the room, throwing herself into Sammy’s arms.

“Separate now. Do it, or I start shooting.”

They continued to hug, clinging to one another as though afraid unseen hands would try to yank them apart.

Abbie spoke to Clint. “I think they’re ignoring you.”

Fury reared within him. His aching arm was drooping, his gun now aiming not at Sammy’s head but his outer thigh. At Abbie’s words, he defied the ache and raised his weapon so he was again in a position to put a bullet through the investigator’s skull.

“I will not be ignored.”

“You were ignored. Now it’s time to go.”

Clint turned to Abbie and saw she had finally raised her gun.

“Take your money and get out.” She kicked the bag of cash towards him. “You get it in your head that you want to end another life; you absolutely can. Just understand that if you pull that trigger one more time, I’ll kill you. That’s a threat. Ask Isaac if you think I can’t carry it out. Ask his corpse, that is.”

The woman’s arrogance only inflated Clint’s fury. She had teased and belittled him, threatened and demeaned him. She deserved to die, and he wanted to put a bullet through her pretty face.

But he couldn’t.

Over the past day, Clint’s confidence had soared. He knew he was not the pathetic loser his family had always claimed but understood he was not invincible. Today, things had gone well. Dangerous people had fallen by his hand. There was every chance he could take Abbie, too. There was also a chance he’d fail, and she would take his life.

The risk was too significant.

He would live to fight another day.

“Thanks for your help,” he said. “Taking out Isaac and his team.”

“You’re most welcome.”

Clint moved the gun, aiming for Abbie as he bent at the waist and scooped up the cash. He threw the bag over his shoulder and looked at those around him: the hugging siblings, the despondent ex-model, the deadly Abbie.

“I think we’ll meet again,” he said.

“Don’t threaten me,” said Abbie.

A twitch of annoyance almost caused Clint to pull the trigger, but he resisted, forcing himself to ignore the jibe as he sidestepped across the room.

The door was at his back. He was between it and Abbie, Sammy, Courtney, and Xylina.

Two steps back took him into the doorframe.

An idea occurred.

Of the people in the room, only he and Abbie were armed. Everyone else in the house was dead or almost dead.

Abbie had taunted him. She thought she was better than him.

“You going or what?” she asked.

“Going,” he said and adjusted his aim. He would pump at least three bullets into her chest, then run.

It would be so easy.

Somehow, he managed not to smile.

His stomach tingled. He thought it was butterflies.

Then he wet himself.

That was the only explanation for his suddenly drenched jeans. Except, if that was the case, why hadn’t he felt himself urinate, and why were his boxers dry?

He looked down. It wasn’t butterflies.

Isabel stepped around him into the room, turning so they were face to face. Hers was a pale mask of pain, but she was not on the cusp of death. She held her right arm. Clint’s bullet had hit beneath her shoulder, causing a wound never likely to lead to death.

He realised what had happened and turned to Abbie. Saw how pleased she was to have tricked him. How clever she thought she was, but he’d have the last laugh.

Clint’s arm had drooped again, but with a speed Abbie could not have anticipated, he lifted it and pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

While he’d kept his arm extended, he’d somehow dropped his gun.

He hadn’t even noticed.

“No.” He let his arm drop and looked at the carpet. There was the gun.

It seemed to rush towards him, then his whole body jolted, and he realised the gun hadn’t moved. Clint had fallen to his knees.

His jeans were drenched. The carpet at his knees was turning red. It occurred that the blade Isabel had shoved through the small of his back could only be the one he had brought from the kitchen and that Courtney had run off with earlier that evening.

It wasn’t fair.

“You piece of shit,” Isabel said. “That was for my dad and sister. For everything you’ve done, you vile, pathetic worm.”

Somehow, Clint found the strength to talk.

“Don’t speak to me like that. My mother always did. You should see what I did to her.”

Isabel raised her eyebrows. Clint’s words hadn’t frightened her. Far from it. Her face was a mask of contempt.

She turned towards Abbie.

“I’ll be needing the gun.”

Abbie tutted. “Elected politicians can’t be performing executions, even on scumbags like this. Unless it was in your manifesto, I suppose.”

“No more jokes. Give me the gun.”

But Abbie shook her head. “He’s pathetic and defenceless.” She looked at Clint. “You’re free to go. I suggest you move pretty sharpish. That wound needs medical attention.”

“You cannot be serious.” Isabel again. Sammy didn’t seem ready to offer an opinion; Courtney was.

“Abbie’s right.”

Clint realised he was not best served by listening to this argument. Until today, the world had consistently underestimated him. Over the last 24 hours, he had proven how resilient and resourceful he was. This was simply another opportunity to show he could survive against the odds.

The women argued, but Clint stopped listening. He forced himself to his feet and turned from the room. After being stabbed in the back, he could only hope no one shot him in the skull as he walked away.

His head was heavy; his eyes were on the floor as he spread his hands on either side to hold the walls and keep himself from falling. He needed to see where he was going. With a grunt, he dragged his head up and looked down the corridor.

At the end of which stood an agitated man pacing around the landing with a gun.

59

Abbie and Courtney stood side by side, and Sammy could not help but notice the similarities. It was not only their looks – although those eyes were strikingly similar – but also their posture and speech, things you wouldn’t think Courtney could have picked up from her mother, given they’d never met. It was almost like seeing double. Sammy found the effect disorienting and had to look away.

First, his eyes found Jared. The man who had attacked Sammy’s sister and, if Clint was to be believed, had wanted to sexually abuse her. Sammy had locked him up. He remembered the feeling of self-loathing when Jared had escaped. Now the bastard was dead, murdered by his younger brother.

That had to be the only good thing Clint had ever done.

“Fine.” Sammy turned to Isabel as she spoke. “Let him go. I hope he falls down the stairs and breaks his neck.”

A spell of silence followed this. Isabel’s face was stony, but Sammy knew she could not keep it up. He counted in his head, and before five seconds had passed, her expression had transformed into one of joy and relief. Tears welled in her eyes, as they had in Sammy’s when he’d seen Courtney for the first time since her kidnap.

“Come here,” she said, and Courtney obliged, running over and throwing her arms around her eldest sibling.

Except, of course, they weren’t siblings. They weren’t related by anything other than lies.

Sammy looked at Abbie and was unsurprised to see she had to turn away from Courtney and Isabel’s show of familial affection. He wanted to say something but wasn’t sure what. Then, a distraction arrived in the form of his stepmother, who rose from her position on the floor.

“Baby, I’m so glad you’re safe.”

At first, Courtney acted as though she hadn’t heard her mother. The silence was awkward. Sammy doubted if Isabel cared, but Abbie looked at her feet, and he felt uncomfortable. He met Xylina’s gaze and saw nothing but grief in those eyes.

Finally, Courtney pulled away from her sister. The teen glanced at Abbie but looked away in a flash, her eyes returning to the woman who had raised her.

“Tell me the truth. This is your only chance.”

Sammy had always been amazed at how grown up his younger sister seemed. When she visited at Christmas, he marvelled at how she behaved like an adult while Hugh acted like a teenager. She had never appeared more grown up and world-weary than when she made these demands of her mother.

“I don’t know how to make you understand,” Xylina said.

Courtney refused to respond. She had made her demand. As far as she was concerned, that was it.

“I’m your mother, and you’re my daughter. That’s how it’s always been.”

“What about her?” Courtney jerked a thumb at Abbie.

Xylina closed her eyes as though she could make this conversation go away. It didn’t work. Courtney was still there when she opened them, and Xylina had to say something.

“How can I make you understand? You’re thirteen”

“Fine.” Courtney turned to Abbie. “You tell me what happened. You’re my birth mother, aren’t you?”

Abbie glanced at Xylina, seemed to mull over her options, and then nodded.

“Why didn’t you raise me? I heard what that guy Perry said. He made it sound as though my parents had stolen me. Is that what happened?”

Abbie paused again, looked at Xylina again. There was pity in her eyes. She did not want to rip out the ex-model’s heart.

Courtney got tired of waiting and spun to her siblings.

“One of you going to tell me the truth? Or will you keep me in the dark? Doesn’t anyone believe I deserve some honesty?”

Sammy didn’t know what to say, but the power of his sister’s stare was intense. He would break before long, and the words would flow free.

Except Isabel broke first.

“Courtney, babe, I think⁠—“

“This woman was a teenage drug addict.”

Xylina’s words were sharp and desperate. They cut Isabel’s sentence clean down the middle.

Silence followed. Courtney twisted back to her mother, and when she did, Xylina continued to babble, her pitch high, her tone almost hysterical. She couldn’t stop herself.

“Your father and I were expecting a baby, and we were overjoyed. Then they told us there were problems. Our girl was born, but she… she didn’t make it. I thought that was it. That I’d die because I’d lost my child. There was nothing left to live for.”

Xylina paused for breath, and Sammy hoped – no, prayed – she would find a way to stop before she went too far. If she hadn’t already.

It wasn’t to be. The stone was rolling down the hill and could only gather pace. There was no stopping it.

“Your father was as despondent as me, then one of his contacts got in touch. There was a girl, a teenager. Her. A tearaway more interested in booze and boys than in making something of her life. She’d fallen pregnant, and when her parents disowned her, she freaked out and told everyone her pregnancy wasn’t the result of sleeping around. No. She claimed your father’s contact’s son and his friends had⁠—“

“Xylina, stop.” The words burst from Sammy before he knew he was going to speak. He felt hot rage as Xylina met his eye. “Think about what you’re saying.”

“It’s clear what she’s saying,” Courtney said. “That my biological mother told everyone I was the product of rape.”

Xylina flushed. Her intention was to bad-mouth Abbie. Inadvertently, she’d revealed that Courtney’s biological father was a monster. She sensed the need to row back. Except not in any meaningful sense.

“It was all nonsense. The desperate lies of a troubled teenager. That isn’t what matters anyway. She couldn’t look after a baby. What life could she have given you? But me and your father… we had all this love to give, and I don’t need to tell you about the quality of life we knew we could give you. You’ve lived that life.”

Sammy could no longer take it. He stepped back before his anger overtook him. He turned from the group as Abbie spoke, her voice quiet but laced with shaking fury.

“You know, Xy, I felt quite sorry for you in spite of everything. I can see you love Courtney, so despite what you and your husband did, I considered keeping quiet and walking away. Because who am I to bring down the walls of Courtney’s reality? Who am I to sully and tarnish the memories of her life?”

There was such raw emotion and pain in Abbie’s voice that Sammy could not bear to look at her. Instead, he walked towards the hallway. Here, he saw that Clint had risen and was swaying, but he did nothing to intervene as the kidnapper took his first step towards freedom.

“Two things changed,” Abbie continued. “Firstly, through conversations with you, Perry, and Clint, plus an incredible amount of perception and intelligence, Courtney has worked most of this out. Second, I can’t let you lie about me. I won’t.”

Sammy was still watching Clint stumble down the hall. He did not look back but heard Abbie’s feet shift and knew she was facing Courtney. He imagined the moment his sister and Abbie’s eyes met.

“I’ve never taken drugs, and I’d never drank until the day a dangerous man’s son spiked my drink and did things to me I cannot bear to repeat. It’s true my parents essentially disowned me, but not because of anything I did wrong. It took me years to understand that. That I was the victim; my parents’ prejudices and preconceptions the problem. Despite the picture Xylina paints, I was an ordinary teenage girl until that night. I did my homework, worried about exams, and spent time with my friends. Only in the aftermath of that awful night did I begin to fall apart. During that period, I might have turned into the person Xylina described if not for two people.”

Clint stopped, but not because he had lost the strength to go on. It was as though he had seen something.

“The first was my sister. She was my best friend and my rock. The second was you. My baby. Months before your due date, you were my everything; I couldn’t wait to welcome you to the world.”

Sammy could hear the tears in Abbie’s voice. It broke his heart.

“The day I lost you destroyed me. They made me believe you were dead, and still, I dreamed every night of a time I might see you again.”

Clint collapsed, falling onto his front⁠—

“I’ve been searching for you since I discovered you survived.”

— Revealing the enraged face of an armed Tariq.

“Now I’ve found you, and I don’t know what to do.”

Tariq and Sammy’s eyes met. Grief and pain dominated Tariq’s expression. His actions seemed lost and confused until a second after he met Sammy’s gaze.

Then the gun came up, and he released a guttural roar.

Sammy called out on instinct.

“Abbie.”

Everyone was already moving to the door to see what was happening. Sammy turned to see his sisters and rushed to push them back.

“Into the room. Go.”

“My sister.” Tariq was all but screaming. “You killed my sister.”

He fired three shots. Sammy dived to the floor, and Izzy, Xylina, and Courtney rushed back into the room.

Tariq stormed down the hall, almost tripping over Clint as he came. Sammy was still down, and as he tried to scramble into the room, he bumped into someone’s legs.

Abbie stepped over him.

“Tariq. Stop.”

He did. Sammy rose. Isabel and Xylina were out of the way in one corner, but Courtney had stayed close to the door. Sammy took her hand, nudging her away from the danger.

They could no longer see what was happening but could hear well enough.

“I’m sorry about your sister,” Abbie said.

“I trusted you,” came the desperate, grief-stricken reply. “You told me Hugh would never hurt Zaria, and I believed you.”

“I was right.”

“Bernard killed her.”

“That was nothing to do with Hugh. She’d found something out that he⁠—“

“Shut up.” The scream almost shattered the window. “My father couldn’t take it. When he found out, his heart gave out. He died. I wasn’t even the one to tell him. I didn’t get to say goodbye to either of them. Bernard did that.”

“Yes, he did.”

“I went to kill him at the hospital, but it was too late. He was already dead.”

Sammy felt Courtney’s grip on his hand tighten. A flash of grief swept through his heart. His father had murdered an innocent young woman and stolen a baby. In many ways, he had been an awful man. He was also Sammy’s father, and Sammy had loved him.

“I’m so sorry for your losses, Tariq.”

“You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“You have to pay.”

“Listen—“

Tariq grunted. There was a struggle. Courtney’s eyes flicked to Sammy, and he stepped towards the door.

The gun went off.

A second later, Abbie stumbled into the room, her face covered in blood.

She looked at her daughter.

And collapsed.

60

Clint fell on his face and knew it was game over. He was going to die.

The man he didn’t recognise stormed past him, gun outstretched.

Then Clint got up, which surprised even himself. He only wished someone was around to be impressed by this feat of superhuman perseverance. The world blurred, and his legs turned numb, but he reached the landing and was wondering how exactly he would make it to the bottom of the stairs when someone appeared at the top.

Their eyes met – a strange sensation, like looking into a mirror. Sure, the newcomer was female and maybe prettier than him; apart from that, the similarities were startling. Pale skin, dim eyes, and a knife wound. Clint managed to focus on this woman, and she managed to focus on him. He realised they were going to fight on this landing. They would probably both die. At least one certainly would, and Clint decided it would be her. After all, he had the advantage. She was at the top of the stairs. All he had to do was lean forward and shove her, and she would tumble to the bottom. In her condition, there was no way she would survive such a fall.

He was impressed that his foggy mind had formed such a good plan. He would have put it into action if his reflection hadn’t leaned forward and shoved him before he could move.

It was a light shove, but that was all it took. Clint stumbled back a step and then fell.

His head smacked the wall.

It didn’t hurt. He was passed that by now. What it did was everything the woman had intended it to. She stumbled past him, staggering down the hall like a zombie with the scent of brains in its nostrils.

Clint lay with his head against the wall as the world folded in around him. He knew he would never move again. Not of his own volition. More importantly, he would never conquer the world. The woman had stolen his chance to prove if he could even have conquered the staircase.

It was over, and it wasn’t fair. He had spent his life with a piano on his back, surrounded by people who did nothing besides belittle and demean him. Years he had wasted shrouded in unhappiness. Why? Because he never realised he was unhappy until the last few hours when he finally experienced what happiness could be. When he finally saw what he was capable of.

It wasn’t fair. Why couldn’t he have been born into a different family? Why had he been so unlucky?

Because.

That was the answer. The only one he would ever get. The final answer he would get to any question because he could feel the last of his life slipping away. He thought he could have achieved great things, but he was under no illusions that those achievements would have been anything other than unlawful and unkind. He could not fool himself into believing he was about to ascend into the heavens.

Clint would drop into hell, and as the world faded to black, his final thoughts were two questions.

Would his brother and mother be waiting for him?

How awful would that be?

61

Lorna saw the bleeding man on the landing and struggled to focus on his face. She didn’t recognise him, so her mind screamed ENEMY, and instinct took over.

She shoved his chest. He went down, but she did not wait to see if he would rise or die. Split focus was not what she needed. The bleeding man was not Morgan’s murderer, so she considered him no longer.

Voices echoed from nearby. A corridor stretched out ahead. It seemed to lengthen as she looked at it, like something out of Alice in Wonderland.

At the end of the lengthening hall were two people. One was Morgan’s killer. The other was a woman, and Lorna guessed who she was.

Focus stole over her. For a moment, it was as though she were not dealing with a stab wound. She could see the man with the gun and hear his accusations. It would be seconds before he tried to kill Abbie. Knowing Abbie, she could handle the situation without help. Lorna intended to offer her assistance anyway.

She stumbled down the corridor as the murderer screamed, “Shut up.” He rambled about his father and sister, and Lorna realised this man must be Tariq. Crazed as he was, there was no chance he would notice her approach. Abbie did. Her eyes flicked to Lorna for a split second. Then they were back on Tariq, and she continued her conversation about Bernard.

Lorna carried on up the corridor. She was only a few feet away when Tariq announced Bernard’s death. She took another step.

Stopped.

Forward momentum was vital. The second Lorna stopped, the strength left her body. Gravity seemed to grab her, intent on dragging her to the ground.

Abbie said, “I’m so sorry for your losses, Tariq.”

Lorna took a breath and braced herself for one last push.

Tariq said, “You lied to me.”

“I didn’t lie.”

“You have to pay.”

Lorna somehow managed to take three staggering steps and perform a half-jump, half-fall, throwing out her arms as Abbie spoke.

“Listen—“

Lorna landed on Tariq and closed her arms. It was an inelegant mount, but she got enough of a hold that as her body fell, she dragged him with her.

Tariq tried to keep from collapsing. He thrashed around, his arms flying out to either side.

The gun went off.

Blood spouted from Abbie’s face, and she stumbled through the door.

Lorna wanted to take Tariq down, but she had nothing left to give. He turned and shoved, and she fell. This time, she was unable to hold her target.

She hit the floor.

Tariq stepped her way and seemed to consider her. She thought he might end her life, but he didn’t. Why bother? She was no threat, and he wasn’t a monster. This was about revenge. Morgan had been a mistake. He wouldn’t kill Lorna if he didn’t have to.

Well, except that he had probably already killed her.

She wanted to say something. To do something to stop him from entering the room and completing his plot.

But she couldn’t. There was nothing she could do.

Nothing, except stare at the ceiling as Tariq turned from her and walked into the room in pursuit of Abbie and other innocents.

62

Tariq entered the room, and Sammy smashed a fist into the side of his head and stomped on his outer thigh. When Zaria’s enraged brother went down, Sammy followed, using fists and feet to knock him out.

Courtney raced across the carpet and dropped by her biological mother’s side.

“Abbie? Abbie? Where were you hit? Where did he shoot you?”

Abbie had gone down hard, but she came up fast at her daughter’s voice, taking bloody hands from her mouth and wiping them on her top.

“Bastard busted my nose when he was flailing about. If that doesn’t justify execution, nothing does.”

Courtney stared, taking in the older woman’s face, the dried blood around her nose. The way it covered her hands and soaked her top.

“A busted nose?” the teen said, incredulous. “That’s it?”

“That’s it? Why don't I smack you in the face and see if you think the phrase that’s it does it justice? You know, a woman stabbed me not long ago; that wasn’t half as painful as this. Or maybe that’s recency bias. I don’t know.”

She looked at her daughter and fought the swell of emotion. This felt like a moment, but that was all her. She had to be careful not to impose feelings on a situation that were not there.

“Not so impressive now as when I dealt with Isaac, huh? Please believe that this is me at my lowest. I don’t usually⁠—“

Courtney threw her arms around Abbie’s neck and squeezed. For several seconds, she could not make her limbs work. She had to force them up and around the teen in an action that should have been one of the most natural in the world – a mother hugging her daughter.

“I’m glad you’re not dead,” Courtney said.

“I’m pretty fond of the outcome myself.”

Courtney laughed and squeezed a little tighter. Tears rolled down Abbie’s face. That felt entirely appropriate. This was everything she had ever wanted – a moment she never honestly thought could come, even when she learned her daughter’s identity and realised the opportunity to meet her was finally within reach.

“You’re a pretty cool kid,” she said.

“I’m not a kid.”

“Whatever, young adult.”

Another laugh. The hug ended, and Abbie’s daughter looked her in the eyes as though preparing to say… something.

“Courtney.”

It was Isabel. She sat against the wall on one side of the room. She had one arm on Xylina’s leg, and like Abbie, she had tears in her eyes. Only, in Isabel’s case, the tears represented a different emotion.

Courtney stared at her sister. She could not bear to turn her eyes to her mother.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. It’s your mum.”

“No.”

“When Tariq started shooting… I thought we got out of the way in time, but…”

She couldn’t go on. As she stopped speaking, she shifted, and for the first time, Abbie saw the blood, and her heart sank. Courtney saw it too. She gaped. Then her gaze rose to her mother’s blank, empty eyes.

And she started to scream.

63

The view was beautiful. Lorna could have stood there until she turned to dust and the wind blew her into the ocean.

She tried to imagine Abbie and Ariana fighting and falling over the cliff edge into the rough seas, as had apparently happened. It was tough. She’d met Ariana, and they had become fast friends. Ana seemed to love Abbie, and the feeling was mutual. It was hard to picture them as enemies.

The sea lapped against the rocks below, a soothing sound that seemed to drag Lorna forward, like a Siren’s song, enticing her towards oblivion.

That soothing call brought her to the edge of the rock, the toes of her bare feet curling over the precipice. The wind whipped through her hair and pushed at her back as though working in tandem with the ocean to push her over.

Would it be so bad to fall? The world often seemed such an ugly place without Morgan. Perhaps her best bet was to die in a location of undeniable beauty.

Someone slid open the door at the other end of the rock balcony and stepped from the house. The sound seemed to come from a million miles away. So did the voice that followed. The wind scattered the words before they reached Lorna. Nature wanted her to die; it could not have anyone stealing its victim.

Feet on the rock, coming towards her. She fought the temptation to step over the edge and turned to face the newcomer. The wind picked up as she did, buffeting her face in anger.

“It’s a wonderful view, isn’t it?” Alice, who owned the home that butted against this gorgeous landscape, stopped beside Lorna, looking out at sea. “Somewhat sullied for me, I’m afraid. My husband died falling off his boat just over there.” She pointed into the distance. “As you know, Ana went over the edge here. For some hours, I believed her dead. The eldest of my daughters did die on this balcony.” She looked at Lorna. “I find tragedy can tarnish even the most gorgeous setting.”

Lorna shifted uncomfortably. It had been a couple of weeks since she’d come to stay with Alice. She had grown close with Ariana and spent time getting to know Alice’s son, Abe; Abbie’s older brother, Gray; and Felicity, the delightful teenager Abbie was attempting to adopt. She had spent less time with Alice and felt nervous in the older woman’s presence.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “Losing two daughters the way you did… It can’t… I can’t even imagine what that must have been like.”

“Sure you can.”

Lorna looked at Alice, confused, and the older woman smiled.

“There’s no scale for grief. When I came out here, you were standing on the edge of the rock. I can’t read minds, but I’d be shocked to learn you weren’t contemplating jumping. I could almost see the weight of your grief crushing you. And I recognised that grief as the same as my own. Not lesser.”

The kindness in these words almost caused Lorna to burst into tears. How could her grief be as great as Alice’s? The older woman had lost two daughters and two husbands. Lorna had lost her friend. Sure, he was her world, the only man who mattered. Maybe she loved him. Did that make it the same? She didn’t see that it could.

Regardless, one question needed to be asked.

“Does it get better?”

Alice gave this some thought before responding.

“I don’t know about better. Ask Abbie how often she thinks of her sister. Violet died over a decade ago, but she’ll say every day. Ask her if it still hurts, and she’ll tell you it hurts like hell. The pain never goes, but it becomes more manageable. At the start, you think you’ll never find a way to live anything resembling an ordinary life. But you do. Eventually.”

The sea continued to lap at the rocks, uninterested in their conversation. Lorna stared at that beautiful horizon and tried and failed to imagine a world where the grief of losing Morgan remained, but she managed to live an ordinary life. She kept thinking of that cartoon bear on that stupid drink. The way she had mocked him for it. Now, that simple moment epitomised everything that was perfect about Morgan. That almost childlike innocence. The fun spirit. The complete lack of self-consciousness. All the things she took too long to recognise as desirable traits.

How could she live an ordinary life now that a stray knife had stolen that spirit from the world?

Then again, what did she know? Abbie and Alice were years further along in their grief. They knew how it went better than her.

“Thank you for letting me stay, by the way.”

Alice waved this away.

“I like a busy house. You stick around as long as you like.”

“I have money. I can⁠—”

“And don’t talk to me about rent, food, or anything else financial. I have more money than I know what to do with. I don’t need any more.”

Someone rang the doorbell. The sound chimed through the halls and reached the balcony. Alice put a hand on Lorna’s shoulder.

“I’ll be back.”

True to her word, she returned a minute later, accompanied by a guest. Lorna raised a hand as he stepped onto the balcony.

“Hello, Sammy. Looking handsome as ever.”

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Alice said and went inside as Sammy joined Lorna.

“Good to see you,” he said. “Abbie wasn’t lying about this view.”

“She sure wasn’t.”

They stood in silence for a minute before Sammy spoke again.

“How’ve you been getting on?”

“Pretty well. I’ve got good company, great views, and Alice’s breakfasts are to die for. It’s true what they say about the sea air. I feel healthier than I have in years. Also, I lost my best friend, and I’m dying inside – every minute of every day. It puts a real dampener on the other stuff I mentioned.”

“I get that.”

Another minute of silence, then Lorna realised she was being rude.

“And you?”

“We buried my father and stepmother yesterday.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.”

“No reason to be.”

“Still, you must be… I don’t know.”

He nodded as though Lorna had made sense. “It was a hard day. Not because of the grief but the confusion.”

“What do you mean?”

“How should I feel about these people?” He looked at Lorna, but she saw he was not hoping for an answer. “It’s easier with Xylina. For a start, she was my stepmother, so the feelings were never as strong. Secondly, it’s easier to excuse her actions. She was a lonely young woman in a new country who fell in love and was pregnant before she knew it. My father and her child were all she had. Losing a baby could send anyone crazy; in those circumstances, I can see why she agreed to my father’s suggestion. You probably think I shouldn’t be making excuses.”

“Not at all. I can see exactly why you’re making them, and the logic is sound.”

“Yeah, kind of. I can say it got away from her, but what she agreed to do was still awful, and when it all came out, Xylina said some unforgivable things about Abbie. I wouldn’t blame Abbie for hating her.”

“Nor would I,” Lorna said. “But she doesn’t. She’s not like that.”

“You’re right. I can see she’s not. Anyway, despite everything, I find it easier to excuse her. Xylina, I mean.”

The unspoken words hung heavy in the air. It was easier to excuse Xylina than Bernard, and for a while, Sammy stood staring at the sea, thinking.

“I was supposed to say a few words about Dad at the funeral, but what could I say? That I loved him? I did love him. I do. But how could I stand there and say that, knowing he arranged to steal a baby from the stomach of a seventeen-year-old? Knowing that when the truth of that crime looked like coming out, he killed an innocent young woman in an attempt to cover his crimes. A woman, by the way, with whom his younger son was in love. How messed up is that?”

“Very.” What else could she say?

“I couldn’t say anything. Isabel had to do it. Courtney was in no fit state; Hugh didn’t even show, not that I blame him.”

“Being a politician, I’m sure Isabel did a fantastic job.”

This drew a smile from Sammy, but there was still conflict in his eyes – the pain of loving his father but feeling guilty for doing so. She considered the predicament and was surprised to realise she had something to say that might even be useful.

“I think your feelings for your father are what they are. Nothing you can do to change them, so to attempt to modify them based on what he did or what you think you should feel is an exercise in futility. He’s gone. The funeral’s over. Let your feelings be whatever they need to be. Mourn him, hate him, or a little of both. It’s all good.”

“That’s wise.”

“Isn’t it? It turns out it’s easy to be wise when advising about hearts and minds other than your own.”

Sammy absorbed this before meeting Lorna’s gaze.

“Morgan seemed like a top bloke.”

“The toppest.”

“I know I hardly knew him, and I hardly know you, but I reckon he’d be so proud of what you did at the house. Taking on Clint, then Tariq, despite your wounds. That’s hero stuff.”

“I am pretty heroic.”

Lorna tried to keep her voice light, but there were tears in her eyes, and her voice caught halfway through her short sentence. Sammy gripped her arm but didn’t speak, allowing Lorna the time to gather herself.

“You’re right.” She dried her eyes. “He would’ve been proud. And if I have to go on living, which seems to be my lot, I’ll have to go on making him proud.”

Sammy left his hand on Lorna’s arms for a few more moments, then took it away.

“I think you’ll do a wonderful job.”

They resumed their silent observation of the ocean, but it was a comfortable silence now, less bogged down by the weight of their respective guilt and grief. It lasted until Alice reappeared on the balcony.

“Abbie’s home.”

“Thanks,” said Sammy. “I have a gift for her.”

He turned and went with Alice. Intrigued. Lorna followed.

64

There was something wonderful about getting in the car and driving to school to pick up her daughter. The ordinariness of it filled Abbie with heart-bursting joy.

It was silly. For one thing, Felicity wasn’t her daughter. For another, most parents drove and parked like idiots. More often than not, Abbie had to resist ramming into them.

She never did, and things were different once they were out of their cars. Abbie was even beginning to make friends.

As for Felicity, she might not have been Abbie’s daughter, but it felt that way. At least for Abbie. She flattered herself that Felicity was in the same mental boat.

On the way home, Felicity talked incessantly. Abbie was known as a talker and was not used to sitting quietly while someone else monologued, but she loved listening to Felicity. She was thrilled that the teen was getting on so well at school. Thriving, even. Despite the time spent away from education, she was doing well in all her classes and had made a tight-knit group of friends. Though she hadn’t said as much, Abbie even suspected she might have a crush.

Happy days.

They pulled into the drive as Felicity told Abbie about the gruelling history assignment her strictest teacher had set the class. It would be tough. Mr Simon believed the class would struggle. Abbie could tell the thought of proving him wrong excited Felicity, and she loved that about the girl.

She noted the car that didn’t belong as she pulled in next to Abe’s Ford and was wondering if it was Alice who had visitors or someone else when the front door opened, and the woman herself appeared, followed closely by Lorna and the man to whom the car presumably belonged.

Abbie and Felicity got out, and Abbie waved to Sammy.

“That the guy from your last nightmare?” The teen asked.

“It is.”

“He’s cute.”

“Hush, child.”

Felicity giggled as they reached the front door. There were awkward hellos and introductions. Then Sammy cleared his throat and glanced at Alice, who took the hint.

“Felicity, why don’t we get you something to eat?”

The teen didn’t seem keen, but Lorna put a hand on her arm.

“Come on. I want to hear what Stephanie did about Marie.”

While Abbie and Felicity had fallen into a comfortable mother-daughter style relationship, and Alice acted as a grandmother, Lorna and Ariana had revelled in becoming something akin to cool aunts, both lapping up the teen’s gossip.

Felicity beamed at Lorna’s suggestion and was already rabbiting on about Marie’s crimes and Stephanie’s revenge as the trio of women stepped through the door, closing it behind them.

That left Sammy and Abbie.

“She seems a sweet kid.”

“Naturally,” Abbie said. “It’s like the old saying goes: the adopted apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.”

Sammy laughed. “It’s good to see you again.”

“It’s good to see you, too. How was the funeral? Is that a crap question?”

“It was fine, and it’s not. Maybe we can talk about it. It would be great to catch up properly soon.”

“Not now?” What was that feeling? Disappointment? How pathetic was that?

Sammy’s smile hadn’t dropped.

“I have a surprise for you.”

She raised her eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“Someone’s here to see you.”

He raised a hand to his car, and the passenger side door opened.

Courtney stepped out.

Abbie felt her breath catch and her heart stop. It was amazing that something so simple as seeing her daughter could cause her body to cease functioning.

“I told her she didn’t have to,” Abbie said. “After everything that happened, and with her parents’ funeral… I hope she didn’t feel pushed.”

“Not at all. This was her idea.”

The girl approached but stopped a few feet away, and mother and daughter’s gazes met.

Abbie was speechless. Sammy lay a hand on her shoulder.

“I’ll leave you to it.”

Sammy turned, and Abbie caught his arm.

“Thank you.”

A shrug. “Like I said, this was all her.”

He went inside, leaving Abbie alone with her daughter. There was an awkward silence, and then Abbie stepped forward, closing the gap between them by half. She touched her chest as if to get her heart beating again. It seemed to work. All that remained was to kickstart her vocal cords.

But it was Courtney who found the bravery to talk. Her eyes swept over her mother’s shoulders, taking in the building, the beach, and the ocean.

“Amazing home.”

Abbie glanced back as though she had never seen the place. Or had forgotten what it looked like.

“Yeah,” she said. “It’s pretty good.”

More silence. This time, Abbie was determined to be the one to break it.

“This isn’t great, is it? I’m the adult here, which probably means I should direct proceedings, but I feel lost. Not a feeling I’m used to, by the way.”

Courtney gave a sideways smile. “I believe it. I saw you deal with Isaac, remember? You told him you love giving speeches.”

“I do love a speech. I could probably give one right now, but I’m unsure how useful it’d be. I’d end up talking about Eastenders or the melting ice caps. Or butter.”

“Butter?”

“Different varieties. Low fat vs standard, spreadable vs block, that kind of thing. Does colour matter? It shouldn’t, but some of them are this deep yellow that I find quite disconcerting. I avoid those.”

Courtney laughed. “You’re a strange woman.”

“That is what people say, and I’ve no reason to doubt them.”

Still chuckling, like someone far older than her thirteen years, Courtney took a few steps forward. There was now less than a metre between them.

“Maybe I can give this whole speech thing a go?”

Abbie was taken aback but pleased. “Why not? We can see if it runs in the blood.”

Was that a step too far? Mentioning their relationship? Abbie tried not to think about it.

“My parents died,” Courtney said, “and it hurt like nothing I’ve ever experienced. Which I guess makes sense, right?”

“Perfect sense.”

“Are your parents alive? Man, I guess they’d be my grandparents, huh?”

“Yes and yes, although I wouldn’t expect any Christmas presents. We don’t get on, them and me.”

“Oh yeah. They disowned you because… because of me.”

“No.”

“No?”

“They disowned me because of them.”

The girl smiled, grateful.

“I lost my little sister,” Abbie said. “And I loved her with all my heart, so I get what you’re feeling.”

Courtney nodded. “I’m not great at this speech thing, am I?”

“Technically, you shouldn’t ask questions or engage with the recipient of your monologue. That’s a conversation, but I’ll let you off.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you want to continue? You don’t have to.”

“I’d like to try.”

“Then please, go ahead.”

Courtney bit her lip, wrestling with the magnitude of the task ahead, then dived in.

“My parents died, and at first, I hated your guts. See, I figured the guy who kidnapped me was only doing it to get back at you. If you hadn’t pissed him off, he’d never have taken me, and my parents would be alive. So, I hated you.”

“Understandable.”

“Yeah, maybe, except not really. I couldn’t stop thinking about it; at first, that was cathartic. It meant lots of time hating you, but the more it occupied my mind, the more I started thinking logically. At which point, everything I thought I believed began to unravel, you know?”

“I can’t believe someone your age knows the word cathartic.”

“What? Oh, yeah, whatever. Anyway, I realised my kidnapping wasn’t your fault. That’s all on this Ben or Perry, or whatever he was called.”

“Either’s fine.”

“Okay, but that isn’t the end of it. Tariq shot my mum, didn’t he?”

Abbie said nothing. It was apparent the memory was raw. Simply saying the words aloud tore at Courtney’s soul, but she fought to continue.

“He only did that because Dad killed Zaria, which had nothing to do with you. Zaria found out Dad’s secret, and he killed her to keep her quiet, so Mum’s death was on him. He’s to blame.”

Courtney’s cheeks were wet. Abbie wanted to hug the teen and tell her she was wrong; her father wasn’t to blame. Abbie was. It was all her fault. Who cared if that was true? She wished to make it easier on the girl.

Instead, she remained still and silent, and the teen continued.

“He’s also to blame for his death, isn’t he? None of this would have happened if he hadn’t paid his disgusting mate to steal a baby to replace the one he’d lost. Replace. I feel disgusting saying that about a baby, as if they’re dishwashers. That’s what he was doing, though, wasn’t he? Replacing the broken model with one that worked.”

The girl was tearing herself apart. Abbie could no longer keep her mouth shut.

“Grief is an awful thing. It makes us crazy, and at times, it drives us to⁠—“

“Don’t. Please, just don’t.”

Courtney dried her eyes on her sleeve, gathering herself.

“I stopped hating you, which was horrible because guilt replaced that hate. My parents destroyed your life. They’re monsters by any definition for what they did to you. Yet, I have all these amazing memories because they were incredible parents. How’s that fair? I feel like I’ve stolen those memories. I don’t deserve them. I just… it’s not…

Abbie’s legs were moving before she knew what she was doing. She came to the girl and pulled her into a hug. It was instinctual and unplanned, and she regretted it right away. Surely, this was the last thing Courtney needed?

Then, after a few seconds, the teen hugged her back, sobbing into her shoulder. They stayed that way for a couple of minutes. When Courtney finally pulled away, Abbie looked the girl in the eye before speaking.

“You mustn’t feel guilty. Not for a single second, do you hear? You had no idea where you came from. All you knew was that you had two parents who loved you and gave you a wonderful childhood. You must never feel guilty and never apologise for that. Promise me you won’t.”

Courtney sniffed but nodded.

“I’ll try.”

“Good. Good, I’m happy.”

She felt an urge to give the girl another hug but fought it, patting her shoulders and stepping away.

“I had to say all that so we could move on to whatever comes next,” Courtney said.

Abbie nodded. “I understand.”

“I’m not sure what that is, though. It depends.”

“On?”

“Well…” the girl shrugged and looked at her shoes. “Sammy told me about Felicity. You’re adopting her?”

“Trying to.”

Courtney kicked the ground. She still could not look at Abbie, and Abbie felt her heart go out to the girl.

“You’ve probably got used to not having your real daughter around, and if you’ve got this Felicity, maybe you don’t want a relationship with me anyway, which would be totally fine and everything. I’m just putting it out there.”

The words raced out of the girl’s mouth in an almost indecipherable mess. By the end, she was red-faced and breathing hard. Luckily, Abbie could pick through the wreckage of the blurt and discern the girl’s meaning.

“Felicity,” she said, “is in my care, and I’m trying to adopt her, but it goes deeper than that. I see her as a daughter and love her like one.” Courtney’s head drooped. Abbie cupped her chin and tilted it up. “But don’t for a second think that means I don’t have room in my life for you. I spent over a decade mourning your loss, and every available minute since I learned you were alive searching for you. I never saw Felicity as your replacement. Neither would I push her aside to have a relationship with you. In my perfect world, I have the same relationship with Felicity as I do now, but one with you as well. That depends on you, though. I’d never push you beyond where you felt comfortable. Whatever kind of relationship you want is fine with me.”

Courtney smiled. Said, “I’ve got work to do if I’m ever to get as good at speeches as you.”

Abbie laughed. “You’ll never be that good, but you could get close.”

As they laughed together, the door opened, and Sammy stepped out. Felicity and Gray followed.

“Sorry,” said Sammy. “If you need more time?”

“It’s okay,” Courtney said. She wasn’t looking at her brother. Her eyes went to the people she didn’t recognise. Abbie referenced her only other blood relative.

“This is my brother, Gray.”

“My uncle, I guess,” Courtney said.

Gray sobbed and rushed over to shake the teen’s hand.

“I’ve been waiting to meet you for so many years.”

Courtney blushed, and Abbie kicked her brother’s shin. “Probably a bit much.”

“Sorry. You look so much like my sisters. Both of them. It really is amazing to meet you.”

“Thank you. You too.” Courtney was blushing even more. Abbie nudged Gray away, and Felicity took his place. Abbie put a hand on her soon-to-be adoptive daughter’s shoulder as she looked at her biological child.

“Felicity, this is Courtney. Courtney, meet Felicity.”

The two girls stepped towards one another. They were of a similar age, similar height, and similar build. Abbie watched, amazed, as they said nervous hellos. It was almost impossible to comprehend something so wonderful happening to her.

“I heard about your parents,” Felicity said. “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you.”

“Nothing will make up for what happened. But as it goes, I’d say you’re pretty lucky to have Abbie as a biological mum.”

“More than just a mum,” Courtney said. “From what Abbie says, I think we’re pretty much sisters. If you wanted, maybe we could swap numbers?”

Felicity beamed. “Sounds awesome.”

They did. Then Felicity stepped back, smiling at Abbie as she went, and Abbie stepped forward to face her daughter once more.

Courtney looked past Abbie at Sammy, then back at her biological mother.

“I’m living with Isabel right now.”

“That’s good.”

“I wanted to say, no matter what happens with us, Isabel will always be my sister; Sammy and Hugh will always be my brothers.”

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“But maybe you can never have too much family?”

Abbie thought of Alice, Ariana, and Abe; of Felicity; of her brother; and of her daughter. “I think you might be right.”

They smiled at one another, and Courtney got out her phone again.

“I think I’ll need to take things slowly, but we can text at first if that would be okay?”

“More than okay.” Abbie could say no more. Her voice was already breaking.

As had Felicity and Courtney, Abbie and her biological daughter swapped numbers. Then came the awkward, painful goodbyes.

“I’ll let you know I get home safe,” Courtney said.

Abbie couldn’t risk responding. She could only raise a hand in farewell.

As he passed, Sammy gripped Abbie’s elbow and smiled.

“We’ll have that catch-up soon.”

“That’d be nice.”

As Sammy and Courtney got into the car, Abbie tried to hold it together. Gray stepped to her side and held her hand. Felicity came to her other side, and Abbie put her arm around the teen.

Sammy pulled away, and Abbie stood outside her stand-in mother’s house, holding her brother’s hand, with her arm around one daughter, watching another drive away, For now, not forever.

The tears came, but they were not tears of sadness. They represented a swell of happiness Abbie could never previously remember experiencing.

She smiled.

Long may it continue.

THE END

FREE PREQUEL NOVELLA: Saving a young woman’s life leads to Abbie getting caught in the crossfire between a corrupt businesswoman and a deadly gang responsible for multiple armed robberies.

The stakes are high. Abbie was never supposed to become involved in this particular battle. But now that she has, she'll see it through to the end.

Even if it kills her…

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