WANT YOU

GONE

An utterly gripping, edge-of-your-seat crime thriller

SHERYL BROWNE

Detective Inspector Matthew Adams Book 3

Originally published as Deadly Intent

Revised edition 2025

Choc Lit, London

A Joffe Books company

www.choc-lit.com

First published in Great Britain in 2017 as Deadly Intent

© Sheryl Browne 2017, 2025

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental. The spelling used is American English except where fidelity to the author’s rendering of accent or dialect supersedes this. The right of Sheryl Browne to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner for the purpose of training artificial intelligence technologies or systems. In accordance with Article 4(3) of the Digital Single Market Directive 2019/790, Joffe Books expressly reserves this work from the text and data mining exception.

We love to hear from our readers! Please email any feedback you have to: choc-lit@joffebooks.com

Cover art by Nebojša Zorić

ISBN: 978-1781898321

CONTENTS

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Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Epilogue

Thank You

Acknowledgements

About the Author

Also by Sheryl Browne

The Choc Lit Story

Glossary of English Usage for US Readers

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For all my friends and family who have cheered me on

Chapter One

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Daniel saw the light go on in the kitchen. Reflected on the dappled water, the light shimmered and danced across the surface like a thousand amber scribbles. Sighing, he wiped the oil and sweat from his forehead, eased himself painfully from the well of the boat, where he’d had to make a conscious effort to fight the claustrophobia he thought he’d beaten creeping in on him, and set out across the boatyard towards the house.

The night was still, apart from the soft rustle of leaves on the wind and the melodic clink of metal against metal as narrowboats nudged together, bobbing lazily on the water behind him. Daniel used to like this time of day; everything in the boatyard seeming to be sleeping, resting in anticipation of a hectic morning, when the silence would give way to the rhythmic chug of engines and the smell of diesel and oil thick on the air. Not anymore, though. Tomorrow, and every day thereafter until it was sold, the yard would be as still as the night.

Deep in thought, he didn’t notice the black cat slinking towards him, until it mewed plaintively, weaving a figure of eight around his legs as he walked. He bent to stroke the aloof animal before it padded softly off into the night, then watched its sleek progress back along the towpath; his chest constricted as the cat sprang into the air, covering the space between bank and boat in one swift, feral movement, the little bell on its collar tinkling as it went.

Daniel swallowed and tried hard to still a flashback, counting silently backwards in a vain attempt to block it out. Had it really been three months? It seemed like a lifetime ago, only yesterday that Emma was riding around the yard on her shiny new Disney Princess bike, tinkling her bell, bidding everyone to steer clear. It had been hot that day. No rain for weeks, the water levels had been low, the ground parched, and the work gruelling under the midday sun. Daniel had been painting the hull of one of the boats, the thick black gunk only adding to the sticky sweat he was fast getting in. He’d straightened up when he’d caught sight of Joanne coming across the boatyard, her overalls paint-spattered, paint in her hair, slicked across her cheeks, the hosepipe in her hand and a devilish gleam in her pretty green eyes. ‘Joanne, you do not want to do this,’ he’d said as his wife had walked threateningly towards him.

‘Oh, but I do,’ she’d assured him, waggling her eyebrows mischievously as she’d aimed the hose right at him.

Daniel had backed off, almost putting his foot in the paint tray. ‘Joanne, one more step, I swear, and I’ll—’

‘What?’ she’d baited him. ‘Paint me to death?’

‘There are more painful ways to go, Jo,’ he’d growled, stepping towards her as she pointed and shot, soaking him to the skin with shocking cold water, and then soaking them both as he’d tickled her without mercy. They’d both tumbled to the ground eventually, a tangled wet heap, where she’d straddled him before he could blink.

‘Okay, okay, I give in,’ he’d said, preferring to breathe rather than blow icy water.

‘Submit?’ she’d cried victoriously, pinning his arms above him.

He’d just said so and was about to confirm it, when the words died on his lips. ‘Emma!’ he’d shouted urgently instead. ‘Stay away from the water! Emma! Christ!’

Joanne had scrambled fast to her feet, but Daniel had been faster, bolting towards the river, catching hold of the back of the saddle, circling Emma around the waist to pluck her to safety as the front wheel teetered dangerously over the edge of the bank. ‘Emma . . . !’ He’d plonked her firmly on the ground, yanking the bike back with his free hand. ‘What were you doing? You don’t go near the edge, Emma. You know that!’

‘Dad-dy, I can swim, you know.’ She’d sighed, regarding him despairingly from under lush, dark eyelashes, incongruous with her baby-blonde hair.

Daniel’s mouth had twitched into a smile then. He couldn’t help himself, looking at this miniature replica of Jo, acting her mother’s age. ‘I know you can, sweetpops,’ he’d said, crouching down to relate to his five-year-old daughter on her level. ‘But Cat can’t, can he?’ He indicated her Floppy Cat soft toy, which looked scarily real.

‘You’re wet,’ she’d stated matter-of-factly, and then turned to fish Cat out of the bicycle basket and head purposefully back to the house to reappear five minutes later with Cat kitted out in one sadly deflated water wing.

Alone now in the deserted yard and feeling sick to his soul, Daniel closed his eyes briefly and then looked to the stars. ‘Where are you now, baby?’ he asked throatily.

* * *

The clink of glass on glass confirmed his fears. Daniel paused outside before pushing through the back door. He wanted to go in, talk to Jo, reach out, but simply didn’t know how. The rift between them now seemed as wide as an ocean. Daniel wanted to cross it.

God knew he was desperate just to hold her, if nothing else. But how, when Jo couldn’t even bear to be near him?

Cold, she’d called him, an emotional wasteland because he had held himself together, somehow, since the car accident. The way Daniel saw it, he had to. Big boys don’t cry. His father had instilled that in him in childhood, after his mother had died. No, before that — way before, in the cold, sadistic way he did.

Even then, Daniel hadn’t given in to emotion. With silence came safety. And so, Daniel had learned not to utter a word. He counted instead, silently backwards. It was his coping mechanism. It helped him to focus and get through whatever life threw at him. It was no help now, though. There was no way to cope. The problem wasn’t going to go away. The pain would never stop. But no matter how much he wanted to give up, to just stop being, he couldn’t. Daniel held firm to the belief that he had to be strong, for Joanne’s sake and for Kayla who, at fifteen years old, was in danger of going off the rails. It’s what kept him going. He didn’t know how else to do it.

It was a mistaken belief, according to Jo.

‘So, the wanderer returns,’ she said, a definite slur to her voice.

Daniel closed the door behind him and braced himself.

‘You bastard.’ She glared at him as he turned. ‘Did you remember what day it was?’

Daniel ran his hand over his neck. Of course he knew what day it was. How could he ever forget?

‘It’s the fourteenth of September. Her birthday! Did you acknowledge it, Daniel? Even to yourself? Did you acknowledge she even existed?’

Jo’s words aimed to cut deep, and Daniel would have begged her then, if he could have found his voice, to stop. To please, please stop, because it hurt too damn much.

‘Or were you too scared of having to shut up shop and face facts!’ Jo followed him to the sink, where Daniel tried to wash the grime from his hands, wishing he could wash the grime from his soul.

‘It’s your fault!’ Jo grabbed his arm. ‘All of this is your fault.’

Daniel reeled on his feet as the words hit home. Jo was right. Everything that was wrong in their lives was down to him. Joanne’s drinking, Kayla disappearing at night, to study with her friends, she said. More like to trawl Oxford town centre. Daniel knew better — she was talent-spotting, nightclubbing, and hanging out with people she shouldn’t be. He could only hope she didn’t go further astray and take a train into London.

And Emma . . . Jo hadn’t needed to say anything there. He’d known it was his fault. All of it. And how Jo felt about it was patently obvious.

Painfully obvious.

It should have been him.

Christ, how he wished it had been. The numb emptiness of loss permeated his very bones. It seemed as if the sun had never shone where his little girl played. Nothing he could do could make it right. Daniel knew it. He dropped his gaze and raked a hand through his hair. He wanted to scream.

‘Look at you.’ Jo laughed, disbelieving. ‘Completely devoid of emotion. Working away out there as if today was just like any other day.’

‘That’s not what I was doing, Jo,’ Daniel countered calmly. ‘You know it—’

‘So talk to me! Don’t just stand there! Talk to me, Daniel. Look at me, can’t you?’

Daniel met her eyes briefly. Then, unable to trust his own eyes, he looked away.

‘Say something, Daniel, for Kayla’s sake, if not for mine.’

Daniel glanced back to her. ‘What, Jo? What can I say?’

‘Anything!’

Daniel searched her face, saw the pain etched into her eyes. He didn’t want to argue. He couldn’t.

‘You can’t, can you?’ Jo stared at him. ‘It’s just stiff upper lip and business as usual, isn’t it?’

‘No! Jesus . . .’ Surely that wasn’t really what she thought? That he was just carrying on, regardless? Pretending it never happened?

Daniel tried to explain — it was lame, he knew, but it was all he had. ‘Jo, I’m not . . .’ He started falteringly. ‘It’s not . . . The business has to be kept going, Jo. It’s not just about saleable assets, the boats, the workshops. It has to be a viable proposition in terms of turnover. We have to keep the—’

‘I don’t want to hear it, Daniel! None of it! I don’t want to talk about the business. Don’t you see? I want you to come back to me.’

‘I’m here, Jo,’ Daniel said quietly.

‘You’re not! You’re somewhere else. Out there.’ Jo waved a hand towards the yard. ‘Oh, just hurry up and sell the damn business,’ she snapped, and Daniel’s heart dropped like a stone. He knew she didn’t want to talk about the boatyard, the viability of it, the sale of it — any aspect of it. Why would she, when he’d stolen her baby away? He stepped towards her, tentatively reaching out, wishing he could just pull her towards him.

‘Don’t, Daniel.’ Jo recoiled. ‘I can’t do this anymore. I can’t stand it; this . . . person you’ve become.’

‘I know.’ Daniel swallowed hard. ‘Maybe I . . .’ He trailed off, with a heavy sigh. ‘Maybe I should find somewhere else to stay for a while.’ He shrugged disconsolately. ‘Give you some space, if that’s what you need?’

Jo studied him, her head cocked to one side; the anger Daniel saw in her eyes he’d expected, tried to live with. The loathing, though, that scorched holes in his soul. ‘You should,’ she said dispassionately, at length. ‘I think we both need some space, don’t you?’

Daniel nodded, composed on the outside. On the inside, he felt as if he was free-falling into the vast space between them. No, Jo didn’t need him here. Small wonder. He couldn’t comfort her, talk to her. He just didn’t know how. Maybe staying out in the boatyard had been an avoidance technique — to avoid facing this. Whatever . . . it was time to go. Let Jo find her way through without his presence as a constant reminder. He had no idea where he would go, though. He could stay on one of his own boats moored out on the Oxford Canal, he supposed, but with his phobia back to haunt him, the thought of living in a confined space frankly scared him. A B&B then, he guessed. Not in Thrupp though, where everyone would know his and Jo’s business. But this side of Oxford, he decided. At least then he would be close by should they need him.

* * *

Daniel lingered in the hall, debating. Would Jo be all right? Would she go to bed, or spend the night in the company of the bottle? Would she take a pill on top of the wine? Should he move the damn things and hope she’d slip into oblivion before she noticed they were missing? Should he stay?

No, that wasn’t an option. He was only making things worse. The last three months had been pure hell. It was probably better to go than to stay and wind her up further, but, Christ, he didn’t want to. He just wanted to get back to where they were.

‘Impossible,’ he said out loud. Totally fucking impossible. Taking several slow breaths, he dragged a forearm across his eyes and headed for the stairs, looking sharply up as he glimpsed a shadow flitting across the landing.

Damn it! His heart already too heavy with guilt, Daniel realised Kayla had been listening. For how long, though? Had she witnessed the whole sorry episode? Cursing himself, Daniel took the stairs two at a time; his aim was to talk to Kayla, try to assuage some of the hurt and confusion she must be feeling. But then, as Daniel listened outside her bedroom door to his eldest daughter’s misery — his only daughter, now — he decided the best course of action was to remove the source of that misery.

Jo was right. He needed to go.

‘Kayla?’ he called quietly.

She didn’t answer. Daniel hadn’t really expected her to.

‘Kayla,’ he said again, and then knocked softly and pressed the handle down. Putting his head round the door, he stopped short of going in when he saw she was feigning sleep, turned away from him, which told him she didn’t want to see him or speak to him.

Chapter Two

Kayla didn’t bother to wake her mum. She was used to getting herself ready for school. It was no big deal. She pulled on her cool, diamante studded wedge shoes and clumped down to the kitchen.

Brand new they were, care of Hannah’s mum’s catalogue. Kayla was determined to break the things in, even if it killed her, which they did. Hobbling around on the dance floor would definitely not be cool. And Charlie Roberts was uber cool, dressed in designer labels, Kayla guessed. Black usually, which suited his hair colouring. Ooh, but he was hot. Her pelvis dipped and her scalp tingled at even the thought of him. All chiselled cheekbones and dreamy dark eyes.

Apart from that fateful day, the one time he’d spoken to her, when Hannah met up with his mate, Shawn, Charlie probably didn’t even remember she existed.

She hadn’t helped herself much, blushing down to her boobs when he’d offered her a drink. Kayla’s heart fluttered at the recollection of Charlie’s slow, steamily sexy smile. He certainly wouldn’t remember her unless she put herself out there. And to do that, she needed serious shoes; sexy, ankle accentuating shoes, which would add a couple of inches to her height and a couple of years to her age.

If Hannah and she were going to get into the nightclub, they needed to maximise their assets. So she wasn’t supposed to wear them to school. So what? No one was going to see her feet before she left, were they? And if that old bag of an English teacher decided to take her menopausal misery out on her, she could stuff off.

Okay, so they were skyscrapers, but they were also wedges. Not a high heel in sight, she’d point out, when the beady-eyed battle-axe pulled her up outside the cloakroom, as per usual. Hmm? Kayla examined her also diamante studded nail extensions. She might do better to keep those tucked in her pockets, though.

Should she take a coffee up to her mum, she debated, making herself one. Nah. She’d be comatose, having downed a sleeper with wine. And they had the nerve to preach to her about the danger of drugs. Like, hello?

The last time she’d taken her a cup up, the silly cow had knocked it over anyway. Which was her fault, of course, Kayla remembered bitterly, because she didn’t wake her.

Like she could have.

‘Stuff it. She can get her own flipping coffee,’ she muttered, heading for the mirror to outline her eyes with obligatory black liner. They’d accused her of being selfish, so selfish she’d be. She was sick of trying to be whatever it was they wanted her to be, which wasn’t her, obviously.

Poking her face in the fridge, she scanned the meagre content for something that wasn’t calorific, and then, deciding she wasn’t hungry anyway, closed it again. Perhaps she should just ask them outright whether they were going to split up, she pondered. Yeah, that’d work. All they did lately was talk at her, never to her. And argue.

Kayla wasn’t sure which was worse, the one-sided rows, or the never-ending silences in between. She wasn’t supposed to notice all that stuff, though. Half the time they expected her to be invisible. The other half she might as well be.

In the early days, after Emma . . . Kayla had made herself scarce. Tiptoed around upstairs, shut herself in her bedroom with only her iPod for company, until she thought she’d go as loopy as they were. Even Gran, who’d got the first Aer Lingus flight from Dublin, suggested it might be a good idea for her to keep a low profile for a while, which was when she knew for sure they all blamed her.

If only she’d taken Emma swimming, instead of hanging around outside the Slug and Lettuce so Hannah could ‘bump’ into that twit, Shawn. He was okay-looking, Kayla supposed, if you liked the shaved-head biker look, and he treated Hannah nicely, buying her drinks and stuff, but he was a der-brain, as far as Kayla could see. Nothing like Charlie, who was plain drop dead gorgeous.

And he had nice manners.

‘May I?’ he’d asked, before sitting down at their table outside the pub. Hannah had been so gobsmacked she’d almost bitten off the tongue she was busy trying to stuff down Shawn’s throat.

‘Uh, oh, watch out. ’Ere comes Prince bleedin’ Charmin’,’ Shawn had guffawed, like a twat. No breeding. Not like Charlie. But then, Shawn did hang out with Charlie. And Kayla had quite fancied bumping into him.

She shouldn’t have left Emma though. Kayla recalled with a fresh pang of guilt as she pictured how she’d begged to come with them.

‘Ple-e-ase,’ she’d whined, shadowing them from the house across the boatyard, where her dad was working only a stone’s throw away. ‘I’ll be good.’

‘No!’ Kayla had stopped and turned. ‘Go and play,’ she’d hissed, annoyed. If their dad overheard, he’d be bound to suggest she take Emma along with her on their ‘shopping trip’ and Kayla would stand no chance of impressing Charlie with her kid sister in tow.

‘I’ve got no one to play with.’ Emma pouted, like she did when she couldn’t get her own way. ‘I want to come with you.’

‘Well, you can’t. Come on, Hannah.’ Kayla hooked arms with her best friend and tried to ignore her ball-and-chain little sister.

‘But Mummy said,’ Emma persisted.

‘No she did not. Now go away.’

At which, Emma had played her trump card. ‘I’ll tell Daddy,’ she’d said, her arms folded and a smug look on her face.

‘Tell Daddy what, exactly?’ Kayla had asked, seriously irritated.

‘That you’ve been smoking,’ Emma announced, looking like Miss Prim and Proper herself.

‘Ooh, big bloody deal.’ Kayla had rolled her eyes, and then glanced towards the water, where their dad was desperately trying to get five boats turned around ready to go out. Saturdays were always frantic, customers queuing, checking watches, impatient to be off on their holidays.

He’d had his work cut out that morning. And their mum had been roped into some village fête to raise money for the local intensive care baby unit, which meant that neither of them would have time to listen to Miss Tattle-tale Smarty Pants. So Emma could go play on the motorway.

‘Drop dead, toe-rag!’ Kayla had snarled over her shoulder, heading fast for the gates to make good her escape while her dad was distracted.

If only she could take the words back. But she couldn’t any more than she could bring Emma back. Her parents had barely spoken to her after the accident. For days, Kayla could understand. After all, they’d been through some kind of shit . . . Kayla waited, while a familiar heavy wave of sadness washed over her . . . but for weeks? Maybe if she tried harder, she’d naively thought, pulled her weight around the house more, starting, she’d decided purposefully, with the bedroom she’d shared with Emma.

It had taken her hours to clean the rubbish from under her bed. Sorting through Emma’s stuff had taken longer. Kayla found herself stopping every few minutes, especially when she’d come across the outfit Emma had had for her fifth birthday. Three years past toddler, and she’s into skinny jeans and tie front tops. Kayla felt that funny sinking feeling in her chest again.

Finally, floor visible, she’d decided to vacuum. She wasn’t even aware her mum had come into the room, until she’d shouted her name above the Dyson’s drone.

Kayla hit the off button, turned, and smiled expectantly. She was quite chuffed with her efforts, now that the bedroom was looking more like a bedroom. As in you could actually see the beds. So why had her mum looked so totally pissed?

It wouldn’t have killed her, would it — Kayla’s lower lip trembled afresh — to have tried to look pleased, even if she had ‘tidied Emma away’. She hadn’t meant to.

Her mum had gone ballistic, banging on about how she should have asked, shouting at her, until her dad had intervened.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ he’d demanded angrily of Jo. ‘What’s she done to deserve that?’

‘I tidied the bedroom,’ Kayla told him, feeling as bewildered as her dad looked.

‘Shit,’ he’d said, his shoulders sagging. ‘She wouldn’t understand, Jo.’ He reached for her mum, but Jo backed off.

She’d clamped her hands over her face and just kept saying sorry. Over and over she’d said it, and Kayla felt worse than ever, because, the truth was, she didn’t know who her mum was saying sorry to.

Kayla had looked at her dad, wondering what to do next. Stay? Or leave them alone? He looked so exhausted, she remembered. Wretched and worn out, and worse, he had tears in his eyes. If her mum’s outburst had destabilised Kayla, her father’s noticeable tears rocked the very foundation beneath her. Kayla had never seen him cry openly, not even at the funeral. Kayla knew he had cried in secret, though. Tall, strong, good-looking — all her mates said so and Kayla quietly thought so — her dad had cried his heart out when he’d thought there was no one around to see him.

He’d cried last night, after they’d argued: a real humdinger this time, her mum yelling at her dad, volume on max. There’d been a lull after a while, while her mum topped up her wine. Kayla didn’t need to hear to know that. She’d been drinking a lot since Emma. She said it helped her to sleep.

Yeah, well, pass the glass. Kayla could use some of that. And then came the whammy, the guilt-hanging, heart-crushing finale. ‘It’s your fault!’ her mum had told her dad. ‘All of this is your fault!’

Her dad didn’t shout back. He never did that. He should have. It wasn’t his fault! Kayla had felt like shouting for him. It was mine!

He’d been standing in the hall before he’d gone, dragging his arm over his eyes and taking deep breaths, and Kayla knew he was crying. She’d wanted to go to him. To tell him everything would be okay. That he still had her. But . . . what if it wasn’t enough? If she wasn’t enough? Too frightened to find out, she returned to her room, buried herself under her duvet and stuffed her face into her pillow.

Her dad had crept up to check on her. Kayla knew he would. He always did, but she’d kept quiet, kept her eyes clamped tight shut, because she didn’t want to see the pain in his eyes. The pain she’d caused.

And then, he’d left. Bye, Kayla. Cheers. Nice knowing you, but not that nice. See you around. Yeah, right. He never said a word. Not a single word.

She’d gone to the window when she’d heard the front door close, watched him head off across the boatyard. No jaunt to his walk anymore, no sense of purpose, he’d looked like a man defeated.

Sometimes, Kayla wished she could go back. Take a trip in the TARDIS and step out to a time when she had her dad all to herself. She missed how they used to be: the way he’d muss up her hair, or tickle her until she nearly wet herself. ‘Can’t sulk when you’re laughing, can you, Kayla?’ He’d grin, and show her no mercy.

Maybe he thought she was getting too old for all that stuff now? Kayla supposed she probably was. She’d had to steel herself to ask him for money a few weeks back. Money above her allowance, which she’d already spent. She’d have been more comfortable asking her mum, but Jo rarely emerged that early in the morning anymore.

‘What for?’ Daniel had asked, irritated as the toast popped belatedly and the smoke alarm went into overdrive.

‘Dammit!’ he’d cursed then, turning away to toss blackened toast in the bin. ‘I haven’t got any cash on me, Kayla. You’ll have to ask me later.’

‘But Dad, I need it now,’ she’d insisted.

‘How much?’ He’d searched his pockets.

‘Three quid.’

‘I haven’t got three quid, Kayla. A pound will have to do.’

‘But a pound isn’t enough, Dad.’

‘Is it ever?’ He’d sighed, ramming the kettle under the tap, soaking his shirt, and obviously shortening his temper further. ‘What’s so important that you have to have it right now, Kayla? You could show a little consideration, you know? I have the Boat Safety Officer coming in . . .’ He’d checked his watch. ‘. . . hell, in ten minutes.’

Kayla had shuffled and mumbled, while Daniel clattered the breakfast things into the dishwasher. ‘The cash dispenser’s in the village, Kayla,’ he’d pointed out impatiently. ‘Not inside my wallet. So unless you’ve any bright ideas as to how I’m supposed to get there and back before you leave for—’

‘It’s not my fault we don’t have a car!’ she’d blurted.

And Daniel’s shoulders had stiffened. He’d turned slowly around, a tic playing at the corner of his mouth, which Kayla knew to be a small but significant sign. He was well annoyed.

She’d stepped back, wishing she could backtrack. She’d touched a raw nerve. She shouldn’t have said that and she was sorry, but . . . her parents weren’t the only ones hurting around here. ‘I need to go to the chemist!’ she’d shouted defiantly, standing her ground, her jaw tight-set and her eyes threatening to spill over.

Daniel scanned her face, his anger turning to frustration as the penny apparently dropped. ‘Oh,’ he’d said quietly. ‘Why didn’t you say so?’

‘I just did,’ she’d mumbled to her shoes.

‘I’m sorry, Kayla.’ He’d moved towards her then, placing an arm around her shoulders, for all of two seconds.

Yep, she was too old for all that touchy feely stuff now, clearly. Who needed it anyway? Consigning the memory to history, as her dad was obviously content to consign her, Kayla ferreted through her make-up bag, then upended the contents onto the breakfast table.

Raking her spiralled curls from her face, she checked her sleepers and nose stud, and then carefully applied two coats of lash-lengthening mascara. Being only fifteen presented no probs when it came to getting into Strobes. She would pass for sixteen at a glance. With the assistance of Urban Decay, her new shoes, and a padded plunge bra, eighteen was easily attainable.

‘Uh-oh.’ She checked her watch, scooped her make-up back into her bag, and then reached for a quick corner of toast.

‘Oh, gross!’ She flicked at the wasp, happily feasting on her breakfast, which buzzed frantically around the kitchen, then homed in on the jam jar.

Patiently, Kayla waited whilst it ventured from the rim of the jar to the fruit of its labours. Then, ‘Ta, ta,’ she said, and slammed the lid tight.

* * *

She’d left enough time, thank God. No way was running for the bus an option in skyscraper shoes. If Hannah hadn’t got her fags, she’d flipping well thump her. Kayla didn’t know why she bothered giving them to Hannah to keep any more anyway. Her mum and dad wouldn’t notice if she were on fire, let alone smoking.

God, it was sooo hot. She lounged against the bus shelter — dead cool in Ray-Bans — keeping one eye out for the bus, the other for Hannah, who would no doubt belt up the road at the last minute, soggy slice of toast in hand.

Bang on cue, the bus rounded the corner with Hannah in hot pursuit. Uh-oh, she wasn’t going to make it. Kayla played for time, dawdling up the step, hovering between the doors and then, in desperation, accidentally spilling the contents of her school bag on the platform, much to the annoyance of the bus driver.

‘C’mon, sweetheart,’ he grumbled. ‘I haven’t got all day.’

Sweetheart? Kayla raised an eyebrow. ‘In your dreams, mate.’

Deciding he was best ignored, she scraped her books together as a grinning Hannah cleared the doors, and then, ‘Yessss!’ they both said together, flashing their bus passes and clumping upstairs.

Making her way to the back of the bus, Kayla threw herself down and propped her wedged feet up on the seat in front of her, while Hannah parked herself at the opposite end and did likewise.

‘Shit, that was close,’ she gasped, fumbling her sunshades out of her blazer pocket and plonking them on top of her head, hairband style.

Kayla rolled her eyes. ‘One of these days you’re gonna miss it, y’know? I draw the line at throwing myself bodily in front of the bus, Hannah.’

‘Well, that’d stop traffic.’ Hannah smirked, inclining her head toward Kayla’s rapidly increasing bra size.

‘Shut it.’ Kayla folded her arms defensively. She hated it when people drew attention to her boobs. She didn’t mind drawing attention to them herself, if the occasion called for it, such as getting into the nightclub, and getting the attention of Charlie, but as for the ogles she got in school, accompanied by sniggers from spotty little limp-dicks . . . Uh-uh. Frankly, she felt fat. And she’d much rather not have attention drawn to that.

‘Sorry.’ Hannah batted her eyelids apologetically. ‘And I’m really sorry I was late. It’s just Mum. She bangs on and on, like I haven’t heard it all before. But I needed to get my pocket money, assuming it’s still on for tonight?’

‘You bet it’s still on. I got shoes, see?’ Kayla confidently waggled a manquasher wedge. She was a teeny bit nervous in reality, not that she’d let on to Hannah. ‘You gonna be meeting dickhead there?’

‘His name is Shawn,’ Hannah replied curtly. She ferreted about in her bag for Marlboro Lights and tossed the packet across to Kayla. ‘And wherever Shawn goes,’ she said, making insinuating eyes, ‘Charlie goes, too.’

‘Get lost,’ Kayla mumbled, blushing. She’d only had one conversation with him. And even if he knew she’d got the hots for him, why would a twenty-something fantastic looking businessman like Charlie be interested in her? He’d had a different blonde on his arm whenever they’d watched him and Shawn leave the nightclub anyhow, so what are the chances he would notice her with her uninspiring black hair?

She’d got her dad’s genes to thank for her colouring. For the Goth look, it was good. She could dye it blacker than black and look totally cool. But in a kid’s way. And kids Charlie wasn’t into. Kayla sighed, but mentally ran through her wardrobe, nevertheless.

‘Kayla . . .’ Hannah cut through her thoughts, just as she was discarding the mesh camisole. The gathered bust with rosebud detail would make her look about twelve. And the dropped waist dress was out. The blonde chavs all wore sequin vest-dresses and had long legs. A dropped waist made her look as if she’d got no legs. Maybe the stitched hot pants or Hannah’s short black skirt, with the silk cami?

‘. . . if I’ve told my mum I’m staying over at yours . . .’ Hannah mused, furrowing her brow. ‘. . . and you’ve told your mum you’re staying at mine, where are we staying?’

‘All sorted.’ Kayla blew a thin line of smoke into the air. ‘Just make sure you bring your black chiffon skirt, okay?’

She jumped up, stubbed her cigarette out on the No Smoking sign and rang the bell. Lying to her parents didn’t sit comfortably, but needs must. Age twelve was about how they treated her. So she could hardly get ready to go to a nightclub right under their noses. They’d go mental, even though everyone her age went to Strobes.

Well, she was going, and that was that.

In any case, she was probably better out of the way, like she ever wasn’t.

Chapter Three

‘So, we’re just taking in the view then, are we, boss?’ Matthew’s detective sergeant enquired, gazing out of the passenger side window of the car they were parked up in.

‘Yup,’ Matthew said, his eyes on his mobile as he keyed in a reply to Ashley confirming that he hadn’t forgotten his promise to meet Becky at the cemetery later, as if he would. Matthew doubted if he’d ever come to terms with the death of their five-year-old daughter at the hands of Patrick Sullivan, the gangland pimping piece of shit who’d engineered the hit and run that killed her, but at least he could visit now, together with Becky, rather than visit alone as he once had, seeking a place of sanctuary when, with a manhunt underway for him, his life had been spiralling out of control.

He wasn’t about to go on his own again, prayed he wouldn’t reach a place emotionally where he needed to, nor would he let his wife go alone on the anniversary of their first daughter’s death, which she did every year without fail. They’d made promises to each other when the horrendous nightmare of almost losing little Mia, too, had been over. Matthew clamped down hard on the painful memory of his two-year-old baby held captive, trapped in a cage like an animal by Sullivan’s daughter, who’d been as equally demented as her father. Once his superior officers had realised the woman had orchestrated a campaign to systematically destroy him, and the charges against him for rape and murder had been dropped, once Matthew had learned to breathe again, to trust again, to trust himself, he and Becky had made promises to each other. Cards on the table, from here on in there were to be no secrets from each other, they needed to be there for each other. Matthew intended to be, as Becky had consistently been for him, even though he’d idiotically pushed her away. It was also more than he dared to invite the wrath of his foster daughter, whose mission in life since Mia had been taken seemed to be to mother him.

I’ll be there, no distractions, he texted back, guessing she was worrying he might be distracted, as he tended to be, by some work-related call.

Cool. Ashley replied. Got your inhaler?

Shaking his head, Matthew thumbed in another quick text, assuring her he had got his asthma meds. She was going to make someone a wonderful wife one day, he thought amusedly. God help the man.

‘Not much of a view, is it?’ Steve observed, still looking out through the passenger side window, his gaze travelling upwards as he surveyed the circa-sixties high-rise they were parked outside of. Earmarked for refurbishment, the decaying block of flats should have been demolished years ago in Matthew’s opinion.

‘Not much of a one, no.’ Matthew’s mouth twitched into a smile. He’d missed it, his detective sergeant’s droll sense of humour. Missed Steve, whose injuries sustained whilst doing what the man did instinctively — covering Matthew’s back and helping to save his family from the worst kind of kidnapping psychopath — Matthew would never quite forgive himself for.

‘So, we’re not sitting in the middle of a London overspill estate with a notorious reputation for antisocial behaviour hoping a certain drug-pushing little prick by the name of Charlie Roberts will stroll by then?’ Steve asked, glancing knowingly sideways at him.

‘Nope,’ Matthew assured him. ‘His girlfriend.’

‘Girlfriend?’ Steve twizzled to face him, his brow furrowed. ‘You reckon she’s ready to dob him in?’

‘Could be. Let’s just say she wasn’t too happy about the bruises she was sporting last time I spoke to her. I thought she might feel more inclined to talk out here than up there.’ He nodded toward the flats, where Roberts was probably still tucked up in bed sleeping off whatever crap he’d pumped into his system the night before. It was all Matthew could do not to go up there and haul him out of it.

‘So this is an “unofficial” surveillance, I take it?’

‘Er, for now, yes.’

‘Keeping an eye out for the underdog again. Don’t change much do you, boss?’ Steve shook his head resignedly. ‘Remind me why I rejoined the force, will you?’

‘Because you missed me, obviously,’ Matthew supplied, with a wry smile.

‘Yeah, right, like a pain in the arse.’ Steve rolled his eyes. ‘I suppose that means we’re here for the long haul then?’ Sighing, he retrieved his coffee cup from the console, eyeing the contents unenthusiastically as he swished them around.

‘Unless you’re not up to it?’ Matthew asked, concerned. In his mind the man ranked somewhere between a saint and an idiot, putting himself back in the line of fire. Steve had worked hard at getting fit, but Matthew guessed from the odd wince that his back was still giving him gip. ‘Sitting too long, I mean.’

‘Nah, I’m good,’ Steve assured him. ‘Got a clean bill of health from the doc. They wouldn’t have had me back otherwise, would they?’

‘So how much did you say you’d bribed him?’ Matthew asked, reaching for his ringing mobile.

‘Not me.’ Steve took a swig of his coffee and then curled a lip in disgust. ‘Lindsey, I reckon, because, and I quote, “I realise how much you love being a detective, Steve, so you should go back to it because you’re no safer outside the sodding force than you are in it!” unquote.’

Matthew laughed at that. ‘She wanted you out from under her feet then?’

‘Definitely. Said that if I was going to insist on being your partner and getting myself shot at or beaten senseless every two minutes then I might as well get paid for it. Visiting me in the hospital every other week was disruptive to the smooth running of the dog kennels apparently.’ Steve’s sigh was despondent this time. ‘Nice to be second place to a pack of dogs, isn’t—’

He stopped as Matthew held up a quieting hand while his other held his mobile to his ear. ‘What?’ Matthew said, disbelieving, as DS Jamie Collins informed him of the whereabouts of Roberts’ girlfriend and that she wouldn’t be strolling by anytime soon, if ever.

His jaw tensing as he glanced at Steve, he reached for the ignition. ‘On my way,’ he said, ending the call and tossing the mobile towards Steve, who, out of habit, caught it.

Steve looked baffled, as Matthew started the engine and rammed the gearstick into first. ‘Thought we were waiting for Rachel Meadows to turn up.’

‘She has. In the hospital. No doubt put there by that drug-pushing piece of fucking floating flotsam, Roberts.’ Anger rising like bile in his craw, Matthew checked his mirror and careered the car away from the kerb. ‘Bastard!’

Chapter Four

Charlie Roberts stumbled to the bathroom, trying to fight off the overwhelming urge to throw up. ‘Shit!’ He failed, just short of the toilet.

Skirting around the after-pub curry, he stuffed his face under the tap and then, thirst satiated, dragged a hand across his mouth and admired himself in the mirror. ‘You are one good-looking bastard,’ he assured himself with a wink, waggled his pierced eyebrows, and then winced.

‘Oh man, man, man . . . my head,’ he moaned, zigzagging up the hall, back to the bedroom. He’d got well-wasted last night, so high he was floating, but now he’d come way down low. Charlie prided himself on not doing drugs before breakfast, but he needed a buzz, and fast. This morning-after stuff was seriously depressing him. He padded across the bedroom and stopped short of the bed. What the hell was she doing in it?

Oh man, he must have been wasted. She was one ugly slapper. If Rachel found out, she’d go totally ballistic. But then, she wasn’t about to find out, was she? Not now she’d gone home to Mummy. And that sour-faced old cow wouldn’t let him within fifty miles of Rachel, the state she was in when she went.

Like it was his fault about the baby . . . and everything. None of it would have happened if Rachel would just keep her trap shut and stop slagging him off, looking down on him, like he wasn’t good enough. Just like her bloody mother did.

Just like they all did.

He cared about her. He’d said so. Said he would stick with her, didn’t he? What more did she want? Why didn’t she just keep it zipped? Always had to be whining about something. Was it his fault they suspended his benefit? Wasn’t enough to buy a pot to piss in anyway. They could stuff it.

He’d got a few things going on. A drug deal here and there.

Nothing major league, yet, but enough to bring in some dosh until he’d built up his clientele, which he would. Up there with the big boys is where Charlie intended to be. A million miles away from this sodding dump — and the skinny kid they’d all spat on and shunned in the school playground, because his dad was banged up and his trollop of a mother was shagging everything in sight.

Rachel just had to keep going on about him getting a job though, didn’t she? As if, when he did get some dead-end job, it ever lasted. People were always telling him what to do, that was the trouble.

Charlie couldn’t abide it.

Self-important bastards ordering him around, like he was insignificant.

All his life people had told him to do this and that, as if they had a right to do so: teachers, social workers, probation officers, foster parents, his drunken whore of a mother, DI-bloody-Adams down at the station, Uncle Tom Cobley and all, deciding it was their right to push him around. Rachel shouldn’t have kept trying to tell him what to do. He wasn’t taking that sort of crap anymore, especially not from a woman. No way.

Shame about the baby though.

Tea, he thought, snorting a quick line of top stuff and wiping his nose on his arm. Nice and sweet. He needed the rush.

‘Cup of tea, darlin’?’ he called to the slapper, feeling a bit more charitable now the coke had hit the spot.

Wasn’t her fault she’d fallen for his charms, he supposed. He didn’t even have to work at it. They just fell at his feet. Mind you, that was usually the other side of the night. He normally got shot of them straight after, preferring to get his shit together in private. Image was all, after all, if he wanted the respect he deserved.

‘Mmm,’ she mumbled sleepily as he headed for the kitchen. ‘Such a gent.’

‘My thoughts entirely,’ Charlie replied with a chuckle, definitely on the up now, until he opened the kitchen door to the overpowering stench of urine.

Charlie’s good mood evaporated. ‘Christ!’ A little knot tightened at the base of his skull. He glared at the puppy quaking in the corner. ‘Filthy bitch, you just don’t learn, do you?’ he seethed, launching himself across the room.

But the dog was quicker. Ducking under the table, it made a dash for the door, before Charlie’s foot made contact with its hindquarters. ‘You are kebab meat, dog!’ he snarled after it.

Cursing, he grabbed a tea towel to mop up the mess and then tossed it in the corner. Maybe he should just drop the bloody animal around at Rachel’s miserable mother’s? That would wipe the supercilious smirk off the old bag’s face. Allergic, she was. With a bit of luck, she’d choke to death.

Agitated now, he yanked the fridge open. No milk, of course. There was never any milk. ‘Shit!’ He slammed the kettle on — black coffee was better than nothing, he supposed, then searched for a cup, and then searched some more, tossing newspapers and carrier bags from the Formica-topped table to the floor.

‘Typical.’ He headed for the sink to turn the washing-up bowl upside-down, the contents of which clattered into the sink. Why was there never even so much as a clean fucking cup in this place? Did he have to do everything himself? He gave a cursory rinse to a dirty cup and made his coffee.

Hearing the letterbox rattling noisily, Charlie glanced behind him to see the slapper wandering panda-eyed into the kitchen, leafing through his private post. And what was more, he gawked, she was wearing his shirt! Unbelievable!

‘Morning, gorgeous.’ She smiled at him, and then blinked blearily down at the dog wagging its tail and sniffing warily around her ankles. ‘Oh, bless, who’s a pretty little girl, then?’ she cooed, bending to tickle its ear and make silly kissy noises.

Soppy cow, thought Charlie, eyeing her with ice-cold contempt. ‘Leave it,’ he snarled. ‘Bloody thing’s pissed all over the floor.’

She pouted. ‘Don’t be so mean. She couldn’t help it, could you, baby? She’s only a puppy. You shouldn’t keep dogs in flats anyway. It’s cruel,’ she informed him as if he were dense or something, then yawned, stretching her arms above her head.

Charlie’s eyes nearly fell out. Smack he wasn’t into this early, but he was hallucinating anyway. Either that or the tart was wearing his best FCUK shirt with nothing underneath.

‘Get us that cup of tea, will you?’ She wound him up further, running the tip of her tongue over her lips. ‘My throat feels like sandpaper. Can’t think why.’ She winked suggestively and gave Charlie a coy little smile as she turned towards the bedroom.

‘Slag,’ Charlie threw after her.

The tart stopped in her tracks, shaking her head as if she hadn’t quite heard him right, then whirled around as Charlie sprang at her.

In a split second, he seized the shirt collar, popping the one button she’d fastened. He didn’t much mind about the shirt any more though. His mouth twisted into a smirk as he watched the hot coffee drip from her startled face to bleed into the cotton-rich fabric.

* * *

Mary Taylor opened her mouth, and then clamped it shut again, fast. Bewildered, she searched his face. Gone was the charming smile of the night before. In its place, a vile sneer. And his eyes . . . Where had she seen that look before? Jaws. She’d watched it on telly with her mum. The bloke had dead eyes. He was one slice short. Oh hell. She’d made out with a maniac.

‘Ouch,’ she whimpered as he twisted her hair around his hand and dragged her back into the kitchen. ‘Charlie, don’t.’ She squirmed, trying to pull the hot liquid that had drenched his shirt away from her skin. ‘You’re hurting—’

‘Shut it,’ he hissed, yanking her head around until she was eyeball to eyeball with him. ‘I said you are a whore! A slut,’ he spat, shoving her away from him and she fell against the wall. ‘Got it?’

Mary stayed where she was, sprawled on the dog’s bed. She didn’t look up, for fear of provoking him further. Though what she’d done in the first place . . . Oh God, please, please help me, she prayed silently.

Distractedly, Charlie kneaded the back of his neck. ‘Take it off,’ he said quietly.

Mary’s head snapped up. ‘What?’ she croaked, confused.

‘Are you deaf as well as stupid? Take the fucking shirt off!’

‘Okay,’ Mary sniffled, placating him; playing for time. ‘Okay. If that’s what you wanted, you should have just said. You didn’t need to—’

‘And shut your trap.’

Mary closed her mouth. She would be quiet as a church mouse, if that’s what he wanted, until she could see a way out of this . . . hellhole.

She struggled out of the shirt, tried to wipe off the coffee dripping from it, folded it clumsily and offered it hesitantly to him. Then swallowed hard. Charlie held it at arm’s length, eyed it disdainfully, slammed his foot on the pedal bin and shoved the offending garment inside.

Mary felt faint, more frightened than she’d ever been, but above all, she was feeling nauseous. What would he do if she was sick on the floor? She closed her eyes and held tight to her stomach as he loomed above her. What was he going to do? If he wanted sex, why didn’t he just say? Why did he . . . ? What did he want?

Charlie sank his fingers into the tender flesh of her forearm and yanked her roughly to her feet, then rammed his elbow against her neck, forcing her head against the wall with a crack. ‘Do not,’ he spat, eyes bulging, ‘ever tell me what to do. Got it?’

Mary blinked hard against the oppressive black. Perhaps she should let go, slip into unconsciousness, now, before he . . . Oh God. ‘Yes.’ She gulped against his restricting hold on her throat. She almost slithered down the wall when Charlie relaxed his grip.

‘Wipe your face,’ he instructed, his mouth curving into a smirk as he passed her the sodden tea towel from the floor.

Charlie waited while Mary sobbed and dabbed at her face. ‘That’s better,’ he said, almost cheerfully. ‘Now, turn around!’

Mary kept her cheek pressed hard against the wall, her eyes tight shut, her tears soaking into the damp-saturated plaster, urine assaulting her senses.

‘Right, I’m off out,’ Charlie said pleasantly behind her as if they’d just shared breakfast together.

* * *

Two minutes later, Charlie waltzed from the bathroom back to the hall, stopping short of the front door to pick up his keys and the post the tart had dropped. Dunno what she thought was so interesting, he mused. Bills mostly — he tossed the brown envelopes aside — but his bills nevertheless. She hadn’t ought to be poking her nose in where it didn’t belong. She’d delved in his bloody wardrobe for the shirt, cheeky cow.

Charlie made a mental note to pull something with a bit more class next time.

‘Let yourself out,’ he called jovially over his shoulder. ‘Oh, and don’t touch anything. I know where you live.’

Actually, he didn’t have a clue, but what would she know? He sauntered out, whistling cheerfully to himself as he went. The headache had gone. Yes, he was feeling okay. Didn’t even mind the Out of Order sign on the lift. He skipped carefree down the concrete steps.

He was meeting Shawn later, and they would drop a few drugs at the club, pull in some cash. Charlie was branching out, he’d decided. Skunk was okay, and there was always a steady supply and demand, but it didn’t exactly leave him flush after he’d paid for his own stuff. Charlie was moving on and up. The fact that he had a rather pressing debt to pay off was a big incentive, he had to admit.

Charlie remembered the text message he’d received and pulled out his mobile. By Friday if you want to see the day after. He read it again, his carefree mood dwindling and his stomach dropping. Shit. Sweat prickling his forehead, he tried not to panic. Friday was doable. He could raise at least the hundred he’d promised by then, no probs. Where the crap he’d get the rest of the money he owed his supplier, a nasty bastard whose henchmen were inclined to collect in kind, he hadn’t got a clue.

Ecstasy fetched ten to fifteen quid easy, and he could shift fifty or more on a good night. Coke he could shift at sixty to seventy quid a gram, or even eighty, depending how naive the punter was. Smack and crack, Charlie tended to keep for his own personal use. Strictly for smoking that was. He didn’t want to end up being one of those sad gits, injecting ten times a day. Uh-uh, no way. It might be the cheapest drug per weight, at ten to twenty a twist, but the trouble was that once you started injecting, you needed more and more of the stuff.

Nah, Charlie wasn’t into injecting. . . apart from the odd occasion . . . like yesterday, when he’d been a bit stressed. And the day before, which is why he owed a bit more money than he’d thought. Only if he could guarantee a clean needle though. Never knew where they’d been otherwise, faggots and prostitutes all over the place, flashing their wares. Charlie couldn’t abide ’em.

He hoped Shawn had picked the stuff up from his contact. They’d have nothing to sell otherwise. Yeah, Shawn would have, no worries. Shawn was the reliable sort. And built like a brick shithouse, which was handy. He was a bit more reliable since Charlie had threatened to dob him in if he crossed him, of course. Not nice when Shawn was shit scared of being banged up and not being able to support his frail old gran, but necessary, since Shawn could be a bit gormless sometimes, opening his mouth before his brain was engaged. It was a bit aggravating him being stuck on that Hannah bint — she always seemed to be sniffing around — but Charlie tried not to mind. At least Shawn didn’t tell him what to do.

* * *

Walls for support, Mary made it as far as the bathroom before her legs gave way. She retched uselessly into the toilet. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday, and what little she’d eaten then had already parted company with her stomach, all over the kitchen floor.

That’d please him, the fucking cokehead. Stumbling into the bedroom, she hastily retrieved what clothes she could find, scattered around the room as they were. She’d been drunk last night, out of her skull. Must have been to have gone anywhere near that two-faced schizo. Shuddering, she pulled on her leggings and top, stuffed her bra into her shoulder bag, and then groped under the bed for her shoes. Hell, where were they?

Finally. Seizing on one shoe she dragged that out and then stretched for the other one. ‘Got it!’ A spark of triumph surfaced above loathing, self-loathing. She had to get home, get in the bath, scrub herself . . . Her hand closed over the chunky four-inch heel of her other shoe.

Except it wasn’t.

It was smooth, and cold, and long, but . . .

She squinted under the bed, cheek to carpet.

Mary was up, out of there, shoe or no shoe. She could have guessed. A sawn-off shotgun, under the bed, for God’s sake! He might’ve shot her. Would probably, if he came back.

Peering over the metal banister on the landing, she made sure the coast was clear, and then hoisted the bedraggled dog up under one arm and made a dash for it. I hope you overdose, bastard, she wished fervently as she barefooted it down the steps, groping in her shoulder bag for her mobile as she went.

* * *

Answering his mobile at the nurses’ station, Matthew’s initial euphoria that they’d had someone ring in with information about Charlie Roberts dwindled when he learned the woman had ended the call without giving them much. ‘Did you try ringing her back?’ he asked the duty officer who’d called him.

‘Pay as you go,’ the officer said. ‘Sorry. She stopped talking as soon as I asked for a name.’

‘Right.’ Matthew pulled in a terse breath, knowing that the officer had obviously been following protocol in asking her her name. Dammit. He sighed agitatedly, pinching the bridge of his nose and turning full circle in the hospital ward. The same protocol that had allowed Patrick Sullivan to walk free. He’d been sitting pretty in prison when he’d issued instructions to his minions to target Matthew’s wife and daughter; when he’d made his glib comment, innocent to all ears but Matthew’s, that he’d intended to target them. Sullivan had had a cast iron alibi; they’d had no evidence against him. But Matthew had known. Been labelled obsessed when he’d tried to tell his DCI until he was blue in the face that Sullivan was responsible. The bastard had walked, calmly murdered any one of the girls he pumped full of drugs and pimped on the streets who crossed him. Murdered his own wife. Finally, his sick, twisted logic driving him to extract funds as well as revenge for Matthew’s perceived sins against him, he’d kidnapped his family, all assisted by red tape and bureaucracy.

Matthew’s jaw tensed. He tried very hard to remain impartial.

Couldn’t hope to. He’d long ago stopped wondering how perverted individuals like Sullivan came into existence. As far as Matthew could see it wasn’t nature or nurture. It was a lethal cocktail of genes, brain function and childhood experience that created monsters like Sullivan, like Roberts. He was of the same ilk. Despite any and all excuses pointing to his upbringing making him the way he was, Roberts was pure evil. Matthew could feel it.

‘Thanks,’ he said despondently. ‘Keep me informed, will you?’ he asked the duty officer. Not that there would be anything to inform him about. If the girl who’d rung to tell them she considered Roberts was an effing maniac had rung off without identifying herself, then she was probably running scared. As well she might be, having presumably had a close encounter with up-and-coming big fish Charlie Roberts. Dead-eyed Charlie, as he was fondly called at the station.

Matthew felt his gut twist at the thought of what might have the girl running scared. Charlie Roberts, nasty little bastard that he was, didn’t pull any punches when it came to keeping his women in line. She mouthed off . . . he’d said once, when they’d hauled him into the station on a complaint, his feet propped insolently on the table . . . so I slapped her.

Yes. With a baseball bat, if the bruises were anything to go by. The woman had dropped the charges though. It didn’t surprise Matthew. They all did. Another young girl fell on a bottle. Fourteen stitches were her memento of a close encounter with Crackhead Charlie.

Then there was Rachel Meadows. Matthew braced himself as he walked into the ward.

* * *

Noting the taut expression on Matthew’s face as he came into the room, Steve exchanged apprehensive glances with Jamie Collins. ‘All right, boss?’ he asked him.

Running a hand over his neck, Matthew nodded. ‘What happened?’ he asked Jamie, looking down at Rachel Meadows, lying swollen and broken in the hospital bed.

She was tiny, Steve noted. A petite little thing, no more than five foot tall, and undoubtedly the recipient of Charlie Roberts’ handiwork. Also reminiscent of another young girl Matthew had visited in hospital, one of Sullivan’s girls, who Sullivan had meted out punishment to for talking to Matthew, and who Matthew had eventually been accused of the murder of. It was too close to home. There was no way Matthew was going to be all right about any of it. Steve just prayed the bloke could keep the emotion in check, and that, for Roberts’ sake, Matthew wasn’t left in a room alone with him.

‘She accidentally fell, apparently, down the concrete steps on the stairwell outside Roberts’ flat,’ Jamie supplied satirically.

‘Yeah, and the pigs are primed and ready to fly,’ Steve muttered.

Matthew nodded. ‘Right,’ he said tightly. ‘Bruised herself from head to foot then, obviously. Fuck!’ He turned away.

‘There’s something else, sir,’ Jamie said behind him, swapping another wary look with Steve. ‘She was pregnant.’

Staring out of the window, Matthew didn’t speak for a second, then, ‘Was?’ he asked tersely.

‘Five months,’ Jamie clarified.

Again, Matthew said nothing, but Steve noted the tense set of his shoulders, the hand going to his temples. Keep a lid on it, Matt, he willed him. Having a daughter of his own now, coming up to the age little Mia had been when Sullivan’s psychopath daughter had snatched her, he guessed how Matthew would be feeling, why the man would have killed to protect her. Why he’d been on the brink of taking his own life when he’d learned that was the price the bitch had demanded he paid for the life of his daughter.

‘How soon before she comes round?’ Matthew asked hoarsely, eventually.

‘She’s been in and out since they brought her back from surgery,’ Jamie informed him. ‘I’ll let you know if she says anything.’

‘Do that,’ Matthew said, swinging around. His face was pure murder as he headed for the door.

Chapter Five

Jolted from fitful sleep, Joanne crawled a hand from under the duvet and groped for the alarm clock. Finding nothing but empty space, she poked her head out and squinted disoriented around the room. How on earth had she managed to end up diagonally across the bed with her feet at the headboard end? Sighing, she heaved herself up, and looked at the time. Midday. She’d gone overboard on the alcohol and sleeping pills last night — again.

Her feet had barely touched the floor when the telephone rang. Jo ignored it. She did that a lot lately. People meant well, but what could they say once they’d dispensed with the preliminary, ‘How are you?’ Fine was her usual, programmed response. But she was far from fine in reality.

She grabbed up her dressing gown, pushing one arm slowly into it as the answerphone kicked in.

Hi. Jo and I are busy, right now, Daniel’s recorded message reached her ear, but please leave a message and we promise to get back to you.

Jo swallowed back a tight lump in her throat. She’d fallen in love with his voice. She’d never even met him, yet her insides had turned to goo when she’d first spoken to him on the phone. He’d rung her place of work, checking on an advertisement he’d placed, and she’d hardly heard a word he’d said, listening instead to the seductive timbre of his voice — deep and sultry, like decadent dark chocolate.

He’d melted her heart and got her tingling right down to her toes by the end of the conversation, which had been peppered with innuendo she recalled, with a ghost of a smile. And when he’d called into the office . . . ooh, scrummy . . . the flesh had way exceeded the fantasy. He was at least six foot tall. And rather well toned under the shirt, Jo — and one or two other girls — had drooled as they’d noticed.

The girls had ribbed Daniel, of course, which was when Jo realised he was actually quite shy — a total turn-on. If he’d said Do you fancy a quickie? instead of a coffee she’d have agreed. And best of all, it wasn’t contrived. It was all Daniel. Quiet, unassuming, and seemingly unaware of his obvious attractions; he was just Daniel. Her Daniel.

Yes, he had his faults, she’d come to realise. He was broody and introspective sometimes. Thinking things through was his way. Daniel tended to size people up before he opened up, which he didn’t do easily. Jo was fairly sure that had something to do with being brought up by a father who wasn’t much of one, though Daniel didn’t often talk about his childhood. He’d never hidden his feelings where it mattered though. She traced a hand over the space in the bed where Daniel should be. When they were alone together. When they made love. Until now.

Jo’s heart skipped a beat as Daniel took up his own invitation to leave a message. Back-to-back, the words could have been spoken by two different people. The light-hearted tone, which characterised the Daniel she had fallen in love with, was gone.

‘Hi, it’s Dan . . . Daniel,’ he said, sounding bone-weary with exhaustion. ‘I just wanted to let you know that I’ve, er, made some arrangements vis-à-vis the sale of the boatyard.’

Arrangements? Jo pulled her dressing gown tightly around her. Already? But then, he would, she supposed. If there was one thing Daniel was, before their lives fell apart, it was decisive. If only he’d been so decisive about doing something to help them pick up the pieces. Talking to her, for a start.

‘And I wanted to, er, check that it was okay for me to call around later,’ Daniel went on, and then waited.

Jo debated. Should she pick up?

‘Okay.’ He sighed, as she hesitated. ‘Well, I’ll assume it is then, unless I hear otherwise. We need to . . . to talk, Jo. Properly. Sort things out, yes?’

So now he finally wanted to talk — to ‘sort things out’. As in divide up the assets, possibly? Jo’s heart sank. She stopped listening and trailed to the bathroom; somehow she didn’t want to hear his goodbyes.

She showered and dressed quickly, angry with Daniel — and with herself for sinking into a sea of depression, waiting listlessly for a shift in the emotional tide, instead of swimming against it. She’d wanted to be dead herself at first, when Emma had gone. There was no way to deny it. Every fibre of her being no longer wanted to be. Black, empty nothingness was what she’d felt, what she’d craved, where she could curl up alone, on her own in the dark where life couldn’t touch her.

But she’d clung on — with her fingernails it sometimes seemed to her — because she’d had to. To be there for Kayla. Though, the truth was, she hadn’t been. Every conversation they had lately ended in argument. Or Kayla would go on the defensive — all tight-lipped belligerence. Why, when they needed each other so badly?

Because she was hurting. Jo knew yet didn’t have a clue how to reach her. She seemed to have skipped a whole chapter of Kayla’s life. She was growing up. Growing away. Joanne could no more make her communicate than she could Daniel. But she would, God give her strength. Kayla was in danger of going completely off the rails if Jo didn’t make more effort to get through to her. Somehow, they kept misreading each other. Missing each other. As they had this morning, thanks to her own incompetence. She had to ditch the booze, starting now, she decided, heading downstairs to back up her resolve with action.

Daniel had accused her of overreacting when she’d tried to talk to him about Kayla. He’d insisted Kayla’s behaviour was just normal teenage rebellion. Okay, rampaging hormones in mind, maybe it was. Perhaps, as Daniel had suggested, she did just need some space. But how much? When did not crowding her become not being there for her?

Surely, it wasn’t normal for Kayla to eat barely enough to sustain a mouse. Well, okay, Jo supposed that could be construed as normal, size zero icons in mind, but there was a line over which it crossed into anorexia. As for Kayla locking herself in her room, not just for hours as kids did, but forever it seemed, emerging only to trail out of the front door? No, not normal. Not on. Jo selected a bottle of white from the rack, uncorked it, steeled herself to pour it resolutely down the sink, and then followed it with another.

Her daughter needed her. And Jo needed to be there for her. She wished Daniel was. Oh, Daniel — her anger gave way to soul-aching sadness — why have you shut me out? They were so alike, he and Kayla, whereas Emma had taken after her, a regular little chatterbox.

Jo swallowed hard and trailed to the hall mirror, attempting to pile her hair on top of her head in some way that allowed her to actually see. Daniel loved her hair. She turned away, leaving it loose. At thirty-seven, it was probably time to think about going shorter anyway. And Daniel had gone, hadn’t he?

Gone fast, as it happened. He’d obviously wanted to. She couldn’t blame him. They’d been slowly killing each other over the last few months.

Jo clattered the last of the breakfast things into the dishwasher, and then mechanically set about sorting whites from coloureds. She had been angry with Daniel, bloody angry, but only for refusing to show his grief. To let the pain out and allow himself to miss Emma. Allow her to miss Emma.

Was that the truth though? Or had she finally voiced it, cruelly, horribly? An accusation buried so deep, even Jo didn’t know she was harbouring it.

She’d blamed Daniel.

Why, oh, why, couldn’t he have just left the boatyard yesterday and come in, comforted her, faced her? Was it really that hard?

He must have known she would be thinking about her. Everything she touched in the house was Emma. She couldn’t even bring herself to wipe the handprints from the banister. Daniel should have known. Sometimes grief slipped silently out of the shadows to hit her so hard, she would reel from the impact. Wasn’t it bound to on Emma’s birthday? And in its wake came the suffocating wave of despair, which seemed to wash away every ounce of strength she possessed. So she’d searched for a crutch.

And then, fuelled by alcohol, which, far from numbing the pain, only ever brought things into sharp focus, she’d provoked him, deliberately trying to prod him into some display of emotion.

She’d attacked him — her heart plummeted as she recalled the shock on his face, the hurt in his eyes — but the most brutal thing she could have done was to blame him. He couldn’t have been more hurt if she’d taken a knife to his heart.

He didn’t even retaliate. She wished he had. Any reaction would have been better than none. Emotionless, she’d called him. It wasn’t true. She knew him too well. She’d watched him be the best father a man could be to Kayla and Emma. Been there when he’d wiped away their tears, hugged them; tickled them into hysterics. He’d even played dressing up dolly, for God’s sake. Six foot tall, and he’d sat cross-legged on the lawn dressing Barbie in cool colours and streaking her hair to match.

She’d pushed him away. And she kept on pushing, because he kept coming back for more. Was she crying now for herself, or for Daniel? For Kayla or Emma; so short a life snatched away. Jo didn’t know anymore. If only Daniel had realised she’d unfastened her seatbelt.

* * *

He could’ve pulled out of the sale, up to a point. Daniel had held on to the hope that Jo might change her mind. She wasn’t likely to, he knew. But he’d hoped . . .

Of course, Sod’s Law had it that a process normally fraught with pitfalls ran like clockwork. No glitches in the legal work. Land searches completed. Accounts in order. The saleable assets, the house, fleet of hire boats and land represented a good percentage of the sale price. And he had a buyer keen to complete as soon as possible, a business rival looking to expand. Tony obviously knew a good thing when he saw it. God was smiling on him, after all, Daniel thought wryly.

As soon as the funds were available, they’d be spirited away.

Six hundred thousand to pay off the business debts, the rest in a deposit account to help fund a smaller property for Jo, and that was it. All Daniel had worked for, all he’d ever wanted in life — the boatyard, his home, his family — gone.

The mortgage adviser passed him his receipt, smiled, and bid Daniel a pleasant day.

He envied her optimism. ‘You too.’ He nodded. She was exceptionally pretty, he noticed. How old must she be? Early twenties, he guessed. Her whole life ahead of her. The thought crept uninvited into his mind.

Why hadn’t he talked to Jo, on that day of all days? Left the damn final checks on the boats, which didn’t matter anyhow, and gone in to try to comfort her? Because he was too scared of opening doors better left closed.

Because he was a coward.

Daniel broke eye contact with the girl and turned abruptly for the door.

* * *

Becky Adams arrived at the cemetery early. She and Matthew had promised each other no secrets and Matthew had stayed true to his word, although she could tell sometimes that he was reluctant to share details of his work with her. He was concerned, even after all they’d been through, that he might unnecessarily worry her. Becky couldn’t change that about him. He might try to remain detached when it came to his job as a detective, but he hardly ever achieved that. How could anyone, in reality, remain indifferent to the sordidness he dealt with on a daily basis? When faced with an underage girl, who’d been used and abused by some drug-pushing lowlife? Matthew was deeply caring. Being a policeman wasn’t just a job to him. It was who he was. It was Becky who’d pointed that out to him, albeit reluctantly, when Matthew had also tried to make good his promise to walk away from the force. To allow Sullivan and the evil he’d spawned to take that away from him would have been to have let them win. Becky knew that that was what Matthew was thinking too. And so, he’d gone back. No, Becky couldn’t change who her husband fundamentally was, and nor would she want to. He would understand that she needed this quiet time with her child, to be at one with her, just for a short while. Becky didn’t want to appear to be shutting Matthew out, though, and so she came just that little bit earlier.

‘Hello, Lily bug,’ she said, using her own pet name for Lily, as she knelt to take the wilted flowers from the urn. Both she and Matthew hated to see those. ‘No Mia today, you’ll be relieved to know,’ she chatted on, while she unwrapped the fresh flowers and snipped the stems. She had brought Mia with her once or twice so Lily could see her baby sister, but Mia, not knowing any better, had charged around like a mad thing, as toddlers did. Now, at four, Becky wasn’t sure it was a good idea to bring her until she was old enough to understand more.

‘Ashley’s picking her up from school,’ she went on. She’d told Lily all about Mia being in Reception class, explained how Ashley had come to live with them. She hoped that somewhere Lily could hear her. That she knew that she would always be part of their family.

‘Daddy’s on his way.’ She smiled, knowing that, if Lily could hear her, news of Daddy would delight her. She was always so overjoyed to see Matthew it had made Becky just the tiniest bit jealous. Becky took a breath then and told her firstborn precious baby what she needed to, how much she loved her, how much she missed her, every minute of every single day and in her dreams. She couldn’t do that in front of Matthew, knowing that, for all the counselling they’d had together, all the counselling he’d had separately, he would never truly forgive himself for his work being the reason their child was snatched so cruelly away. Seeing his heartbreak when they’d lost her, the palpable unspoken grief in his eyes, the guilt that had lingered for far too long, she simply couldn’t say those words out loud in front of him.

Arranging the flowers, Becky sat silently for a while, fancying she could hear her child’s melodic laughter on the soft summer breeze. That’s when she saw her again, Joanne, the wife of the owner of the boatyard they’d hired their narrowboat from last year. Again, she was sitting at the graveside on her own, looking so desolate, so utterly devastatingly alone, Becky’s heart broke for her. Their child had been the same age, she’d learned, tentatively approaching her one day. The woman’s grief had emanated from her as Becky had spoken falteringly of her own heartbreak. Her husband, Becky had also learned, couldn’t bring himself to visit at all.

‘Here he is.’ Spotting Matthew walking towards her, his jacket hitched over his shoulder, looking tanned, slightly dishevelled as he tended to, and pensive, as usual, Becky turned her attention back to Lily. ‘Still as handsome as ever, but don’t let on I said so. He’ll only get a big head.’ He was too. Tall, dark, moody, broody, all the essential ingredients that would make female hearts flutter, though Becky could do with a little less of the broody sometimes. Squinting up at him as he approached, she smiled. Matthew smiled back, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, she noted, as he leaned in to press a soft kiss to her lips, meaning he was troubled. Becky knew him well enough to know that.

‘Hi,’ Matthew said softly, coming back from wherever he was to focus on her. ‘Okay?’ he asked, searching her eyes, that perpetual question in his, was she? Becky doubted she’d ever convince him she was.

‘Yes. Good,’ she said, reaching to squeeze his hand. She didn’t need to tell him there was a part of her that would always be sad. She no longer needed to tell him that it was acceptable for him to feel that way too, which was progress.

Matthew nodded, his gaze lingering on hers for a second, and then turned to brush his hand against the headstone. ‘Hi, Tigerlily,’ he said softly, taking a moment, before joining her on the grass.

‘Penny for them?’ Becky asked, after several minutes watching Matthew sit in quiet contemplation, his gaze on Lily’s stone, his hands draped idly about his knees.

‘Just thinking,’ Matthew said. ‘How fragile life is.’

‘A case?’ Becky asked intuitively.

Matthew nodded and scratched his forehead with his thumb.

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

Smiling, Matthew reached to wrap an arm around her shoulders and draw her to him. ‘Later,’ he said. ‘That’s not why we’re here.’

* * *

‘A young girl,’ Matthew confided as they strolled back towards their cars. ‘Beaten senseless and pushed down a stairwell by the drug-pushing scum she was with. She was pregnant. Five months.’

‘Oh God.’ Becky’s step faltered. ‘She lost the baby?’

Drawing in a long breath, Matthew nodded and squeezed her hand.

‘Will she press charges?’ Becky asked hopefully.

Matthew shook his head and tried to temper his slow burning fury. ‘I’d hoped she might, but now? No, not likely.’

In actual fact, he’d hoped that Rachel Meadows might give him more than that. Chances were now though that she would be too petrified of what Roberts might do. Never yet had they managed to bring him in on more than a petty felony. Every time they hauled the little runt in, out he swaggered again, hands in pockets, a smirk across his face, and charges small enough to be insignificant. What Matthew would give to wipe that smirk off his face once and for all.

‘He’ll slip up. You’ll get him,’ Becky said, sounding positive, for his sake, Matthew guessed.

‘I hope so,’ he said. ‘Hope to God, if there’s any justice in this world, I’ll get to lock the bastard up and throw away the key.’

Matthew stopped, glancing contritely at the woman who’d stepped from the side path in front of them to deposit dead flowers in the waste bin. Cursing in a cemetery probably wasn’t the best idea.

Glancing up briefly, the woman hardly noticed him. Grief-stricken, obviously. Matthew noted the forefinger she pressed hard to the middle of her forehead, indicating she was trying hard to hold back the tears, saw the swallow slide visibly down her throat as she turned away.

Matthew watched her walk back the way she had come. He’d seen her before. Was it her? She was pale. And if it was her, she’d lost weight, but . . . ‘Isn’t that . . . ?’

‘The woman from the boatyard, yes,’ Becky finished. ‘She looks devastated, doesn’t she? Poor woman. Her child was about the same age as Lily.’

‘I know,’ Matthew said, recalling immediately the Road Traffic Accident he’d been involved in a while back, the circumstances around which had Matthew reliving his own nightmares and feeling sick to his soul for the father.

Daniel Conner, Matthew remembered him well. The man had been at the wheel when the accident had happened. What happened afterwards had been almost incomprehensible to Matthew. His daughter DOA, and the officers at the scene had hauled Conner in. DI Anderson, otherwise known as Relentless because he didn’t give up on a case — he’d certainly been determined to see Matthew locked up for rape and murder — had tried to do Daniel Conner for driving without due care. Hours he’d been kept at the station, his eyes those of a haunted man. Eventually, Anderson had strolled back into the interview room, where Matthew was attempting to make some sense of what had actually happened, to inform Conner he was in luck. ‘Turns out the other driver was over the limit,’ he’d said glibly.

In luck? Matthew had come to blows with Anderson once before, when the bastard had assumed him guilty until proven innocent, and he’d been dangerously close to losing it again that day. Instead, he’d concentrated on getting Conner out of there as soon as was humanly possible.

‘Got off lightly, if you ask me,’ Anderson had imparted as Daniel Conner had walked from the station, charges dropped, free to go — and a broken man.

‘Yes, of course he has,’ Jamie Collins had intervened before Matthew could. ‘A few fractured ribs, cuts and bruises, and condemned to spend the rest of his life with his conscience — and without his daughter. Counting his blessings, Daniel Conner will be. You really are an arsehole, Anderson.’

Matthew had watched Daniel Conner leave, the look on the man’s face not one he could easily forget. Or rather, he’d watched him not leave. He’d sunk down on the station steps and sobbed like a baby.

Matthew glanced from the woman back to Becky. ‘I was involved in the case. Not on it, but at the station when they brought her husband in. He was driving the car, the . . .’ Hearing Becky’s sharp intake of breath, Matthew stopped, realising that this was bound to evoke painful memories for her.

‘He doesn’t visit,’ Becky said unsteadily, eventually. ‘I’ve never seen him here. Not once. No wonder the poor woman looks so . . . terribly lonely.’

Matthew followed her gaze back to where Joanne Conner was now walking towards the exit, her arms wrapped around herself, her head down, looking exactly that.

Chapter Six

‘All right, boss?’ Steve asked him, when Matthew climbed back into the driver’s seat, waving at Becky as she got into her own car.

‘Fine,’ Matthew assured him, glad to have his DS back, who wouldn’t say any more or less than was appropriate on this occasion.

Steve nodded. ‘Becky?’ he asked him.

‘Good. Terrific, in fact,’ Matthew replied without embarrassment, knowing his enquiry wasn’t just a polite one, since it was Steve who’d saved her life.

‘So where to now?’ Steve didn’t say any more than was needed there either, but Matthew noted the quiet smile.

Matthew considered. He hadn’t needed persuading to find some pretext to go and see Daniel Conner, attempt to persuade the man to seek some kind of counselling. Looking Becky over as he’d kissed her goodbye, seeing her healthy and content, the sun reflecting a thousand slivers of gold in her wild auburn hair, the fire in her eyes, the compassion for another lost soul, he was reminded how lost he’d have been without her. How much he loved her. Daniel Conner was probably as lost and lonely as Joanne Conner was. No, he hadn’t needed to be persuaded. He would ring him, see if he could set something up. Bump into him, possibly? He’d work out the details. Meanwhile, Matthew was keen to see someone else. Someone who was not going to be overly pleased to see him.

Half an hour later they were parked up back outside Charlie Roberts’ delightful abode. If Steve wasn’t happy about it, he wasn’t voicing it. Clearly he was as keen to see Roberts get what was coming to him as Matthew was.

‘Here he comes, arrogant little sod,’ Steve growled, when, their patience duly rewarded, they watched Roberts swagger towards his block of flats, not a care in the world. ‘Should lock the little runt in a cell with Rachel Meadows’ mum and a pair of gardening shears. She would soon cut the son-of-a-bitch down to size.’

Matthew smiled wryly at that. ‘Not a bad idea,’ he said. ‘Might be breaking with protocol a bit though, unfortunately.’

He didn’t blame Rachel Meadows, who Jamie had informed them wouldn’t be pressing charges. She would be traumatised, scared. They could hardly provide her a safe house and promise her immunity against scum like Roberts. She wouldn’t want to be looking over her shoulder when he got back into circulation, which he soon would. And he might well seek the girl out to teach her a lesson, the snivelling little coward. Roberts had been known in the past to convince girls it wasn’t a smart move to talk to the law.

Matthew watched on, his gut tightening, as Charlie Roberts blew smoke high into the air, a smirk all over his face as he talked leisurely into his mobile, no doubt lining up his gear for the night. As free as a bird, to do exactly what he liked, when he liked, to whomever he liked. While Rachel Meadows . . .

What stuck in Matthew’s craw was that he could do nothing about it. Nothing. Tightening his grip on the wheel, anger and disgust broiling inside him, he watched as Roberts slowed his swagger to give two passing youngsters an appreciative once-over.

‘Girls, you are so beautiful, you just brightened my day,’ Charlie called after them, at which they blushed and fluttered eyelashes, taken in by the slimy chameleon’s charms.

Stuff this, Matthew thought, determined, if he could do nothing else, to put a damper on the violent little runt’s day. ‘Whoops,’ he said as he swung the driver’s side door wide, stopping Charlie’s cocksure strut rudely mid-stride, ‘you really should watch your step, Charlie, my old son.’

‘What the fuck you doin’?’ Charlie blustered, his face knitting into a scowl.

‘Nicking you,’ Matthew informed him, without further ado. ‘Get in, Charlie.’

‘Geddoff,’ Charlie said, taking another puff on whatever he was smoking. A roll up, Matthew noted. Legit probably from the absence of the whiff of skunk. No matter. He wanted him in. They’d have to let him go. They always had to sodding well let him go, but what Matthew wanted was for Charlie Roberts to know. He was onto him. He was watching him.

‘You can’t just stop and search me for no reason.’ Charlie was in full bluster mode now.

‘I’m not searching you, Charlie. You’ve refused. Failure to a consent to a search means I can take you in if I have grounds to suspect you’re carrying drugs. I do. You’re nicked.’

‘Bollocks. I ain’t carrying nothing. You can’t just haul me in when you feel like it, you wanker.’

Matthew’s jaw tightened. ‘Get in, Charlie.’

‘I’d do as the man asks, Charlie,’ Steve said, coming around from the passenger side. ‘Or he might just be inclined to forget he’s a policeman. And, having seen evidence of your recent attempt to impress women this morning, I might just be inclined to hold you down. In!’

‘Shit,’ Charlie muttered, complying and walking towards the car despite his reservations. ‘That’s police brutality, that is,’ he said as Steve kindly assisted him in.

‘Good job I’ve just clocked off duty then, innit?’ Steve smiled and closed the door.

‘I didn’t hear any of that,’ Matthew said, buckling up, as Steve climbed back in.

‘Never said a word,’ Steve said, doing likewise, as Matthew started the engine.

* * *

Time-is-money habit of a lifetime, Daniel checked his watch. What the hell were they doing out there, sweeping the tracks? It seemed to be taking an eternity for the train to leave the station.

Still, time was something he would have an abundance of now. The thought served only to deepen his sombre mood. Daniel was a doer. He didn’t relish the thought of having nothing to actually do, much less the prospect of starting over, alone. Right now, though, alone was exactly where he wanted to be, with his thoughts.

At last, the train lurched into life as Daniel rose to help a young family scramble aboard. A chocolate-coated toddler in a buggy was parked to the side of him — he assured the mother it was no problem — and a little girl, aged five, six maybe, was scooped onto her mother’s lap.

Daniel kept his eyes firmly averted. Attempting to interpret the graffiti until it merged into one glorious multicoloured snake, he stared out of the window, the rhythmic roll of the train eventually enticing him to much needed sleep. The train slowed to a halt, doors opened and closed. Daniel’s eyes opened and closed. It might be his station. His mind tried to tug him awake but his body refused to budge. He was finally reeled back to reality by a melodic little voice, which had taken the place of the muted discordance escaping the earphones of the teenager who’d been sitting next to him.

A train hurtled past in the opposite direction, catapulting him to full consciousness. Daniel righted himself in his seat, eased the crick in his neck, and tried to turn his attention away from the little foot dangling over the edge of the seat opposite him, bouncing in time with her tune. ‘Follow the Yellow Brick Road. Follow the Yellow Brick Road. Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow the Yellow Brick Road,’ she sang softly.

Daniel’s mouth twitched into a smile as she continued to hum happily to herself, her small hands holding her hymn sheet, newspaper style, in front of her. She licked a forefinger and thumb and proceeded to turn the page, as adult-like as a little girl could be.

‘Oh,’ she said as the middle portion fluttered to the floor.

Daniel instinctively bent to retrieve it.

Handing it back, his heart plummeted. He looked straight into the eyes of his child. Huge eyes, framed by softly curled eyelashes. Intense blue, wide with the perfectly clear innocence of childhood — and so much like Emma’s, he could have cried.

‘Thank you,’ she said, her eyes suddenly guarded.

‘Anytime.’ Daniel forced his mouth into a reassuring smile.

She cocked her head to one side, studying him hard. ‘I’m Dorothy,’ she informed him, seeming to come to the decision he wasn’t too strange to talk to.

‘That’s a nice name,’ Daniel replied lightly.

‘No, not in real life,’ she said, with a world-weary sigh. ‘I’m Dorothy in the school play, silly.’

‘Olivia!’ her mother quickly admonished her, whilst licking a tissue to dab at the toddler’s chocolate-smeared face. ‘She’s a bit excited.’ She smiled apologetically. ‘I hope she’s not bothering you?’

‘No, not at all,’ Daniel assured her, and then settled back to listen as Olivia outlined The Wizard of Oz in its entirety.

‘Harry’s playing the lion,’ she informed him, screwing up her nose.

‘Oh? And who’s Harry?’

‘Just a boy at school.’ She shrugged grown-up shoulders. ‘He’s okay, but he’s soo noisy. He roared so loud, Miss Adams nearly fell off the stage. Boys.’ She sighed, with a roll of her eyes.

‘Oh dear.’ Daniel was surprised to hear himself laugh.

‘Have you got any children?’ she asked, catching him completely off guard.

He coughed and looked briefly away. ‘Er, just the one. But she’s a big girl now.’

‘Oh.’ Olivia nodded. ‘Too big to watch CBeebies?’

‘I think she probably is.’ Daniel laughed again, trying to imagine a time when Kayla did anything other than listen to Black Eyed Peas, or whoever was currently cool.

‘Does she want to be Beyoncé when she grows up?’

‘Er, no.’ Daniel’s mouth curved into a smile. The mere mention of Beyoncé had Kayla making delightful little retching noises. Not good for her Goth street cred, according to Jo. ‘Is that who you want to be?’

‘Yes.’ Olivia nodded adamantly. ‘Or . . .’ She had a little think. ‘. . . Jack Sparrow.’

‘Ah.’ Daniel nodded in turn. ‘Good choice, though I think Beyoncé’s outfits might look a bit prettier.’

‘Ye-es.’ Olivia considered, and then chattered on, showing Daniel her script, her new wedge shoes, and, as she leaned forward, Daniel almost didn’t resist a sudden urge to stroke her hair.

Jesus. He pulled himself up, imagining what her mother’s reaction to that gesture might be.

Olivia scooted from the seat, her station apparently in sight. ‘You can come to my play, if you like,’ she suggested, slipping her hand into her mother’s.

‘I’d love to, but I live a long way away, I’m afraid.’ Daniel looked suitably disappointed.

‘Oh, okay. Maybe next time. Bye, then.’ She smiled and gave him a cute little wave.

‘Bye, Beyoncé.’ Daniel waved, and offered her a smile back, despite the pain where his heart should be.

He ran a hand over his neck as she alighted and turned to the window. It was Emma he saw looking back, his golden-haired angel, a little replica of Jo, but for the clear blue of her eyes.

Jo’s were green. No half-hearted, hazel green either. They were . . . amazing. Irish eyes, he called her. Everything was there, in Jo’s eyes. If she wasn’t pleased, you knew about it. If you wanted honesty without window dressing, that’s where you’d find it, in her eyes. And when they’d made love together, sweet and slow, before the shadows had taken over their lives, she’d conveyed her love for him — with her eyes. So there was no question now in Daniel’s mind. With gut-wrenching certainty, he knew Jo hated him, with as much passion as she’d once loved him.

Arriving, finally, at High Wycombe — Jo’s choice as she’d thought he might want Emma close to his mother — he debated briefly whether to take the bus. Checking his watch, he noted it was almost school out time and decided against. The walk might help blow the cobwebs away. He wasn’t sure why he was going, even now that he was almost there. He hadn’t been to the cemetery since the funeral. He simply couldn’t bring himself to.

Now Daniel knew it was something he needed to do. Unconsciously or consciously — he wasn’t sure which — he’d slammed a lid tight shut on his emotions. Jo had been right about that.

It had cut to the core when people he knew had huddled to speak in hushed tones on that, the worst day of his life. Or turned embarrassed eyes away from his, for fear of the grief they might find there, or the guilt. They’d shuffled and mumbled. They were sorry. Of course they were, but none as sorry as he. He’d destroyed the life of his innocent child, and simultaneously, he’d destroyed Jo.

Things had been good up until then. Better than he’d dared to hope for. Yes, they’d had their fair share of problems in the early years, but eventually it had started to come together. They’d celebrated the refit of their first hire boat with champagne. Then celebrated some more, the second bottle having them throwing inhibition — and caution — to the wind, right there on the boat, under the stars. He smiled quietly. That was the night Kayla had been conceived. If she’d been a bit of a surprise, she was conceived in style, no doubt about it.

Emma was planned, a plan that didn’t come to fruition, initially. But, on the basis that practice made perfect, Daniel had selflessly sacrificed his body for the sake of a good cause, and it had happened, eventually. If Jo was thrilled, he was ecstatic. Things had come good for them, just as Jo had predicted they would. Because they had faith, she’d said, and because they had each other, no matter what.

Yeah, so much for the faith bit. And they certainly didn’t have each other anymore. God giveth and God taketh away. Daniel kicked angrily at a discarded Coke can. What, he wondered, what terrible sin had he committed that he should be punished like this?

And Jo? Why should someone who laughed in the face of adversity, a laugh that lifted his spirits so high that he felt he could fly, someone who cared so much, have to suffer so much? She’d just existed since, that was all, the light in her eyes eclipsed by sadness. If only he hadn’t been so preoccupied. If only Kayla hadn’t been so bloody temperamental and taken her—

No! That was pathetic! He was responsible for what happened on that godforsaken day. And he hadn’t just broken Jo’s heart. He’d broken her spirit.

His own heart broke a little more each day as he watched Jo fall apart.

The people they’d been had simply disappeared. They’d just been going through the motions ever since, unable to communicate, barely exchanging glances. For Jo’s sake, he should have tried harder with the counselling, but what was the point? Keeping the wound open, probing around until it hurt so much, he wanted to scream. Wasn’t it bad enough that he heard Emma’s cries in his dreams? That he could see her around every corner? In the face of every little girl?

Daniel stopped abruptly. He’d been so deep in thought he hadn’t noticed that he’d reached his destination. He pulled up his collar, a shiver of apprehension snaking its way down his spine, and made his way through the part of the cemetery where once proud Victorian headstones subsided submissively to the elements.

He walked purposefully on, past weathered stones and wingless cherubs, deliberately avoiding inscriptions. He didn’t need reminding how short life was. Skirting around the war memorial, turning right at the church, he picked his way through the black granite uniformity until he spotted the stone with Pooh Bear engraved on it. Emma would never go to bed without PB, tattered and torn though he was. The inscription read simply, Emma ~ 2011–2016. Sleep Safe Baby.

The purchase of the headstone was one of the last things Jo and he had actually done together. They’d chosen it together. Gone to the stonemason’s together. Daniel had never been able to come here though, to view it in situ.

Now here he was.

Alone with his stolen child.

It was a well-chosen plot, he thought obliquely, surrounded by trees, serenaded by birdsong. Overlooked by the church, he hadn’t quite realised.

Daniel hesitated, and then reached out to tentatively trace the curve of the headstone. ‘Sorry, sweetheart,’ he whispered, swallowing back a tight lump in his throat.

Dammit. He dragged an arm across his eyes, took a deep breath and another, and then prayed in earnest. Look after my baby, he begged silently. Keep her safe. Please keep her safe.

Chapter Seven

Joanne struggled from the bus stop, praying the flimsy supermarket bags wouldn’t give way. Must remember to lock that damn thing, she admonished herself as she elbowed herself through the back door. Daniel would do his fruit, if he found it unlocked. But Daniel wasn’t here. She sighed, dumped the bags on the kitchen floor and headed for the kettle.

Now for the putting away bit, preferably in some sort of order where she could find it. Shopping. Who’d do it? Dan would, she thought abstractedly. His fair share anyway. He didn’t seem to mind wandering around the supermarket. Jo hated it. And shopping for two didn’t seem any easier than shopping for three, in light of Kayla’s latest food fad. Vegan, she’d declared herself recently, ready to cut her throat rather than eat dead cow. So ruling out meat and dairy products, that left . . . vegetables.

Lord, the time. Having visited Emma earlier, she hadn’t noticed the hours slipping by. One eye on the clock, Jo shoved the groceries haphazardly away. Kayla was due home at five, and Jo was going to sit her down and talk to her if it was the last thing she did. Daniel was due at seven. He’d be on time. You could set your watch by Daniel, always where he was supposed to be, when he was supposed to be, physically anyway.

There, job done. The food was safely stowed. Now to produce an actual meal. Plucking up a cookery book, she flicked through it in hopes of inspiration. Vegetable stew, wholesome, and presumably acceptable to a vegan, she decided, lighting on a reasonably easy recipe. Quickly, she ferreted back in the cupboard for tinned tomatoes, purée, carrots, courgettes, mushrooms. What else? Jo chewed on her lower lip. Oh, yes, onions.

Well, that was dinner on — and she looked like the dog’s dinner. She glanced down at her tatty shirt and jeans. Did it matter? She supposed not. Daniel had always said she would look beautiful in a bin liner anyway.

Liar. Jo’s mouth curved into a sad smile as she headed to the utility room to stuff carrier bags away, where her eyes fell on her signwriting brushes. She fingered the soft sable of one of them, wishing things could go back to how they had been, with her painting the signage on the boats, alongside Daniel doing the heavier labour.

She and Daniel, together.

Jo sighed and reached for the jar of hand cream she kept by the sink.

Daniel liked her hands. He was always amazed at how soft they were on his back, given she spent more time than the average woman up to her elbows in oil and enamel paint. Jo had never minded that. Practical had always been her middle name. She and Daniel had worked so well together, as compatible as any partnership could be. Her heart constricting painfully in her chest, longing for what could have been, what should have been, she sighed again, heavily, and tried to ignore the drip, drip of the faulty utility tap, which suddenly sounded too loud against the all-pervading silence.

* * *

Kayla pushed her key into the lock, kicked the front door closed behind her, then slipped upstairs to check out her wardrobe before her mum started on the, ‘So how was your day?’ conversation.

Shitty actually, Kayla would like to reply, instead of shrugging and saying okay. It was too. She had the attention span of a gnat lately. And she was fed up with being singled out for it. Concentrate, Kayla, Mr Ward had said today. No, dear, on your maths, not your nails. Weedy little twerp.

She’d just about got changed when she heard Jo shouting up to her. Blimey, dinner already? Kayla checked her bedside clock. She’s a bit keen, isn’t she?

‘Inaminit. I’m doing my homework,’ she shouted, doing nothing of the sort. She was actually outlining her eyes with smudgy grey kohl. And she still had to find her missing dangly earring. It was there somewhere, in the black hole, as her dad hilariously referred to the space under her bed.

Kayla dragged out three Pepsi Max bottles, and then groped through the debris. No earring. Damn. Right, drastic measures were called for, she decided, heaving the bed away from the wall to reveal a mouldy yoghurt pot and a pizza box containing something so utterly disgusting even she was hard pushed to ignore it.

Okay, so she hadn’t cleaned up lately. Why should she? Her mum never ventured in, anyway. Still, the mess under there was too gross. She made a mental note to tidy up . . . sometime . . . and headed for her parents’ room to rifle through Jo’s jewellery box.

They weren’t exactly Miss Sixty, but her mum’s silver drop earrings would just have to do.

‘Kayla!’ Jo shouted again, over her music on speaker.

Back in her room, Kayla slow danced in front of the mirror, earrings poised. ‘Shit!’ She stopped abruptly as her mum rapped on the door, stuffed the earrings into the pocket of her backpack, shovelled the mess back under the bed, and then squeaked the door open an inch.

* * *

‘What?’ Kayla asked moodily through the crack in the door.

Unable to hear herself think, Jo stuffed her fingers demonstratively in her ears and mouthed, ‘Turn it down.’

At which, Kayla rolled her eyes, about-faced, and trailed across the room to mute her phone.

Peering around the door, Jo tried not to notice the bedlam within. ‘Fancy some food?’ she asked as Kayla came back.

‘Nah.’ Kayla slipped out of her room, pulling the door closed behind her. ‘I’ll grab a veggie burger from Maccies after the pictures.’

‘Oh, come on,’ Jo tried to entice her. ‘You’ve got time for a quick bite, surely? It’s vegetable stew, homemade. Not a dead cow in sight.’

Kayla shrugged indifferently. ‘Can’t. Promised Hannah I’d help her with her English Lit.’

As if Kayla knew Romeo from Juliet. ‘Look, Kayla . . .’ Jo hesitated. ‘Your father is coming over in half an hour and he . . . That is, we—’

‘What do you mean, coming over?’ Kayla interjected, forcefully. ‘Last I heard he lived here.’ Her expression was belligerent but the hurt was painfully obvious in her eyes.

‘Kayla, I . . .’ Jo trailed off, torn between wanting to hug her daughter and tell her off for her childishness. She’s fifteen, Jo, she reminded herself. She’s a child, even if outward appearances deceive.

Cautioning herself to go easy, she tried again. ‘I’d like you to be here, Kayla,’ she said gently. ‘Please? Give Hannah a ring, will you?’

Kayla’s answer to which was to fold her arms defensively and glare at Jo from under her eyelashes.

Which were caked in mascara, Jo noticed, but decided to let it go in favour of trying to rebuild mother/daughter relationships. ‘Dinner’s on the table,’ she offered, her heart heavy at the obvious enormity of that task as she turned for the stairs. ‘Be nice if you could join me.’

* * *

‘Thanks.’ Jo smiled as Kayla came into the kitchen five minutes later, the phone call to Hannah having been dutifully made, albeit reluctantly. Jo would be the villain in all of this, she supposed. So be it. Someone had to be.

She wouldn’t run Daniel down to his daughter. She couldn’t, in all honesty. What had he done, after all, apart from hang a no admittance sign on his emotions?

Sloping to the table, Kayla dragged the chair back and plonked herself down. Then, her face set in a sulk, she eyed the pot of stew disdainfully. ‘When’s he comin’?’ she asked, dropping her gaze to fix her eyes on her nails.

Or rather, nail extensions, Jo noted those, too. ‘Soon,’ she replied, reaching to dish up. Talking to Kayla, she realised, was going to be about as easy as wading through treacle. How was she supposed to talk to the top of the girl’s obstinate head?

‘Stew’s okay, isn’t it?’ she asked hopefully a minute later, noting the distinct lack of enthusiasm with which Kayla sloshed the contents of her bowl around with her spoon.

‘It’s got mushrooms in,’ Kayla informed her, screwing up her nose and sliding her bowl away. ‘Tastes like snails.’

Watching as Kayla pushed herself away from the table and headed back to the stairs, Jo placed her head in her hands, despairing of herself, of Kayla, of everything that just seemed beyond her ability to make right. How could she have forgotten? It wasn’t that hard to remember, was it, that Kayla didn’t like mushrooms?

* * *

Daniel hesitated at the front door. A cold shiver shook through him, despite the oppressive warmth of the evening. He turned to take a last look across the boatyard. Boats jostling on sun-dappled water greeted him, open fields as a backdrop. It was idyllic, this view, as if everything it encompassed shouldn’t have a care in the world.

It was going to hurt, giving up all they’d worked for. It had been damned hard work too, but he’d loved it, every backbreaking minute of it.

Giving up Jo, though . . . That was going to hurt a hell of a lot more.

He couldn’t have done it without her; they’d built up the business from scratch. Jo’s gentle but persistent bullying had persuaded him to go for it. If his was the initial outlay, thanks to an inheritance from a relative he’d had no clue even existed, Jo’s was the enthusiasm to get the thing off the ground. They’d taken a hell of a gamble, giving up their jobs to buy the yard with its dilapidated fleet of hire boats. Jo had supported him all the way, despite his old man’s insistence that he stay in his secure office job.

Forced into early retirement because of Daniel’s supposedly unprovoked attack on him, his so-called father had thought Daniel owed him. He’d owed the man nothing, Daniel thought bitterly, recalling the one and only time he had lost his temper. Lost it completely. Unprovoked was a complete joke. Provocation born of years of fear was behind what had happened that day, what had forced Daniel to turn on the person who should have kept him safe as a child, to fight back.

To fight back hard.

And the drunken old bastard knew it.

Daniel figured he’d paid his dues up front and then some. As far as he was concerned, his father should have been grateful he’d had pity enough to call the ambulance. He hadn’t been proud of what he’d done. Not then. Not now. He’d sworn on his mother’s grave, he would never, ever, give in to destructive emotion again.

Sworn also that, once his father was out of the hospital and coping, he would wash his hands of him. The old man had his pension. It was enough to live on. And that’s what he’d have to do, Daniel had told him, before walking out of his life and into a new, wholesome life with a woman he’d only ever dared hope could love him.

Daniel glanced across the yard to the spot where Jo had leapt excitedly into his arms when they’d first viewed it. She’d wrapped arms and legs about him, and almost sent them both sprawling into the water.

She’d left her job, rolled up her sleeves, and worked right alongside him to make their dream a reality. They’d sweated blood turning the business around, worked until they’d dropped into bed exhausted, bed being a berth on one of the boats, while the house was renovated. They’d almost been too tired to make love sometimes. Almost.

Life had been good then. Better than he’d ever imagined it could be. Side-by-side, brick-by-brick, boat-by-boat, they’d created something to be proud of. And they’d been blessed with two beautiful daughters.

Then God saw fit to remind him how fragile life was.

And he’d tried. Tried so hard to hold on, hoping — all the while dying inside, crying inside — that they’d come through it. Not intact. They could never be whole again; a part of them was missing. But together, he’d hoped . . .

He’d been blind. Selfish and stupid and blind. What did a successful business amount to, measured against the life of his child?

Jo had wanted to sell up straight away. He couldn’t bring himself to. It had happened less than a mile away, and he’d stubbornly refused to let go, no regard for the pain he was putting Jo through.

Dammit. He deserved all he got.

Daniel hit the doorbell.

Jo smiled as she opened the door. ‘On time,’ she said, ‘as expected.’

Daniel offered her a tight smile back. His obsession with punctuality was one of the things Jo had brought up during the one counselling session he’d managed to sit through. Something about him being there physically, but not emotionally.

‘Hi,’ he said hesitantly and then, not sure what else to say, asked, ‘How are you?’

‘Fine,’ Jo lied, obviously, and held the door wide. ‘Are you coming in?’

Steeling himself, Daniel stepped inside, and then turned to hover in the hallway while Jo closed the door. He felt like a stranger in his own home. Should he go on through? He glanced at Jo, uncertain, and stayed where he was.

Jo looked him over. ‘You look terrible,’ she said, a worried little v in her brow. God, how Daniel wished he could take her in his arms, hold her, and make her worries go away.

Not a chance. ‘I’m okay,’ he assured her. ‘Just tired.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Shaking her head, Jo slipped past him and headed for the kitchen.

And Daniel realised he’d said the wrong thing.

Again.

Sitting on her windowsill, Kayla had watched her dad walk dejectedly up the long gravel drive and then glance around the boatyard. He looked like death. God, couldn’t those two just bloody well grow up?

So what did she do now? She contemplated, as she blew circles of smoke through the open window. Go down and ask them outright what was going on? Or wait until her presence was requested?

Down. Get it over and done with, she decided, stubbing her cigarette out on the brick wall below the window and then sliding off the sill to give the room a liberal spray of Chloé. Her mum’s Chloé, she thought a bit guiltily. But then, she had bought it, hadn’t she, for Jo’s birthday. Waste of money that was, too. She didn’t even open it. Yeah, okay. It was only two weeks after . . . But she could have said thanks.

Kayla checked her face in the mirror. She’d limited the make-up to as much as she thought was acceptable under scrutiny. She didn’t want to hang around any longer than necessary though.

Once she’d heard what they’d got to say, she was out of there, off to the nightclub with Hannah, hopefully to see Charlie. Those two could sift through the rubble on their own. They didn’t need her around.

Chapter Eight

‘Tempting, isn’t it?’ Steve said, watching alongside Matthew as, a cocky smirk all over his face, Charlie Roberts sauntered towards the station exit.

Sticking close to his solicitor, Matthew noted, lest he was hauled back in by the scruff of his neck. Steve had hinted someone was ready to drop him in it from a very great height regarding his nefarious drug-related activities, but Charlie knew better. His ‘friends’ in the business didn’t grass on their own and Rachel . . . ? The arrogant little bastard had obviously been cocksure there too.

‘Very,’ Matthew agreed, dragging his gaze away, disgusted, and turning for the security door. ‘Not a great idea, though, Steve.’

‘I wasn’t talking about fitting him up.’ Steve shrugged, turning to follow him. ‘I was talking about Rachel Meadows’ mum and the gardening shears.’

Matthew laughed, despite his morose mood. ‘Not sure that’s allowed either.’ He sighed, heading for a stiff shot of caffeine, since he’d promised himself to stay on the wagon. He could sorely use something stronger right now though.

They’d been so close to getting something. Not enough to put Roberts away for long, but he’d been sure Rachel was about to give him something to at least get Charlie off the streets. And now . . . nothing. Dope was all they’d managed to find him in possession of, which was for Charlie’s own personal use, of course, according to his bird-brained brief. Yes, of course it was. These smartarse solicitors should try telling the parents that the kid they gave birth to, nursed and nurtured to the age of seventeen, or younger, just popped an E and dropped dead on the dance floor. Or tried to peel themselves — on a drug-induced trip to hell — because they thought they were an orange. That was one of the perks of the job, and it gutted Matthew each and every time. Having children of his own made it worse. Knowing there were kids out there that would never be safe with people like Charlie Roberts ready to prey on them made Matthew sick to his soul. One day, one day soon, Roberts. Matthew made himself another promise: to put Charlie Roberts away for a very long time.

* * *

Better, Charlie thought, towelling his hair, as he came out of the bathroom. The stench of the nick always lingered. He had a quick sniff of his armpits, and then reached for his aftershave.

Slipping his arms into his shirt, he tugged up the collar and checked himself out in the mirror. Yeah, that’d do. Looked the business in his club gear, Charlie did. Always dressed to impress — and the birds always were. That’s most likely what got DI Adams’ goat up earlier, those two girls obviously giving him the eye. Miserable bastard probably hadn’t had his leg over in decades, if ever.

Far from annoyed at the copper’s feeble attempts at intimidation though, Charlie had been quite relieved. He’d thought for a minute there that Rachel might have been pissed off enough after the accident to go telling tales. The last thing Charlie needed was getting banged up when he needed to be making some dosh.

He shouldn’t have worried though. Rachel was stuck on him, after all, wasn’t she? Probably hoping he would go around to her mum’s with a bunch of flowers, the silly bint.

Good job he hadn’t been carrying anything more than he was. That DI Adams had a personal vendetta, Charlie would swear. He was trying to put the frighteners on him, telling him he was ‘on his case’, as if it wasn’t obvious, sad bastard. You’d think he’d have something better to do with his time with murderers and paedos running around scot-free. Well, Charlie had got news for the dodgy detective. He didn’t scare easily. As it was, the copper’s car door had been more dented than Charlie’s pride. Served him right. Charlie didn’t take kindly to police intimidation.

Giving himself an approving wink, he ran some wax through his hair, then smoothed his shirt over his torso and admired himself from both sides. He’d rather have worn the FCUK shirt, but there was no way he was getting that out of the bin after the tart had been in it. Still, this one was good. Slim cut, black with a fine white stripe, it showed off his physique.

Charlie flexed his pecs. Disciplined, that’s what he’d told Shawn he was. Fifty sit-ups every morning, gym five nights a week, that’s what gets you muscles like these, mate.

That was a bit of a lie, but still . . . he was toned. He’d have ’em gagging for it at the nightclub. So long as it was a skinny one gagging for it. Charlie couldn’t abide fat and flabby. Made him puke. Which reminded him, the tart had spewed in the kitchen. Must have been feeling a bit dodgy, poor cow. But then, they had to learn who was boss, as far as Charlie was concerned. There’d be no bloody men left in fifty years’ time if they didn’t reassert themselves. Wiping another dab of aftershave under his armpits, Charlie headed for the hall and peered around the kitchen door. Blimey, it stank in there. So, where was the bloody mutt? Obviously the tart must have let it out. Charlie scowled and then shrugged. Ah well, it’d be back when it was hungry.

Turning, he headed for the door, feeling pleased with himself.

He was hot to trot tonight, no doubt about it. The heroin had hit the spot.

* * *

Kayla wriggled into her leggings and pulled her trackie top over her animal print cami, which wasn’t quite appropriate attire for such a sombre occasion. The rose tattoo on her left boob they wouldn’t be overjoyed about either.

Dropping her smokes and mobile into her backpack, she had a quick check she had everything she needed: make-up bag, earrings, shoes, spare knickers . . . She scanned the room. Ah, yes, and Chloé. She popped that in for good measure, then inched her door open to have a listen.

What were they doing down there? Talk about prolonging the agony. She peered along the landing. All quiet on the Western Front. Was that a good sign? Or had they killed each other already?

Kayla headed for the stairs, creeping down the first four steps — expertly avoiding the squeaky one — and deposited herself on the fifth.

* * *

‘It’s just the washer, I think,’ Daniel said, drying his hands as he came into the kitchen from the utility after checking the tap. ‘I could drop by tomorrow and have a go at it, if you like?’

Jo glanced at him, then quickly away. ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘I would do it myself but the plumbing in this house has always been a mystery to me. I’d fix the tap and end up drowning us all. Um, I mean, Kayla and . . .’ She trailed awkwardly off and turned away to reach for the kettle. ‘Tea or caffeine?’

Daniel’s mouth twitched into a smile. Old habits, he supposed. They’d needed many a fix when they’d been working late into the night together.

‘Caffeine would be good. Thanks.’ He seated himself at the table and glanced around the kitchen at the ancient wood burner he’d thought wasn’t worth salvaging, but which Jo had insisted on keeping, at the natural pine cupboards they’d found under layers of gloss paint.

It was a good kitchen; a warm, homey sort of kitchen. Daniel suddenly felt acutely homesick, just like he’d felt years ago — scared and lonely, and too scared to show it. Wondering where his mother had gone, why they’d moved out of the house . . . His mind drifted so far back, he flinched when Jo plonked the coffee in front of him.

Jo picked up her own drink — a cold drink, Daniel noticed, red in colour, which didn’t bode well — and then slipped into the chair across the table from Daniel. ‘Terrible was an understatement,’ she said. ‘You look dreadful.’

‘Cheers.’ Daniel laughed, taking a sip of his coffee.

‘So where are you staying?’ Jo started conversationally.

‘The New Inn, on the Oxford Road.’

Jo screwed up her face.

‘It’s clean.’ Daniel shrugged. ‘Not exactly home, but . . .’ He glanced at Jo, who glanced away. ‘It’s only for a while.’

‘Oh?’ Jo’s eyes slid back to his. ‘You’ve found somewhere else, then?’

‘Sort of.’ Daniel paused. How would it look to Jo? Like a hasty getaway? It wasn’t. He’d rather rent somewhere locally, preferably with a bird’s eye view of the house, so he could nobble any bastard that came sniffing around. Sometimes he wondered if Jo actually knew how attractive she was. But then he’d decided against that. And the house was sold, wasn’t it? Jo would be moving, and his being out of the way was probably for the best — for Jo.

The job he’d accepted wasn’t well paid but it would give him an income, and enable him to contribute to Kayla’s future. He could see her during the holidays, assuming she wanted to see him. Weekends too, if he took the ferry. She could visit.

Christ, he hoped he was doing the right thing. ‘I had a word with Tony,’ he said, ‘about working in his boat syndicate.’

Jo looked at him curiously. ‘Somehow I can’t see you on a stand selling boats. They want you on the boatbuilding side, presumably?’

‘Not exactly. He needs someone to run the other end of the operation. Someone who knows how to run a boatyard and . . .’ Daniel hesitated. ‘. . . someone who can speak French.’

Jo gulped her drink so fast, Daniel thought she might choke. ‘You mean,’ she spluttered, ‘in France?’

‘France is where they generally speak French, Jo.’ Daniel gave her a half-hearted smile.

Jo placed her drink carefully on the table. ‘Well, well,’ she said, at length, ‘there was me, hoping somehow we could find a way back to each other. And there you are with your feet on the starting blocks. Raring to go, aren’t you, Daniel?’

Daniel stared at her, astonished. ‘No! No way. I didn’t want any of this, Jo. You know I didn’t.’

‘Oh, come on.’ Jo scraped her chair back and stood abruptly. ‘I was there when Tony first discussed his plans with you for the syndicate, Daniel. Remember? You thought it was a fantastic idea. You’d have had a slice of it then, you said, if you hadn’t put all your eggs in one basket. This basket!’

Daniel shook his head. ‘I hadn’t even thought about it until today, Jo.’ He exhaled slowly, and massaged his temples. ‘I thought you wanted me to . . . It seemed like a good idea.’

‘Yes, brilliant idea!’ Jo turned away, reached for the dishcloth and wiped manically at the work surface. ‘You get as far away as possible and leave me here to sell the bloody business. The business that you couldn’t bear to sell when I wanted you to.’

‘It’s sold,’ Daniel said quietly.

Jo stopped wiping. Her shoulders stiffened. ‘Oh, I see,’ she said shortly.

‘Tony’s the buyer. He approached me about a month ago. I tried to talk to you about it . . .’

‘Well, I’m obviously going a bit deaf in my old age, Daniel,’ Jo said facetiously, ‘because I didn’t bloody well hear you.’

No, Daniel eyed the half-empty glass resignedly, because you were too busy numbing the pain. ‘You said it was what you wanted,’ he reminded her.

‘So you’d already set the ball rolling?’ Jo turned to eye him quizzically. ‘A month ago, you say?’

Daniel nodded, deflated. ‘About then, yes.’

‘Not before? Way before. As in, before you felt obliged to stick around after Emma—’

‘What?’ Daniel looked up, shocked. ‘No! You’ve got it all wrong. Jo, please—’

‘Don’t bother, Daniel.’ Jo eyed him coldly. ‘I’m not interested. Just give me the details.’

Daniel sighed as she reached for her glass. ‘Don’t drink that stuff, Jo. It doesn’t do you any—’

‘And don’t you tell me what to do!’ Jo snapped. ‘You’ve no right.’

Daniel sighed inwardly and studied the ceiling. ‘Tony’s been looking to expand, over here and in France, for a while, apparently.’

‘Which, of course, you didn’t know about.’

‘No.’ Daniel shrugged, feeling as incompetent as Jo’s look implied. ‘He was a ready buyer, Jo . . .’ He willed her to listen, to understand. ‘In regard to the job offer, obviously he needs someone who knows the ropes, but we didn’t discuss that until after—’

‘So in exchange for a cushy little job where you can get away from it all,’ clearly furious, Jo cut him short, ‘a rival company gets the boatyard at a knock-down price. Way to go, Dan.’

‘No, not a knock-down price.’ Daniel tried to keep his tone calm. ‘He paid a fair—’

‘Paid?’ Jo blinked, disbelieving. ‘He’s put his money on the table, already?’

‘We use the same accountant, it sped things up,’ Daniel explained. ‘He knows the business is viable. We figured the property plus stock and three times profit to be worth nine hundred thousand. Tony paid nine-fifty.’

‘How very generous of him. Another fifty more than compensates, doesn’t it, Daniel, for you selling the business out from under me. How?’ she demanded, before Daniel could speak. ‘Without my agreement?’

‘The original capital was mine, Jo,’ Daniel pointed out, his heart plummeting. It was true. He’d paid the deposit with his money. And he’d organised the mortgage, but he’d never intended it to stay solely in his name. They’d just never got around to . . . He didn’t want any of the proceeds. Anything left after the business debts were paid off was Jo’s. Jo’s and Kayla’s. She must know that. ‘I thought it was what you wanted, Jo.’

‘What I wanted?’ Jo laughed, disbelieving. ‘Seems to me you wanted it a whole lot more.’

‘Jo, that’s not fair.’

‘Fair?’ She stared at him. ‘What’s bloody fair, Daniel? About any of this?’

‘None of it!’ Daniel’s frustration spilled over. He stood to face her, crashing his coffee cup to the table. What in Christ’s name did she want? He fixed angry eyes on hers, and then closed his own eyes tight. He wasn’t going this route.

‘None of it’s fair, Jo.’ His temper in check, his throat tight, and his heart finally reaching rock bottom, Daniel looked back at her.

* * *

Jo studied her husband hard. Soon to be ex-husband? She couldn’t believe it. Any of it.

Looking uncomfortable, as if he didn’t know where to look, Daniel dropped his gaze. And Jo wanted to shake him. Fight, damn you, she wanted to scream. Fight, Daniel! For me. For us! But what was the point? He hadn’t, and nor would he, because it simply wasn’t what he wanted. How could he do it? Just walk away? Start a new life. Discard her and Kayla as so much unwanted baggage.

‘Right,’ she said, nodding, trying to digest. ‘Well, you’ve obviously been planning to go for some time, so—’

‘Not true, Jo,’ Daniel said quickly. ‘It couldn’t be further from the truth. I’d hoped . . . we might be able to sort things out. Somehow.’

Jo shrugged. ‘Whatever. But if you weren’t going to tell me until the contracts were signed, when, exactly, were you planning to let Kayla in on your plans? Kayla’s your other daughter by the way, in case you forgot.’

Daniel looked back at her, his expression a mixture of hurt and despair. ‘I think I’d better go,’ he said, shaking his head and turning for the door. ‘I’ll come back when we can talk, rather than . . .’ Daniel trailed off, his expression changing swiftly from weary to wary.

Following his gaze, Jo felt sick to the pit of her stomach. ‘Oh God, no.’

* * *

‘So which daughter are you arguing about this time?’ Kayla asked, from where she was slouched against the doorframe, arms folded, lower lip belying the couldn’t-care-less body language.

Jo looked helplessly to Daniel.

‘Course, I could’ve been mistaken.’ Kayla eyed each of them accusingly. ‘But I’m sure I heard my name mentioned?’

Jo stepped towards her. ‘Kayla, I—’

‘Nah.’ Kayla shrugged her off. ‘Silly me. Must have misheard. I mean . . .’ She glared at Daniel and Jo in turn. ‘. . . with Emma’s ghost ever fucking present, it couldn’t possibly be me you’d be arguing about, could it? You wouldn’t notice if I dropped dead!’

‘Kayla . . .’ Daniel moved quickly around Jo.

‘Fuck off!’ Swiping at a tear, Kayla backed away.

‘Kayla, cut it out!’ Daniel reached for her.

Kayla sidestepped. ‘Well, you’re going to, aren’t you?’ She challenged him. ‘Aren’t you?’

Not knowing what to say, Daniel met her eyes. Frightened child’s eyes behind her woman’s mask, it was obvious she was utterly bewildered, devastatingly hurt. He’d sidelined her in all of this. Both of them had, focused only on their own problems. That was unforgivable. ‘Kayla, I’m sorry,’ he tried, moderating his tone. ‘We’re both sorry. Okay?’

Kayla replied with a mutinous glance.

‘I shouldn’t have shouted.’ Daniel took a hesitant step towards her, tentatively placing an arm around her shoulder. ‘It’s just, sometimes adults . . . That is, parents—’

Kayla recoiled in an instant. ‘Oh spare me the not being able to live together crap.’ She glowered at him, her eyes blazing. ‘Are you going to tell me next you both still love me?’

Jo tried again to reach out to her. ‘Of course we do. Kayla, don’t do this, hon—’

‘Don’t!’ Kayla backed off. ‘I don’t want you touching me.’

Jo winced, reeling visibly on her feet.

‘I heard you.’ Kayla turned to Daniel. ‘All of it. And I don’t give a stuff. Go to Australia, for all I care. I’m sick of you two arguing. Can’t you see what you’re doing to each other? And you.’ She turned angrily on Jo. ‘Do you think drinking that crap helps?’

Jo slipped silently into a chair, her face ashen.

‘How do you think it makes me feel to hear you crying yourself to sleep?’ Moving forward, Kayla flicked the glass from the table. It hit the floor with a splintering crash, chipping the ceramic tiles and shooting a thousand slivers of silver across the kitchen.

Kayla folded her arms insolently, as if daring Jo and Daniel to say anything. They didn’t. Jo sat with her head in her hands. Daniel rammed his hands in his pockets and studied his shoes. Only the dripping utility tap punctuated the sudden silence.

‘Kayla, sit down,’ Daniel finally said. ‘We’ll talk, okay. Just . . . let’s not do it this way.’

‘Forget it.’ Kayla turned away, retrieving her discarded backpack from the hall and heading for the front door.

‘Kayla!’ Jo was on her feet. ‘She’s not leaving, Dan. Not like this. Kayla, where are you going?’

‘Out,’ Kayla retorted over her shoulder. ‘Where does it look like?’

Jo caught up with her in the hall. ‘Oh no you’re not, young lady. You come back in here and—’

Kayla whirled around. ‘Oh yes, I am.’ She eyeballed her mother. ‘And you can’t stop me. Either of you.’ She glared at Daniel, who was close behind Jo. ‘You’re like a couple of kids. Why can’t you grow up, and talk to each other?’

With absolutely no idea what to say to that, Daniel glanced at Jo, who looked as guilty as he felt.

‘You’re . . . fubar, do you know that?’ Kayla dragged a hand angrily under her nose. ‘Both of you! Send me a postcard, Dad.’ Throwing him a last defiant glare, she turned to disappear through the front door, slamming it hard shut behind her.

‘Shit!’ Daniel and Jo stared at each other for a few seconds and then he bolted after his daughter.

‘Kayla!’ He skidded to a halt ten yards from the house. She was nowhere in sight. How the hell had she moved that fast?

‘Kayla!’ he called again, running across the yard. One hand atop it, he cleared the five-bar gate in one leap, scoured the lane left and right and then ran to the first road leading off it. Nothing.

Dammit. Frustrated, Daniel raked a hand furiously through his hair, and then, cursing his selfish stupidity, turned to walk back to the boatyard. Sweat plastering his shirt to his back, his ribs — which he’d managed to fracture firstly in the accident and then again falling from a boat in the dry dock a week ago — aching from the run, he sighed heavily and dropped down next to Jo, who was sitting on the doorstep, looking exactly how he felt.

Jo spoke first. ‘It wasn’t wine,’ she said shakily. ‘The crap I was drinking. It was cranberry and apple.’

Daniel clasped his hands in front of him and closed his eyes, utterly despairing now at his ineptitude. She’d taken a step forwards. And him, he’d taken a step back. What an idiot.

‘Tasted like crap though.’

Daniel smiled.

Jo took a breath. ‘I can’t promise I wouldn’t have reached for the wine if I hadn’t tipped it all away,’ she admitted, ‘but I’m trying.’

Daniel nodded. ‘Not easy, is it? Unlearning bad habits? I, er . . .’

Give me a chance to try too, Jo, he wanted to say, but didn’t. Clearly, space was what Jo needed, to find her way through. He’d give her that, but he wouldn’t take the job. He’d wait. Try to unlearn his own bad habits. And pray that they could both find their way, eventually, by each other’s side.

‘I’ll stay until she gets back,’ he offered. ‘That is, if you want me to?’

Jo hesitated, and then shook her head. ‘No, no need.’ She sighed and massaged the back of her neck. ‘She’s staying the night at Hannah’s, anyway.’

Daniel glanced at her. He would have done that once, taken over and massaged her neck, her shoulders. He glanced away. ‘Do you think it’s wise, her staying out under the circumstances? Do we know she’ll actually be where she says she is?’

‘She’ll be there,’ Jo assured him. ‘They’re inseparable those two, lately. As for wise . . .’ She smiled sadly. ‘. . . I’d say she’s wiser than we’ve given her credit for, wouldn’t you?’

Daniel laughed half-heartedly. ‘And some.’

‘It will probably do her good to have someone her own age to talk to,’ Jo went on. ‘Let off a bit of steam. And she seems to get on with Hannah’s mother well enough.’

Jo fiddled absentmindedly with her wedding ring.

Daniel trailed a thumb over his own.

‘As long as she’s arrived safely,’ he said, after a heavy pause.

‘I’ll give Hannah a call. Make sure.’

Daniel nodded slowly. ‘I’d better go,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘I’ll get some stuff, if that’s okay?’

‘Daniel, don’t.’

Daniel looked at her, confused.

Jo looked up at him, hurt piled upon hurt obvious in her eyes. ‘Of course it’s okay,’ she said wearily.

Chapter Nine

Daniel tried not to focus on anything as he walked into the bedroom, especially the bed where he and Jo had lain, limbs entwined.

Fitting together. Perfectly. And then poles apart.

Where Jo had turned her back on him, apparently hating the very nearness of him. Daniel swallowed hard and tried hard not to notice the lingerie draped over the wicker chair. The scent of Jo. The very essence of Jo, which seemed to permeate every surface and pore.

Go. He pulled himself up sharp. Get your stuff and get out. While you still have the strength not to beg. Yanking open the wardrobe door, he grabbed an overnight bag and a few clothes and stuffed them blindly inside. The rest he would worry about later. This was too painful. Much too damn painful.

Coming back down, Daniel felt suddenly claustrophobic in the close confines of the hall. Christ, not now. Trying to stay calm, he silently cursed his weakness. A panic-induced legacy of his childhood, it was something he’d never quite been able to overcome. It was also something Jo wasn’t aware of, and which Daniel wasn’t about to give in to. Not here. The last thing he needed was her thinking he was using the sympathy card. He should be pitied, but for different reasons than this.

He needed to breathe.

Tugging open the front door, Daniel almost fell through it, so desperate was he to get air past the sudden choking lump in his throat.

‘Dan?’ Jo was behind him as he took several slow breaths. ‘What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing,’ Daniel said quickly.

Jo arched an eyebrow.

He smiled and lied. ‘Not enough sleep.’

Jo nodded, though from the look in her eye, she wasn’t convinced.

‘I’m fine, honestly,’ he assured her, gaining some kind of control now he was in the open air. ‘You will ring me, won’t you? If there’s a problem, I mean, with Kayla.’

‘Problem how?’

‘She might be wiser than we give her credit for, Jo, but she’s still only fifteen, and as confused as hell,’ Daniel pointed out. ‘If she . . . if you have any problems . . . you know where to find me.’

‘She’ll be okay, I promise.’ Jo hesitated, and then placed a hand on his arm. ‘But I will call, if I need to.’

‘Good.’ Daniel nodded, relieved. His gut instinct was telling him something wasn’t right, that this staying over at Hannah’s was a cover up. Judging by the make-up and the strappy number Kayla was wearing under her top, they were off to the nightclub, more than likely. The thought didn’t thrill him, but he could hardly lock up his daughter. He’d read her the riot act, of course. That is, he would, if he were here.

Not that it would make much difference. She would go anyway, and he would just have to accept that kids did, and hope she had common sense enough not to do anything but dance. Tonight was different to other nights though. Kayla had gone off angry and distraught. Who knew what a fifteen-year-old girl might do to let off a little steam.

‘I’m at the New Inn,’ he reminded Jo. ‘I’ll keep my mobile switched on. Bye, Jo. I’ll call you tomorrow anyhow.’

Daniel turned quickly away, wishing he could stay. Jo wasn’t likely to have wanted him to after he’d announced he was going to France, but she had hesitated when he’d suggested it. Maybe there was a way back, if he could be as strong as Jo and take a step towards her. Right now, despite not wanting to go, there was somewhere else he knew he needed to be.

He walked a few steps, and then stopped. ‘The proceeds left over from the sale, they’re for you, by the way. You and Kayla,’ he said. He had to say it. If Jo thought it was blood money, so be it. She might well be right. ‘I just wanted you to know.’

Jo didn’t say anything. Wasn’t much to say, Daniel supposed.

‘Do you know what fubar means?’ Jo called after him as he headed for the gates.

Daniel turned back. ‘Sorry?’

‘What Kayla said we were. Do you know what it means?’

Daniel shook his head. ‘Not a clue.’

‘Well, assuming you can work the f.u. bit out, the last three words are beyond all repair.’

He hesitated. ‘Are we, Jo?’

‘I hope not.’ Jo offered him a small smile. ‘Call me tomorrow.’

* * *

‘Shhhh.’ Kayla nudged Hannah, who’d clambered up on the seat beside her to watch Daniel leave, got her heel caught in the upholstery, and splatted her face on the window.

‘It’s a shame,’ Hannah observed, rubbing her nose. ‘He’s well fit, your dad, y’know.’

‘Yeah, well, you can bloody well have him.’ Kayla rolled her eyes and stood up in the seating area of the boat. Thank God she’d had the foresight to snatch the keys and open up earlier so she and Hannah could meet there. Her dad was bound to have caught up with her otherwise.

He was pretty fit, though, Kayla conceded, for his age. Knocking on forty was ancient in Kayla’s book, but Hannah had the hots for him, nevertheless. Kayla wished her mum still did. Then maybe he wouldn’t be buggering off.

France — it might as well be flippin’ Australia. It amounted to the same thing. He was leaving, end of. So what? Kayla could live with it. Without him breathing down her neck, checking where she’d been. Who with. What time she’d be back. She’d be sixteen soon, anyway. Then she could bugger off, as well. Meanwhile, she’d have some fun, she decided. Get some kicks and enjoy life.

She turned her mind away from her embarrassingly annoying parents to more important things, checking the curtains for chinks, before she got changed, just in case. The boat, obscured by others, couldn’t be seen from the house. She’d checked it out earlier, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Her mum poking her nose through the porthole would put the kibosh on things straightaway.

Satisfied, Kayla flicked on the lights, for all the good they did. The engine obviously hadn’t been turned over lately, which meant the battery was as flat as a pancake. Honestly, the place was going to the dogs. Good job they were selling up. Kayla couldn’t care less.

‘Skirt?’ She held out her hand, whilst checking her hair in the cabin mirror.

‘Your wish is my command, m’lady,’ said Hannah, obliging with the chiffon skirt and a neat little curtsy. ‘Anything else madam requires?’

‘Yes,’ Kayla said with a deep sigh, ‘a small island in the Bahamas, and a big stick to beat some sense into my parents with.’

‘Charlie not on your wish list, then?’ Hannah waggled her eyebrows.

‘Oh, yes.’ Kayla blushed. ‘And him.’

‘On his own? At a booth table, possibly? So you can get to know him a little better? Nudge, nudge.’ Hannah winked.

‘Perfect.’ Kayla nodded, peeled off her leggings and wriggled into the hairband-sized skirt.

‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Hannah replied with a smirk.

* * *

Assuring Kayla she looked divine, Hannah set about applying her make-up. ‘Um, Kayla.’ She paused in her not-too-subtle application of lip gloss. ‘I know you’re, like, trying to get off with Charlie—’

‘Not trying, Hannah. Going to.’

‘Right.’ Hannah nodded, turning to the side to readjust her padded plunge bra. ‘Going to get off with him. But you’re not actually going to, um . . .’

‘What?’ Kayla helped herself to Hannah’s lippy. ‘Shove over,’ she said, making a neat little ‘O’ with her mouth.

Hannah waited until she’d finished with the lippy, then handed Kayla her eyeshadow. ‘Y’know, you’re not going to, er, do it with him, are you?’

‘Dunno.’ Kayla shrugged, standing back to appraise herself. ‘Might. Depends.’

‘On what?’ Hannah asked warily.

‘On whether Charlie wants to.’

Hannah nodded, her expression worldly wise. Though she felt anything but.

She glanced at Kayla, not sure what to make of her determination to sleep with Charlie. Hannah was concerned. As far as she knew, Kayla — for all her bluff — had never let anyone beyond clumsy grope down bra stage. A more minor concern was, where the bloody hell was she going to be while Kayla was making out with Mr Cocksure himself? Standing in the shower tray?

They were supposed to be staying on the boat together, she and Kayla. And Hannah wasn’t up for a threesome with Charlie.

Kayla paused mid-third coat of mascara, apparently noting Hannah’s worried expression. ‘What’s your problem?’ she asked. ‘You’ve done it, haven’t you, with dickhead?’

‘Shawn,’ Hannah corrected her. ‘And yes, but . . .’

‘But what?’ Kayla ditched her trackie top and grabbed her bag.

But I haven’t done it actually, Hannah wanted to say. Well, not all the way. In fact, if she didn’t count Shawn’s tongue having intimate conversation with her tonsils, the only kind of intercourse they’d had was the verbal sort.

Hannah felt now might be the time to confess to a little fanciful embroidery of her sexual encounters with Shawn. On the other hand, she’d look like a total saddo at school if the truth ever came out. ‘But nothing,’ she said, ‘except . . . Well, you can’t bring him back here, can you?’

‘I don’t see why not,’ Kayla replied matter-of-factly. ‘I could shag him in my bed with my door open. My mum wouldn’t notice. She’ll have popped a pill. And doting Daddy isn’t here, is he?’

Hannah sighed, feeling relieved. Kayla was having a strop that was all, peed off with the parents as she was. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean. Parents suck, for sure,’ she said sympathetically.

‘Come on.’ Kayla hooked Jo’s earrings into her lobes and headed for the door. ‘If we don’t go now, he’ll have some slapper with legs up to her implants in tow, and he won’t even notice me.’

‘He’ll notice you, trust me.’ Hannah noted Kayla’s fake tan and diamante studded shoes as she clunked up the steps behind her, which made her legs look as if they went on forever. Too cool.

‘So, you’re not going to bring him back here, then?’ she asked, following Kayla’s precarious progress across the rear decks of two boats.

‘Hurry up, before someone sees us,’ Kayla hissed, ahead of her. ‘And keep low or the security light’ll kick in and then we’ll be well stuffed.’

Wonderful, thought Hannah. Now I’m supposed to make like a midget. In six-inch heels, she didn’t think so.

* * *

Still pondering Charlie Roberts and the mystery of why any woman would be attracted to him, Matthew came distractedly through his front door to find Ashley coming down the stairs. Taken aback, Matthew looked his foster daughter over. Dressed up to hit the town for the night with her uni friends, she looked utterly stunning.

‘So, what do you think?’ Ashley asked him, looking nervous and excited all at once as she stopped short of the hall. Brought up in care for most of her early life and being labelled ‘different’, she hadn’t made friends easily over the years. The first real friend she thought she’d made turning out to be the unhinged daughter of a psychopath, intent on finishing what her deranged gangland father had started and destroying Matthew and his family, hadn’t helped her confidence in regard to her social skills. Matthew knew she still carried guilt around about Mia being taken, which was nuts. She’d been sucked in, used just as surely as he had. In every other area, though, she was a competent, intuitive, caring young woman; breathtakingly beautiful, if only she knew it, and in that dress she would definitely be turning heads.

Scooping Mia into his arms, who’d cannonballed into him from the lounge, Snuggles, her Dream Puppy, in one hand, bedtime story book in the other, Matthew swept his gaze over the white lace not-a-lot Ashley was wearing. ‘Er, fabulous,’ he said uncertainly.

Ashley plopped down the last step, looking less than impressed. ‘Well, don’t sound so enthusiastic,’ she said, obviously having picked up the reservation in his tone.

Matthew noted the po-faced expression. ‘You look stunning, Ashley,’ he assured her, arranging his face into a smile. With some effort. The fact was, there were sick bastards out there, Charlie Roberts to name but one, whose attention she would also undoubtedly attract.

‘Nice dress,’ he said, glancing at Becky as she padded barefoot in from the kitchen, looking definitely gorgeous in a strappy top and short shorts with one of his shirts over.

‘It’s a bodycon dress,’ Becky supplied. ‘Miss Selfridge, and I’m actually quite jealous. I doubt it would have ever looked that good on me.’

Stopping behind Ashley, who was now slipping her feet into shoes that gave the awful lot of leg she was showing an extra six inches, she made eye contact with Matthew and gave him a subtle shake of her head.

Matthew got it. Robbed of her childhood and then leaving the care home only to become embroiled in the nightmare their lives had become, Ashley had never known normal. Now she was trying to be just that, ‘normal’. Doing what nineteen-year-old girls did. What she didn’t need was him giving her any reason to doubt her appearance. And what Becky most definitely didn’t need was him being paranoid because of his work. She needed normal, too.

‘Daddy.’ Mia cocked her head in front of his, as he offered Becky, who could read him like a book, a contrite smile. ‘It’s my bedtime,’ she said, her wide eyes like saucers as she stared despairingly into his. ‘You have to read us a story or Snuggles won’t settle.’

Matthew smiled and pressed a kiss to her forehead. ‘Coming, Snuggles.’ He dutifully kissed the fluffy toy’s snout, too.

They all needed normal, Matthew reminded himself. ‘I meant it, Ashley,’ he said, stepping towards her to the stairs, as, feet in shoes, she straightened up. ‘You look amazing. You’re a beautiful young woman. Go out and enjoy.’

‘But be careful,’ Ashley added, giving him a look. That look. The one she’d given him six years ago when, during the midst of the madness around Becky’s kidnapping, she’d informed him she was ‘like’ fourteen, almost, and could handle herself.

‘Vigilant at all times.’ Matthew felt safe to offer his usual fatherly advice now the hiccup was over. ‘And don’t get into—’

‘Anything other than a black cab. Yes, I know. Stop worrying, Matthew. I’m a big girl now,’ Ashley reminded him, her mouth curving into a smile as she leaned in to plant a kiss on his cheek, and another on Mia’s, who had pointed to her own face with a small finger.

‘Catch you later,’ Ashley said, plucking her bag from the hall cupboard and heading past him through the door, as a car tooted outside.

It’s a conspiracy, Matthew thought, his own mouth curving into a smile as Becky gave him her well-practised despairing look too. ‘She’ll be fine,’ she assured him. ‘Go up and tuck Mia in and do as the girl said, stop worrying.’

Matthew nodded. She was right. He knew Ashley would be okay. She was astute, street-savvy. Aware that there were people out there like Roberts, though, Matthew also knew there might be one girl tonight who wouldn’t be. And that thought twisted his stomach, no matter how hard he tried to stop worrying.

‘Come on, Munchkin,’ he said, giving Mia’s peachy cheek an obligatory ‘munch’ as he carried her upstairs. ‘Let’s go and read Snuggles his story before he’s too sleepy, shall we?’

‘Storytime wiv Peppa!’ Mia said delightedly.

‘Not too long, Mia,’ Becky called after them. ‘Daddy and I are having an early night.’

Were they? Matthew’s smiled widened at that thought. With luck, Mia might not wake at the crucial moment this time. If ever there was an effective contraceptive between them, a four-year-old, plus Snuggles, snuggling under the duvet was it.

* * *

Hurry it up, you big soft twat, Charlie thought agitatedly as he waited in the hallway outside Shawn’s gran’s warden-controlled apartment. Why don’t you come in? Shawn had said. Say hello. As if Charlie had got dressed up in his best togs to go and visit a cantankerous old cow who stank of piss and who couldn’t stand the sight of him anyhow.

Every bleedin’ five minutes Shawn was visiting, frightened the old bag would pop her clogs in his absence. Charlie wished she’d hurry up and get on with it. Shawn distracted he didn’t need when he wanted him with his mind on the job, job being making a considerable amount of dosh fast if Charlie was going to keep hold of his tackle.

Rolling his eyes as he heard Shawn inside, asking the old bird if she wanted him to tune in the radio stations, Charlie sighed despairingly. Ought to plug her into the mains, if you asked him. That’d put the spark back in the decrepit old bag’s step.

‘Got everything you need, Gran?’ Shawn asked her then, which hopefully meant he was coming out at long last.

‘I think so, luv,’ his gran said, sounding frail and weak. Playing on the big wuss’s emotions, Charlie would be willing to bet.

‘I’ll park your frame here then, Gran, where you can easily reach it,’ Shawn said, causing Charlie to sigh audibly. If the hard bastards who wanted to nobble Charlie could see him now they’d die fucking laughing.

‘You’re a good boy,’ his gran said. ‘Go on, get off and enjoy yourself. I can see you’re all dressed up to go out.’

There was a pause then. Probably tucking her blanket around her knees or something, Charlie thought, now utterly despairing.

‘See you tomorrow then,’ Shawn said, finally heading towards the door.

‘You’re not going with that Charlie Roberts, are you?’ his gran called after him.

Appearing in the hallway, Shawn glanced embarrassedly at Charlie. ‘No, Gran,’ he called back. ‘I’m going out with some old mates from school.’

‘He’s a bad lot that Charlie Roberts, you mark my words,’ his gran warned. ‘Nothing but trouble. Steer clear of him, Shawn.’

‘Yes, Gran. Bye, Gran.’ Glancing warily in Charlie’s direction, Shawn closed the door.

‘Yes, Gran. Bye, Gran,’ Charlie mimicked, looking him derisorily up and down. ‘You sound like a right prat, do you know that?’

Shawn glared at him. ‘What do you want me to call her? She is me gran, ain’t she?’

‘I know what I’d call her, silly old bag,’ Charlie muttered.

‘Leave it out, Charlie,’ Shawn said, his cheeks flushing like a set of bleedin’ brake lights, which did nothing for his image. ‘I won’t have you bad-mouthing my gran. Brought me up singlehandedly, she did.’

‘Me bad-mouthing?’ Charlie gawked. ‘Did you tell her it’s thanks to me she’s got a soddin’ roof over her head?’

Shawn said nothing to that.

‘Thought not,’ Charlie said, swinging around to push furiously through the exit doors. ‘You should warn her to watch who she’s disrespecting, mate,’ he tossed over his shoulder. Decrepit or not, Charlie was not enamoured of people disrespecting him.

Chapter Ten

Having reminded himself that the situation with Shawn and his poor dependent old gran could be used to his advantage, Charlie’s mood had mellowed. Sauntering into the Slug and Lettuce behind his ‘mate’ twenty minutes later, he studied the back of Shawn’s skull, wondering at the tattoo he’d had done. Kanji, Shawn said it was. Yeah, well, whatever, it must’ve bloody hurt, that. Charlie wouldn’t fancy having his head jabbed by some prick with a needle. He had to give Shawn his due, bearing in mind he was basically a wimp.

Shawn looked the part. That was what counted. People tended not to mess with Charlie with Shawn playing heavy at his side, which was handy when he had debts to collect.

‘Two Beck’s, mate,’ Charlie summoned the barman, who came over to serve him and Shawn before the girls in front of them. As it should be, thought Charlie.

‘So we good then, or what?’ Shawn asked, Charlie having communicated his displeasure by giving him the silent routine on the way over.

‘Yeah, I suppose. You’re my mate, ain’t you?’ Charlie shrugged magnanimously. He didn’t smile. That was for girlies. Talking of which, the one next to Shawn was looking a bit po-faced at not getting served.

‘Allow me,’ Charlie offered courteously, wearing his best winning smile. Well, it was worth a try. She was some fit looking bird, she was. And judging by her hair and clothes, top totty, if ever he saw it.

‘How very . . .’ The girl smiled back and fluttered her eyes. ‘. . . predictable. Drop dead, darling,’ she said curtly. ‘Two white wines, please.’ She turned back to eyeball the barman, who, obviously able to sense trouble, quickly obliged.

‘Tart,’ Charlie muttered as she turned from the bar.

Shawn smirked. ‘Think you lucked out there, Prince Charmin’.’

‘Shut it,’ Charlie growled and took a swig from his bottle of beer, his eyes trailing after the cheeky cow as she wiggled back to her seat. ‘She’s got a fat arse, anyway. Plenty more where that came from.’

Shawn chuckled. ‘Yeah, right.’

‘Got the stuff?’ Charlie dismissed the posh tart’s rebuff. Wasn’t worth getting in a state about. He’d his good name to consider. In any case, he’d got more important business to attend to right now. Picking some slapper up in the nightclub later would be no problem. There were always plenty available, desperate to get off with a good-looking bloke. He’d seen them, huddled in girly groups, sniggering and secretly pointing him out. Dead obvious they were. He didn’t even have to buy them a drink half the time. Just paid them the odd compliment, then clicked his fingers and they came running, tails wagging.

Wonder where that bloody dog did get to? Charlie paused briefly to ponder again the whereabouts of his missing puppy. Had the tart let it out on purpose, it occurred to him to wonder. Because if she had she’d better not show her face around Strobes tonight.

In answer to his question, Shawn winked and patted his jacket pocket. ‘Sorted.’

‘Good man.’ Charlie finished his beer.

Shawn followed suit.

Time to get down to business. Shawn in tow, Charlie swaggered out of the pub, giving the tart with the attitude a derisive glance as he did so.

A few samples handed out in the queue for the nightclub, as usual, Charlie thought, and that was it. Job done. Shawn and he would be easily identified as the guys in possession. No need to work up a sweat touting for business. The punters would come looking for them. A doddle. Like taking candy from a baby.

* * *

Scum, Daniel thought. They were moving through the line like a disease, handing out drugs. Ecstasy, he guessed, like sweets to kids. And kids they were.

Kayla’s trick of heading upstairs a fifteen-year-old, and down again an hour later an eighteen-year-old, had Daniel wise to the art of dressing up. Whatever happened to her gawky teenage stage, he wondered, as he paid particular attention to the girls in the queue. Had he blinked and missed that part of her life? Did she really go nervously off to senior school a child one day, and stride confidently home an adult the next?

Time might have stood still the last few months, but it hadn’t stopped Kayla growing into a beautiful young woman. Daniel should have been looking. He’d learned to look a bit harder lately when she went out. And an innocent sleepover was definitely not Kayla’s game plan tonight.

Christ, there went another two, straight in without their ID being checked. Daniel raked a hand through his hair, irritated, as one of the bouncers waved on two girls dressed as babes. They were either blind or turning a blind eye. Daniel felt inclined to relieve one muscle-bound moron of his Ray-Bans, he being a touch too overfamiliar as one girl passed by. Maybe then he could see what was going on under his nose.

Probably not a good idea. Getting involved in a fracas outside the nightclub wouldn’t help. Daniel reminded himself why he was here, skulking in the shadows across from Strobes. Then wondered what the bloody hell he was doing here, exactly. If, by some miracle, he did pick Kayla out in the crowd, what then? She wouldn’t thank him for embarrassing her in front of her friends, alienating her from them, more than likely — making her more lonely than she must already feel.

Maybe he should just go? If he did approach her, there might well be a standoff knowing his daughter as well as he did. Then, short of physical restraint, which was a no-go in Daniel’s book, she’d go in anyway. There’d be no point asking her not to, given her respect for him was obviously nil.

With good reason. What kind of a father had he been lately?

The emotionally absent kind. Then he’d announced he wouldn’t be available in future at all, other than via email, mobile or the Channel Tunnel. With that in mind, there was no way Kayla was about to listen to anything he might have to say.

He was powerless to stop her, but not to watch out for her. He could do that much. He kneaded his neck. He was aching, all over. A shower and sleep was what he needed — craved — though sleep didn’t come easily. When it did, it was to torment him. But it was more important to him to know that Kayla was safe. The hurt in her eyes when she’d run off tonight spoke more than words ever could. She was a mess inside. He should have seen it before now. Done something about it.

The way she was feeling, anything might happen. She’d be looking for an outlet for her emotions. And with drug-dealing scum like those two about . . .

Daniel had no choice. He’d stand here until the club emptied if needs be, and maybe, God willing, he’d get lucky and not see Kayla.

* * *

Half an hour later, Daniel was still waiting. He might be wrong. Kayla could have gone anywhere, after all. She might be at McDonald’s, at any number of friends’ houses. The one place she wasn’t, though, was at Hannah’s.

‘When did you last ring?’ he asked Jo on his mobile.

‘Five minutes ago,’ Jo answered anxiously. ‘She did mention something about going to the pictures. They might have gone to the late show. It was late when she left, after all,’ she reasoned, as much for her own benefit as his, Daniel suspected.

‘So where’s Hannah’s mother?’ Daniel asked. ‘Why isn’t she there, if Kayla’s staying over?’

‘She might have gone out. She is divorced,’ Jo reminded him. ‘And she does have a gentleman friend.’

Daniel nodded slowly. ‘Yes, I suppose.’ It was possible, he thought, but not probable. Would the woman go out and leave two teenage girls to their own devices? Daniel stopped himself short of judgemental. Hannah and Kayla might be too young to leave legally, but fifteen-year-old kids didn’t need babysitters. And he certainly wasn’t parent of the year.

‘I’ll keep trying,’ Jo said. ‘Speak to you later. Oh, and Daniel, keep your mobile on, will you?’

‘Goes without saying,’ Daniel said softly, wishing he could say something more reassuring. Don’t worry or she’ll be fine would only convince Jo he thought Kayla was anything but, so he said, ‘I’m here, Jo, okay?’ instead.

She paused. ‘Thanks.’

Daniel heard her sigh before the line went dead.

Damn. Why hadn’t he said more? Insisted on going back there? Told her he’d always be there, if that’s what she wanted? Because the time wasn’t right. And because she might not.

He waited another half hour, checking his watch every two minutes, praying his mobile would ring, hoping it didn’t. No news is good news, he tried to convince himself.

But it wasn’t. This was not good. Not good at all. What the hell was he going to do? If he stood here much longer, he might well get picked up by the police. A thirty-eight-year-old bloke, eyeing up young girls outside a nightclub . . .

No, he couldn’t hang about here any longer.

Speed-dialling Jo, he turned away from the bouncers, who were watching him now with open suspicion. Pity the prats didn’t apply the same scrutiny to the clientele.

* * *

Kayla turned a pale shade of white. ‘Oh, crap,’ she gasped, clutching Hannah’s arm outside the nightclub and dragging her backwards. ‘I don’t believe it.’

‘What?’ said Hannah, as wide eyed as Kayla and wondering why. Sandwiched against the wall, SAS style, was definitely not the kind of cool-type behaviour that got one into nightclubs. But something was up, judging by the look on Kayla’s face.

‘I don’t bloody believe it. It’s him,’ Kayla muttered, ducking around a corner. ‘Gimme the mobile.’

‘Him, who?’ Hannah whispered, handing Kayla her phone. It couldn’t be Charlie. Kayla would be more drooling at the mouth than sweating at the brow if she clapped eyes on Charlie. Hannah stretched her neck curiously around Kayla.

‘Get back,’ Kayla hissed, clutching a handful of Hannah’s shift dress. ‘He’ll see you.’

‘Who’ll see me?’ Hannah asked, a bit miffed. This was doing nothing for her street cred.

‘My dad.’ Kayla rolled her eyes in Daniel’s direction.

‘Uh-oh, we are in deep shit.’ Hannah retracted her head swiftly. ‘So who are you calling?’

‘Shush.’ Kayla flapped a hand. Then dialled again.

Engaged, Kayla thought with wry amusement. All of a sudden, they’re doing a one-to-one, and it’s all down to little old me. They’d obviously taken time out to check out her whereabouts. That was different, she supposed. They were worried, obviously. How totally touching.

Yeah, right. Feeling guilty, more like, ’cos she’d told them a few home truths. Well, they could play caring parents all they liked, but they could leave her out of it.

A search party she didn’t need. And if they turned it into some big deal and went and reported her missing, plod would be scouring the nightclub in no time. And that would seriously damage her chances with Charlie. It wouldn’t hurt them to be worrying about her for once, she supposed, but she didn’t really want them thinking she was dead.

Parents, they were such a pain. They blank her completely, then, in a fit of conscience, start flippin’ well running around after her. Well, they could get lost, as far as Kayla was concerned. Was it too much to ask to be left alone, after being left alone for the past three months? ‘You’d better ring your mum, Hannah,’ she said, after her third attempt at ringing hers.

‘She’s out tonight,’ Hannah reminded her. ‘That’s why yours has thrown a wobbly, I’ll bet. She’s probably tried to ring you.’

‘I gathered.’ Kayla sighed. ‘Probably to check I haven’t selfishly slashed my wrists, or something. Call your mum on her mobile, then. Tell her there’s been a change of plan and we’re staying at someone else’s. That way, when she does get hold of her . . . Oh, hold on, it’s ringing.’

* * *

Daniel was more than worried. Still no reply from Hannah’s house. Her mother was obviously making a night of it with the boyfriend. Judgemental or not, he was bloody annoyed. This was assuming Kayla had ever intended to stay there, of course.

Daniel had had enough. And he didn’t really give a stuff what the black-suited idiot on the door thought either, who was watching Daniel steadily now, arms folded, feet splayed in a quiet display of aggression. Whatever, Daniel was going in. The queue had slowed to a dribble, so either he’d missed Kayla, or she’d ditched her regular haunt in favour of some other dive.

In which case, he had to start looking elsewhere, fast.

* * *

Jo sat uselessly on the bed. Watching the clock didn’t help. It was gone eleven, for God’s sake. Where was Kayla? And where was Hannah’s bloody mother?

‘Ring, will you?’ She eyed the phone, frustrated, picked up the receiver to check the dialling tone, and then banged it back down. Checking her mobile, also to no avail, she wandered to the bathroom for a paracetamol and washed her hands distractedly instead. Five minutes, she told herself. She would give it five more minutes, and then start phoning around Kayla’s friends, whatever the time.

‘God!’ she shouted out loud. ‘I can’t do this. Please. I really cannot do this.’ She caught a sob in her throat and focused hard on the ceiling, determined to stay in control. Kayla would be fine. She was making a point that was all. Jo would kill her when she got hold—

Jo’s heart almost stopped as the landline did finally ring, shrill against the silence.

Stupefied, she blinked at the phone, and then flew around the bed to snatch it up, torn between relief and dread.

‘It’s me,’ Kayla announced coolly.

Jo dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand and bit hard on her tongue. ‘Where are you?’ she asked, careful to keep any hint of anger from her voice. ‘Are you all right?’

‘Fine,’ Kayla replied lightly. ‘Hannah forgot her key,’ she went on, as if it were perfectly normal for her to be out late at night, worrying her parents half to death. ‘So we’re staying with Sally.’

‘Sally?’ Jo flicked through her memory, and came up blank. ‘Who’s Sally?’

‘You don’t know her.’

‘Right.’ Jo took a breath. ‘Well, I’ll have the address, then, please, Kayla. And the telephone number.’

‘No, Mum,’ Kayla said bluntly. ‘I’ve said I’m fine. I appreciate you might be worried, but I need some space. I don’t want to speak to you, not tonight, or him. Or see either of you right now. I’ll be back tomorrow.’

Jo was stunned for a second, before overriding anger mixed with fear of losing her daughter took over. ‘Oh, no, you won’t, young lady! You’re to come home right—’

‘No, Mum!’ Kayla said, and rang off.

Jo stood quite still. She listened to the empty dialling tone and heard nothing but the pieces of their shattered lives crashing heavily to the floor around her.

* * *

The bouncer stood his ground, arms still folded, mouth curved into a cocky smirk. ‘The perv wants in.’ He grinned at the Neanderthal to his side. ‘What you into then, you sad bastard? Schoolgirls, is it?’ The grin widened to split his stupid face.

Which is exactly what Daniel felt inclined to do. He took a deep breath, counted back five, and kept his temper in check. ‘My daughter’s in there,’ he said calmly.

‘Yeah, right. Everyone’s daughter is, mate.’ The bouncer guffawed. ‘But you . . .’ He paused to jab Daniel in the shoulder. ‘. . . ain’t ’avin’ none. Now, piss off.’

Daniel plunged his hands in his pockets. He counted backwards, from ten this time. At five, guessing they’d probably quite like an excuse to kick him senseless, he nodded and backed away.

The bouncer relaxed his stance and dusted his hands together, seemingly satisfied. ‘That’s seen him off,’ he said to his sidekick. ‘Fuckin’ pervert. Give us a fag, mate.’

Daniel watched as the bouncer turned for his cigarette, and then, desperation driving him, he took his chance, stepping forwards to wrap an arm tight around the bastard’s neck.

‘Fuck!’ The man groped behind him, almost making contact with Daniel’s face.

Struggling to hold onto him, Daniel jerked his head out of reach, and then pulled his arm back hard, locking his hold with his free hand. ‘I’d rather not break your neck, but I will if I have to,’ he grated, years’ worth of manual labour adding muscle to his threat. ‘Now, I’d like you to listen. Very carefully. And you, back off,’ he warned the bouncer’s mate, who took a step towards him.

‘Right,’ Daniel went on quietly, ‘I think my daughter might be in there. She’s fifteen.’ He waited while that sank into the idiot’s brain. ‘I know . . .’ He pulled his arm back another fraction. ‘. . . that at least three of her classmates have gone in. They’d be the same age, which would be underage. This information is shared by my wife, who, at present, is awaiting my call before she calls the police to tell them you’re not checking ID. Am I making myself clear?’

The bouncer rasped and clawed at Daniel’s arm.

‘Let him go,’ his mate said warily. ‘You can go in. Look around, but don’t cause any trouble or you’ll be shown the fast exit to the door. Got it?’

Relieved, Daniel closed his eyes, and then, praying they didn’t jump him once he’d let go of the guy, manoeuvred him around until his back was towards the doors. ‘Got it,’ he said, relaxing his grip and then turning to head swiftly inside as the bouncer sank to his knees.

* * *

Still watching from a safe distance, Kayla closed her mouth, awestruck and uneasy. Was that her father she just saw floor a bouncer?

‘Blimey,’ said Hannah, gobsmacked. ‘He’s got one helluva temper, hasn’t he, your dad?’

‘Has he?’ Kayla shook her head, bewildered. Well, he had apparently, as demonstrated before her very eyes. She’d never seen him lose it before, ever. He’d flipped, obviously. And it was . . . scary.

No way was she going back home tonight. Uh-uh. Somehow the boat didn’t seem a very safe harbour. He might cotton on, come looking for her, and God only knew what he might do if he found her. Kayla had heard about fathers going loopy and wiping out whole families. Hers had had enough shit to drive him completely mental. Safer to stay out of the way, she decided.

But she wasn’t going anywhere until she saw him come out again, in one piece.

* * *

It didn’t take Daniel long to realise that trying to find Kayla, in the dark, with only the assistance of strobe lights, was going to be almost impossible. There were three floors for a start, each one a pulsating mass of torsos, trance-dancing, or whatever Kayla called it. He could see the attraction, for kids anyway. The frenetic rhythm seemed to seep into your veins, with the help of a little Ecstasy in some cases, he suspected, supplied by the cretin, whose number he’d got.

He scoured the main dance floor from a balcony. Nothing. His eyes trailed over the paid dancers. Kayla could dance, but she’d hardly be on stage at age fifteen. Daniel raked his hand through his hair, exasperated, and searched the other two floors. The bouncer’s sidekick close behind him, he hesitated for a second, and then banged into the nearest girls room.

‘Whoa!’ The sidekick crashed in after him, causing girls to clamber for cubicles, or huddle back out of the line of fire. ‘You!’ He motioned to Daniel. ‘Out!’

Daniel didn’t argue. Kayla wasn’t in there, not unless she was standing on the toilet seat. ‘Where are the others?’ he shouted, emerging with the sidekick hot on his heels.

‘Other what?’ The sidekick looked at him askew.

‘Toilets. Where are they?’

The man seemed to debate for a second, then threw his hands in the air in despair. ‘Up there.’ He pointed to the balcony.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Daniel ventured once again into female territory, his eyes picking out every dark-haired girl and searching every face. He got a proposition for his efforts, but no daughter.

Frustrated, he headed out again, the girls chattering excitedly behind him, ducked under the spiral staircase and checked the two bars on the balcony, followed by the downstairs bar and, finally, the chill out room. He could see at a glance why it was called that, kids slumped on sofas, chilling out, as in coming down, after their exertions on the dance floor.

No Kayla, though. Not a sign. Daniel might have been playing cat and mouse. She wasn’t likely to be standing in one place. But then, she might not be here at all, even if his every instinct told him otherwise. Maybe she wasn’t.

He needed to go, before the police did turn up, in which case he’d probably end up locked up. What he’d do next, wait around outside, look elsewhere, he wasn’t sure, but he was wasting his time here.

Beaten, he heaved through the crowd towards the exit, back past the main bar — and locked eyes with Mr Big Shot himself, the shit dealing lowlife from outside.

* * *

‘What’s that freakin’ weirdo lookin’ at?’ Charlie eyed the bloke who was looking him over contemptuously. Nutter, he thought, turning his attention back to pulling the bird with the blonde hair down to her bum. Great. Now she was eyeing up the geezer who was eyeing him up, despite Charlie having doled out a generous amount of quality crack to the silly cow.

That irritated Charlie. He wasn’t too enamoured of people muscling in on his territory. Pulling birds and pushing drugs was what Charlie did, and that big bastard was cramping his style. What was even more irritating, freaky even, was that he wasn’t looking in any particular way. Just sort of looking. No expression whatsoever.

Nah, he was getting paranoid. Coming down probably. And the bloke was obviously wasted. Charlie shrugged and looked away. He’d come over if he needed some gear. Meanwhile . . . He gestured Shawn to bring him some stuff, intending to flash the bird he had his eye on a tab and reel her back in, when his style was well and truly cramped.

‘All right, Charlie?’ Adams’ bloody oppo asked, right up close to his ear. ‘Got any gear on you?’

Charlie sweated for a second, until he saw Shawn, who was actually carrying the gear, had got the gist and was making himself scarce. ‘Nah, sorry, DS Ingram,’ he said, smiling as he turned to face him, ‘you’re shit out of luck. Got your DI with you?’

Ingram held his gaze. ‘We’re onto you, sunshine,’ he said, a flash of anger in his eyes, Charlie detected. ‘One wrong move and you’ll be in the slammer before you can blink.’

Meaning he hadn’t, which meant he could do fuck all. Charlie’s mouth curled into a smirk. ‘Bit sad innit, detective, you being here on your own? And you a married man and all.’

Chapter Eleven

‘Jo, I can’t hear you.’ Daniel clamped a hand over his ear, in a useless attempt to shut out the deafening throb of music.

‘I said . . .’ Jo’s response was lost in the noise.

This was impossible. ‘Jo, hold on,’ he shouted, heading for the exit.

‘What’s happened?’ he asked once outside, panic rising in his chest. ‘Is she all right?’

‘Yes, she . . . Daniel, where were you?’

‘A nightclub. I went in to—’

‘Oh,’ Jo said over him.

‘Jo . . .’ Daniel shook his head, frustrated. Was he hearing her right? That short word carried a whole lot of insinuation. Did Jo really think he’d gone in there for kicks? ‘I was looking for Kayla, Jo, not for a good time.’

‘Yes. Yes, of course you were. I’m sorry, Daniel, I . . . Look, you can stop looking. She’s fine.’

Daniel closed his eyes. ‘Is she home?’

‘No.’ Jo hesitated. ‘She’s not coming home, Daniel.’

What? Daniel turned full circle on the pavement. ‘What do you mean, not coming home?’

‘Tonight, she meant. I’m sorry. I’m not thinking straight. She said she’d be back tomorrow.’

Daniel massaged his forehead and tried to quash his uneasiness. Tonight, Jo had said. That was just one night. One night too many though, one which Kayla might think gave her carte blanche to do what she liked.

‘Did she ring?’ he asked, taking two strides forwards and two back again.

‘Yes, about fifteen minutes ago.’

‘And?’ If he was going to get this straight in his head, Daniel needed details.

Jo went quiet.

‘Jo?’

‘She said she needed some space,’ Jo said, sounding defeated. ‘That she didn’t want to see or talk to either of us. Then she . . . ended the call. Oh, Daniel, what have we done?’

Daniel slowed his restless pacing. What had he done? This was down to him. He was the cause of it. He’d screwed up. And then, in trying to give Jo and Kayla some sort of a shot at a life, he’d screwed up all over again.

‘Where is she, Jo?’ he asked, his voice tight.

‘At a friend’s,’ she said. ‘I don’t have the number.’ Jo sighed wretchedly. ‘I’ve never even heard of her, to be honest.’

Daniel tried to take stock. Kayla was okay, that was the main thing. She was acting out, that was all. Even if she was putting them through the mill, at least she’d rung to let them know she was okay. Jo was obviously worried sick, and his banging on about the whys and wherefores wouldn’t help.

‘She’ll be all right, Jo,’ he said softly. ‘Like she said, she just needs some space.’

‘I hope so,’ Jo breathed.

‘Do you want me to come back? Wait with you until she comes home?’

Again, Jo hesitated. ‘No,’ she said, after a moment. ‘I’ll be fine. I’m going to have a hot bath, I think. And then try to get some sleep.’

‘Good idea,’ Daniel said quickly. ‘But you’ll ring me, yes? As soon as—’

‘Of course I will.’

‘I’ll wait to hear from you. And Jo . . .’ Daniel stopped. I still love you and always will, he wanted to say. ‘I wasn’t looking for a good time in there,’ he said instead, fancying that the former might be the opening to a long conversation, which was best left. Or a short one, which he would certainly rather leave. ‘You know that, don’t you? No one could hold a candle to you, anyway.’

‘Oh.’ Jo sounded surprised. ‘Well, thank you for that, but I think the girls in there might be fair competition. They have about twenty years on me.’

Daniel smiled. ‘No contest.’

Don’t leave it there, idiot, he cursed himself. Talk to her. ‘Who’d look at a sad old sod like me anyway?’ he said, and then cursed himself again, for not having the guts to take the conversation where he really wanted it to go.

‘Well,’ Jo considered, ‘there’s Miss Dawkins at the post office.’

Daniel laughed. ‘She’s a hundred and fifty.’

‘And Jan Green at the newsagents.’

‘She’s a bloody basket case. Every time I go in there, she follows me around the shop.’

‘Ye-es,’ Jo replied, her voice laden with insinuation. ‘Oh, and then there’s the postman.’

‘Ho, ho.’

‘He does. He always gives you a cute little wave. Haven’t you noticed?’

‘Wondered why I got first class service.’

Jo laughed.

‘That’s better,’ Daniel said, hating how long it had been since she’d done that. ‘Are you going to be okay?’

‘Yes,’ Jo said. ‘Yes, I think I am, now. Thanks, Daniel, for being there.’

I wish I could be, Daniel thought. ‘No problem,’ he said. ‘I care about you. Both of you. Very much. Call me tomorrow, okay? Meanwhile, get some sleep.’

‘I’ll try. You too. Bye, Dan.’

‘Bye.’ Daniel waited for Jo to hang up, then flagged a taxi, worn out, and more worried than he’d let on to Jo. There was nothing he could do now but wait. He’d rather wait with Jo, but he realised he needed to prove that to her, assuming Jo wanted it too. Christ, he hoped so, prayed that Jo really did hope their relationship wasn’t beyond all repair.

* * *

‘I think I should give it a miss,’ Kayla said, risking another peek as her dad climbed into the taxi. He looked awful. He was pale. She’d bet he’d lost weight. And his body language was all wrong. Her dad walked tall, straight-shouldered, or he did until the last few months. Kayla wished he would go home. That she could go home. To a home that felt like home — like it used to.

Maybe she should tell them that. Then refuse to go back until they called a truce and sat down and talked, like adults. Yeah, right. If she didn’t go back, it’d be her mum slashing her wrists and blaming her dad. Mind you, the way her dad had acted tonight, he looked to be the parent Kayla should be worrying about.

‘Oh, come on, Kayla. Let’s go in,’ Hannah cajoled. ‘He’s gone, hasn’t he?’

Kayla debated.

‘Pretty please?’ Hannah blinked beguiling eyes. ‘We’re all slutted up now, aren’t we? And I’d really like to see Shawn.’

‘I dunno.’ Kayla chewed on her bottom lip. ‘He looked pretty annoyed, didn’t he?’

‘Yeah,’ Hannah conceded. ‘But that’s what parents do.’

‘But what if he comes back?’

‘Kayla, he won’t be back. He’s an irate father, not a flippin’ private detective. Now come on, or we’ll have wasted all this make-up.’ Hannah hooked her arm through Kayla’s and set forth towards Strobes. ‘And I know you’d want Charlie to see you looking gorgeous.’

‘Yeah, I suppose.’ Kayla doubted she looked gorgeous. And, peculiarly, despite all the anticipation, she wasn’t really sure what she wanted any more. Except to lose herself on the dance floor, maybe.

‘Head high, breasts forwards,’ Hannah hissed as they sauntered nonchalantly toward Strobes. ‘And smile.’

Kayla rearranged her face, thrust her best assets forwards, and arm-in-arm they strolled inside, straight past the still bewildered bouncers.

Chapter Twelve

‘Been there, mate.’ John, who had a room in the same hotel as Daniel, nodded knowledgeably. ‘Wives and kids, nothing but trouble. You’re well out of it. Come on, just have the one,’ he slurred, waving a bottle of whisky. ‘Life goes on, you know.’

Daniel shook his head at the irony of that statement. Yes, right, he thought. Until God, fate, whatever, deigned otherwise. In one split second, Emma’s life had been stolen away, and he’d been allowed to go on. And he didn’t want to. Daniel knew that now more than ever. Not like this, not without Jo and Kayla.

‘I’ll pass, if you don’t mind,’ he said. ‘I’m knackered.’ The guy meant well, but drinking whisky wouldn’t help, unless he drank the whole bottle maybe. And then what? Pass out in his bed knowing Jo might ring? No, he wasn’t about to do that. He needed to stay focused until he knew Kayla was home safe. ‘Maybe tomorrow,’ he said. ‘Cheers, anyway.’

‘You’re on,’ John called after him as he headed up the stairs. ‘We’ll have a few beers in the pub and shoot some pool, if you like?’

‘Sounds good,’ Daniel lied. A boozy male bonding evening? Thanks, but no thanks. He’d be some kind of hypocrite anyway, wouldn’t he, drowning his sorrows in booze when Jo was obviously trying hard not to. He fumbled for his key and let himself into his room.

One room, six by four, it was only just big enough to house the few belongings he’d brought with him. He threw himself down on the circa-sixties nylon bedspread, propped his head on his hands, and stared at the coffee-stained walls, which seemed to loom ominously closer tonight. Daniel tried not to notice, until they shuffled in another inch.

Shit! Panic knotting his stomach, he was up and across the room to yank the resisting window wide. He hated it. This . . . powerlessness. It reminded him too much of a kid half his size, who’d lain awake in a room much the same, his only escape the window, which refused to budge as stubbornly as this one. Even if he’d plucked up the courage to prise it open and scramble down the drainpipe, damp and cold in his pyjamas, he’d have to come back and face the music come morning, when his father’s hangover induced wrath might be worse.

Much worse.

The lesser of the two evils was to stay. Get it over and done with. To wait in the dark and listen for the slamming front door, the curses and the creak on the stairs. And count, backwards.

Daniel peeled off his shirt, wiped the sweat from his torso, and tried to control his erratic breathing.

* * *

Jo had given up smoking about the same time she’d given up on her mother. She’d left Catholic condemnation if she so much as looked at a boy, and headed for the bright lights of London, which might well have been Mars, so alien was it compared to the slow city pace of Dublin.

People actually avoided eye contact on the tube. Jo recalled how amazed she’d been. And how slightly insane she must have seemed, smiling inanely away at complete strangers. God forbid they should crack their faces and smile back. She hadn’t liked it much, she remembered, but couldn’t admit it. Going back to Dublin with her tail between her legs wasn’t an option when she’d kicked up such a fuss about working in London in the first place. So she’d applied for another job in England instead.

Selling advertising space for an Oxford based rag was hardly roving reporter, but a more sedate pace of life suited Jo better. More importantly, it kept her from under the beady eye of her mother and two burly brothers who, with her best interests at heart, would have watched her like hawks had she actually done anything worth watching. There’d only been two men before Daniel, and they hadn’t half measured up, she recalled with a smile.

Netting Dan was a big plus as far as her mother was concerned. He’d earned Jo a gold star; her mum had adored him from the outset.

‘He’s a twinkle in his eye.’ She’d nodded approvingly, having immediately sized up the length and breadth of him. ‘And a lovely smile.’

‘And a nice arse.’ Jo had grinned wickedly, and her mother’s expression had shifted swiftly from wistful to shocked.

‘Hmm, well now you come to mention it,’ she’d said after a while, watching Daniel walk by.

Thereafter, her mother broke out the home-baked bread whenever Dan and she went back to Ireland. She’d loved Kayla and Emma, too, fiercely. Losing her grandchild had aged her overnight. Jo remembered how fragile her mum had suddenly seemed, though she’d tried hard not to show it.

She’d made it to the funeral though, somehow, where she’d hugged Jo tight, tears hot on her cheeks, and her eyes off somewhere over her shoulder. Jo had twisted in her arms to follow her gaze, to where Daniel had walked dry eyed and alone from the cemetery. And Jo had known then, that her mother was crying not just for what was lost, but for what was to come, too.

Jo wiped at a tear, sucked on her cigarette, coughed heartily, and stubbed it out. She’d hoped smoking might fill the gap left by the wine, which she might well have reached for tonight. Smoking wasn’t much help though. She’d forgotten how foul the things tasted.

She’d forgotten what it was like to be alone, too. On her own, in a house that suddenly seemed too big. The only person in the world she wanted to talk to, other than Daniel — who seemed unable to — was her mum. But how could she ring at this ungodly hour? Then she’d have to break the news about Daniel and her.

No, she couldn’t. It would destroy her mother.

There was no one else. No one she wanted to confide in anyway. She’d never known her own dad. She’d asked Daniel what having a father was like one day, years ago, and in doing so, flicked a switch that turned the look in his eye from warm to sub-zero in an instant.

‘I don’t have a father,’ he’d said flatly.

Which was rubbish. Jo knew he had one. She supposed Daniel had his reasons, but whatever they were, Jo couldn’t condone, in her heart-of-hearts, Daniel cutting him dead. She’d never said it, of course, to Daniel. Because Daniel would never discuss it, other than to say his childhood wasn’t great, and then make it obvious he’d prefer to leave it at that.

With nothing else to do, Jo lay down on the bed and studied the ceiling, primrose coloured to match the walls, though that wasn’t the plan. Daniel had blobbed paint up there by accident, she remembered. Then he’d gone the whole hog and painted everything in sight, including her when she’d poked her face around the door.

She got him back though. Jo smiled quietly. She’d given him a nice primrose coloured bum. That was another time Kayla had rolled her eyes and told them to grow up. It was said in good humour though then, before their home became a smile-free zone.

Where was Kayla now? At a friend’s, she’d said. Someone in the year above at school, maybe? Possibly. Jo didn’t know, but she had to believe that’s where she was. Staying with a friend, in a house where normality prevailed.

Was she sitting cross-legged on the bed, Jo wondered, as was her wont, smoking, more than likely, and bemoaning her parents to her friend? Lying on her back, much as Jo was, studying the ceiling and contemplating what kind of reception she’d get when she got home? Jo hoped so. Prayed that Kayla was safe in bed somewhere.

* * *

Where had he seen her before? Well, wherever, Charlie was going to see to it that the bird with the gravity-defying boobs ended up in his bed tonight. That blonde bint who fancied Shawn would do nicely, too. Charlie gave Shawn a nudge and dropped him the hint.

Shawn though, the soppy git, turned him down flat. ‘Uh-uh, she’s not old enough.’ He shook his thick skull, acting like he was her big brother or something. ‘Her mother’d have the filth onto us, if she found out. Nah, I’ve already decided. Ain’t touching it, mate.’

‘Yer what?’ Charlie was getting seriously worried about Shawn. He needed a big hard bugger backing him up, not a bloody big softy.

‘Oh man, wise up.’ Charlie sighed, exasperated. ‘If you don’t shag her, someone else will. The goods are on offer, mate. Take a look.’ He nodded toward the dance floor where Shawn’s bint and the other girl were dancing with each other, which was seriously turning him on.

‘Nah, not interested. Sorry, mate.’ Shawn, it seemed, was an immovable mountain, luckily for Shawn. Had he not been built like a brick shithouse, Charlie might have been tempted to put his view across a bit more forcefully.

Useless prat. Charlie cursed quietly. The bloke’s a dealer and he gets a dose of scruples? Well, Shawn could get pious on his own. Charlie had just remembered where he’d seen the one with the boobs before. At the Slug and Lettuce a few months back, looking like a lemonade-drinking virgin, and his interest was piqued. He’d hardly given her a second glance then, she being a bit spotty up close and not so overtly out there, but, man, she’d scrubbed up well tonight.

Course, she hadn’t given him a second glance since she’d arrived. She’d got that Hannah to keep an eye out over her shoulder. Dead obvious, she was, too, ogling him every five seconds, relaying his every move. And he’d been watching theirs. Well, the well-endowed one’s gyrating hips, anyway.

Oh, yes, Charlie was most definitely going to have himself some of that. No hurry though. She’d come to him when she was ready.

* * *

Hannah leaned close to Kayla’s ear. ‘He’s looking over,’ she said.

‘So?’ Kayla shrugged, doing her best to look as if she didn’t care, whilst surreptitiously adjusting her cami top to show off her tattooed rose in its best light.

He’d finally noticed her, then. About time, too. He’d looked straight through her when they’d walked in, her blushing down to her shoes, embarrassingly, while Hannah practically salivated on sight at flippin’ Shawn.

What was it with Shawn anyway? Kayla hadn’t rated him much before, and now, with that kanji tattoo on the back of his bonce, he looked like a complete idiot.

Still, whatever turns you on.

She glanced over her shoulder, to see Charlie looking right at her.

* * *

Charlie nodded and offered up his best charming smile. Which he’d had on good authority was dead sexy. There you go, darlin’, he thought, congratulating himself on his cool. That should be green light enough for her.

She was in for a bit of a treat tonight. And he’d definitely earned himself one. They’d shifted a fair amount of stuff once the sad copper had left, which had pulled in a fair wad. Not enough yet, mind, not if he was going to make a dent in his debt, which he had to if he fancied keeping his tackle. Nevertheless, Charlie was pleased with the way the evening was panning out.

A reward was in order while he waited for his little fish to swim to him. Not the dog-shit weed these kids smoked though. Top quality stuff suited Charlie better, he being more discriminating. Northern Lights, he pondered, which was guaranteed good stuff, could even hallucinate on it if it was top notch. Or maybe Purple Haze?

Nah, Zero-Zero, he decided. Weed laced with crack. That’d set him up nicely until he got home — with her in her tease-and-please outfit. And teasing him she was, if he wasn’t mistaken. Okay, she might be a bit on the young side, but she was up for it all right.

Charlie eyed Shawn sideways. He’d got his face stuck in a beer, well on his way to getting tanked up. He might just stroll past her, Charlie decided. Check it out.

‘Goin’ for a smoke. Get me another one in, mate,’ he said as he sauntered towards an exit past the dance floor.

* * *

‘What’s he doing?’ Kayla mouthed at Hannah.

Hannah smirked. ‘Thought you weren’t bothered?’

‘I’m not.’ Kayla looked disinterested. ‘So what’s he doing?’

‘Whoops, coming over.’ Hannah shook her hair over her face, and then peeked through it. ‘Pants! He’s gone past. Gone outside.’

‘Well, that was a waste of time.’ Kayla sighed, heading off to throw herself in one of the leather upholstered sofas lining the walls. ‘He hardly looked at me.’ She folded her arms moodily. ‘And did you see him eyeing up that acidhead on his way out? Probably lining her up for later.’

‘He didn’t give her the eye.’ Hannah flopped down next to Kayla. ‘He was giving you the eye. He’s interested, Kayl. Trust me.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Kayla looked doubtful.

‘He is . . . Uh-oh. Act cool. He’s coming back.’

Kayla scooped her hair from her face and studied her nails, the epitome of cool.

‘Come on,’ Hannah said, grabbing Kayla’s arm and dragging her to her feet. ‘We’ll go say hi to Shawn. That’ll get you a bit closer to the top of your wish list.’

Hannah was a bit miffed with Shawn. He hadn’t even been over to speak to her. He was all over her like a rash the last time she met him outside Maccies. Until some silly cow from the year above at school went and told him how old she was.

God, the embarrassment. She’s got her tongue halfway down Shawn’s throat and the spiteful bitch strolls past and says, didn’t think you were into schoolgirls, Shawn.

Hannah had blagged of course, for all she was worth. Swore she was sixteen, but the damage was done. Shawn had dropped her like a hot brick, given her an almost brotherly smile, patted her bum, and told her to go play with her dolls. Totally humiliating.

Kayla trailed along with Hannah. ‘And then what do we do?’ she shouted over the music. ‘Stand there like a couple of spare whatsits at a wedding?’

‘Talk to him.’ Hannah leaned closer. ‘Flash him a smile. And your boobs, while you’re at it. That should do the trick.’

‘Yes. Thank you for that piece of really useful advice, Hannah.’ Kayla smiled dourly as they squeezed, hand-in-hand, through the crowd, until they were almost on top of Charlie and Shawn.

‘Go on.’ Hannah gave Kayla a nudge forwards. ‘Say something.’ Kayla shrugged helplessly. ‘Like what?’

‘Any-bloody-thing.’ Hannah rolled her eyes and sashayed up behind Shawn. ‘Hiya.’ She stood on tiptoe to drape herself over his shoulders as he drank his beer. ‘Cool tattoo.’

‘Yer what?’ Shawn missed his mouth and messed up his shirt. ‘Shit,’ he cursed, clutching the wet shirt from his chest as he turned to face her.

‘Sorry.’ Hannah fluttered her eyelashes.

‘’S’all right.’ Shawn shrugged good-naturedly. ‘It’s only an old one. So how you doing?’

‘Yeah, good.’ Hannah smiled, whilst Kayla looked dumbly on. ‘Here, let me get you another.’

‘Nah.’ Shawn shook his head. ‘Don’t go spending your money. I’ll get ’em in. Bud, isn’t it?’

‘Please.’ Hannah nodded, pleased that he’d remembered, and then turned to Kayla. ‘Go on,’ she mouthed, nodding towards Charlie.

* * *

Biding his time as the girl fidgeted behind him, Charlie took another swig of his Beck’s, and then, deciding to put her out of her misery, turned to give her a polite nod.

‘Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?’ he asked, his brow knitted, thoughtfully. ‘Yeah, definitely. Couldn’t forget a beautiful face like yours, could I?’

Got her, he smirked, as she beamed at him like a set of bleeding headlights. Foregone conclusion really. Hooked she was, good and proper. Now, reel her in slow, Charlie boy, he cautioned himself. Real nice and slow.

Leaning casually back on the bar, he cocked his head to one side and fixed her with his bedroom eyes. Brown eyes, he’d got. Like liquid chocolate, one bird had described them. Could melt a girl’s resolve at fifty paces. Well, he knew that, didn’t he?

At which, she took a deep breath. ‘Would you, um . . .’ She faltered and blushed, rather becomingly. ‘. . . like a drink?’

Charlie had to admit he was taken aback for a second. They usually asked if he wanted to dance, if they weren’t touching him up for a tab. This was different.

Still, he thought he’d better decline, initially. Didn’t want her thinking he wasn’t a gent. ‘I already have one,’ he pointed out, allowing her a seductive smile, whilst mentally giving her an eight for her efforts.

‘Oh, okay.’ The girl shrugged. ‘Well, would you mind getting me one then?’ She dazzled him with neat-toothed white smile and handed him a fiver.

Now that really perplexed Charlie. Most streetwise birds would’ve said, suit yourself, and hip-swung on out of there, goods on display. Not this one though. She stood her ground, still smiling, but not provocatively. She was just standing there gazing at him like a fragile doe-eyed fawn. Bloody ’ell, he was a poet and didn’t know it.

‘Put your money away,’ he said, feeling suddenly magnanimous. ‘I was just about to offer you one.’

He’d intended to pace himself, let her work at it for a bit, but he was now seriously interested. Shawn was right though. She was more a baby than a babe. She might be tall and stacked enough to have carried it past the bouncer with her face caked in make-up, which would have to go, but Charlie knew better. Not that her age was a problem. If she was in a nightclub, she was over eighteen and fair game, as far as he was concerned.

Two minutes later, Charlie handed the girl her wine, made a great display of offering her his stool to sit on, much to Shawn’s surprise, and then made a supreme effort at small talk, even asking her name, though it went against the grain. Talking to birds longer than he needed to, he couldn’t abide. They talked girly talk, or tried to impress him with talk of football, which they knew nothing about, beyond who looked good in shorts. Their mouths were only good for one thing, as far as Charlie was concerned. This one needed handling with kid gloves though, he suspected, at this stage of play, anyway.

Half an hour later, she was still sipping the same drink and marvelling over her glass at how popular he was. She actually thought he was shaking hands with the punters, rather than passing gear. Blimey, this one really was a novice. Charlie eyed her thoughtfully. Didn’t cotton on quick, did she? Obviously didn’t do drugs either. It’d take her all night to chill out at this rate. Time she started, Charlie decided. They all have to start somewhere, and he hadn’t got all night, not to sit here getting bored out of his skull anyway. She might tell him to get lost, of course, but Charlie was fairly confident she’d go for it. Had to, didn’t she, to prove she wasn’t a little schoolgirl.

‘Here,’ he said, offering her a tab and watching her face with wry amusement. ‘It’s a freebie. Works a lot faster than that stuff.’ He nodded at her wine glass.

‘No, thanks,’ she said, eyeing him steadily. ‘Don’t do drugs.’

Unbelievable. Charlie reeled inwardly. Going to need a bit of persuasion this one was, stubborn cow.

‘No, nor do I.’ He laughed, quickly composing himself. ‘Apart from the dope, of course. Non-addictive, see.’ Oh man, he asked himself, was it worth it? It was just one shag, more or less. ‘Going for a smoke now, actually,’ he said. ‘Coming?’

She looked uncertain.

‘We can talk better out there,’ he said, inclining his head towards the exit.

She looked over at her friend, who was draped all over Shawn on the dance floor. ‘Okay.’ She shrugged, and got to her feet.

Good, thought Charlie, leading the way.

* * *

‘Are you sure it’s non-addictive?’ A flicker of doubt flitted across the girl’s face.

‘See for yourself.’ Charlie offered her his spliff, generously, he thought. He’d just spent the last soddin’ five minutes skinning up. And this was top stuff, pure skunk and crack crystal. And he was wasting it on a schoolgirl? Must have left his brains at home.

Come on, take the bloody thing, he thought, getting a bit pissed off with her pissing about.

Still she seemed to deliberate.

What was the matter with her? Charlie sighed, deciding to make a last-ditch effort, then dump her. A dig at her age should do it. ‘Course, I suppose you’re a bit young to smoke,’ he said with a loaded pause, ‘aren’t you?’

‘I am not,’ was the girl’s indignant reply. ‘I do smoke.’ She raked her hair off her face and reached for the spliff.

Better, thought Charlie, satisfied, as he watched her draw back like a pro. Much better. And a helluva lot better to wake up to than the sad slapper who’d ruined his shirt. Charlie wiped his hand across his mouth. ‘So how old are you really?’

‘What?’ She coughed, and blew out a billow of smoke.

‘I’m guessing . . . seventeen?’ Charlie took the spliff she offered him back.

She nodded, looking uncertain.

‘So . . .’ Charlie shrugged, inhaling deeply and holding it awhile. ‘. . . you’ve had other boyfriends, then, yeah?’

‘Loads,’ she said quickly.

Taking another tout, Charlie nodded and turned towards her. His eyes searching hers briefly, he slid a hand slowly up her thigh, then locked his mouth over hers and exhaled.

* * *

Watching him propping some poor kid up on the dance floor — his next victim probably, who could barely stand up straight — Mary’s fingers strayed to the lump on her forehead, to the bruises on her neck, which were still visible. She couldn’t believe she’d actually fancied him. It had obviously been a case of mistaken identity. She’d mistaken him for a human being.

Charlie Roberts was a bastard. She should ring the station back. What he’d done to her might not get the scum locked up, but his being in possession of a gun might persuade the police to pay him a little visit, haul him in and scare him as much as he had her.

She’d tried to put it behind her. She’d run herself a hot bath when she got home, scrubbed herself down to her hair follicles, then took pity on the mangy mongrel with its sticky-out ribs and gave her a nice warm bath, too, which was when she noticed the sores on its scrawny little body and rung the police.

Cigarette burns, the vet had said. The bloke hadn’t just got a screw loose, he was a mental case. If he could do what he’d done to her. If he could actually stub fags . . . no, spliff ends, out on a helpless animal . . . Well, he had no conscience, that was for sure. He’d do it again, and worse, possibly, to someone else. That someone else more than likely being the schoolgirl he was clearly spoon-feeding drugs to. Bastard. She should have reported him.

Chapter Thirteen

Attempting to slow his rapid heartbeat, Daniel shivered in the humid night air. Slow down, he cautioned himself, trying to keep a grip on the panic attack that had driven him from his room. He hadn’t had one that bad since he was a kid. He’d moved on, got it under control, or so he’d thought. He’d had an occasional bout of claustrophobia, yes, his heartbeat ratcheting up when he was refitting a boat interior maybe, but he’d always managed to contain it, throw the doors open, take a walk on the bank until he was composed. So why now? He’d drawn a veil over his childhood long ago, vowed never to dwell on it. So why was it creeping back to haunt him? Daniel knew though. He hadn’t needed counsellors to spell it out for him.

He’d destroyed his own children’s lives. He’d sworn to protect them from the second they were born, before that, from the first time he’d seen the tiny forms during Jo’s scans. To make sure their memories were good ones, no nightmares to wake them screaming in the night, only to find they weren’t dreaming. And he’d failed. Failed in his fundamental obligation as a father.

Failed to keep his kids safe from harm.

What he was feeling now was self-loathing. The same way he’d felt when he was young. Jo had given him back his self-respect. His children had given him the determination to build on it. To go forwards, to not look back. How the hell was he supposed to explain all that to Jo? To a counsellor? Without revealing things he simply couldn’t? The shame would always haunt him, Daniel knew that now. The fear of losing the woman he loved. The fucking panic attacks.

But he’d lost her anyway, hadn’t he?

His heart sinking to a whole new level, he walked through the town centre until he reached the bridge over the river, where he paused, distractedly watching the swans gliding ghostlike on the softly dappled water as he debated his next move. Should he go back to the nightclub, he wondered, checking his watch. No. It would be closed soon, and Kayla wasn’t there. She was okay, staying with a friend, Daniel tried to reassure himself, though he couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t — okay, or with a friend.

Deciding his only realistic option was to wait it out, he turned back for his room, walking back the way he’d come. He was deep in contemplation when he noticed a girl coming towards him, making her way back home from club land, judging by her attire. Her step faltered for a second as she approached, Daniel noticed, noting also that she glanced quickly around her and then back to him before quickening her pace. Her jacket pulled tight about her, she looked scared half to death as she hurried past him. Daniel felt his gut twist as he realised why. What kind of world was it, he wondered, that women were afraid to walk out at night on their own?

* * *

Mary glanced warily over her shoulder. It was definitely him, the bloke from the nightclub earlier. She’d had him down as a nutter, out of his skull on drugs, until he’d banged into the loo. Out of his mind with worry, she’d realised then, searching hopelessly for his daughter. Shame, she thought now. Poor bloke must be . . . Oh crap.

She stopped in her tracks. Could the baby Charlie had his filthy hands all over have been her? Should she go after him, alert him to the possibility? Ring the police again? They’d actually been quite nice when she’d made up her mind to ring them again after seeing Charlie honing in on that poor unsuspecting girl at the club. Told her she’d done the right thing and that they would be sending someone round to check out the pigsty Charlie called a flat.

Unsure what to do, she watched the man walk into the distance. It might be coincidence. And he might well be a nutter, sky high on something, but if he wasn’t? If it had been his daughter Charlie was feeding drugs to? She’d made the call, Mary decided. Charlie Roberts was capable of anything. Mary just hoped to God he didn’t ever find out it was her who had called.

* * *

Realising she must have dozed off, Jo snapped her eyes open and glanced at the alarm clock, her heart sinking as she realised it was two o’clock. Sighing, her head throbbing fit to burst, she eased herself to sitting, ran a hand over Dan’s empty pillow, and wished dearly she could turn the damn clock back.

She couldn’t, though, could she? Any more than she could unsay hurtful words. She could only move forwards. How though? Swallowing back the tears that were threatening, Jo got to her feet and trailed to the bathroom, unbuttoning her shirt and jeans as she went. She needed to shower, stay alert in case Daniel or Kayla rang. God forbid anyone else would in the dead of night.

She’d talk to Daniel tomorrow, she decided, once Kayla was home. Talk to him properly this time, no alcohol-fuelled arguments. Alcohol-fuelled on her side, that was. Dan rarely drank. He was a good man at the core. If only . . .

She would give him a chance. And she wouldn’t give in to the temptation to try to blot out her own pain with wine. And if Daniel couldn’t, for some reason wouldn’t, open up about his feelings . . . She’d cross that bridge when she got there.

Meanwhile, ‘Bathroom,’ she ordered herself, automatically reaching for the shirt she slept in. One of Daniel’s shirts. Jo wavered, hesitant, and then reached for it anyway and pressed it to her face, breathing in the smell of crisp clean cotton suffused with aftershave and essence of man; essence of Daniel. She liked the smell of him. It was reassuring. And right now, she needed all the reassurance she could get.

Kicking off her jeans, she slipped out of her bra and pants, a peach-laced, pretty twinset, selected by Daniel, as always with impeccable taste. Jo stopped, her eyes filling up again, as she wondered what on earth they were doing to each other. Why? When they needed each other so badly. It was all so senseless. She swiped at a tear on her cheek, angry with herself for giving into them. She’d indulged enough of those. She needed to concentrate on the here and now. Get through the moment at least.

And then work at getting back to where they were, somehow.

Stepping into the shower, she allowed the hot water to cascade for a full three minutes before soaping herself luxuriantly all over, remembering, as she did, how Daniel had so often insisted on lending her a hand. Jo’s mouth curved into a sad smile. He was a good lover. She trailed a lathered hand over her stomach. Not over-confident at first, but that was endearing in a man so good-looking. And he’d learned fast. There was nothing they wouldn’t do now. Instinctively moving together as one.

Nothing they hadn’t done.

Oh, Daniel. Her tummy dipped and her heart physically twisted. She ached for him, physically, emotionally. She wanted so much to hear his voice. To touch him. Smell him. She wanted him here. Wanted to slide her hands over him, soap his broad shoulders, to trail them down over his chest, his taut stomach.

Feel his body up close to hers.

His lips soft on her neck, hungry on her breasts, gently teasing, nipping, biting. His tongue grazing exquisitely slowly over her stomach, between her legs, exploring, probing, unhurried and unashamed. She wanted him to hoist her urgently from her feet, her back cold against the tiles, and her not caring. To feel him plunging deep inside her. She wanted her man. How it used to be, together. Hands touching. Eyes locking. Making love to each other. Seeing and knowing each other. Talking to each other.

Not the way it was now.

Her thoughts on that day, when they’d christened first the bedroom and then the bathroom in their half-renovated house, when nothing had seemed impossible, Jo found herself laughing. She’d forgotten the climax to that particular steamy sex session. The earth had moved, literally. Dan had wanted a Victorian bathroom, with an authentic cast iron bath. The sort that crashes nicely through rotten floorboards. Jo had got a bruised bottom for her efforts and poor Dan had dislocated his shoulder.

Oh dear. Jo pressed a hand over her mouth. She shouldn’t be laughing. It wasn’t funny. Nothing was funny. But laugh she did, until she finally allowed the tears to fall.

* * *

Typical, Charlie thought, holding the girl’s head over the edge of the bath and running the shower full force. She’d only gone and passed out on him, after puking in Shawn’s car. Shawn was well pissed. Called him a prat. Charlie let it pass. He’d be pretty annoyed as well if it were his car.

What the hell had happened, Charlie was blowed if he knew. Okay, so she’d smoked a little dope. That wasn’t going to kill her, was it? Blimey, he hoped she didn’t snuff it. Charlie had the good grace to panic, for precisely two seconds. Nah. Must have been the wine. She’d downed a fair few of those. His stuff was guaranteed okay. He’d smoked it himself and he was buzzing. So had she been, before she freaked out. She’d been mellowing out nicely, even on the upside to euphoric when he’d asked her to dance. Rattling on like a train, she was, until Charlie mentioned the absence of a father in his life and his loveless lush of a mother. Got ’em eating out of his hand that did, usually. If he’d known he was about to hit a raw nerve, he’d have steered well clear. She’d only started bleating on about her father, who’d buggered off and left her, apparently.

‘They’re getting divorced,’ she’d sniffed, like it was some big deal.

‘That’s rough.’ He’d tried to sympathise. ‘Got someone else, has he?’ he’d asked, in all innocence. And she’d burst into tears, blarting all over the place about cars crashing, dead sisters, her mum blaming her dad . . .

Well, that was a big deal, Charlie supposed. He was pretty sure he’d be inclined to scarper if he were responsible for that little lot.

‘Well, that worked,’ he muttered as she flopped onto the bathroom floor. She was well out of it. And, quite frankly, it turned him off. Charlie liked them compliant, but not unconscious.

Blinding idea it was of that blonde bint, Hannah’s. ‘Put her under the shower,’ she’d said. Yeah, right. While Blondie faffed about, getting under his feet, and he ended up soaking them all to the skin. Now she was sitting in the kitchen snivelling because he’d told her to piss off out of the way. And Shawn was about as useful as a fart in a spacesuit.

‘Come on, wake up, will you?’ Charlie grabbed the girl’s shoulders and gave her a good shake.

No response.

‘Shit!’ He stood and gave her a prod with his foot. Now what was he supposed to do with her? Should’ve left her in the club, like he’d wanted to. But soppy Shawn wouldn’t play ball.

Charlie squatted next to her, wiped his mouth with his forearm, hesitated, and then slapped her face. Thank Christ for that, he thought, as she stirred. So now what? He’d have to get her into the bed, he supposed. She’d have to sleep it off a bit before he stuck her in a taxi and pointed her towards home. The silly bints had better have enough money between them for the fare though. No way was he forking out.

Stuffing a towel under her head, Charlie crossed the hall to the kitchen, where Blondie sat at the table with a face like a spanner, and Shawn stomped about like an expectant father.

‘What’s her problem?’ he asked Shawn.

‘You’re her problem.’ Shawn ground to a halt and turned on him. ‘What’d you have to go and do that for?’

‘Do what?’ Charlie feigned innocence. ‘She asked for some dope. I gave her some. Can I help it if she’s pissed?’

Blondie glared at him. ‘She’s not pissed! You shouldn’t have done it. And you shouldn’t have let him!’

Shawn walked across to drape an arm awkwardly about her shoulders as she burst into another bout of tears. ‘She’ll be all right,’ he said gruffly.

‘But she might not!’ she cried wretchedly. ‘She might die.’

‘Aw, for Christ’s sake, give it a rest.’ Charlie sighed. ‘You’re givin’ me a headache.’ He massaged the knot in his neck. ‘Now go clean her up. She’s come round.’

Blondie blinked at him, disbelieving.

‘Go!’ Charlie barked.

Shawn looked Charlie up and down, disgust written all over his face, as she leapt up and skidded out of the door. ‘You, mate,’ he muttered, ‘are a complete prat.’

Charlie didn’t take too kindly to that. Twice Shawn had called him a prat tonight. Getting a bit big for his boots, Shawn was. ‘Oh, yeah, and why’s that, then?’ Charlie eyed him questioningly. ‘Seems to me the only prat around here is the one gooey-eyed over a little girly.’

Giving Shawn a long contemptuous look, he grabbed a bottle of lager from the work surface and prised the top off with his teeth.

‘I ain’t gooey-eyed,’ Shawn said, a bright spot appearing on each cheek. ‘I was just going to—’

‘Shag her,’ Charlie finished dryly. ‘So I’m a prat for wanting to have a go with the other one?’

‘Yes!’ Shawn took an angry step towards him. ‘And giving her drugs makes you prize prat of the year!’

‘Giving her drugs?’ Charlie choked and wiped a dribble of lager from his chin. ‘That’s what we do, mate. What d’y’think you’ve been giving the punters all night? Smarties?’

‘Not to kids,’ Shawn said, a pious look all over his stupid face.

Charlie laughed wryly. ‘Kids are our clientele, Shawn, me old mate. Or hadn’t you noticed?’

Shawn frowned. ‘Not unless they’re over age.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Charlie smirked as he watched the bluster blow out of Shawn’s sails. ‘Get real, Shawn. Kids are our market, and she was up for it. I told her to put her money back in her pocket is all. We both knew where we were at, and don’t tell me we didn’t.’

Shawn glanced at him, his expression going from anger through confusion to comprehension.

Finally, he sees the light. Did he really think he could stand there spouting holier than thou crap at the first sign of trouble? And then what? Say he ain’t ’avin’ none of it and waltz off hand-in-hand with a fifteen-year-old schoolkid? Nah, it was Charlie who was ’avin’ none of it. Shawn might have started out innocent enough, running for the big boys to see his senile old gran all right, but he was in it now up to his neck. Charlie had enough shit on him to get him banged up for years. Wouldn’t do Granny much good that, would it?

Right now though, he needed the big wimp back on side. He was on to a nice little earner with Shawn. Shawn supplied the gear, Charlie shifted it. And shifting it was a helluva lot easier with Shawn playing heavy at his side. He wasn’t about to let some scrawny schoolgirl jeopardise their relationship because Shawn fancied getting into her knickers.

Not that he ever would.

Charlie shook his head. Shawn was all mouth and no trousers, which is why he hadn’t had it away with Blondie already.

‘She was up for the other as well, mate, trust me.’ Charlie paused to allow Shawn to catch up. ‘So was Blondie. If you hadn’t had a dose of principles, you could’ve had her on a plate.’

The furrow in Shawn’s thickset brow deepened. ‘How do you know she was up for it?’ he asked suspiciously.

Got him, Charlie thought, amused. As easy as offering crack to an addict. Shawn went for it every time. ‘Her mate told me, didn’t she?’

Charlie paused again to pass him a lager. ‘They’ve got a little thing going, see. Into threesomes, apparently. Love me, love my mate, she said, then quoted their pricelist.’ Charlie shrugged. ‘You’d think butter wouldn’t melt, wouldn’t you?’

Shawn gawped at him, the lager poised at his mouth. What a gullible git, thought Charlie.

‘Kayla wants to go to bed,’ Blondie announced, dashing back into the kitchen. ‘But she can’t even stand up straight. Could you help her . . .’ She gave Charlie a derisive glance. ‘. . . please, Shawn.’

Shawn clamped his mouth shut and eyeballed Hannah, disbelieving.

Charlie suppressed a smirk. ‘Come on, darlin’, I’ll do it. Shawn’s a bit busy.’ He turned to the door.

‘Don’t you bloody touch her!’ Blondie barred his way.

‘I wouldn’t touch her with a bargepole,’ Charlie retorted. Actually, he fully intended to, and with a bargepole wasn’t a bad analogy, but all in good time. ‘She can sleep it off on my bed,’ he offered generously. ‘And then you can both bugger off. I’ve had enough of your lip for one night.’

At which, Blondie gave him two fingers.

Charlie wasn’t too happy about that either. No one, but no one, did that to Charlie.

He shot his hand out to catch Blondie squarely across the face. ‘Do not do that again. And do not, ever, tell me what to do!’ he snarled, clutching the front of her dress, and shoving her back, hard. ‘Got it?’

Dazed, Blondie stared at him, a hand over her cheek, and then turned towards Shawn, who stepped quickly towards her. Then faltered. Looking her over, he took a contemplative swig of his lager, and turned his back.

That’s that sorted, Charlie thought, with huge satisfaction. Now for the other one.

Whistling, he sauntered back to the bathroom where the other girl sat propped against the side of the bath, her head lolling and her eyes rolling. Looks like something out of The Exorcist, Charlie thought grimly.

Sighing, he ran the flannel under the tap and wiped the gunk from her face. Gently though, didn’t want her throwing a wobbly and screaming blue murder.

‘Come on, up we come,’ he said, sliding an arm around her shoulders and one under her legs.

‘Where we goin’?’ she asked, trying to focus her eyes as he heaved her up and carried her towards the bedroom.

‘For a little lie down,’ Charlie reassured her. ‘Feeling a bit dodgy, ain’t you?’

She nodded. ‘Can’t breathe,’ she mumbled, her head flopping onto his shoulder as he nudged the bedroom door open. Coming down, Charlie thought, knowledgeably. She had a long way to go yet.

‘Sorry, Dad,’ she mumbled as Charlie lowered her onto the bed and unhooked her arm from around his neck.

Oh, brilliant, she only thought he was her old man. Hope she doesn’t start banging on about him again.

‘Whoops.’ She giggled, reeling to one side.

Charlie straightened her up, giving himself a ten for persistence. She’d be worth it.

‘Sorry,’ she mumbled again, and reeled to the other side.

He was getting a bit fed up with this. Charlie shoved her back and yanked her feet up.

Bugger him if she didn’t bounce back up again. Was she spring-loaded, or what?

‘But you shouldn’t have done it.’ She squinted at Charlie, her pupils like pinpoints, trying hard to meet in the middle. ‘She doesn’t want it.’

She waved her arm vaguely.

Charlie kneaded the back of his neck. ‘Oh man,’ he groaned, ‘give it a rest.’

‘And nor do I. So you . . .’ She slurred, prodding Charlie in the chest with a wobbly finger. ‘. . . can stuff your nine-hundred-and-however-many grand. So there.’

With that, she smiled a flat smile and fell back on the pillow.

Charlie glared at her coldly. Who the fuck does she think she is, pokin’ me in the . . . ? Hang on a minute. Stuff your nine-hundred-and-however-many what?

Chapter Fourteen

‘Dammit!’ Matthew squeezed his eyes closed. ‘Sorry,’ he apologised to Becky. They hadn’t reached the crucial moment yet, thanks to being interrupted by Snuggles needing first a wee and then a drink of water, but they’d been working at it when his bloody mobile rang. He’d been going to ignore it when it had occurred to him it might be Ashley and snatched it up.

‘Adams?’ he said on auto, rolling away from Becky with a regretful smile.

‘Me, boss,’ Steve said. ‘Sorry to interrupt. I’m parked outside.’

Matthew glanced at his phone askance. ‘Shoot,’ he said, realising that Steve parked outside obviously meant it was urgent.

‘We have news of Roberts,’ Steve informed him. ‘Thought you might like to be in on it.’

If it was news that would get Roberts banged up where he ought to be, Matthew definitely wanted in on it, but . . . He glanced regretfully again at Becky, who was now propped up on her elbow, drumming his chest with her fingers and giving him that knowing look he knew all too well. At this rate she’d be divorcing him for dereliction of duty.

Sorry, he mouthed again, then, ‘I’m all ears,’ he said, debating how long he could let Roberts stew if the bastard had been caught in possession at long last.

‘The girl who rang off without giving her name, she rang back,’ Steve supplied. ‘Seems our local small-time drug dealer has upped his game. He’s packing.’

‘What?’ Matthew sat to attention. ‘A firearm?’

‘She seems pretty sure and I’ve no reason to believe she’s making up fairy stories. She also says she witnessed him in Strobes nightclub handing out sweeties to an underage girl. Said there was also an irate father in there at some point searching for his daughter, which is why she felt obliged to report it. We don’t have ID on either of the girls yet, or the father, but Roberts was definitely there. I’ve been keeping tabs on him.’

‘I’m on my way.’ Matthew turned to hitch his legs over the bed, as Becky did likewise the other side.

‘I’ll start the engine,’ Steve said.

‘Sorry,’ Matthew apologised again as he reached for the shirt Becky was already holding out to him. ‘I wouldn’t go, but—’

‘It’s urgent, I gathered. Just be careful, DI Adams.’ Becky locked serious eyes on his. ‘I want you back soon. Preferably in one piece. We have unfinished business.’

‘Wild horses couldn’t keep me away.’ Smiling ruefully, Matthew looked her over as he tugged on his clothes, and, far from the competent woman who’d just been promoted to senior radiologist at work, what he saw was a vulnerable, scared woman standing naked before him. An incredibly beautiful woman. ‘Got to go,’ he said, his throat tightening as he reached to pull her towards him for a parting kiss.

‘I mean it, Matthew. Please be careful,’ Becky said as he eased away.

‘I will be,’ Matthew promised softly, seeing the concern clouding her pretty aquamarine eyes. ‘Keep it warm, Mrs Adams.’

‘You’re pushing your luck, DI Adams,’ Becky informed him suitably po-faced, as he patted her extremely inviting behind.

‘I know,’ Matthew smiled, giving her a wink as he headed out, ‘but you love me for it.’

‘Good job I do, detective,’ Becky called after him.

Matthew poked his head back around the doorframe. ‘Ditto,’ he said quietly. ‘More than words can say.’

Turning on the landing, he saw that Ashley’s door was still open so she wasn’t home yet. He hoped she wouldn’t be much later. He pushed Mia’s door further open a fraction, overwhelming love for a definitely vulnerable person in his life immediately sweeping through him. Curled into a ball, Snuggles clutched to her chest, a comforting thumb plugged into her mouth, she was a perfect miracle, as content and happy as any child could be, amazingly. Matthew thanked God that the memories of being snatched so cruelly away from Becky didn’t appear to haunt his little girl’s dreams. That his marriage had been strong enough to survive the worst kind of nightmare. That Becky had been strong enough to stand by him even though his work had placed his family in jeopardy twice, to support him through her own pain, constantly reinforcing that he wasn’t responsible and nor should he feel guilty about being on the receiving end of a drug-related sexual assault at the hands of a psychopath. Matthew would always carry guilt, though, over the fact that he hadn’t recognised it was part of a bigger plan to take Mia, to ultimately destroy him and all that was dear to him.

A tight knot in his chest, he eased the door to again and turned for the stairs, treading quietly down to grab his jacket and head through the front door. The woman had been as cold and calculating as her deviant father before her, devoid of any feeling remotely human, he reminded himself, signalling Steve. And that was what they were dealing with again with the likes of Roberts. How far would that bastard go with a gun?

‘What have we got?’ he asked, just about throwing himself inside the car as Steve pulled off.

‘Shotgun possibly,’ Steve filled him in, ‘stashed under the bed. Original thinker, isn’t he, our poor deprived Charlie.’

‘Deprived, my arse.’ Matthew reached agitatedly for his seatbelt. Too many times he’d heard it, briefs trotting out Charlie Roberts’ bleeding heart story: poor deprived soul, born on the wrong side of the tracks, father a petty criminal, mother a lush, forced into crime etc, etc.

It was all bullshit. People had bent over backwards to try to help Roberts in his ‘underprivileged’ youth. Shafted is what they got for their efforts. The last set of foster parents who’d taken him on had apparently come back one night to find their home relieved of anything worth nicking. Roberts was nothing but drug-dealing pond scum. A disgusting parasite on the back of humanity. Kids weren’t safe with him out on the streets. Women weren’t . . . Christ, Ashley was still out. Groping for his phone, Matthew keyed in a text.

‘The girl who rang in, might she press charges?’ he asked Steve, his gaze on his mobile as he waited for a reply.

‘I think she just might. She was impressed with a certain policeman’s handling of her calls.’ Steve turned to him with a smug smile.

‘Yours truly, I take it.’ Matthew shook his head. ‘Don’t you ever sleep?’

‘Only with my wife,’ Steve assured him. ‘Her mother’s staying over. We haven’t got as far as restoring the spare room yet, so . . .’

‘You don’t fancy tucking under the duvet with her then?’

‘God forbid.’ Steve shuddered. ‘She’s just buried her third husband. Now on a manhunt, so Lindsey says. She’d probably eat me alive.’

Matthew laughed, and then blew out a sigh of relief as his phone pinged a reply: Approaching front door. Followed by another. Inside. You can call off the search party. Ashley, intuitive as ever, attempting to assuage his neurosis.

‘Course it could just be an air-pistol,’ Steve suggested, as Matthew conceded the fact that his foster daughter actually could handle herself and that maybe he should worry a little less on that score. Waiting for bad things to happen because they could really wasn’t conducive to a decent night’s sleep, as Becky had often pointed out.

‘Possible,’ Matthew mused, recalling how Charlie had claimed he’d been ‘shooting vermin’ when someone had reported him taking potshots with one a while back.

Should have turned it on himself, arrogant bastard.

‘I take it you don’t want to pay Charlie a visit?’ Steve asked him, glancing in his direction as he signalled and took the route to the station. ‘Drag him out of bed while I check under it?’

‘No. Absolutely not.’ Matthew was adamant. ‘We get the warrant, everything by the book. Meanwhile, I want him under surveillance.’

Steve nodded. ‘Already on it.’

‘This girl at the nightclub he was targeting,’ Matthew asked. ‘Do you think there might be a link to the girl the father was searching for?’

‘Could be the same girl.’ Steve shrugged uncertainly. ‘The CCTV footage might give us something. If it was, I sincerely hope the father caught up with the bastard.’

* * *

‘We’re out of here.’ Charlie almost fell through the kitchen door from the hall.

Blondie was still standing where he’d left her, nursing her bruised pride, and Shawn was nursing his lager, po-faced. They hadn’t kissed and made up then. Good. Nipped that in the bud nicely, hadn’t he?

‘Come on, move it,’ Charlie said, irritated by Shawn’s apparent moodiness.

Shawn glanced at Blondie. ‘Move it where?’ He gulped the last of his lager and clanged the bottle noisily into the bin, which had Blondie almost jumping out of her skin.

‘We’re taking them home.’

‘Yer what?’ Shawn looked puzzled. ‘You mean, now?’ He checked his watch.

‘Yes. Now.’ Charlie rolled his eyes and turned to the girl. ‘You, shift your arse and get your stuff. And you . . .’ He met Shawn’s mutinous glare, and moderated his tone. ‘. . . bring the car round, will you, mate? I’ll carry whatsername out. She’ll be better off at home.’

‘And what do we say to her parents?’ Shawn asked incredulously. ‘Express bleedin’ delivery. Sign ’ere?’

‘We don’t say anything. We just make sure she gets in safely. She wants to go home, Shawn.’ Charlie adopted his best caring expression. ‘We can’t keep her here against her will.’

Shawn ran his hand over his tattoo. ‘Suppose not,’ he muttered. ‘Come on then, you.’ He motioned Blondie towards the door.

‘Shawn, I can’t.’ She tried to appeal to him. ‘Not at this time. My mum’ll go ape.’

‘Tough.’ Shawn whipped up his car keys from the work surface and headed for the hall.

* * *

‘Shift over,’ Charlie instructed Hannah, depositing Kayla none too carefully on the back seat next to her. ‘Back inaminit,’ he said to Shawn. ‘Forgot something.’

‘Bastard,’ Hannah mumbled behind Shawn’s kanji-tattooed head.

‘Shut it, trollop.’ Shawn eyed her angrily through the rear-view mirror.

Hannah was shocked. Shawn didn’t normally talk to girls like that, like that fuckwit Charlie. What was she supposed to have done to upset him? ‘Shawn, what’s up?’

‘Nothing,’ Shawn muttered, hunching his shoulders and clutching the steering wheel. ‘Just don’t hold with girls putting out all over the place, that’s all.’

‘Putting . . .’ Hannah looked at the back of his head askew. ‘Shawn, I don’t know what that cokehead’s been saying, but—’

‘Forget it.’ Shawn cut in. ‘And zip it, like Charlie said. He’ll be back in a minute.’

Like Charlie said, Hannah mimicked silently behind him. Twit. Little lapdog errand boy.

Charlie was back fast, throwing stuff in the boot and slamming the lid so hard, Kayla whimpered. Hannah tightened her arm around her friend’s shoulders and pulled her closer. Shawn was a wanker; and a pusher. She knew he dropped a few Es, but this . . . Hannah wanted to put as much space between him — and that bullying cokehead — and them as she could.

Home was where she wanted to be, whatever reception she got from her mum. And to make sure Kayla got home, alive and intact, thankfully. She eyed Charlie disdainfully as he skirted around to the driver’s side.

‘Shove over,’ he instructed Shawn. ‘I’ll drive.’

* * *

Matthew guessed it was the threat of a firearm, rather than his DCI’s inconsiderable charm, that had got the warrant issued without too much hassle. ‘By the book, Adams,’ Davies had warned him, that dour look on his face, one of two expressions he wore around Matthew, the other being despairing. ‘No charging off half-cocked,’ he’d added, a not-so-subtle reference to Matthew’s preference to take action, rather than no action where a drug-dealing, pimping piece of scum and his delightful daughter were concerned. Matthew had resisted pointing out that the victims of crime in both cases were his family, and that if he hadn’t ‘charged off half-cocked’ he would have no family.

Now outside Roberts’ flat, he was relieved to find the rat wasn’t in its hole, because he wasn’t feeling quite as detached as he possibly should be.

‘Right, come on, lads,’ Steve said, nodding the two uniforms despatched with them in case Roberts was in residence towards the front door. ‘We’re going in.’

‘Sir.’ One of the PCs positioned himself for forcible entry.

‘Wait!’ Steve held an arm out in the nick of time. ‘We’ll try opening it, shall we?’

Rolling his eyes in Matthew’s direction, Steve produced a master key from his pocket, pushed it into the lock and then opened the door with a flourish. ‘Blimey, what a dump,’ he observed, leading the way into the hall.

Following him, Matthew glanced around, noting the pigsty Roberts lived in was worse than ever, peeling wallpaper, crap everywhere, including dirty socks and discarded beer cans. Rachel Meadows really was better off out of it, he thought, his stomach twisting nevertheless as he imagined what she must have endured leading up to the ‘fall’. What she must have endured afterwards, lying at the bottom of the stairwell bleeding and broken, her baby’s lifeblood seeping from her, while Roberts stepped over her on his way out to pick up his gear. And he would have done, Matthew had no doubt about that.

Sighing, he turned to the officers. ‘Okay, let’s do it, lads,’ he said, ‘but with minimum disruption, okay?’

The two officers nodded simultaneously and then exchanged perplexed glances. Matthew guessed why. They’d be hard pushed to wade through the rubbish on the hall floor without causing disruption. Until they’d ascertained whether there was a firearm on the premises, though, or worse, had been, then making it obvious the place had been turned over wasn’t a good idea. If Roberts got so much as a whiff of the police having paid a visit, he’d dispose of any incriminating evidence fast.

‘Don’t disturb anything. If you move so much as a particle of dust, put it back,’ Steve clarified, nodding them towards the living room, where they weren’t likely to find a mini-factory producing illegal drugs, more was the pity. As yet, Roberts was small-time, but definitely aspiring to bigger things, as indicated by the amount of stuff he was shifting, some of it cut with substances that could potentially kill, the violence he’d meted out to Rachel Meadows and the girl who’d rung in. Matthew’s jaw tightened involuntarily. Sooner or later Roberts was going to cause some serious harm. And Matthew aimed to stop him before he did.

‘Fancy checking out the bedroom?’ he asked Steve, nodding in that direction.

‘Can’t wait.’ Steve led the way. ‘I was beginning to think you didn’t fancy me.’

Matthew couldn’t help but smile as he followed him.

‘Sod it. Nothing.’ Steve muttered, peering under the bed a minute later. ‘Apart from a truckload of rubbish.’ He risked life and limb and ferreted deeper under the bed, sifting through lager bottles, porno mags, and . . . ‘Shit!’ he cursed, pulling out a used syringe.

‘Let me see,’ Matthew said, abandoning his search of the wardrobe, behind and on top of, to check out the protective gloves Steve was wearing for nicks.

‘Hope this isn’t a proposal,’ Steve quipped, to the amusement of one of the officers who’d stepped in to report on progress outside.

‘I hate to break it to you, Steve, but you’re really not my type.’ Matthew smiled flatly, and then, having established the glove was intact, gave him his hand back.

‘That’s what I keep telling Lindsey’s mum but it doesn’t put her off much.’ Steve went back under and . . . ‘Aha!’ . . . surfaced a minute later.

‘A shoe,’ he said, to Matthew’s and the officer’s bemusement. ‘Not just any shoe,’ Steve pointed out, looking pleased with himself. ‘It’s a lady’s shoe.’

‘Er?’ The officer now definitely looked bemused.

Steve eyed the ceiling. ‘It’s Mary’s, the woman who rang in,’ he elucidated further. ‘At least it fits the description,’ he added.

‘Which tells us she was here.’ Matthew got it.

‘In this very bed, and under it,’ Steve confirmed, giving them the benefit of his rear end as he went back in.

‘And what’s more,’ he said, emerging again, ‘she wasn’t dressing up her story in order to drop Charlie in it. A cartridge box.’ He offered up his next find, looking less pleased.

Which meant that Charlie was indeed carrying. Matthew drew in a terse breath. ‘Check out the bathroom. Usual places,’ he addressed the officer. ‘And then leave it there. We need to get out—’

‘Shit!’ Steve cursed again behind him. ‘I’ve only gone and pierced my kneecap with the—’

‘Silver drop earring, sir,’ the officer supplied, bending to pick it up.

‘Yes, thank you, constable. Haven’t you got a toilet to check?’ Steve said, his expression a mixture of peeved and embarrassed. Obviously he’d thought he’d had another run in with a syringe.

‘Cheers.’ Matthew smiled, accepting the earring from the officer, who, shaking his head, turned for the door.

‘Mary’s?’ Matthew asked as Steve heaved himself from his knees to his feet.

‘Could be. I’ll check it out.’

Matthew nodded, dropping the earring into an evidence bag. There was nothing else to do here but tidy up. The overriding concern now was that Roberts was very likely to be out there — with a firearm. And if he was, he’d use it. Charlie Roberts had about as much self-control as he had feelings. They had to find him. But find him where?

His last known contacts would have to be . . . Matthew paused to ponder the earring again. Might it belong to the girl in the nightclub? Their CCTV had corroborated that the little shit had indeed been paying particular attention to a young girl, probably a minor. In which case, that same girl was one of Dead-eyed Charlie’s last known contacts. She’d have to be located, fast.

Chapter Fifteen

Jo studied her novel, turned the page over, and hadn’t the slightest clue what she’d just read.

A waste of time was exactly what she was hoping to achieve, but this wasn’t doing it. Concentrating was about as impossible as sleeping. How often, she thought guiltily, had she dreamed of having time on her hands in the past to pander to her own needs, rather than those of the kids and the demands of the boatyard. Well, now she’d got it, hadn’t she? Time in abundance. She could pander until her heart was content. Paint her fingernails and her toes. The trouble was, she didn’t want to. She unwound her towel from her hair, dropped it into the bulging laundry basket, and then remembered the clothes she’d stuffed into the washer-dryer earlier, which would now need the assistance of a steamroller to iron.

Sighing, she headed downstairs with an armful of washing. The prospect of the utility room with only the dripping tap for company didn’t thrill her, but it was something to do. She could always download a film to watch while she waited and have a drink . . . of cocoa, which would be warm and soothing, though she’d prefer a drink that was more sleep inducing.

Good job she hadn’t got one then, wasn’t it? Annoyed with herself, Jo dragged the washing out of the machine and stuffed in a new load. Was she really ready to give in so easily? Reach for a crutch that actually did nothing to help her stand up and fight back? No, she was not. Resolutely, Joanne made her cocoa and tried to make herself comfortable in the lounge, where the film served to relax her about as much as reading had. She watched it and saw nothing, apart from a layer of dust an inch thick on top of the TV. Dusting though, she had no inclination to do.

A second cup of cocoa in hand, she trailed back upstairs, intending to sip it cocooned under the quilt, where at least she’d be warm while she watched the hands of the clock go round.

Of course, it might have been a good idea to take all of the washing, Joanne. She eyed the clothes she’d discarded on her wicker chair before showering and found herself not caring. It didn’t matter if there was a mess in the bedroom, did it?

No more than slapping moisturiser over her face mattered, which she wandered to the bathroom to do anyway, from force of habit. Or shaving her legs, which she’d also done to pass time. The shaver had certainly had its work cut out. She hadn’t preened and pruned in a long time. Daniel’s shaver. Jo glanced from the mirror to the shelf, where she’d replaced it. He’d forgotten it in his rush to leave.

Sighing, she smoothed some freebie Elizabeth Arden stuff over her hands, sniffed it, then on a waste not, want not basis, went the whole hog and smoothed it all over. She’d paid lip service to her beauty regime the last few months. It might not hurt to indulge a little. The old Joanne, the person she wanted to be — the person she knew Daniel wanted her to be — would have.

Well, that was that. All out of timewasting tactics, Jo reached for her toothbrush, turned on the tap, and . . . nothing, apart from a horrendous metallic clunking, which was a subtle indication the plumbing was acting up.

‘Pants,’ she muttered, reaching for Daniel’s shaving lotion to give the pipes a good thwack, and then . . . Good God! . . . blinked, surprised, as silence ensued. It worked, amazingly. She’d beaten it into submission. That was normally Daniel’s domain.

Dammit, why couldn’t she stop thinking about him? Sleep would be out of the question at this rate. Jo dragged the comb through her hair, remembering she hadn’t been to the hairdressers since . . . she couldn’t remember when.

Maybe she would book that appointment to have it cut. It would be far less trouble. She unhooked Daniel’s shirt from the door and slipped back into it. She and Kayla could go together. Go shopping afterwards. Do the mother and daughter stuff that Jo knew she should have made an effort to do, but just didn’t seem to have the energy for.

She wouldn’t give her a hard time when she got home, she swore. As worried as she’d been, she’d make an effort to listen. And if Kayla wasn’t ready to talk, Jo would give her time, space, whatever she needed.

Anything.

Please God, make her come back home safe. Jo squeezed back a tear, raked her damp fringe from her face, pulled open the bathroom door.

Then froze.

The stranger in her bedroom gave a long, slow wolf whistle. ‘Oh, darlin’,’ he drawled, appraising her appreciatively from top to toe, ‘I am so glad I dropped by tonight.’

* * *

‘What the . . . ?’ Daniel jolted upright. Cold sweat pooled in the hollow of his neck and saturated the sheet beneath him.

He squinted against the oppressive dark, trying to focus his mind. A car backfiring, that’s all it was. Or thunder? Christ, he needed to get a grip. He ran his hands through his hair and tried to slow his racing heart. He could have sworn it was gunfire. Felt it, almost.

No, it was thunder, all right. Daniel winced as lightning cracked through the room, the skies colliding angrily in its wake. Looked like the mother of all storms. And it was heading his way. Disentangling himself from the bedclothes, he eased his feet to the floor and dragged a hand over his aching neck. He must have dozed off. He hadn’t meant to do that. The last thing he remembered was coming from the shower he’d taken in an attempt to cool off.

‘Dammit!’ He covered the floor in three paces as another flash of light bathed the dark shadows white, flicked on the light switch . . . and the bulb fizzled and died.

Great. Stuck in a stifling shoebox, with a cat flap for a window and no bloody light. Daniel stayed put as a thunderclap crashed directly overhead. Willing himself to stay calm, he leaned his back against the wall, took several slow breaths, and counted down slowly from one hundred.

At ninety-five the panic started to subside. It still simmered somewhere, but at least he could breathe. Okay. That was good. He’d been way down in the eighties and still counting when he’d hit the street earlier, gasping for air and hating himself for his weakness.

He’d get there though, back in control. He had to. He had a role to play. Not the one he’d envisaged for himself in his family’s future, but a role nevertheless. And France was definitely not on the agenda if he wanted to be hands-on in that role — which he did. Kayla needed him here, not an ocean away. Tonight’s events had brought that home hard. He should have seen it before, instead of burying his head in the sand, effectively being blind to anything but his own pain.

Jo needed him, too, he’d finally realised. Maybe not in the same way as she had before — he swallowed a tight lump in his throat — but she needed him to be a father to Kayla, and a friend to her, if nothing else. And he would. If that’s what Jo wanted, then that’s what Daniel would be, because he couldn’t stop caring about her, no matter what happened, which simply left him no choice. He’d stay around until Jo needed him to do otherwise.

As lightning bathed the room blue-white again, Daniel waited for the heavens to clash, then almost had heart failure as his mobile rang, shrill and stark against the darkness. ‘Shit!’ Bolting back across the room, he located the bedside table and snatched up the phone. ‘Jo?’

‘Hi, Dan. It’s me,’ Jo said lightly. ‘How are you?’

How was he? Daniel frowned.

‘Look, sorry to bother you,’ Jo went on, almost conversationally. ‘I know you’ve had a busy day at work, but—’

Bother him? Busy day at . . . What? ‘Jo, you are not bothering me,’ Daniel cut in. ‘What’s happening? Is Kayla okay?’

‘Yes, I’m fine,’ Jo replied. ‘Yes, Dad’s fine, too. Much better now, thanks for asking.’ She paused pointedly, and Daniel’s heart froze. Dad? What fucking dad? Jo’s father was long since dead and buried in Dublin.

‘It’s just that the lights are on the blink again,’ Jo went on, nonsensically.

Daniel swallowed back a hard knot in his chest. ‘Jo, what’s wrong?’

‘About an hour,’ Jo continued to talk gibberish. ‘And, well, I’m a bit frightened, to be honest. I was wondering if you could come over. I think it’s just the fuse, but you know how hopeless I am with these things.’

What? Daniel dropped onto the bed, disbelieving. Jo, hopeless? She was as practical as he was — more, probably. She could wire a plug blindfold.

‘Jo, what the hell are you talking about?’

‘And with the storm and everything . . .’ Jo went on, a tremulous edge to her voice, did he detect? ‘Well, will you come?’

‘Of course I’ll come. You know I will,’ Daniel assured her, his mind racing through all kinds of scenarios. Had she been drinking? No, her speech was no way coherent, but it definitely wasn’t slurred.

‘Yes, now would be good, if you wouldn’t mind,’ Jo answered a question he hadn’t asked. ‘I’m not even sure I know where the fuse box is.’

Bullshit. Jo knew exactly where the fuse box was. ‘I’m on my way,’ he said, cold fear settling like ice in the pit of his stomach.

* * *

‘Not bad,’ the intruder said. ‘Though he’d have been here a lot quicker if you’d offered him a shag. I would have been, darlin’. No doubt about it.’

He trailed his eyes approvingly over Jo’s legs. ‘Ask me, the bloke must be nuts, leaving a bird like you.’

Swallowing hard, Jo pulled her shirt tight.

‘But then, I don’t suppose you’d want his hands all over you, would you, sweetheart?’ The man smiled languidly, looked away from her, and strolled around the bedroom. ‘His having murdered your kid, an’ all.’

Jo flinched, physically. She prayed silently that Daniel would come. That he wouldn’t. That her legs wouldn’t give way as the floor seemed to shift beneath her.

The man strolled back towards her. ‘Still, no worries, he is coming, isn’t he?’ He inched Jo’s chin up with the barrel of the shotgun. ‘Like a lamb to the slaughter.’

Jo looked right at him, hoping she might see some hint of what drove him, and then closed her eyes against the coldness she saw in his eyes.

He went on with a sneer. ‘And it gives us a bit more time, doesn’t it, sweetheart? Now, what shall we do while we wait?’

Jo’s eyes shot open as he hooked a finger over the top button of her shirt. ‘Why are you here?’ she asked, her tone neutral and her gaze steady on his. She willed herself not to do anything to provoke him. Not to give into tears.

What did he want? Her head reeled as her mind screamed the question again. If he was a sick little thief in the night, why didn’t he just take what he wanted and go? It was just so much stuff anyway, not worth a jot compared to what really mattered. He couldn’t take her few precious memories. If it was something else he was intent on, why didn’t the bastard just get on with it?

Why did he want Dan? What was he . . . ? Oh, God, no! Jo’s stomach clenched and curled up inside her.

He was going to hurt him.

She could see it in his vile, flat eyes. They were swimming with pure evil. It was Daniel he wanted for some reason. Jo was sure of it. She was the bait, that was all. And, God help her, she’d lured Daniel into the bastard’s trap.

Charlie’s mouth twisted into a smirk as he flicked the button open and trailed his hand down to the next one. ‘That’s for me to know and you to find out, darlin’. You smell nice,’ he said, his mouth twisting into a lewd smile as he pressed his face to her neck.

* * *

Daniel scrambled into his shirt, his heart thudding steadily against his chest. Had Jo had some kind of a breakdown? No, she’d sounded calm, considered almost. Something was seriously wrong. But what, that she wouldn’t say? Or couldn’t? Oh, sweet fucking Jesus. Daniel’s blood ran cold. There was someone there, in the house. She was on her own, thanks to him, and some mad bastard had broken in.

Forcing his feet into his half-laced trainers, he clutched up his key, banged out of his room, then half-sprinted, half-stumbled down the stairs. Scanning the noticeboard above the payphone, he angrily cursed himself for not having had the courage to get back behind the wheel before . . . this! Christ! Where were the taxi service cards? He slammed his fist against the wall, scanned the noticeboard again, and his eyes fell on a faded blue-white card tucked in the corner. Relieved, he jabbed out the number, waited an hour-long minute for someone to pick up, only to be told it would be a forty-minute wait.

Feeling sick to his soul, Daniel jabbed out 99 on his mobile, and then stopped. Shit. What would the police do? Send a patrol car? Ring the house to check out his story? No. They’d treat it seriously, proceed with caution. Wouldn’t they?

They had to.

But what if some screwball psychopath was holding a knife to Jo’s throat, while he stood here uselessly debating? The police turn up and . . . Jesus, no! Daniel swallowed hard.

There was someone there, he knew it.

And whoever it was, wanted him.

Pocketing his mobile, he raced towards the front door wondering whether to flag someone down, hesitated for a split second in the hallway, and then hammered on John’s lower-floor door.

‘I need your car,’ he said, when John squeaked it open.

John eyed him warily. ‘What for?’

‘John, please. I . . .’ Daniel closed his eyes. ‘John, I don’t have time for this. Please, just trust me. I need to borrow your car.’

‘Yeah, right.’ John shook his head. ‘And if I had a girlfriend, I’d lend you her as well. You must be joking, mate.’ He made to close the door.

Daniel blocked it. ‘John . . .’ He eyed the man levelly. ‘My wife’s in trouble. Please? I’m desperate.’

John arched an eyebrow. ‘What kind of trouble?’

‘Bloody hell! I don’t know! Serious trouble! Now, will you just give me the keys?’

John scratched his head. ‘I’ll drive you.’ He sighed, blinking bloodshot eyes and turning to lumber slowly inside.

Oh, for Pete’s . . . The guy was so drunk he couldn’t drive a nail home, let alone a car. ‘Forget it,’ Daniel said, turning away. ‘I’ll find another way.’

‘I said I’d drive you,’ John called after him. ‘Just hold your horses.’

Daniel turned back. ‘John, you’re three sheets to the wind. You can’t walk in a straight line. If you want to help, just give me the goddamn keys.’

John came back to the door. ‘I thought you said you didn’t drive?’ He squinted at Daniel suspiciously.

‘I said I didn’t have a car, John. Makes driving a bit difficult. And, right now, I need one.’

John hesitated, searching Daniel’s eyes. ‘All right. All right.’ He reluctantly dropped the keys into Daniel’s hand. ‘Just make sure you look after her.’

Relief flooded through Daniel. ‘I will,’ he assured him, almost out of the building. ‘Cheers, John. I owe you one.’

‘Several, mate. Love of my life, that car is, y’know.’

* * *

Fifteen minutes at most, Daniel told himself, trying hard to keep his mind on the time it would take him to get to the boatyard, rather than the process of actually getting there. He hadn’t considered, never even imagined getting in the driving seat again, except in his nightmares, which left him petrified.

The rain was relentless, bouncing bullet-like off the pavement and soaking his shirt through to his skin as he ran to the car. He wiped a hand over his face, attempted to unlock the car door — and dropped the keys.

For fuck’s sake, just do it! Cursing himself, he retrieved the keys from the gutter, fumbled the door open, and threw himself inside.

Do it, he repeated. Don’t think. Just drive. Shakily, he located the ignition and started the engine. Okay. Good. He’d managed that bit. Now all he had to do was concentrate. Feeling as if his chest was about to explode, he took a deep breath, rammed the gearstick into first and floored the accelerator.

Chapter Sixteen

Charlie was wounded. She’d drawn blood. Actual blood. He dragged his hand across his cheek and examined it. One minute she was standing there, looking as if she was desperate for it — happily obliged he would have, too, had he not been wired up like a telegraph pole on amphetamines and coke — and then she’d grabbed hold of his hair and nearly scratched his bleedin’ eyes out.

Charlie was as perplexed as he was annoyed. He’s got the gun, she plays hard to get? She’d got some bottle, he had to give her that. Standing on the other side of the room, she was now, spitting like an alley cat, her big green eyes holding up a challenge.

Charlie quite liked a challenge.

‘Come one step closer and you are going to have to shoot me!’ The woman screamed. ‘I’d rather be dead. You absolute . . . bastard!’

‘Shut the fuck up,’ Charlie snarled, swiftly skirting the bed.

He couldn’t shoot her, of course, not yet. But one thing’s for sure, he was going to have to shut her up, or someone might hear, and that’d scupper his plans, no messing.

‘You might well rather be dead,’ he mimicked, clutching her face, his fingers digging hard into her cheeks. ‘And dead you will be, if you don’t zip it. But while you’re busy thinking about yourself,’ he snarled, his face close to hers, ‘you might like to spare a thought for your darling daughter.’

Her eyes shot wide. Pupils like saucers, Charlie thought, mildly amused.

‘I see I have your attention.’ He smiled. ‘Now, I’m going to let you go. And when I do, you do not move a muscle. Got it?’

That’s knocked the fight out of her he thought, pleased when she nodded.

Charlie loosened his grip, a snarl twisting his lips.

The woman felt for the wall behind her. ‘Kayla?’ she murmured, disbelieving.

‘Got it in one.’ Charlie grinned, and stepped back. ‘Course, you’ve only got the one now, haven’t you? And you wouldn’t want to be responsible for her death, would you?’

Charlie watched satisfied as the colour drained from her face. Pale and pretty she looked. Very interesting. Especially now he’d shut her noise up. Couldn’t have achieved such an instant response if he’d slapped her again, which he’d felt inclined to do, her having marred his good looks.

Charlie wiped his forearm across his bloodied cheek and sauntered off.

He’d just let her mull that over for a while, see if it didn’t make her a touch less aggressive.

He could feel her cat’s eyes following him as he strolled leisurely around the bedroom, peering in wardrobes and drawers. Casually, he plucked her underwear from the chair. Held it high. Gave her an insinuating glance and a smirk.

‘Is she . . . ?’ She hesitated. ‘Kayla . . . Is she all right?’

‘As well as can be expected.’ Charlie shrugged, idly flicking a piece of fluff from his shirt. His gun propped on his shoulder, he turned to eye the woman squarely. ‘And if you want her to stay that way you’d better stop pissing about. Got it?’

She nodded slowly, and he watched any thought of resistance evaporate. Any hope that he might take what he wanted and then leave fade away.

‘Good.’ Charlie smiled, looking her languidly over. ‘Because, for your information, sweetheart, I only do death excruciatingly slowly.’ He aimed the gun, meaningfully belly level. ‘So get over there and sit, very quietly.’

* * *

Daniel screeched to a halt at the hairpin bend, a flashback hitting him, hard. With gritty determination, he tried to drive through it, though he could taste the petrol fumes thick on the air.

See the oncoming truck.

Feel the impact.

Hear his baby screaming . . . ‘Daddy!’

He’d come, at last, face-to-face with it, his unremitting nightmare. But he couldn’t go any further. Past the exact point in the road where . . .

Damn it! He slammed his hand against the steering wheel, slowed his rapid breathing and reversed sharply. Cursing his inadequacy, he took a detour, to arrive one mile further on, and still one long mile from home.

* * *

Charlie made sure the house was secure. Couldn’t believe they’d actually left the back door unlocked. Someone really ought to warn them about the danger of intruders, he thought, shaking his head as he sauntered back towards the stairs.

He’d decided to come back down and wait in the hall. Didn’t want to get caught with his trousers down, so to speak. Shame he wasn’t up to the job really. It would have given him a bit of a buzz, seeing the husband’s face when he arrived home to find his missus had had a good seeing to and his daughter was on the missing list. Make sure the spineless wuss knew Charlie meant business.

Perhaps he should have a crack at her after all. She might have been spitting obscenities at him, but she was definitely more his league than the slappers he usually had it away with. Nah, that would be plain daft at this stage of play. Charlie was pleased that his plan had panned out thus far, given he’d had so little time to organise things. The husband had no idea he was here. Knew nothing about Charlie knowing all about his little stash . . . correction . . . huge stash of cash. Good job he hadn’t let on to wifey about the daughter sooner. She might not have been quite so cool on the phone if he’d had to use that information to persuade her.

Yes, it was all goin’ nicely to plan. There’d be time enough later to play with wifey. Charlie smiled happily and trotted back upstairs, to where the wife was waiting, which she would be, patiently, right where he’d left her. One of the husband’s belts saw to that. Handy things those brass headboards.

‘All locked up,’ Charlie said, swaggering cheerfully into the bedroom. ‘Safe as houses.’ He winked and strolled over to the bed.

‘Now then, where were we?’ His eyes travelled over the woman. Looked good in bondage, she did. Dead sexy. Tying her up had been a precautionary measure, just in case she got it into her head to hide behind the door and bash his bloody brains in with the toilet brush or something. Wouldn’t put it past her. Had fire in her eyes, this one did.

But my, didn’t she look inviting.

He trailed his hand over her cheek and played with her hair.

Just teasing though, wondering how long it would take for the fire to turn to fear.

Now then, to untie her or not to untie her? Wouldn’t be able to have her meet the husband at the door with a gun pressed to her pretty head if he didn’t. On the other hand, she’d looked so fragile and vulnerable when he’d walked into the room just now. Be a nice little surprise for hubby that.

He’d leave her tied, he decided, and amuse himself awhile.

* * *

Daniel slowed the car in the lane, glimpsing the bedroom light through the gap in the trees. No surprise there. Lights on the blink? Jo being fazed by the fuse box? About as likely as snow in June. She’d been forced to make that call. Daniel knew it with absolute certainty. He also knew she’d been trying to warn him. There was someone, maybe more than one, there with her.

So what the hell did he do now? Park the car and creep up to the house in the hope of gaining entry without alerting them? No. Whoever it was, they were obviously expecting him. And they were holding Jo. His blundering in not knowing how many they were, or where they . . .

Daniel stopped in his deliberations, swallowing back a hard lump in his throat as it occurred to him to wonder . . . Why was the only visible light the one in the bedroom? Christ! Fear clutching coldly at his heart, he rammed his foot down, swung the car through the gates and skidded to a halt, full beams bouncing off the lifeless lounge window.

* * *

Perfect timing, Charlie thought, positioning himself far enough back not to get a face full of door, should the bloke fancy himself as Bruce Willis.

He’d been reconsidering his options with the missus, all that untamed hostility giving him a serious hard-on, when he’d clocked the headlights breaking through the trees, way before the hot-headed husband revved the engine and charged to the rescue.

He’d obviously cottoned on. And judging by the speed the idiot had screeched up the drive, he was either stupid, walking right into it, or he cared an awful lot about the little lady upstairs. That was a plus. One Charlie hadn’t been banking on. His daughter Charlie guessed the bloke cared for — and he’d better, if he wanted her back in one piece, but the wife?

From what the daughter had told him about the state of their marriage, Charlie hadn’t been too sure about that.

He obviously did still care for her though. And that was definitely in Charlie’s favour. Almost made up for the fact that he hadn’t had time to become better acquainted with the woman. No hurries though. Everything comes to those who wait.

Come on, sunshine. He watched the poor sod walk towards the door. Come to Charlie.

* * *

Daniel guessed he was being watched. He took a slow breath, started counting, and walked on.

He braced himself once inside the front door, hearing the click a second before the barrel of the gun brushed his temple.

‘Glad you could join us.’ Someone stepped out of the shadows. ‘Do come in. We’ve been expecting you.’ Whoever it was manoeuvred behind Daniel to give him a vicious shove further in.

Righting himself in the hall, Daniel immediately attempted to face his assailant.

‘Don’t even think about it,’ the intruder spat. ‘Turn back around. Now!’

Holding hard onto his temper, Daniel turned back, and kept counting.

‘Upstairs.’ He was nudged again. ‘One foot out of place and your wife will be scraping you off the walls for weeks. Got it?’

Daniel stopped counting and breathed out, long and hard. She was alive. The son-of-a-bitch had just confirmed it.

Closing his eyes, Daniel counselled himself to stay calm. Whatever it took, he had to keep a rein on his emotions, stay in control. Get Jo out of this, even if it meant swallowing every ounce of his pride and getting down on his knees to beg the bastard.

Once Jo was safe, Daniel would kill him. It was as clear-cut as that.

* * *

He’s a big bugger, Charlie thought a bit warily, as he followed the man up the stairs. And it was definitely him, the weirdo from the nightclub earlier. Setting his daughter a fine example, wasn’t he, frequenting nightclubs to get stoned out of his brains, either that or pick up kids. Yeah, that was probably it, the bloke was a bloody paedo. And obviously a loser. Small wonder whatsername was screwed up.

Confident he’d got the guy’s measure, Charlie dismissed any apprehension he might have had and gave the guy a jab in the back with the butt of the gun. ‘In there,’ he growled, grabbing a handful of his shirt and pushing him bodily into the bedroom.

* * *

The blow, landing in the worst possible place it could, caused pain to slice through Daniel’s chest. Attempting not to wince, to show any sign of weakness, he stumbled through the door, and stopped dead. ‘Oh, Jesus . . . You bastard!’ he grated, half-turning.

‘Stay.’ He was ordered bluntly. ‘Or she is kebab meat.’

The gun, Daniel reminded himself, breathing hard. The bastard would shoot if he made so much as a move, and Jo would stand no chance. Strapped to the headboard like an animal, she was defenceless. Terrified.

Instinctively, Daniel took a step towards her, and heard the click of the gun behind him.

‘I said, stay!’

Daniel stopped. ‘Bastard,’ he repeated.

‘You do what I say, when I say. Understand?’

Daniel nodded, his gaze still on Jo.

‘Didn’t hear you.’ He received another short, sharp jab to the shoulder.

‘Yes!’ Daniel gave him what he wanted, every sinew in his body tightening.

‘Good.’ The psycho behind him gave him another jab. ‘Now, turn around, slowly.’

His chest heaving, Daniel counted down three, then turned around — and looked straight into the goading eyes of the same drug-dealing piece of scum he’d seen earlier. At the club, where he’d searched aimlessly for Kayla, his instincts screaming at him.

‘Walk pretty straight for a bloke who’s wasted, don’t ya?’ the goading son-of-a-bitch sneered. ‘Charlie,’ he introduced himself. ‘Charlie Roberts at your service. And your daughter’s, of course. But then, I’m guessing you already know that, don’t you? Which would mean that you’d know not to mess with me, yes? That is, if you want to see her with her eyes open again, which I’m assuming you do.’

Daniel stopped breathing as pieces of the jigsaw plopped jaggedly into place, a picture emerging that tore at his insides and sent his emotions spiralling out of control.

He tried to pull air into his lungs.

Tried hard not to clear the floor between that . . . vermin and him.

He breathed out, slowly.

He’d blow it for Jo and Kayla if he did.

Daniel’s heart twisted. He sucked in another breath and glanced away from Charlie, then back. ‘My wife needs me,’ he said calmly, and then, holding the sick bastard’s gaze meaningfully for a second, he recommenced counting and turned his back.

‘Yeah, right,’ Charlie said behind him, his tone not quite as cocksure as it was. ‘She’s getting on my tits anyway,’ he added, quickly reinforcing his role as big guy with the gun. ‘Do something with her, before I do. Already been forced to give her a slap, snivelling cow.’

Daniel’s shoulders stiffened.

He walked on, sat down beside Jo, carefully stroked her hair from her face and scanned her eyes, petrified of what he might find there. A tumult of emotion is what he saw, quiet dignity, angry defiance, silent pleading — all shot through with sheer terror.

Daniel’s heart cracked in his chest.

He nodded, almost imperceptibly, and tried . . . somehow . . . to reassure her with his own eyes. He would kill the bastard. He knew that now, absolutely. The question was how, with maximum pain.

Gritting his teeth, Daniel worked hard to control his fury as he traced his fingers over the blue-black bruise on Jo’s cheek. ‘We’ll get through this, I promise,’ he whispered close to her ear, and then reached to untie the belt biting cruelly into her wrists.

Bastard. His jaw tightened as he ran his thumbs over the ugly red welts the belt had left on her skin. Cautioning himself not to react, he set Jo’s hands in her lap, carefully refastened her shirt, and then pulled his wife gently into his arms.

‘Aw, Christ, give it a rest, mate,’ Charlie muttered from across the room. ‘You’ll be bloody shagging her in a minute.’

Heeding the warning, Jo eased away from him. ‘It’s okay,’ she said. ‘I’m okay, Daniel.’

As scared as she was, Jo’s gaze didn’t falter as she held his, and Daniel felt like weeping. The bastard hadn’t raped her. She was trying to reassure him. He swallowed hard and loved her more right then than he ever had.

Charlie sighed behind them. ‘How very touching,’ he sneered, walking across to give Daniel a prod with the gun. ‘Over to the chair,’ he ordered. ‘We have business to discuss.’

Ah, business. What kind of business had this piece of human flotsam conducted with his daughter? Bile rose in Daniel’s throat.

Chapter Seventeen

‘Move it!’ Charlie clutched the neck of his shirt, twisted it tight, and attempted to shove Daniel towards the chair.

He didn’t budge. Charlie boggled.

Un-bloody-believable.

The stubborn prat was just sitting there, deliberately disobeying a clear instruction. Flexing his muscles, was he? Trying to show his missus he wasn’t a wimp? Well, he’d better put his freakin’ pride in his pocket a bit quick if he wanted to see daylight again.

‘I said move it! Now!’ Charlie moved around to press the barrel of the gun against the guy’s throat. ‘That muscle enough for you, Danny boy?’

‘Go, Daniel,’ his wife said urgently, glancing from him to Charlie, then back again. ‘Please.’

‘Yeah, go, Daniel,’ Charlie mimicked in girly tones. ‘As in right now, Daniel!’ he added, deadly serious. ‘Do as the little woman says, and get your arse over there, before I blow your brains out.’

Finally, the man got to his feet, holding eye contact with him as he did, Charlie noted, despite the gun now pressed to his chest.

‘Better,’ Charlie said, relieved, but still wondering how the bloke had the gall to keep eyeballing him. Wasn’t taking him seriously enough, obviously. Big mistake, Danny boy. Huge. ‘Now sit, Daniel,’ he instructed. ‘Over there, in the chair. There’s a good boy.’

Those two getting all touchy feely made Charlie want to puke. Girly crap. No way was he going to let them sit whispering and plotting. Together, they presented too united a front for Charlie’s liking.

Daniel nodded tightly, and then brushed past Charlie, making shoulder contact. Charlie glanced down at his own shoulder, then back to Daniel, confounded. The bloke was walking away from the chair, towards the wardrobe. Charlie watched goggle-eyed, not quite able to believe it. The bloke was going out of his way to annoy him. Did he want his family wiped out, or what? Crap. What if he did? Charlie furrowed his brow, suddenly seriously worried. Maybe there was an insurance policy. He hadn’t thought of that. Maybe Danny boy had decided he quite liked the idea of no maintenance payments and a fat insurance pay out. Oh, shit. Was the bloke trying to outwit him? Call his bluff?

Charlie looked on warily, as the man calmly extracted a pair of jeans from the wardrobe shelf, then turned to the bedside cabinet. What was he up to now? Peering around the barrel of his gun, Charlie craned his neck to try to see what the hell was going down.

‘Whoa!’ he called as Daniel opened a drawer. ‘What you doin’?’

‘Getting clothes,’ Daniel said, without looking up. ‘I’ll sit down when my wife’s dressed.’

‘No way,’ Charlie growled. ‘Get in the chair, Daniel, or you’re history.’ He aimed the gun higher.

Ignoring him, the man went on to retrieve underwear from the drawer, and then walked back towards his wife, stopping to pick up trainers from under the dresser on his way.

Charlie gasped, audibly. ‘You on a suicide mission, or what? You just ain’t paying attention, are you, Danny boy? Take one more step, just one, and I swear—’

‘On the contrary,’ the guy cut across him. ‘I’m assuming you want my undivided attention, though.’

Is he having a laugh? Charlie squinted, perplexed. He’d blow him to kingdom come. Decorate the ceiling with the . . . !

‘You’ll get it.’ Daniel paused to look at him. ‘As soon as my wife is comfortable. She has to use the bathroom.’

Handing the clothes to his wife, he turned back to face Charlie.

‘No fuckin’ way,’ Charlie growled. ‘If she wants to use the toilet, she does it with the door open. Do you think I’m dense, or what?’ He glared at Daniel and went on, growing more agitated by the second. ‘She can get dressed where she is. As for you . . .’

He wiped a hand over his mouth, so angry he was spitting.

‘. . . you’d better learn to jump when I say jump.’

Charlie strode across the room to motion Daniel away from the woman. ‘Don’t ask why.’ He jabbed the butt off his shotgun hard into the man’s ribcage. ‘Ask how high, got it?’ he bellowed as Daniel doubled up. ‘Or she won’t live long enough to hitch up her knickers.’

A groan escaped Daniel. He stayed where he was, struggling to breathe.

Served him right, thought Charlie. Insolent sod. ‘Stand up,’ he instructed, more quietly.

He waited while Daniel pulled himself upright, rather patiently, he thought, and then pulled back the gun and gave Daniel another vicious jab, just to make sure he had damn well got it.

‘I trust I now have your undivided attention,’ Charlie said tauntingly as Daniel dropped to his knees.

‘Dan!’ His wife flew across the room before Charlie had a chance to blink, let alone kick him. ‘Daniel, please . . .’ She crouched in front of Daniel, brushing his hair from his forehead, easing her hand under his arms, trying to help him to his feet. ‘Do as he says, Daniel,’ she implored, pressing her face close to his.

Well, that was more like it. ‘Yeah, Daniel, do like she says,’ Charlie said, somewhat placated. ‘She’s asking nicely. And I ain’t about to ask again.’

Placated Charlie might be, but there was no way he was about to keep repeating instructions. He’d had a bellyful of this messing around. Shoot him in the leg, he would if . . . No, he’d need his legs. The arm then, if the bloke didn’t engage his brain and do as instructed. Like, immediately.

‘Shall we try that again, Daniel?’ Charlie smiled. ‘When you’re ready?’

Charlie’s smile widened as Daniel, obviously labouring to draw breath now, reached for the bed and tried to lever himself up.

‘You bastard,’ his wife uttered.

Charlie’s smile slipped.

‘He’s hurt!’ She eyeballed him furiously.

Charlie laughed. He should be annoyed, but he was actually amused. What did she think? He was going to burst into tears? ‘You don’t say?’ he drawled sarcastically.

She tried to help Daniel who was clutching his chest, attempting to straighten up.

Charlie rolled his eyes. Blimey, what a palaver. Anybody would think he had shot the bloke.

‘You could have killed him!’ The wife shot Charlie another contemptuous glare as Daniel coughed, then visibly winced. ‘He can’t take that sort of punishment, can’t you see? He’s only just recovering from broken—’

‘Jo!’ Daniel cut her short.

And winced again, Charlie noticed, genuinely amused now. ‘Broken what?’ he asked as wifey’s eyes scuttled for the safety of the floor.

‘Not saying, hey? No need.’ Charlie chuckled quietly to himself. His ribs, he’d be willing to bet, judging by the way the bloke was acting. Whoops. Would be a bit sore then, he supposed.

So how did he break them? Some kind of accident, presumably. The one his daughter was yammering on about? But that was months ago, wasn’t it? Would have healed by now. Charlie didn’t know and didn’t much care. What he did know was that the lady had dealt him an ace. Nice one, sweetheart.

‘Chair, Daniel.’ He pointed the way.

At last, Daniel walked towards it, too slowly for Charlie’s liking.

‘Oh man,’ he muttered impatiently. ‘Like, tonight would be good. You know, before your daughter gets the shakes?’

Charlie glanced at wifey, who stared at him, uncomprehending, and then with some satisfaction at Daniel, who stopped to shoot him a look of pure hatred. That definitely got the stubborn son-of-a-bitch where it hurt. Knew where he was comin’ from, did Danny boy.

‘Right, you.’ Charlie motioned his gun towards the woman. ‘Sit on the bed. And you.’ He turned his attention to Daniel. ‘Sit in the chair and stay in it.’

Charlie waited for his audience to be seated. ‘Right, if we’re ready, I’ll begin, shall I? Your daughter, Kayla, is currently coming down, as they say.’

Charlie paused to glance at Daniel, who swallowed hard and closed his eyes. Yeah, he’d got the gist all right. Better clarify things for the wife’s benefit though. Been living in a gilded cage, she had, in her nice upmarket house. Hadn’t got a clue.

‘From a bad trip, unfortunately,’ Charlie went on, deciding to give them a dramatised version, lots of gory detail for them to think on.

‘Freaked out, she did. Man, you should have seen her.’ He shook his head, as if he couldn’t quite believe it himself. ‘Didn’t know what day it was. Swore blind her name was . . . What was it? Oh, yeah, Emma, that was it. That she’d been buried alive.’

Charlie stopped again, watching with interest as the wife turned a pale shade of white and Danny boy . . .

He didn’t bat a bloody eye. Charlie studied him, bemused. Like he didn’t care? Yeah, right. He didn’t want to hand Charlie any more aces, more like.

‘Man, that was some bad trip. Real scary,’ Charlie continued chattily, determined to elicit a response from Daniel, who sat in steely-eyed silence.

‘Course, I gave her something else to, like, quieten her down,’ Charlie said magnanimously, noting with immense satisfaction as Daniel flinched.

Better, Charlie thought, getting to his feet. ‘Had to.’ He shrugged as he walked idly to the dressing table to spray himself liberally with aftershave.

He turned back to face them. ‘What else is a bloke supposed to do?’ he asked, with another innocent shrug. ‘If a person starts trying to pluck maggots off themselves, you gotta do something, haven’t you?’

Nice one, Charlie. He congratulated himself. Graphic enough, he thought, to ensure they didn’t let their little girly suffer any longer than necessary. His mouth curved into a slow smirk as the woman clamped a hand over her mouth and stumbled to the bathroom.

Charlie let her go. She didn’t have time to close the door.

* * *

Daniel sat immobile, his head resting on steepled hands, his eyes closed — and seeing with absolute clarity his daughter, either screaming in terror, or scared half to death, bewildered and utterly alone. No amount of counting could block that out. ‘What do you want?’ he asked, his throat tight.

‘Your money,’ Charlie said, matter-of-factly. ‘In exchange for which you get your daughter back, relatively unharmed.’ He rested the gun on his shoulder and hitched himself on the edge of the dressing table, legs crossed and waiting expectantly.

Daniel nodded slowly, lowered his hands to his chin and eyed the bastard thoughtfully. ‘No dice,’ he said at length.

‘No . . . ?’ Charlie gawped, incredulous. ‘No what?’ He aimed the gun at Daniel in a split-second flat.

‘No dice,’ Daniel repeated, easing himself painfully from the chair. ‘Not unless I get certain assurances.’

‘What the . . . ?’ Charlie lowered the gun, apparently flummoxed. ‘This is not open for negotiation, you prat. Who the hell do you think you are?’

‘The man with the money,’ Daniel suggested.

He was pushing his luck, he knew. But if that sick bastard thought he was going to sit back and let him do Christ-knew-what with his family . . .

‘I have something you want . . . and you’re obviously going to get it,’ he paused to allow Charlie to assimilate, hopefully forestalling any reaction. ‘If you don’t, someone is going to end up dead, aren’t they?’ Daniel went on, choosing his words carefully. ‘I don’t particularly want to be that someone, any more than you’d want to sit in a six-by-four cell for the rest of your life.’

Charlie narrowed his eyes, watching Daniel’s casual pace around the room with suspicion. ‘So?’ he asked.

‘So we negotiate.’ Daniel faced him. ‘Let my wife and daughter go and we’ll discuss it.’ The spineless little shit wasn’t about to give up his bargaining power and actually let them go, Daniel was well aware of that, but he might compromise.

Charlie sneered. ‘Hah! Do us a favour. No way. And for future reference, I don’t much like people tellin’ me what to do. So don’t.’

‘I’m not telling you anything.’ Daniel eyed him levelly. ‘I’m asking you to see sense. The money you want—’

‘Nine-hundred-odd grand,’ Charlie cut in.

‘Yes.’ Daniel nodded, expressionless, though his stomach turned over. That could only have come from Kayla, along with the other stuff about Emma. How much information had she offered freely to the smooth son-of-a-bitch who’d offered her a shoulder to cry on, and a few drugs to make it all better? And how much had she said under duress?

‘How many odd?’

‘What?’

‘Loose change to you, I suppose?’ Charlie looked at him contemptuously. ‘I said—’

‘Nine hundred and fifty thousand,’ Daniel clarified, wishing dearly he could stuff every single pound coin down the sick bastard’s throat.

Charlie nodded, his face passive, a greedy glint in his eye. ‘Sounds good,’ he said, straightening up. ‘So you go and get it, I tell you where your daughter is, and we can all get on with our lives.’

‘Small hitch in your plan,’ Daniel hesitated, no idea how this would play out. ‘I’ll have to give notice of withdrawal.’

‘Notice?’ Charlie frowned.

‘In writing. It’s possible they might accept notification via email but, even then, I’m going to have to present myself at the bank with identification.’

‘Bullshit,’ Charlie said, now looking considerably agitated.

‘It’s not bullshit, it’s the law, procedures banks have to have in place for fraud prevention purposes. I’m telling you because you need to know. The funds won’t be available immediately, no amount of threats can make that happen. When they are, they’ll need to see me in person with ID.’

Daniel decided against telling him the funds he’d mentioned would never be available, the wheels already having been set in motion for half the proceeds of the sale to pay off the business mortgage. ‘Obviously, I can’t give notice until tomorrow, which makes it three, maybe four, days before you have a hope of seeing any money.’

Pausing, Daniel prayed harder than he’d ever prayed in his life. ‘You’d have to pump her with a truckload of drugs to keep her quiet for that long. Bit risky, don’t you think?’ he suggested, his tone moderate, though what was going on in his head was close to screaming insanity. If anything was risky, it was putting ideas into this psychopath’s head.

Studying Charlie carefully, Daniel appraised his reaction. He could almost hear the cogs going around. He watched the man as he deliberated, saw him twitch and scratch, as if imagining what the results of not having his own next fix might be, and knew he was right. He hadn’t got a truckload of drugs. Chances were, he was carrying, but that would be for his own use.

He might have an accomplice. Panic rose in Daniel’s chest. But even then, keeping hostages in two locations meant two people to watch them, meaning Roberts was stuffed. No one to go shopping for him.

What if he didn’t go for it? Daniel’s head swam. His legs felt like lead, and his lungs . . . He felt as if he were drowning from the inside. The freak had chosen his spot well. The ribs were definitely close to going. He prayed they didn’t, because he’d need every breath in his body, all the strength he possessed, if he had to take a chance and kill the bastard with his bare hands, which he would. Roberts had to sleep sometime.

But he didn’t, did he? Daniel almost laughed at his own stupidity. The guy ran a candy shop. He’d be up as long as he needed to be — and ‘coming down’, as he obviously was now. He watched Charlie chew doggedly on a thumbnail as if it were his last meal, a myriad of expressions on his face as he mulled over his options.

‘Look, if you won’t let them go . . .’ Daniel hesitated, then suggested the only real option he’d thought Charlie might go for. ‘. . . then let Kayla come home.’

‘Nah, not on.’ Charlie shook his head and paced agitatedly towards the bedroom door and back again, to the bathroom door, and back again. ‘I’ll just shoot her.’

‘Nothing to bargain with then,’ Daniel said quickly as Charlie paced towards the bed. ‘You have the gun,’ he went on before Charlie thought about what other bargaining tools he might have. ‘You’re in control.’

Daniel glanced at Jo in the bathroom doorway, whose short nod told him she understood, but whose eyes told him what she was hearing was nothing short of sheer torture.

‘And if I see my family’s safe, I’ll do whatever you say. You’ll get the money,’ he paused. ‘All you have to do, Charlie, is stay in control.’

Chapter Eighteen

Kayla blinked grainy eyelids, frantically trying to wash away the black. Black so oppressive, she could almost reach out and touch it.

She eased her head back, trying to relieve the crick in her neck, and attempted to tuck her hands under her chin, to curl up and let slumber reclaim her, but found she couldn’t. Panic-struck, she wriggled and tugged hard on her hands, only to find them restrained. She pulled harder, and succeeded only in tightening the grip on her wrists further.

Oh God, where was she? Gulping back a sudden sweeping nausea, she tried to slow her pounding heart. Someone . . . Something was here with her, wherever she was. She concentrated hard, shifted the rhythm of her breathing, but still she could hear the rise and fall of soft breath, which echoed her own.

‘Hannah?’ she croaked, her throat like sandpaper. No answer.

Lifting her sluggish head as far as her arms would allow, she twisted her knees from side to front, and hit a hard surface.

‘Oh God. Oh God,’ she whispered frantically as the bed swayed, and then see-sawed slowly beneath her, ‘I’m so sorry.’ She prayed hard. Don’t let me be dead. Please, don’t let me be dead. A sob escaped her throat. Where was she?

Scrambling through her mind, she came up with nothing but grainy, grey images, like sea clutching ineffectually at sand. She tried to focus, to hold onto a fleeting image of her dad, going ballistic; pulling his arm tight around the bouncer’s neck until it snapped with a sickening crack.

But it wasn’t the bouncer who lay on the floor, bloodied and motionless. It was her dad.

Desperately, she fast-forwarded. He was leaning over her. She was in a strange room. His face was close to hers, except . . . it wasn’t her dad. He wasn’t wearing the right eyes. They were dull, lifeless — devil’s eyes.

‘Hannah!’ she called louder, her voice trembling. ‘Hannah, please, where are . . . ?’

Kayla stopped, clamping her mouth shut and straining her ears. Scraping, she could hear it distinctly now. Scuffling and scraping, below her. Down underneath her almost. ‘Hannah!’ she screamed, petrified.

Rats! There were rats under the bed, and she was strung up like Jesus on the crucifix. And there were rats. But she wasn’t in bed. There was no roof on her bed. She screamed again, loud, shrill and long.

She kept screaming. The surface beneath her dipped and swayed violently, and still she kept screaming. A light sliced across her vision, so bright it left white imprints on her eyes, but still she kept screaming.

Pounding and scuffling rocked her world further, then, ‘Bloody ’ell! Pack it up!’ she heard as she drew her knees up beneath her, ready to fight, and kick and scream, even if it was the Devil himself.

But it wasn’t. She blinked, panting and breathless. ‘Shawn?’ Kayla tried to make out the silhouette looming in the small doorway beside her.

‘Yeah, it’s . . . Ouch! Bloody thing. It’s me,’ Shawn said, rubbing his head as he lumbered towards her to target the beam of a torch on her face.

‘Shawn!’ Kayla said again, her voice something between a sob and a choke. ‘What’s going on? What’s happening?’

‘Shush. Shush.’ Shawn moved to brush a hand clumsily over her hair. ‘Shush,’ he cooed again, as if to a baby. ‘It’s okay.’

Kayla recoiled, squirming away from him. ‘Get it off,’ she pleaded. ‘Please! Keep them off me.’

‘What?’ Shawn furrowed his brow. ‘Keep what off?’ He shone the torch around the space she was in. ‘There’s nothing on you. Not even the duvet.’ He sighed, and reached for the duvet, which Kayla had scuffled to the end of the bed.

‘Come on. You’re freezin’.’ Shawn pulled it up over her. ‘Course, that might have something to do with the combined effects of dope, crack and bloody tranquillisers,’ he muttered, half under his breath. ‘Bloody Charlie, sadistic little—’

‘Rats!’ Kayla whimpered, her body trembling. ‘They’re chewing through the bed. They’re going to—’

‘Nah,’ Shawn tried to reassure her. ‘There’s no rats. Look.’ He moved the torch around again.

‘There are!’ Kayla sobbed. ‘I can hear them.’

Shawn cocked his head to one side. ‘You daft sod.’ A relieved smile split his face. ‘That’s not rats. It’s just some silly bleedin’ swans pecking at the bottom of the boat. Heard it myself earlier. Put the wind up me, as well, I must admit, till I plucked up enough courage to poke me head out. Thought it was the freakin’ Loch Ness Monster got loose on the canal, at first.’

Kayla stared at him, calmer, but still shaking. ‘My hands,’ she said. ‘They hurt.’

‘Stupid bugger,’ Shawn cursed. ‘I told him he’d stop your circulation, daft prat.’

Kayla watched as he slackened the ropes, and then hesitated, seeming to debate, before untying them altogether. Cautiously, she lowered her aching arms, crossed them over her chest, and studied Shawn guardedly. It was swans. Just swans, she thought, a tiny sliver of relief bubbling to the surface. She was on a boat. Of course she was. She was on one of the lower bunk beds . . . tied up . . . on a boat, with Shawn?

Kayla shuffled back and eased herself to sitting, her arms now wrapped protectively about herself. ‘Where’s Hannah?’ she asked quietly, a new kind of fear surfacing.

‘Gone home.’ Shawn shrugged, apparently indifferent, his attention focused on trying to light the wick of a lantern he’d obviously fetched from the deck.

‘Why?’

He shrugged again. ‘’Cos she wanted to.’ He looked for somewhere to hang the lantern, noted the absence of any furniture other than the tiny wardrobe and parked it on the floor, where it cast a gloomy glow. ‘Lights are not working,’ he said.

Kayla said nothing. She shuffled right into the corner of the bunk bed, brought her knees up to her chin and challenged Shawn with a disbelieving glare.

‘I wanted her to,’ Shawn clarified. ‘Ain’t got no time for tarts.’ He eyed Kayla accusingly. ‘I’m only being nice to you because Charlie gave you a hard time, so don’t try anything stupid, or there’ll be trouble.’

Fixing her with a meaningful glance, Shawn turned to take the few steps required to the bathroom, which was divided by a partitioning wall from the cabin Kayla guessed she was in, effectively blocking her way out. His bulk would fill the narrow corridor that ran the length of the seventy-foot boat. The galley was next door the other way, the small seating area beyond that. Just eighteen feet to the back doors. Could she make it? Would her legs carry her that far before he was on her?

‘The back doors are locked, by the way,’ Shawn said, as if reading her mind.

Kayla’s hope sank as she heard him clattering around, twiddling the taps.

‘Cobblers,’ he muttered, coming back. ‘No lights. No water. What a dump.’

‘It’s a boat. Doesn’t run off the mains,’ Kayla informed him flatly. ‘And Hannah’s not a tart.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Shawn swept a derisory gaze over her. ‘Going to give it away for free tonight, were you? Still makes you tarts in my book.’

Kayla tightened her grip around her knees. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she asked shakily, her eyes brimming anew. ‘Where’s Charlie?’

Shawn ran his hand over his kanji’d head and gawped at her. ‘Why am I . . . ?’ He laughed incredulously. ‘Blimey, he’s got you pumped so full of tranqs, you ain’t seein’ straight, are you? Darlin’, it’s Charlie who’s doing this.’

‘Charlie?’ Blinking, equally incredulous, Kayla dragged her hair from her face and groped through her hazy memory. ‘Charlie?’ she repeated, trying desperately to make the pieces fit together. ‘I don’t under—’ Hell! The spliff! She saw herself taking it, recalled Charlie nodding approvingly.

‘Yes, charming Charlie.’ Shawn spelt it out. ‘Who is up at your house at this very minute, wielding a sawn-off. Still think the sun shines out of his backside?’

He took an agitated few steps in the confined space and then plucked his cigarettes from his back pocket.

‘Loveable Charlie . . .’ Shawn lit up and went on. ‘. . . is trying to persuade your old man that you’re worth nine hundred grand. Course, he won’t need too much persuading, will he? With cokehead Charlie at the trigger-end of a shotgun.’

Shawn tapped the side of his head meaningfully.

‘You’re lying,’ Kayla said shakily.

‘Whatever.’ Shawn shrugged and took another puff of his cigarette.

Oh God, he wasn’t. Kayla buried her face in her hands. She’d thought Shawn was going to . . . Thought she’d be murdered by morning, floating bloated in the canal. She’d rather that than . . . Not her dad. Please not that.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to block out the image of him after that last godawful argument, crying silently when he thought no one could see him. The clearer image she had now of him distraught, almost deranged, as he’d searched for her.

Of Charlie . . . in his bathroom? Kayla ran the tip of her tongue over her bruised lip. Charlie’s lifeless devil’s eyes looking into hers.

Not her father’s, kind and caring — and pained.

Kayla wiped a hand under her nose. Charlie had been here, on the boat. She remembered that too. It was him who’d manhandled her inside. He’d pushed her down on the seating area.

Shawn had stopped him when he’d touched her, tried to . . .

‘Give her a break,’ he’d said. Kayla had heard him.

Seen Charlie standing over her, smirking cockily. ‘Oh, I’ll give her something all right,’ he’d said, and Shawn had lost his temper.

Called him a sadistic son-of-a-bitch and said he’d wanted no part of it.

He’d grabbed hold of Charlie’s shoulder.

Pulled him off her.

Charlie had turned around and pushed him against the hull of the boat. Kayla had felt it. ‘You bloody great wuss.’ He’d seethed. ‘I’ve told you, she’s—’

‘Save it, Charlie! I don’t want to hear it,’ Shawn had warned him. ‘I’m walkin’.’

‘Fine. Go on. Walk,’ Charlie had sneered. ‘Just remember to look over your shoulder for the filth feeling your collar when you do. In it up to your eyes you are, mate. And, while you’re at it . . .’ He’d poked him in the chest. ‘. . . just remember where the dosh comes from to keep your poor old gran in her soddin’ comfortable flat. Won’t be able to do that when you’re banged up inside, will you?’

He’d spat in the sink. Kayla remembered that. She’d wanted a drink of water, and he’d walked to the galley and spat in the sink.

Oh God, no. A sob racked her body. She choked back another sob. The boat seemed suddenly so much smaller. All four sides breathing in as one, sucking the air from around her. Inside her.

Creaking, splintering, collapsing . . .

Kayla scrunched herself smaller.

* * *

‘What you looking at?’ Charlie demanded.

Daniel looked Charlie up and down, and then shrugged slowly. The implication of which was not lost on Charlie. Got Danny boy sat on the floor, he had, where he was less intimidating.

Not that Charlie was intimidated. Why should he be? The bloke was about the same height as he was. But he was built, Charlie had to admit. Even working out twice a week, when he wasn’t too wasted, Charlie had a long way to go before he boasted biceps that big.

Unbelievable. He was doing it again. Looking. And not very respectfully either. The bloke should remember who was in control around here, Charlie thought, peeved, as he strolled over to give Daniel a reminder with the butt of the gun.

‘Do not get smart, Danny boy,’ he warned him.

His wife flinched, he noticed, also noticing Danny boy catching her eye and silently heeding her to stay put.

‘You move when I say so.’ Charlie glared at him. ‘You speak when I tell you to, and you look at me when I want you to. No furtive glances, not at me or her. Got it?’

Charlie waited.

Daniel nodded slowly, keeping his eyes averted. And holding his breath, Charlie noted. Waiting for pain to subside, he reckoned. Good. Needed to show a bit more respect, Danny did.

‘Don’t forget it.’ Charlie gave him another nudge, and then paced the length of the room, frustrated, and way too hot. He wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt and paced back. Come on, think man. He tried to get his brain into gear, chewing on his thumbnail as he walked the length of the room again, in between Daniel and his wife.

He’d been right, the smart-mouthed husband. No way could he keep whatsername pliable for any length of time. He just didn’t have enough stuff. Shit! That was just plain negligent. Why hadn’t he thought about that before?

Maybe he should bring her to the house? That was the plan in the first place, after all, to hold daughter and wifey, whilst hubby went dutifully off to make the withdrawal.

He’d been sidetracked by the open boat as they’d crossed the yard. Seemed like a good idea at the time. Tie the daughter up. Hold her to ransom. Make bloody sure they did cough up.

Didn’t seem such a great idea now though, he had to admit. Despite topping up, he had a bad case of the jitters. And he was knackered. Oh, he’d stay alert. Make sure Danny boy didn’t get a chance to sneak up on him. The coke would make sure of that.

Charlie doubted he could relax enough to piss right now, anyway, but three to four days with no sleep? Uh-uh, no way would he be able to keep going for that long, watching hubby and wifey, who were watching him with devious eyes, plotting and conniving.

He could tie them up, of course. Yeah, and then hand-feed them and who knew what else. Come to think of it — Charlie groped for another amphetamine from his top pocket and tossed it in his mouth — he was starving. Hadn’t had so much as a morsel to eat since . . .

‘Oh man.’ He ground to a halt in the middle of the room, kneading a painful knot in the back of his neck. ‘What is that racket?’

The woman glanced nervously at Daniel, who shook his head perplexed.

‘What racket?’ she asked, obviously aware that her husband would incur Charlie’s wrath if he so much as murmured.

‘That noise.’ Charlie waved the gun towards the en suite. ‘It’s doing my bloody head in.’

‘The extractor fan,’ she answered, disbelieving.

‘Well, turn it off!’ Charlie barked, astonished that she wasn’t already halfway across the room.

Charlie was agitated. Very agitated. He’d come to a conclusion. And he wasn’t happy with it. He couldn’t watch them for that long, not on his own. And Shawn couldn’t help out here if he was babysitting the daughter. Assuming the wimp was capable of even that. Gone all proprietorial, Shawn had. Guarding her virtue, as if she had any. Of course, a thought occurred, Shawn might be protecting his own interests. Might be giving her one right now.

‘Do you want a taste of what he just had?’ Charlie snapped suddenly at Jo, whose eyes had been boring holes in his back everywhere he went, even before she’d run to turn off the fan.

The woman shook her head quickly, glancing at Daniel, who glanced demonstratively down. ‘No,’ she said quietly, eyes firm on her lap. ‘Sorry.’

More like it. Charlie nodded approvingly. A bit of bloody courtesy, was that too much to ask?

Charlie picked up his thoughts where he’d left off. Very good, Shawn. Pretty clever, for someone as thick as a plank. Well, no way. They were in this together, and it was share and share alike as far Charlie was concerned. Giving Shawn the easy job seemed sensible, him being last in the queue when they handed out brains, but handing him an easy lay? No way.

Charlie sat in the chair, gun wedged between his knees, eyeing his captives more calmly now the speed had brought his panic down to a controllable level. He would rather have snorted, hit the spot quicker, but how was he supposed to do that, as well as keep one eye on them and hold the gun?

Yeah, Shawn’s assistance would be helpful, no doubt about it. Charlie reached a decision. And what’s one more prisoner when you’ve already got two?

* * *

‘You,’ Charlie said, exhaling slowly. ‘Danny boy.’

Daniel stopped studying his hands and — leisurely — met Charlie’s gaze.

‘Those tugs . . . barges.’

‘Narrowboats,’ Daniel corrected him.

‘Don’t get smart,’ Charlie warned.

Daniel nodded.

‘Do they go?’

‘With diesel, yes,’ Daniel answered.

Charlie narrowed his eyes. ‘Are you having a laugh, or what?’

‘No.’ Daniel sighed. ‘They haven’t been turned around in a month or more, that’s all.’ He dragged a hand wearily over his neck. If he didn’t straighten up soon, he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to. And that thing parading as a human being would home in on his weak spot like a vulture to fresh meat.

‘Turned around?’ Charlie frowned.

‘We’ve been . . . running the business down,’ Daniel said, as if the parasite didn’t already know it. ‘The boats need servicing: diesel, water, gas . . .’ Daniel stopped. ‘Why?’ he asked, although he was one step ahead.

Where better to keep a vigilant eye on two people? Three, maybe? Realisation kicked him hard in the gut. Christ, that’s where she was. Fifty yards away!

Daniel met Charlie’s mocking gaze full on. ‘Bastard,’ he uttered.

Charlie smiled languidly. ‘Yep, that’s me.’ He got to his feet, tossed his spliff end on the carpet and ground it out.

‘Can I help it if my mother spread her legs for the price of a sherry?’ He shrugged blamelessly. ‘Doesn’t give you the right to go around calling me names though, does it?’ Charlie’s smile froze. ‘I just might get offended. Get my drift, Daniel?’

‘Yes,’ Daniel nodded slowly, ‘I think I probably do.’

‘Good,’ Charlie said, almost jovially. ‘You.’ He motioned to Jo. ‘Get what you need, and make it snappy.’

Jo got to her feet, looking helplessly at Daniel.

‘Clothes, Jo,’ Daniel explained. ‘Enough food for a few days and . . .’ He hesitated, glancing enquiringly at Charlie. ‘. . . stuff for Kayla?’

‘Yeah, I suppose so.’ Charlie smiled good-naturedly, his mood obviously buoyed up by the drugs. ‘But hurry it up. I’m starving.’

* * *

Jo blinked, uncomprehending for a second, then moved fast, pausing only to squeeze Daniel’s shoulder as she passed to the wardrobe.

Pillowcases, she thought, throwing the stuff on the bed and compromising in the absence of the holdall, which Daniel had taken. She should never have let him go.

Never.

Twice he’d asked if she needed him to stay, and every ounce of her had wanted to say yes. To hold him. To tell him to come home, where he should be. But a tiny part of her had been scared that he didn’t want to come home.

Wasn’t she as guilty as he then, of withholding emotions?

He had come back though. He’d known he was walking into something terrible, and he’d come anyway. He was a good man. An honest, decent man. They should have tried harder. She should have.

Daniel had suffered as much torment as she. Of course he had. How far had she pulled away from him in reality because he didn’t appear to be hurting? He didn’t appear to be hurting now, did he? Jo stole a glance at him, sitting apparently emotionless, determined not to give into the pain he must surely be in.

She wished she could reach out to him. She should have reached out.

Held onto him. Helped him.

They could have got through it, together. They always had. Dammit, they would! Jo clamped her teeth together hard and tried to concentrate, throwing clothes, toiletries and towels into the pillowcases ad-hoc. God, how painfully ridiculous could this get? She was packing a pillowcase to go on holiday with a drugged-up psychopath. And what next? Rub suntan oil into his back?

Get through the moment, Jo, she cautioned herself, yanking drawers open, an involuntary shudder running through her as she caught sight of that merciless creature walking towards her.

‘Very nice,’ Charlie said, suddenly close behind her.

He reached over and hoisted a silk camisole from her underwear drawer. ‘Very nice indeed. You can model it later.’ He smirked, and walked across to dangle the lacy garment in front of Daniel. ‘Can’t she?’

Ignore him, Dan, Jo willed him. Do not give the animal ammunition. He’d use it. Use her, to get to Daniel. The bastard was into power games, it was written all over his face. He was top dog and was going to make sure Daniel knew it.

Daniel looked from the camisole to Charlie, and then away.

‘What? Don’t tell me it doesn’t do anything for you, Danny, the thought of shagging your wife in this little number?’ Charlie taunted. ‘Does it for me all right. You must be a faggot.’

Charlie stopped and cocked his head to one side. ‘You queer, Daniel? Pretty boy, ain’t you?’ He stroked the tip of the gun down Daniel’s cheek. ‘Did wifey buy some sexy undies to titillate someone else, ’cos you couldn’t get it up? Hey?’

Daniel studied his hands, expressionless, apart from the tic playing at the corner of his mouth.

‘Hey, Danny? That it? Your wife having someone else in your bed, is she?’ Charlie continued to goad him. ‘Or did she just not want to play with you anymore, because you went and took her little baby away? Huh?’

Daniel winced and visibly paled.

The filthy animal might as well have kicked him in the stomach. Jo looked from Charlie’s vile, grinning face to Daniel, who sat with his eyes fixed firmly on his hands. Hands that were shaking slightly.

Other than that, he still showed no emotion. But he wasn’t an emotional wasteland. He was the same solid as a rock Daniel he’d always been. Would it have helped if he’d gone to pieces, she remembered him asking, when she’d been hurting too much to hear him, to even try to understand.

Daniel might be emotionally flawed, but a man who’d demonstratively shown how much he cared, disobeyed some sick power fiend, to reassure her . . . Daniel did have feelings. He’d just been scared of letting go. Why, Jo didn’t know.

She knew why he was scared of letting go now, though, of coming down to the same base level as that . . . thing. Daniel was trying hard to stay in control, for the sake of his family, Jo could see that. And he wouldn’t, if that sadistic animal kept taunting him, provoking him, digging mercilessly at wide-open wounds.

Leave him alone, you bastard. Jo wanted to spit in his face. ‘Excuse me,’ she said instead, pointing towards the wardrobe, attempting to distract him.

She searched Charlie’s mocking eyes briefly, then, taking Daniel’s cue, made a great show of looking down. ‘Please,’ she added demurely.

Charlie hesitated, looking her over, and then stepped to one side. ‘Bring it,’ he instructed, handing Jo the camisole, a satisfied smirk on his face as he walked away.

Daniel raked his hand through his hair. ‘Leave it, Jo,’ he said quietly.

‘What?’ Charlie swung back around. ‘You got a freakin’ death wish?’

He was across the floor in two seconds.

‘Don’t!’ Jo screamed.

But Daniel was ready for him this time. He grabbed hold of the gun and held on, long enough to meet Charlie’s startled gaze before shoving it back hard.

Charlie staggered backwards, momentarily off balance. And Daniel managed to get to his feet before Charlie descended on him, the gun poised to inflict maximum damage.

Jo heard the crack, saw Daniel’s face contort with pain as the blow brought him to his knees. The blow to the side of his head sent him reeling.

‘Stay where you are!’ Charlie aimed the gun, stopping Jo in her tracks. ‘Get up,’ he growled at Daniel, who lay motionless, the cream carpet turning crimson beneath him.

Chapter Nineteen

Charlie had quite fancied a bacon sandwich, and had the little woman cook, whilst he guzzled a pint of milk and watched Daniel seated at the kitchen table, mopping blood from his eyes, and feeling pig sick, Charlie imagined.

His own fault.

Shouldn’t have laid down the gauntlet, should he? And he had. Danny boy had challenged his authority from the word go, and Charlie didn’t like it.

Well, he’d nipped that in the bud. Danny boy had nodded meekly, when Charlie had reiterated his request that he keep it shut until requested to do otherwise, and to jump high when Charlie told him to.

He’d dictated the email to wifey, he being a bit incapacitated, who’d dutifully pressed Send. Handed his mobile over good as gold, and the car keys. He’d even coughed up to the car not being his, which, Charlie considered, was rather dense. Presumably, Danny boy had enough brain left in his head to work out whoever owned it might well send plod in search of it.

In which case, Charlie couldn’t fathom his motives. If he were him, he’d have prayed for the filth to come sniffing around. Still couldn’t quite work Danny boy out, and that bugged Charlie. He would though. There was plenty of time to bring him down a peg or two. It was possible he relished that prospect more than screwing the wife. Perhaps he’d have her in front of him. That’d crack the stubborn son-of-a-bitch.

He’d leave him be for the moment though. The bloke had obviously had enough.

‘Delicious.’ Charlie wiped sauce from his chin and pushed his plate away. ‘Compliments to the chef.’ He smiled, savouring the taste of his bacon butty and the sweet pleasure of her nervous uncertainty.

Would he backtrack, she was thinking. Had the old man’s impulsive display of aggression caused Charlie to change his mind? Would she see her precious daughter again? It was tragic, the look on her face. Really tragic.

Charlie wasn’t a man to go back on his word, not that he’d got much choice. When he’d finished his coffee though. It was early yet. No hurries.

* * *

Jo walked across to the table with coffee for Daniel, and awaited Charlie’s permission.

Charlie nodded at length and Jo handed Daniel the mug.

‘Caffeine.’ She smiled, her fingers brushing Daniel’s.

With some effort, the gnawing pain in his chest making it almost impossible to think, Daniel offered her a small smile back, touching normality through the insanity.

How long was that madman going to keep this up, he wondered. He’d made it clear, hadn’t he, that he’d jump through hoops if he told him to. Even hinted the police might pay a visit in search of the car. That being the last thing Daniel wanted. The sick creep was quite content with his face and his habit fed, but what he’d be capable of if the police showed up while he was sky high, Daniel didn’t dare imagine. The guy’s mood seemed to swing like a pendulum.

What more did he want before he let them see Kayla? If it was blood he’d been after, he’d got that, in bucketfuls.

‘Make sure you bring plenty of caffeine with you,’ Charlie instructed sarcastically as he scraped his chair back from the table. ‘And move it, okay, before I change my mind.’

* * *

A sharp rap on the glass had Shawn jumping out of his skin.

‘Christ All-bloody-mighty!’ He pulled in a breath and blew it out again, then turned to the door to call, ‘Who is it?’

‘Who is it?’ Charlie answered agitatedly. ‘Little Red Riding Hood. Who do you think it is?’

‘Oh, right.’ Shawn fumbled the keys from his pocket and fiddled with the padlock. ‘Just a minute.’

‘Just a minute,’ Charlie repeated despairingly. ‘Bloody big girl’s blouse,’ he muttered. ‘Hurry it up, Shawn, for Christ’s sake.’

At last Shawn wrestled the doors open and shone the torch — straight in Charlie’s face.

‘Turn it off, you great fat pillock,’ Charlie snapped, grabbing Daniel’s shirt to force him ahead of him. ‘Do you want the Neighbourhood Watch onto us, or what?’

‘Sorry,’ Shawn mumbled, parking the torch on the shelf next to the steps.

‘Sorry?’ The man was a bloody liability, that’s what. ‘Use your brains, Shawn, there’s a good bloke.’ Charlie decided to use his own and cool his temper. Didn’t want to rub Shawn too much up the wrong way. There was an awful lot of him to rub up. ‘Fetch that lot in will you, mate?’ he asked chummily, nodding behind him towards the provisions on deck.

Shawn scratched his head, looking past Charlie, confused. ‘Er, you do know what you’re doing, don’t you, Charlie?’

‘Yes, Shawn.’ Charlie sighed, motioning Daniel inside ahead of him. ‘I do know what I’m doing. Do you?’ He shot Shawn a look that, hopefully, told him he’d bloody well better.

‘Taken a bit of a beating, hasn’t he?’ Shawn observed, his brow furrowed, as Daniel came down the steps. ‘A bloody good beating.’ Looking Daniel over as he squeezed past him, Shawn glanced up at Charlie, none too impressed. ‘Cut on the head doesn’t look too clever, does it? Need stitches, that will.’

Charlie gave Shawn a warning glance as he followed Daniel down. ‘Wipe the pious look off your face, mate, and don’t question my judgement, hey? He’s been out of order, so I sorted him out.’

Shawn didn’t look any better impressed as he stepped back to allow Charlie access.

Charlie stopped and faced him. ‘He’s a child killer, Shawn, me old mate. Save your sympathy for someone more deserving, why don’t you?’

Dragging his gaze away, Shawn turned and climbed the steps up to the deck. ‘What? Like her, you mean?’ he called back to Charlie. Trailing his eyes over the distinct bruise on Jo’s face, he shook his head, gestured her down into the boat, picked up an armful of provisions and followed her.

‘Belting the bloke’s wife was well out of order, mate,’ he muttered, now openly disgusted, as he passed back by Charlie to the galley. ‘And you know it. No bloody need.’

* * *

Daniel braced himself and walked towards the galley, his mouth dry, sweat snaking a steady trail down his spine, and sick to his soul. Kayla was there, hidden somewhere. He could hear her, softly crying.

‘Did I tell you to move?’ Charlie called.

Daniel stopped. He was tempted to carry on, but where would that get him? A step closer to his daughter, and unconscious if that lunatic decided to swing the gun from behind, which he would, no hesitation. Daniel couldn’t afford for that to happen. He knew by now that the blows would come anyway, but he couldn’t deliberately provoke him. To be further debilitated meant leaving Kayla and Jo to this bastard’s mercy. He wasn’t about to do that.

Squaring his shoulders, he waited as Charlie approached, pausing silently behind him, which was possibly more intimidating than the threats.

‘You need to get out of my way, Danny,’ Charlie eventually said, close now, too close, deliberately breathing hot breath on his neck, intensifying the claustrophobia Daniel had felt coming into the boat.

Clamping his jaw tight, Daniel turned, at which Charlie squeezed past him. The small space available dictating body contact, he took his time. Blew Daniel a kiss, gave him a lewd wink, and then paused, his mouth twisting into a smirk, his mocking eyes barely six inches from Daniel’s own.

Daniel drew in a breath and held it. Never had he felt the inclination to head butt anyone. That was more Charlie’s territory. But right then, it took all of his willpower not to.

‘Didn’t think you would.’ Charlie laughed, shook his head, and then turned to swagger along the corridor towards the bow end of the boat, the gun propped on his shoulder and whistling a merry tune.

He would get his chance. God help him, he would be given the opportunity he needed. Sometime, sometime soon, Charlie was going to beg for mercy. And Daniel would take great pleasure in showing him none. He looked away, disgust broiling in his stomach, as Charlie glanced back at him to give him another slow wink.

‘What? Not interested, Danny?’ Charlie called, stopping outside a cabin door, the middle cabin. The smallest cabin. Daniel’s heart lurched inside him as the bastard looked at him, daring him, Daniel knew, to take a step forward.

Cocking his head to one side, Charlie appraised him, and then, nodding some kind of tacit approval, he pushed the cabin door open. ‘Out,’ he ordered.

Kayla didn’t appear. Daniel raked a hand through his hair and willed himself not to move. Not to speak unless fucking spoken to. Not to charge forwards and smash his fist into Charlie’s goading face. And what then? After his wife and daughter had witnessed his heroics, watched him die, what then?

‘Come on, you stubborn bitch, move it!’ Charlie fumed.

‘No,’ Kayla said from inside, sounding so small, so scared.

Daniel’s heart stopped beating. Jesus, he couldn’t do this.

‘You, sweetheart, are gettin’ seriously on my nerves.’ Charlie stepped into the room.

And Daniel moved simultaneously.

‘Daniel!’ Jo screamed behind him, stopping Daniel dead, as Roberts reappeared, his arm around Kayla’s neck, the sawn-off . . . pressed under her chin.

Reeling on his feet, Daniel looked his daughter over. His daughter, her body barely covered, her face bruised. Her arms covered in red finger welts. Her eyes . . . those of a terrified child.

Daniel felt another part of him die inside. ‘You fucking animal!’ he seethed, stepping instinctively forwards.

‘Stay!’ Charlie commanded, pulling Kayla hard against him and taking a step further into the boat.

Daniel looked heavenwards. ‘Bastard.’ A moan escaping his throat, he slammed his fist hard against the sidewall of the boat.

‘Tut, tut, temper, temper, Danny.’ Charlie tsked. ‘Don’t want to go upsetting your daughter all over again, do you? Done enough damage already, haven’t you?’

Charlie eyed Daniel steadily.

‘Still, she’s feeling much better now she’s got it all off her chest and confided in Charlie. Aren’t you, sweetheart?’

His mouth was close to her ear, his gaze still firmly on Daniel.

Daniel’s gaze went to Kayla’s. He could see the undiluted fear in her eyes, feel it. She needed him, needed him to make this stop, and he could do nothing. Nothing!

‘Said she’d been a bit of a pain lately,’ Charlie went on, obviously enjoying himself. ‘Said she’d been a bad girl, didn’t you, babe? Needed punishing, she told me. So I obliged.’ He paused, his gloating eyes still on Daniel’s. ‘Well, what’s a bloke supposed to do, hey?’

Charlie shrugged nonchalantly.

Daniel stared at him, a toxic mix of pure anger and disgust pumping through his veins. He wasn’t going to stop. He was going to go on, and on. The evil son-of-a-bitch wanted more than money. He was playing a game, a sick twisted game. Like a child mercilessly pulling legs off spiders, he wasn’t going to stop until his victim couldn’t crawl away.

‘You’re looking at me, Daniel,’ Charlie said, a warning edge to his voice.

Fury mounted in Daniel’s chest, threatening to choke him. Every instinct urged him forwards, bar one. He had his daughter. His rules, Daniel cautioned himself — and looked down. ‘Just let her go, okay?’ he said hoarsely.

‘You forgot the magic word,’ Charlie intoned patiently.

Daniel breathed deeply, then, ‘Please,’ he almost spat it out.

‘For God’s sake!’ Jo screamed, moving forward. ‘Let her go! You sick bastard!’

‘Jo!’ Whirling around, Daniel seized her shoulders. ‘Don’t!’

He locked his gaze hard on hers, as she struggled against him. ‘Don’t, Jo,’ he repeated firmly. ‘It won’t help.’

Frantically, Jo scanned his eyes, her own eyes shot through with sheer dread and confusion.

‘We need to stay calm, Jo,’ Daniel said more softly, his heart breaking this time for her. ‘We need to do as he says.’

The last stuck in his craw, but he had no choice. Please God, she could see that this was the only way. His gaze never leaving hers, Daniel waited, relief sweeping through every pore in his body as he watched the fire in her eyes give way to comprehension.

‘That’s better,’ Charlie said approvingly as Daniel swallowed and pulled her into his arms. ‘You should have asserted a bit of authority before now, shouldn’t you, Danny boy, then maybe you wouldn’t be in this mess. Now, if I were you, sweetheart, I’d get your pretty little arse back there.’

‘Much better,’ he said, when, apprehensively searching Daniel’s face as she did, Jo finally stepped back.

Charlie waited until Shawn had stepped between Jo and Daniel, then, ‘Have I got your attention, Daniel?’ he enquired pleasantly.

No choice, Daniel reminded himself, trying desperately to compose himself as he turned back towards him, only to find his resolve hopelessly dissolving as he watched Roberts nudge his arm higher under Kayla’s throat.

‘Let her go,’ he repeated tightly.

‘I might,’ Charlie said, his eyes pools of pure malevolence as he looked at Daniel. ‘Not sure she wants me to though. Didn’t want me to let her go earlier, did you, darlin’?’ He turned his attention towards Kayla, his disgusting mouth right next to her ear. ‘Got me in a real leg lock, she had. Gaggin’ for it, weren’t you?’

He jerked her head back another fraction.

Daniel felt his stomach turn over. His chest tightened. He couldn’t do this. Couldn’t! That filthy piece of scum had his slimy hands all over his daughter, and he was supposed to stand here, doing nothing?

No. No way! Seeing Roberts slide his tongue the length of Kayla’s cheek, his daughter physically gagging, Daniel felt his rage explode inside him, driving him forwards without process of forethought. His burning desire above all else was to smash the bastard’s teeth to the back of his throat and shove his fucking gun down after it.

‘Whoa. Back off!’ Charlie stepped away, shoving Kayla at him, as he did. ‘Let’s not be hasty, shall we?’ he suggested, raising the gun to aim it squarely at Daniel. ‘Don’t want this little baby shooting its load, do we?’

‘You are a fucking dead man,’ Daniel grated as Kayla slammed into him.

‘Yeah, right.’ Charlie’s mouth twisted into a smirk. ‘Got some front, haven’t you, Danny boy? So how precisely are you going to carry out that bold little threat, hey? With killer looks? No, you’re the dead man, sunshine,’ he sneered, ‘if you don’t shut your mouth.’

‘Bastard!’ Daniel seethed, easing a sobbing Kayla around, delivering her safely into Jo’s arms.

Seeing she was safe, he turned back, ready to do what he had to to stop Roberts going near her again, only to receive a mighty blow to the chest.

* * *

‘You don’t learn real fast, do you?’ The gun poised to swing again, Charlie eyeballed Daniel angrily as he straightened up. ‘Now, I won’t tell you again, you do exactly as I say. Nothing more, nothing less, or they suffer.’

Nodding towards his family, Charlie waited while Daniel gasped out several slow breaths, then, ‘Well?’ he said, waiting not-quite-so-patiently as he had previously for the stubborn fucker to do what he was told.

‘Good,’ he said, lowering the gun and wiping an arm across his mouth when Daniel finally dropped his gaze. ‘Now, let’s have no more heroics, and no more backchat.’ He gave him another jab to drive his point home. ‘Got it?’

Shawn, who’d been watching gormlessly and who’d done absolutely nothing when Danny boy went for him, finally found the use of his legs. ‘Leave it out, Charlie,’ he said, glancing sympathetically at the wife, who sat cradling whatsername to her breast as if she was aged about two, before lumbering towards him. He shook his head as he walked past Daniel, looking as if he felt sorry for him as well, Charlie couldn’t quite believe it.

‘Whose side are you on?’ Charlie muttered, following Shawn through to the kitchen area.

‘Mine,’ Shawn said coolly. ‘You got the gun. You got them where you want them. Now, leave it out.’

Charlie balked. ‘Yer what?’

Shawn turned to him. ‘You want the truth,’ he said in a hoarse whisper. ‘I ain’t convinced the bloke wouldn’t risk a bullet to wrap that gun around your neck, Charlie, me old flower. So pack up!’ Shawn met Charlie’s disbelieving glare with a furious one of his own. ‘The man’s had enough. And so have I.’

Charlie was dumbfounded. It wasn’t so much what Shawn had said, as how. His tone was downright disrespectful. And, to add insult to injury, Danny boy didn’t appear to be jumping quite as fast as he ought to. He wasn’t doing anything, as such. Wasn’t even looking at Charlie in any particular way, but the fact was, Daniel was looking. And Charlie just didn’t like it, because the plain and simple truth was, he couldn’t read the look. And that was very unsettling.

‘You, er . . .’ Charlie narrowed his eyes at Shawn. ‘. . . wouldn’t be telling me what to do, Shawn, would you?’

‘Wouldn’t dream of it, mate.’ Shawn shrugged huge round shoulders. ‘About time you had a fix though, ain’t it, Charlie?’ He met his gaze. ‘Mellow out a bit, if you don’t mind me suggesting.’

Chapter Twenty

Looking as frustrated as Matthew felt, Steve drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he took a call on his mobile. They’d checked every conceivable place. Approached kids in local gangs, one or two of whom were known to run errands for the big boys, cross-questioned the clientele of the local pubs and clubs. Finding one proprietor of the latter would also quite like to know the whereabouts of one Charlie Roberts, Matthew had had a shrewd idea why. The proprietor, definitely one of the big boys and a ruthless bastard who wouldn’t think twice about feeding anyone who crossed him to his Rottweilers, hadn’t been very forthcoming, but Roberts, Matthew guessed, had very probably run up a debt, which might explain why he’d armed himself, ill-advisedly. Drug kingpins and their henchmen didn’t scare easily. If they were about to collect payment in kind, Roberts brandishing a shotgun would definitely ensure he parted company with his assets.

‘Anything?’ he asked, when Steve ended his call.

‘Nothing.’ Steve sighed. ‘We’re checking out hospitals wider afield, but no one fitting his description, as yet.’

Which meant Charlie Roberts hadn’t turned up dead, more’s the pity, and nor was he taking up valuable bed space better reserved for human beings. They’d pursued every other avenue they could think of. Contacted nicks — local and not so local. Lifted every stone, and still the insect hadn’t crawled out. Charlie, it seemed, had gone to ground. And if he was armed, for whatever reason, the psychopathic little prick was dangerous.

‘So what next?’ Steve asked. ‘Assuming we’re not just going to sit around and wait for Roberts to make his claim to fame?’

That Matthew wasn’t about to do. ‘The girl in the nightclub,’ he said, pondering out loud, ‘the one he was feeding dope to. How old did the witness say she was?’

‘Fifteen, sixteen, maybe. We’ve had no reports of missing girls in the area, though.’ Steve glanced at him curiously. ‘What’re you thinking?’

‘She’ll still be at school, won’t she?’

‘Ah.’ Steve nodded. ‘Tour of the local schools then?’

‘My thoughts entirely,’ Matthew agreed, reaching for his seat belt as Steve started the engine. ‘Nothing on CCTV regarding the irate father searching for his daughter, I don’t suppose?’

‘A few grainy images. Jamie’s working on it, but there’s nothing useful as yet,’ Steve supplied. ‘Are we thinking they might be one and the same?’

Matthew nodded. ‘It’s possible. We’ll need to check absentee lists, and then . . .’

‘Contact the families.’ Steve got the gist.

It was a long shot, chances were Roberts was just amusing himself while pushing drugs and the girl had got home safely. Matthew hoped so. Hoped the unfortunate recipient of Charlie’s attentions was nursing a hangover and nothing worse. The fact was, however, they were running out of ideas and, more importantly, time. To say Charlie Roberts was emotionally volatile would be the understatement of the year. Matthew could imagine what he would do with a loaded gun in his hands. Somehow he had to find him and stop him.

* * *

Hannah sloped dejectedly to the bus stop, her hair draped over her face — and worried sick.

She’d gotten off lightly, if she could call a rollicking from her mum getting off lightly. And if she overlooked the fact that Shawn had been vile to her. But Kayla . . . She’d been in a terrible state when they’d all but forced Hannah from the car, then idled the engine to watch her as far as her gate.

Hannah had watched as they’d driven off. In the direction of Kayla’s house at least, she’d noted, relieved. She’d hung back awhile, waited around until the car had disappeared over the hill, and then decided to short circuit them via the canal towpath.

She’d crouched just off the road, behind the crumbling brickwork of the humpback bridge, poised to ring the police and sod the consequences if they hadn’t turned up at the boatyard. Thank God, they had — though they’d stopped the car on the road just short of it before going in. Charlie and Shawn had been heavily into an animated conversation in the front seat, she’d noticed. What was so important they couldn’t discuss it after they’d dropped Kayla off she hadn’t been able to fathom.

But then, if that cokehead Charlie had anything to do with it, she’d thought, panicky, it’d be where they were going to drop her off after he did whatever he was going to do with her.

Hannah hadn’t been about to let that happen. She’d jabbed at her mobile, part-dialling 999, when they’d started the engine again, forcing her to duck back out of sight. They’d trawled slowly past where she was, Charlie tossing a spliff end out of the driver’s side as they did, then turned through the gates to drive through the boatyard towards the house.

Almost crying with relief, Hannah had shot to her feet and headed back down the towpath, worried they’d catch sight of her on their way back.

She’d tried to ring Kayla, once her mum had finished banging on at her and slagging Kayla off for allowing her to walk home on her own. She’d tried several times, but the landline was unavailable, according to the operator. Trying Kayla’s mobile instead, she got her messaging service and assumed she must have switched it off. Now, having tried to get hold of her at least another thousand times, she didn’t know what to think.

Rounding the corner, she prayed Kayla was at the bus stop. Shit. She wasn’t there. Hannah’s heart flopped. She dragged her feet, missed the bus and didn’t give a stuff. It was double games anyway, like running around with goose-pimpled thighs was supposed to be fun.

She hadn’t really expected Kayla to turn up for school, she supposed. Kayla had looked like death warmed up when she’d last seen her, but she was desperate to know she was okay. Kayla was her best friend. She’d been there for Hannah when her parents split. And Hannah had been there for Kayla when she’d sobbed her heart out in the school loos about her sister.

Hannah had thought about calling by the boatyard on the way to school.

Almost had, but guessed her presence would be about as welcome as the plague after the state Kayla was in. She’d give the house another ring, she decided, and if she still couldn’t get hold of her then she’d call at the boatyard on the way back from school.

Still no answer. Sighing, Hannah pulled her mobile from her ear. This was too weird. She helped herself to one of Kayla’s Marlboro Lights, puffed on it inexpertly and had a good think. Okay, she reasoned, Kayla turns up ‘inebriated’ to the point of passing out. And upset, once she came round. She’d obviously be that. Then there might be a row, and Kayla would be even more upset. Then Kayla’s mum would be upset, and then she’d feel guilty, as parents do. Kayla’s mum more so, given what they’d all gone through.

Maybe she’d decided to take Kayla away for a few days. Do the quality time thing with her daughter.

So far, so good. Hannah had another puff. So how come Kayla’s dad had been hanging around outside Strobes? They must both be well worried about Kayla, Hannah supposed. She had been acting a bit weird lately, after all. Sort of thing he’d do, Kayla’s dad, even if he did go a bit mental. Nice, Daniel Conner was, even if Kayla didn’t rate him.

Yep, that all figured. Hannah spotted the next bus trundling around the corner and stubbed out her cigarette. They might have all gone away together, having a crack at reconciliation, maybe.

That’d be cool.

Yeah, and maybe that cokehead Charlie would do the world a favour and drive himself over the edge of a cliff. In other words, not likely, given Kayla reckoned her mum and dad were tearing each other apart.

Hannah flashed her pass at the driver and clumped up to the top deck. Try as she might, she just couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.

* * *

Kayla shrank away from Daniel, then Jo in turn, and shot for the door at the back of the boat. Jo flew after her, tried to pull her close, but Kayla squirmed and wriggled away, her sobs turning to chokes.

‘Don’t touch me!’ she screamed, turning terrified eyes on Daniel. ‘Don’t!’ She turned back to Jo. ‘Don’t let him. Tell him I’m sorry.’ She made no sense.

White-faced, Daniel moved towards her, and Kayla shrank further back. ‘I’m sorry,’ she sobbed. ‘I didn’t mean to.’

‘Kayla . . . ?’ Daniel took another tentative step towards her.

‘Shut her up!’ Charlie warned, from the galley obviously irritated. ‘Because if someone doesn’t, I will!’

Daniel whirled around. ‘You take one step towards her. Just one,’ he warned, ‘and—’

‘And what, precisely?’ Charlie squared up, advancing towards him. ‘You’re gonna stop me, are you?’

‘Back off, Charlie.’ Shawn was on his feet. ‘Just leave it. Give the man a break.’

‘I’ll break his neck, if he doesn’t watch his lip.’

Shawn ran a hand over his kanji tattoo. ‘Yeah, right.’ He sighed. ‘That’ll help.’

* * *

Unbelievable. Charlie blinked, stupefied. They were all bloody at it, undermining him. What was going on around here? ‘Are you taking the piss?’ He turned angrily on Shawn.

‘Would I?’ Shawn muttered. ‘No, Charlie,’ he said. ‘You’re getting a bit edgy, that’s all.’

Charlie hesitated. Edgy was about right. That noise was going straight through his head. And the coke hadn’t helped. What he could use was an aspirin. But did he have one? Oh, no. Every conceivable drug to hand, but no aspirin. Great.

‘Yeah, you’re probably right.’ He nodded, kneading the back of his neck. ‘You’ve got one minute to make her shut it,’ he addressed Daniel, ‘or I do it for you.’

* * *

Shawn glanced at Daniel, as Charlie begrudgingly allowed him some space. ‘Sort her out, mate,’ he said, his eyes holding a warning.

Which prompted a fresh outburst from Kayla. ‘No!’ She struggled hard against Jo’s grip on her wrists. ‘Please don’t.’

‘Kayla, for God’s sake, don’t what? What is it?’ Jo tried to pull her closer, but Kayla struggled harder.

‘Tell him not to hit me,’ Kayla pleaded, her eyes firm on her father.

‘Hit you?’ Jo’s eyes shot wide. She looked from Kayla to Daniel, who felt as if he’d been hit by a train.

‘Jesus, Kayla?’ Daniel swayed on his feet, horrified. ‘What on earth . . . ?’ He didn’t know whether to back off or go forwards. He took a deep breath and opted for the latter. Had to do something, before that bastard gave her something. ‘I wouldn’t . . . I’ve never . . .’

‘You’re angry!’ Kayla blurted, nonsensically.

Daniel stopped dead, looking at his daughter, utterly bewildered. Of course he was angry, so angry his gut ached, but not with her. What the hell . . . ? ‘Kayla, I’m not angry—’

‘Liar!’ Kayla tried to move further away, only to end up backed against the steps. ‘You’re running your hand through your hair. You always do that when you’re angry. And I saw you.’

Daniel shook his head. ‘Saw me what, Kayla?’

‘Hurt that bouncer. You just walked over and you floored him, just like that. I knew you must be upset with me then, so you’re bound to be now. I’ve ruined everything. And I didn’t mean to. I didn’t. I just . . .’ She broke off on a sob. ‘I just wanted to get away from all the arguments and the upset. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I . . .’ Her chest heaved with the exertion of breathing, her eyes were wide, those of a child.

Daniel closed his own.

Dammit. She had been there. He’d known it. He’d felt it. Jesus . . . She was trembling — at the prospect of him coming near her.

This wasn’t happening. He wouldn’t let it.

‘Kayla, listen to me.’ Daniel moved slowly towards her holding her gaze and praying that she could see past the drugs in her system that he would never, ever hurt her. ‘I am not angry with you.’ He stopped, careful of invading a space that she didn’t want him in. ‘Do you understand?’

Blinking back her tears, Kayla stared at him, hard.

‘It doesn’t matter. Whatever you’ve done, it doesn’t matter. You’re my daughter, Kayla,’ Daniel went on, gently. ‘I love you. I would never knowingly do anything to hurt you.’

Kayla’s sobs stilled to a shudder. Her eyes strayed to the cut on his temple. ‘You’re hurt.’ She looked startled.

‘I think we all are, a bit. We’ll heal, Kayla.’ Daniel swallowed and prayed harder, and took another step towards his daughter.

‘You haven’t shaved.’ Kayla studied his face.

‘I’ll shave tomorrow,’ Daniel assured her, wishing he could so easily make everything normal again.

Kayla nodded. ‘I can’t breathe properly, Dad,’ she said, moving suddenly towards him. ‘Everything’s . . . too close.’

Shit! Daniel reached out, wrapped Kayla into his arms and buried his face in her hair. ‘It’s okay, baby.’ He almost cried with her. ‘It’s okay.’ He knew that feeling well. He’d lived it for the last suffocating three months, and for a lifetime, before he’d met Jo.

‘Concentrate, baby,’ he said softly. ‘Concentrate hard, with me, okay? Think wide-open space.’

‘I can’t, Dad. I—’

‘Yes, you can. Think of a field.’ Daniel held her tight. ‘Or a beach. A long, golden beach, nothing but blue sky above, open sea beyond, stretching right out as far as you can see. Nothing but space.’

‘Like when we went on holiday in France?’ Kayla pulled back to scan his eyes.

‘Yes, just like that.’ Daniel smiled.

‘Where we picked mussels and stuff fresh from the sand, and Mum told you to “cook the disgusting things yourself”?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘And Emma fell off the rock—’

Daniel stiffened, almost indiscernibly.

‘And you blamed me.’

Daniel hesitated, before answering. ‘Did I?’ He lifted Kayla’s chin. ‘I didn’t mean to.’

‘I was looking after her,’ Kayla said, a spark of belligerence back in her eyes, ‘but she was . . .’ she trailed awkwardly off.

‘A pain sometimes,’ Daniel finished, though it broke his heart.

Kayla nodded, obviously relieved. ‘Do you . . .’ she faltered, glancing back down. ‘Do you really love me? You know, after . . . everything.’

Carefully, Daniel eased her chin back up. ‘I love you so much I feel when you hurt, baby. I hurt when you hurt. Believe that, Kayla. Always and whatever.’ He wiped away a tear from her cheek with his thumb and pulled his daughter back to him.

Charlie let out a discernible sigh of contempt. ‘Oh man, put her down before you love her so much, you end up giving her one before I do.’

Kayla flinched and pulled back. Daniel didn’t let go. ‘It’s unconditional, Kayla,’ he assured her.

He hoped it would make a difference, whatever that bastard had done to her. Despite his mind conjuring up worst case scenarios, his heart harboured a tiny hope. The psycho had said before I do. Kayla’s scars would be deep, but if by some divine miracle that piece of scum hadn’t touched her, she’d heal a lot faster. All Daniel had to do was keep Charlie away from her for the next few days. To which end, he had to keep the bastard on side.

‘Did you hear me, Danny boy?’ Charlie said, coming towards him. ‘Because if you’re not getting that that was a basic instruction, we can always stuff your darling daughter back in her nice cosy little room until you—’

Charlie stopped, interrupted by a mobile ringing in his pocket. His mobile, Daniel realised, his relief that Roberts had been cut short swiftly followed by trepidation.

Charlie pulled the phone out, studied it for a second, his forehead knitted into a scowl, and then handed it to him. ‘Who is it?’ he asked him.

Daniel glanced at it, sweat already making its way down his back at the thought that this might be something that the unpredictable little shit found ‘seriously annoying’. ‘It’s Kayla’s school,’ he said, looking back to Charlie.

‘Well, don’t just stand there like a gormless prat! Ring them back!’ Charlie barked, pointing the gun again, this time directly at Jo. ‘Tell them you’re going on holiday. Say you’re about to board your flight and say it right, Daniel. Because if you don’t . . .’

* * *

‘Tall, slim and dark.’ Matthew described the girl from the nightclub to the headmistress. ‘With hair about . . .’ He sawed halfway up his forearm. ‘. . . so long?’ He looked at her hopefully, then sat back wearily as she gave him a despairing shake of the head.

‘Detective Adams, you’ve just described half of the upper fourth, fifth and sixth.’ The headmistress pointed out patiently. ‘They’re all tall and slim nowadays, haven’t you noticed?’

She was right. Matthew sighed heavily. He’d just given a vague description of Ashley.

The headmistress closed her registers, checked her watch and stood abruptly. ‘I’m sorry, Detective Inspector Adams, I really do need to get on.’ She smiled tightly. ‘Now, if you’ll excuse me?’

‘Yes, of course.’ Matthew pushed his chair back and got to his feet, as a distant bell rang. ‘Ask not for whom the bell tolls . . .’ he said, which was met with a stony glare.

That didn’t go down too well, he gathered. ‘Morning assembly, is it?’

‘That’s right. And I’m running a bit late.’ The headmistress skirted around him. ‘I’m sure you can find your own way out.’ She headed purposefully for the door.

‘Of course.’ Matthew stayed where he was. ‘Just one more thing, though.’

‘Yes?’ The headmistress turned back, now discernibly irritated.

‘I wonder, would it be possible for me to address the upper fourth, fifth and sixth? The cloned half as well as the other half,’ he asked, a touch facetiously, ‘whilst they’re all conveniently gathered?’

‘Detective Inspector Adams, do you honestly think that one of those girls is going to admit to being in a nightclub?’ The headmistress smiled indulgently, which Matthew found more intimidating than her granite expression of a moment before.

‘Honestly? No, not really.’ Suppressing his anger in the face of her determinedly unhelpful attitude, he walked across to open the door for her. ‘But, you never know, we might get lucky. In which case, someone might not get shot. After you, headmistress.’

Was it any wonder kids didn’t confide when they might desperately need to, he thought despairingly, as she walked by, her expression marginally less rattled at him having disrupted her timetable.

‘Oh, and I’d like a list of all the girls on holiday and sick as of today, please.’ He smiled charmingly, as he joined her, in the corridor. ‘If it’s not too much trouble.’

* * *

‘You doin’ this deliberately?’ Charlie scowled from where he stood on the steps.

‘Routine, but necessary,’ Daniel said, continuing his checks on the boat, ‘assuming you want to go anywhere.’

‘What you doin’ now?’ Charlie snapped, tossing a spliff end into the water as Daniel attached a hose to the back of the boat.

‘Water,’ Daniel explained. ‘The tank needs filling up.’

‘Well, hurry it up! And don’t try anything smart!’

I’m trying, Daniel thought, heading for the diesel which also needed topping up, moving deliberately slowly, as Charlie had surmised, but more out of physical necessity than a wish to wind him up. He desperately didn’t want to do that. He had no doubt the sadistic freak would carry out his threat to lock Kayla back in the cabin if he didn’t ‘do as he was told’.

Daniel had seen the symptoms and doubted his daughter’s sanity would survive if she was forced to spend any amount of time in an enclosed space. The thought of Roberts deciding he’d join her . . . Daniel swallowed back the bile in his throat. No, under no circumstances could he allow that to happen.

He pondered the telephone call, wishing to God he could have thought of some way, however subtle, of hinting to the school that they weren’t about to go off on a happy family holiday. He might have blown his only chance, but with a shotgun trained on his wife, Kayla right next to him, the risk was too great. Roberts, he’d already realised, was capable of anything.

Maybe he should top the water tank up with tank cleaning fluid, he thought, his gaze sliding towards Roberts, who was fidgeting and scratching, trigger finger twitching if even a duck got too close. Except they’d got to share the water, of course. And the space. Daniel’s stomach knotted at that thought. How the hell would he cope? Entombed in a narrowboat with that unpredictable piece of scum?

Had to.

No choice.

He and Jo might not have a future together, but at least this way, Daniel was in his own territory, which might just give him an edge so he could make damn sure Jo and Kayla had a future.

‘Move it, Danny boy,’ Charlie muttered, passing the gun down to Shawn and emerging fully on deck.

And cracking his head on the half-open hatch as he did so, Daniel noticed, closing his eyes and hoping to God that wasn’t going to be deemed down to him. He was still praying for an opportunity to get Roberts alone. Many more debilitating blows, which were becoming consistently targeted, and he wouldn’t be capable of doing anything.

‘Bastard!’ Charlie cursed and rammed the hatch forcefully back. ‘You are getting on my nerves,’ he growled at Daniel. ‘Stop messing about and start the thing up.’

He stepped from the boat to the bank to give him a hard shove in the right direction.

Stumbling forwards, Daniel counted silently, attempting to quell the almost overwhelming urge to turn around now and shove his fist down the man’s throat.

‘Now!’ Charlie barked behind him. ‘You have two minutes to get this boat going, and then you ring the bank.’

Christ. Swallowing, Daniel stopped, and turned slowly around.

Charlie scowled. ‘You’re not moving, Danny.’

Daniel dragged a hand over his neck. ‘I’ll ring them,’ he said, ‘but the funds won’t be available yet.’

‘You’re trying my patience, Danny,’ Charlie warned him meaningfully.

Daniel drew in a breath. ‘They’re not just going to have that kind of money lying around, are they?’ Plus there would only be half the amount Roberts was expecting as the rest had gone to pay off the mortgage. Daniel’s mouth went dry at the thought of what the psychopath’s reaction to that might be.

Charlie eyed him narrowly. He didn’t speak, which if anything, was more menacing than foul-mouthed threats backed up with body blows.

‘These things take time,’ Daniel tried, playing for time. ‘The legal paperwork has to be—’

‘Bullshit,’ Charlie said, eyeing him steadily now.

Daniel felt his head swim. He had to say something, he realised. To at least introduce the idea that the transaction might not be as straightforward as this madman thought it would be. ‘It’s not bullshit. You have to listen to me. I’ll make the call, but . . . It’s not nine hundred thousand, Charlie.’ He used his name, though it stuck in his throat. ‘There’s almost half that, but not—’

‘You know, Danny boy, you really are very fucking irritating,’ Charlie growled. ‘I know how much you sold the boatyard for. You daughter told me. Now, either she’s lying, or you are. Which is it?’

‘Neither. I—’

‘Her?’ Charlie nodded pointedly back to the boat.

‘No!’ Daniel said quickly, getting ‘the drift’. The goading look in Charlie’s eye conveyed his meaning implicitly.

Charlie cocked his head to one side. ‘You losing it, Danny boy?’

‘What?’ Daniel tried to keep up.

‘Because I think you might need something to sharpen your memory, before someone gets hurt. Some chemical stimulation, maybe? Wha’d’y’think, Danny boy, hmm?’

* * *

Jo took advantage of Charlie’s preoccupation with the preparation of the boat to coax Kayla to the bathroom.

‘Come on, gently does it,’ she said, helping her off with what was obviously her nightclub gear and into a T-shirt. Tugging Kayla’s hair from the neck of the shirt, she hesitated, and then reached to gently wipe the tears from her cheek. Kayla’s eyes, she noticed, wouldn’t meet her own.

‘It’s okay, darling,’ Jo said softly, attempting to ease Kayla’s chin up, but still her daughter refused to look at her. ‘We’re going to get through this, I promise.’

Kayla dropped her gaze further. ‘He’s going to kill us,’ she whispered.

‘No, he is not!’ Jo grabbed her shoulders. ‘We’ll give him what he wants and he’ll—’

‘Your money?’ Kayla looked sharply up. ‘And then what? How are you going to get through the rest of your lives, Mum? You don’t even have each other.’

‘I . . .’ Jo faltered and looked away.

* * *

Kayla watched her mum carefully. She couldn’t answer her, because there was no answer. Because it was true, Kayla knew.

And what had she done while her mum and dad were busy falling apart? Acted like a spoilt brat, that’s what. Made their lives even more miserable because she wasn’t getting enough attention. Got it now though, hadn’t she? Centre of it. Wasn’t that what she’d wanted?

Jo looked back at her, eventually. ‘The money’s not important, Kayla. We just have to—’

‘Bullshit! Of course it’s important! It’s all you’ve worked for. Everything. And now . . . It’s all my fault. All of it.’

‘Kayla, hush, honey. It’s not.’ Jo reached out to pull her towards her.

But Kayla pulled away. ‘My fault, Mum, not Dad’s,’ she went on tearfully. ‘It was me who couldn’t be arsed to look after Emma. That’s why Dad had to take her with him. He had a callout. One of the boats had broken down. He had to go.’

‘What?’ Jo shook her head, clearly bewildered. ‘Kayla, look . . . there’s no point to this—’

‘Mum, listen to me, please,’ Kayla implored her, knowing she had to say it while she had the courage, and Jo’s undivided attention. Though she wished she’d got it any other way than this. Wished she’d tried to talk to her mum before now, instead of cocooning herself in self-pity.

Reluctantly, Jo nodded. Her face was deathly pale, Kayla noticed, and almost faltered.

But she couldn’t back out now. It wasn’t fair on her dad. She so wanted him to stand proud again, for her mum and dad to be friends again, if nothing else.

‘I told her to drop dead,’ she blurted, steeling her resolve. ‘She kept whingeing on about coming with Hannah and me, and I told her to . . . It was the last thing I said to her, Mum.’ Kayla choked back a sob. ‘And then she . . .’

Jo said nothing, simply stared at her, stunned.

‘You blamed Dad. And it was my fault,’ Kayla went on, knowing now her mum must surely hate her. ‘And now look what’s happened. I’m sorry, Mum. Really, I am. I . . .’ Kayla looked past Jo’s stricken face to the door, her chest feeling all tight and funny like it did before. ‘I have to get out,’ she said, panic gripping her. ‘I can’t breathe.’

‘Kayla, stop!’ Jo reached out as she tried to push past her, pulling her forcibly towards her. ‘Stop, Kayla,’ she said, her gaze fixed hard on hers. ‘It was no one’s fault, do you hear?’

Fearfully, Kayla searched her eyes, and found confusion there, strength and compassion, but no blame.

‘It was a figure of speech, nothing more. I know that,’ Jo went on, her grasp relaxing into a hold. ‘We all blame ourselves, Kayla. It’s natural when you lose someone, to search for reasons why. To think of all the things you could have done. Things you should have said.’

‘And shouldn’t,’ Kayla added soberly.

‘Yes,’ Jo agreed. ‘But that’s part of being human, honey. We all say things we don’t mean. And none of us can see into the future. Don’t tear yourself apart anymore, Kayla. Put it behind you. Okay?’

Kayla nodded, and sniffled. ‘I . . . I thought you didn’t like me anymore.’

‘Because you didn’t like yourself?’ Jo probed gently.

Kayla glanced away. ‘I thought that Charlie . . . That he did.’

‘Oh God, Kayla . . .’ Jo hugged her hard. ‘I got lost for a while, that’s all it was. I didn’t mean to shut you out, baby.’

She lifted Kayla’s face to hers and stroked the hair from her eyes. ‘He’s sick, Kayla. That’s why he’s doing this. You’ll meet someone nice one day. Someone who will love you as much as you deserve to be loved.’ Jo paused, making sure to hold Kayla’s gaze. ‘And that’s an awful lot.’

Kayla looked down.

‘It would have to be,’ Jo said softly, ‘to love you as much as I do.’

‘I’m sorry.’ Kayla hugged her mum back. ‘I didn’t mean to—’

‘Don’t be.’ Jo squeezed her reassuringly. ‘We’re going to get through this, young lady. And then we’re going to start communicating. Understand? And we can start by dumping the guilt. Yes?’

Kayla shoulders slumped with relief.

‘Did he . . .’ Jo hesitated. ‘Did he do anything to you, Kayla?’

‘I don’t know.’ Kayla stiffened. ‘I wish it was him who was dead.’

* * *

‘You finished?’ Shawn asked Charlie, stepping off the boat.

Grinding a spliff end out on the towpath, Charlie glanced up at him. ‘Finished what?’

Shawn looked him over despairingly. ‘Shoving him around is what.’ He nodded towards Daniel, who was struggling to replace the decking boards over the engine.

Charlie shrugged. ‘Can I help it if he needs a little incentive?’ Handing Shawn the gun, he reached for a fishing rod still in its holder in the back of the boat.

‘So what’s the plan?’ Shawn asked, looking puzzled as Charlie unzipped the holder and ditched the fishing rod into the water.

‘We’re going to get the money, aren’t we,’ Charlie informed him.

‘What?’ Shawn gawped at him, incredulous. ‘On a boat?’

Charlie sighed. Blimey, if the bloke had half a brain he’d be lethal. ‘Yes, Shawn, on a boat.’ He smiled flatly.

‘Right.’ Shawn appeared to ponder, struggling to come up with a single sensible thought, no doubt. Charlie rolled his eyes and reached for the gun.

‘So we’re going to sail into the middle of town in a narrowboat?’ Shawn eventually deduced.

‘Well done, mastermind. Don’t think too hard, mate. You might strain somethin’.’

Shawn looked unimpressed. ‘Waving at the passers-by, I suppose?’

‘Sounds about right,’ Charlie said, propping the gun under his arm whilst he ferreted in his pocket for a pill.

‘Sounds like cobblers,’ Shawn muttered as Charlie popped an amphetamine. ‘I’m walking, mate.’

Shawn shook his head, and turned to do just that.

‘You ain’t walking anywhere, mate.’ Charlie cocked the gun behind him. ‘Not with a bullet in each leg.’

‘Aw, for—’ Shawn turned around, running a hand over his tattoo. ‘Leave it out, Charlie. You’re gonna shoot me in broad daylight? Then what you gonna do? Mix some cement and make me a pair of lead boots? You’re losing the plot, mate. Doin’ too many drugs.’

Charlie narrowed his eyes. Crap, Shawn was right. He couldn’t do anything to draw attention. Still, didn’t give him the right to start questioning his authority though, did it. ‘You takin’ the piss?’ He cocked the gun higher.

‘No, Charlie.’ Shawn sighed and plunged his hands in his pockets. ‘Wouldn’t dare, would I?’

Course he wouldn’t. The taut wire tugging relentlessly between Charlie’s temples slackened a little. He noted Shawn’s body language, the hands in the pockets indicating he wasn’t taking him on.

Nah, he wouldn’t even think about it. He knew what side his bread was buttered on. Shawn might supply the gear, but it was Charlie who shifted it.

‘Just remember who makes sure your bills are paid, Shawn,’ he reminded him, just in case he got any ideas. ‘Wouldn’t want Granny evicted from her nice warden-controlled flat now, would we?’

He eyed Shawn steadily.

A flash of anger in Shawn’s eyes, a humiliated flush to his cheeks, and Shawn glanced down, as always. Yeah, the bloke knew who called the shots all right. Charlie relaxed a little, then almost had a heart attack as Daniel dropped one of the decking boards behind him.

‘Are you pushin’ your bloody luck?’ Charlie fumed, whirling around to point the gun at him.

‘No, Charlie,’ Shawn answered for Daniel, who definitely wasn’t moving as fast as he ought to. ‘He wouldn’t dare either, mate. Got his wife and kid to think of, hasn’t he?’

Charlie kneaded the knot in the back of his neck. What was it with this headache? Man, it was getting on his nerves. ‘Yeah,’ he nodded, at length. ‘And he’d better not try either, if he wants to be around to think.’

‘So you gonna tell me what this grand plan of yours is then, or what?’

‘He’s rung the bank,’ Charlie said, nodding at Daniel. ‘They’re calling him back to confirm when the dosh will be available.’

Shawn nodded, his forehead creased with a frown. ‘So what now?’

‘So now nothing but plain sailing,’ Charlie answered obliquely. ‘It takes them three days to get the funds in place,’ he went on as Shawn looked evermore perplexed. ‘It takes us three days to get to Oxford. Meanwhile, we’re on the move. Floating ducks, you might say, rather than sitting ones.’

Charlie chuckled at his own wit.

Shawn nodded again, though he still looked baffled. Did he realise how irritating that expression was? Charlie sighed, exasperated.

‘And what do we do when we get to Oxford?’ Shawn asked, finally. ‘Hold hands and walk through the town centre?’

‘Don’t be clever, mate. Doesn’t suit you.’ Charlie threw him a warning glance. ‘We take a taxi, don’t we,’ he informed him, in deliberately slow tones. ‘Sorted.’

‘Oh, right, yeah.’ Shawn scratched his kanji’d head. ‘Like all five of us, you mean, and the gun?’

‘Like I said, sorted.’ Charlie winked and slid the sawn-off neatly into the fishing rod holder.

‘Sweet.’ Shawn ironed his perpetually puzzled face into a flat smile. ‘And if he refuses to go in and make the withdrawal, you’re just going to shoot him in broad daylight in the middle of Broad Street. Brilliant.’

‘Aw, for . . . You stay with the wife and daughter, don’t ya?’ Charlie spat, getting seriously annoyed with Shawn’s ignorance. ‘I go with Danny boy. And if he doesn’t comply, they’re dead, ain’t they?’

Oh man. Charlie sighed heavily as Shawn’s frown took on five-bar gate proportions.

Chapter Twenty-One

‘Locks? How come you never said anything about locks?’ Charlie blinked, disbelieving — and seriously aggravated.

He’d been quite enjoying the trip until Danny boy nosed the bow end of the boat into the bank. Doing the strong, silent bit, again, he was. Hadn’t even bothered to keep him informed. And that irked Charlie. He sighed and got to his feet, fed up to his back teeth with the man’s obstinacy. He really was going to have to learn to obey orders.

‘We have to open them,’ Daniel said, stepping off the back of the boat before Charlie had the chance to consider how he was going to teach him.

Charlie squinted at the huge wooden gates barring their progress, his annoyance with Daniel momentarily forgotten. ‘Can’t you press a button or something?’ he asked, even more irked by his own ignorance.

Shawn poked his head above deck, failing to suppress a smirk as he caught sight of Charlie. ‘They have to be operated manually,’ he said, straightening his face as Charlie glowered at him. ‘The wife says her and the girl will do it.’

‘No chance,’ Charlie said emphatically. Couldn’t risk one of them slipping off into the undergrowth. Danny boy he was beginning to get the measure of. He wouldn’t leg it, leaving the wife and daughter in the firing line, Charlie was sure.

He motioned Daniel onwards. ‘He can do it. And if he tries anything funny, he’d better know he’ll be leaving whatsername to a watery death in her cubbyhole.’

‘Whatever.’ Shawn shrugged, glancing at Daniel. ‘The wife says she don’t drive too good though. Like trying to guide the Titanic through the eye of a needle, she says.’

‘Shit,’ Charlie muttered, shaking his head. ‘What you lookin’ at?’ he snapped at Daniel.

‘Nothing,’ Daniel answered fast.

‘Well, don’t!’ Charlie eyed him mistrustfully. Could’ve sworn the bloke had smirked there for a minute.

‘He didn’t do anything, Charlie.’ Shawn sighed. ‘Give him a break and let the women go do the gates, will you, or we’ll be ’ere all day.’

‘Bring them up,’ Charlie acquiesced, with a begrudging sigh. ‘But go with them,’ he instructed Shawn.

Women drivers. That Charlie didn’t need. They’d probably scupper the boat, and his plans along with it. Still, he was perplexed. What was it with Danny boy and his missus, offering up information, seeming almost helpful? Had they been hatching some devious little plan? Charlie squinted at Daniel.

Nah, they hadn’t been alone together long enough, he reassured himself, as the wife and daughter emerged from the back of the boat. The front was staying padlocked. One exit, one entrance, and he would be watching it at all times.

And watching them. Charlie looked the two women over, checking for anything amiss.

* * *

Don’t, Jo silently implored Daniel with a small shake of her head as Charlie’s look turned from searching to lewd.

Daniel’s jaw tightened. He clenched his fist at his side, but any action from him, he knew, would invite a reaction. A blow from the gun, which never left Roberts’ side. Or worse, he’d home in on Kayla. Whatever it took, Daniel had to keep his family safe.

Though, in fact, it was Jo keeping him safe, just then.

No way could he have handled the locking gear. The flight was well maintained, but damned hard work. Jo had managed it once before, but only by throwing her whole bodyweight into winding the paddles. Daniel would have stood no chance of moving them. And that was without opening and closing the gates. The pain in his chest was constant now, there when he breathed in, there when he breathed out. He wasn’t sure Jo realised how bad it was, he hoped not, but she was obviously onto him and she’d obviously thought it through. Daniel was grateful that she still had fight in her enough to.

She was strong. He tried to hold on to that. Should have held on to it when Jo seemed so low he couldn’t see how she could ever fight back.

He should have helped her, opened up to her if that’s what she needed — about his past, how it had obviously fundamentally affected his ability to communicate his feelings.

Dammit. He hadn’t trusted himself, but couldn’t he have trusted Jo, to be what he knew her to be, strong enough to deal with it? To love him, despite it?

He glanced at her, as she climbed off the boat, and knew that he had to now.

For Jo’s sake, he had to tell her. Convince her that none of what happened around, or after the loss of Emma was her fault.

Before it was too late.

Jo looked back at him, her expression seemingly calm, but her eyes held a quiet warning. Don’t let him goad you, her swift glance said, as she ushered Kayla before her out of harm’s way.

Daniel set the throttle to neutral and idled the engine, wishing he could set his emotions so easily to neutral, as he watched Jo follow Kayla along the towpath. Kayla was wearing a waterproof over her T-shirt, he noted, despite the soaring heat. No need to guess why.

He swallowed a tight lump in his throat.

Then another, as Charlie called after them, ‘Cool coat, sweetheart. No point leaving anything to the imagination now we’ve seen it all, though, is there, darlin’?’

Which was when Daniel knew, with certainty, the only time he’d attain neutral emotionally would be when Charlie Roberts was silenced.

* * *

‘Cat got your tongue?’ Charlie asked, once they were inside the lock chamber.

Daniel concentrated on keeping his breathing even in the confined space.

‘Not speaking to me, hey, Danny boy? Ooh, my heart is just breakin’.’ Charlie clamped a hand theatrically to his chest and lowered his face to peer up at Daniel.

Too close. Way too close. Daniel’s jaw tensed. He counted, slowly, raw anger — and panic — rising in his chest. It was getting to him. He could feel it. It had never bothered him before, as dark and enclosed as the chamber was. He’d never let it. But it was bothering him now, being closed in by walls twenty foot high, which he knew was probably more to do with the close proximity of the vermin beside him than the phobia, but still, Daniel struggled to control it.

‘Yo, sweetheart,’ Charlie called up above, to where Kayla waited to open the lock gate, ‘show us yer tattoo, luv.’

Kayla turned away.

‘Just there, it is,’ Charlie said to Daniel. ‘On her boob.’ He prodded Daniel in the chest with a finger.

Daniel concentrated hard on breathing.

‘And she’s got a mole. Did you know she’s got a mole?’ Charlie went on, gnawing away at Daniel’s willpower like a disease. ‘On her nice, flat . . .’ Charlie paused, the gun pointed at Daniel’s midriff. ‘. . . stomach.’

Charlie smirked.

And waited.

Barely brushed Daniel’s stomach with the gun.

Then laughed out loud when Daniel winced anyway.

* * *

Hannah watched DI Adams through the window as he walked towards his car. He had Kayla’s earring. She was sure the silver drop earring he’d been holding was one of Kayla’s.

They were trying to gather information about a serious incident, he’d said. Wanted to interview anyone who might have been at Strobes last night, when they’d been there. And now Kayla wasn’t anywhere. And nor were her parents.

And he’s got one earring. Found where, Hannah wondered, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Oh God — she chewed worriedly on her nail polish, had he hurt her? That bastard, Charlie, had he murdered Kayla? Were her mum and dad down at the station, desperately trying to come to terms with it, and praying for someone to come forward with information that would help?

* * *

Jo heaved the windlass to a position where she could better use her bodyweight to wind the locking mechanism further and open the paddles.

‘Ugh!’ she groaned with exertion, but still it refused to budge.

‘Here, let me,’ Shawn said, hastening back from the top gate to assist.

Grateful, Jo stood aside. She dreaded to think what that thing would do if the boat got stuck in a lock.

‘Blimey, it really is heavy, isn’t it?’ Shawn wiped his forearm across his sweat-beaded brow. ‘And people do this for fun? Must be mental,’ he grumbled, and applied his thickset frame to the task again.

Resisting the temptation to shove him in the lock, despite his attempts at helping, Jo looked across to Kayla who was struggling with the paddle on the other side of the lock and looked as if she might succumb to heat exhaustion any minute.

Dammit, she needed to get that waterproof off, before she passed out.

Jo decided to lead by example and remove her own sweatshirt, which she’d kept on over her T-shirt, for much the same reason Kayla had kept on her coat.

Clutching the bottom of the sweatshirt, Jo hoisted it mid-waist. Then tugged it up, over her head.

* * *

Watching Charlie’s eyes slide appreciatively over Jo, lingering on the soft curve of her breasts, Daniel’s heart constricted inside him.

Jesus, Jo, don’t . . . He willed her not to, as she reached up to gather her hair into a knot, revealing two inches of flesh between her jeans and T-shirt as she did, which drew a slow wolf whistle from Charlie.

Christ. Daniel prayed hard, his resolve to not react to anything this freak at his side did crumbling. ‘Don’t even consider it,’ he grated as Charlie turned to give him a meaningful smirk.

‘Yer what?’ Charlie blinked, feigning surprise. ‘Blimey, it speaks.’

‘If you lay so much as a finger on her, you’re—’

‘What?’ Charlie, who’d been ledged on the rail at the back, shot to his feet. ‘What am I, hey, Danny boy? Dead, is it?’

Daniel didn’t answer, but he kept his eyes locked on Charlie’s.

‘Because this . . .’ Charlie snarled, aiming his sawn-off. ‘. . . says you are, if you don’t watch your lip. And don’t bloody eyeball me either!’ He gave Daniel a poke in the shoulder. ‘Got it?’

Daniel held his gaze. He wasn’t so sure he could hold his temper.

‘I do what I want, and who I want, if I want,’ Charlie said, his voice low and menacing as Daniel kept right on looking at him. ‘And if you don’t do what I want, I just might do you, Danny boy. Get my drift?’

Daniel looked away, disgusted.

‘I see you do.’ Charlie laughed.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Walking back to the boat, which the animal had had Daniel moor up in as secluded a place as possible, under overhanging trees, Jo slowed, and then stopped dead. Extending an arm to prevent Kayla venturing further, she stared, disbelieving.

Roberts was sitting on the back of the boat, carefully drawing gloop from a spoon into a syringe. He eyed her disinterestedly, calmly tightened the band around his arm, tapped up a vein, and injected. Right there in broad daylight, and in front of her daughter, the sick animal.

Jo steeled herself and stepped on board ahead of Shawn. ‘Where’s Daniel?’ she asked.

Charlie didn’t answer.

‘What you doin’?’ Shawn bowled past Jo, incredulous. ‘You freakin’ lunatic.’ He snatched up the syringe Charlie had dropped on the deck and tossed it into the canal. ‘You’ll screw everything up, injecting that stuff.’

‘Oh man, lighten up.’ Charlie smiled languidly, obviously succumbing to whatever he’d injected. ‘I’m on top of it, okay?’ He tightened his grip around the gun, and settled back on deck, looking for all the world as if he were on holiday, about to soak up the sun.

‘Dickhead,’ Shawn muttered as Jo squeezed past him into the boat, closely followed by Kayla.

‘Daniel?’ Jo called apprehensively, walking the length of the boat to the bathroom — to find Daniel clutching the sides of the sink.

‘Daniel!’ Oh God. Jo stepped hastily inside. He was bleeding. ‘The bastard!’ Her heart froze as she realised Daniel was actually spitting blood.

‘It’s okay.’ Daniel ran the cold tap full force and shakily splashed water over his face. ‘I’m okay,’ he insisted, glancing past Jo to where Kayla was standing, ashen-faced outside the door.

Jo got the message and turned to usher Kayla away, but she’d already fled, bypassing the tiny cabin that animal had threatened to lock her in, to crawl onto the bed of the middle cabin. Jo sat beside her, as Kayla drew her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms about herself and rocking silently to and fro.

‘I’m so sorry, Mum,’ she cried quietly.

Jo pulled her close, stroking her hair. Something she hadn’t done in a long time. She stayed with her, gently reassuring her, until she heard Daniel emerge from the bathroom. ‘Stay here, baby,’ she said, easing herself from the bed. ‘I just need to check on your dad. We’ll be right there, in the galley. Okay?’

Kayla swallowed and nodded.

She looked so scared, so lonely and exhausted, Jo’s heart physically broke for her. ‘Try to rest, honey. No one will disturb you, I promise.’

Again, Kayla nodded. She allowed Jo to wrap the duvet around her, but Jo doubted she would sleep. Her eyes were wild, full of such unbearable pain . . . If Jo got a chance, so help her she would plunge a syringe straight through that filthy bastard’s eyes.

Heading into the galley, she swiped at a tear on her own cheek. She couldn’t give in and weep, though she badly wanted to. Her family needed her to be strong. This time, she had to be.

‘Daniel?’ she said uncertainly, coming into the galley.

Daniel turned to give her a reassuring nod, trying to indicate he really was all right. She didn’t need the dark shadows in his eyes to tell her he was anything but.

‘Another shirt bites the dust.’ Daniel managed a smile, but winced as he bent to retrieve a clean one from Jo’s hastily packed supply.

Turning away, he peeled off his blood splattered shirt and quickly tugged on the new one, but not before Jo glimpsed the ugly blue-black map adorning his torso. She turned her gaze to where Charlie descended the steps stern-end, grinning inanely, but still clutching his gun, and Shawn close behind him. What would he be without the gun? Nothing. Take away his courage and his loathsome drugs and he’d crawl on the floor like the disgusting vermin he was.

Daniel glanced at Shawn as Roberts leaned over to switch on the TV before slumping down on the sofa. ‘I need to check on Kayla,’ he said, addressing Shawn.

‘I need to check on Kayla,’ the animal mimicked. His words were slurred, his vile eyes unfocused as he looked contemptuously towards Daniel. ‘Leave her be, fucking little daddy’s girl, snivelling all the while. She needs to grow up.’

‘Leave it out!’ Shawn snapped angrily. ‘He’s not hurting anyone.’

‘No, but I will!’ Charlie levered himself to sitting. ‘And his darlin’ little daughter will be first on the list if he doesn’t watch his lip.’

‘Yeah, yeah. I think you made that abundantly clear, Charlie. He ain’t done nothing though, has he? Let him go and see to his kid and get some rest for fuck’s sake.’

Charlie scowled in his general direction. ‘Go,’ he said eventually, pulling his gaze away, ‘but only because I’m feeling magnan . . . magnami . . . generous.’

‘Go on,’ Shawn said quietly, nodding Daniel on.

‘Oh, and Shawn . . .’ Charlie settled back down, his gun nestled in his arms. ‘. . . remember your dear old gran, yeah? Rent’s about due, innit?’

Jo waited for Shawn to come further into the galley, dragging his hand over his silly shaved head, as he did. ‘Why are you doing this?’ she whispered, fixing her furious gaze hard on his.

Shawn’s answer to which was to look uncertain, then embarrassed, and then glance down.

‘Why are you letting him do this?’ Jo pushed on, aware of Daniel returning behind her but unable to help herself. ‘Why don’t you act like a man instead of a little lapdog and make him stop?’

‘Whoa,’ Charlie slurred, leaning precariously forwards. His gun now in his hands, he was swinging it dangerously. ‘Shut your trap. And sit down.’

‘And what if I don’t?’ Jo called his bluff. ‘What are you going to do? Shoot me?’

‘Nope.’ Charlie stumbled to his feet, cocked the gun and pointed it at Daniel. ‘I’ll shoot him.’ He shrugged indifferently.

Jo trailed ice-cold eyes over him. ‘You’re disgusting,’ she spat.

‘Oh, am I?’ Swaying unsteadily, Charlie moved towards her, but Daniel moved faster.

‘Don’t, Jo!’ Catching hold of her arm, he steered her away as Charlie advanced.

‘That’s right, Jo. Don’t!’ Charlie repeated. ‘Be a good little wife and obey your husband. Because you see, every time you don’t . . .’ He paused, smiled, and then turned the gun around to smash Daniel hard in the ribs. ‘. . . he gets it.’

Shawn flinched, but Daniel fought hard not to. His fingers dug into Jo’s arm, holding her still.

* * *

Hearing something crack inside him, Daniel fought to hold himself upright. He felt Jo tense, knew she was fighting too. Don’t. Please, God . . . don’t, was all he could think as he waited for the pain to subside.

Glancing at him, Jo nodded. Body language indicating surrender, Daniel knew, but her eyes . . . ? Jo couldn’t help her eyes. Her contempt was palpable as she looked back to Roberts.

‘And you’ll get yours later, darlin’,’ Roberts sneered. ‘Now, go and do something useful and get some grub. And you, do something with that bleedin’ telly.’ He looked at Daniel, and then nodded towards the buzzing TV. ‘It’s givin’ me a headache.’

Searing pain still ripping through him, Daniel gritted his teeth hard, desperate not to let this twisted freak know he was gradually beating the ability to fight back out of him. To alert Jo to the fact. Sick apprehension gripping him at the thought of what might happen if he couldn’t, he glanced to where she stood in the galley, her back straight and her hands trembling as she fought to control her emotions and actually cook for the bastard, and then back to Roberts, who was now lolling back on the sofa, blinking at the blank TV screen. Could he get hold of the gun if he drifted off? Before Shawn got to him?

Wiping away the perspiration tickling his forehead, Daniel headed for the steps, weighing his chances as he went.

‘Oi! Where’re you goin’?’ Charlie was upright in an instant, trigger finger poised, which answered Daniel’s question. To try now, when he could barely move, would be to sign Jo and Kayla’s death warrants. ‘I told you to move when I said so.’

‘You just did,’ Daniel reminded him tightly. ‘The TV?’

‘Huh?’ Charlie eyed him quizzically.

‘The aerial needs adjusting,’ Daniel pointed out. ‘It’s on top of the boat . . . where aerials usually are.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Charlie nodded. ‘Do it. And don’t get cocky, unless you want darling daughter to suffer. Go with him, Shawn.’

Shawn obliged, reluctantly, Daniel suspected. Contempt on a scale of one to ten, the look the man had just given his ‘mate’ on his way out was a good eleven.

‘You all right?’ Shawn asked Daniel as he stepped off the boat.

Daniel looked at him incredulously. ‘Wonderful,’ he said, shaking his head. He would have laughed, were it not for the tilt of the boat forcing him to move too suddenly.

‘Shit!’ Bending double, he clutched at the hull, trying to draw breath past the hard knot in his chest.

Shawn reached out to steady him. ‘Look, just do as he says and try not to aggravate him,’ he said quietly, when Daniel straightened up.

‘Right,’ Daniel said as if the thought hadn’t occurred to him. He looked Shawn over, who was eyeing the top of Charlie’s head nervously through one of the portholes.

Well, well, the Neanderthal had a conscience, Daniel realised, surprised. ‘Thanks for the advice,’ he said, wondering how he might use what he’d learned. ‘I’ll try to bear it in mind while he’s breaking my ribs.’

‘He shouldn’t have done that. No need.’ Shawn glanced at Daniel, his look a mixture of embarrassment and sympathy. ‘But like I said, you and the missus need to do as he says. He’s all over the place with the drugs. If he starts getting aggressive, I’ll try and calm things down. Best I can do.’

Shawn shrugged awkwardly.

All over the place with or without the drugs, Daniel thought bitterly. The guy was a complete psycho, end of. He studied Shawn for a second, and then nodded. It was small comfort, but comfort nevertheless, to know that his sidekick wasn’t too enamoured of Charlie.

* * *

Charlie had come up on deck when Daniel and Shawn climbed back on board. Sprawled out, a pillow under his head, his arms folded across his gun, he appeared to be sleeping.

Spineless little freak.

Daniel hesitated as he eased past him, now sorely tempted to try for the gun.

‘Don’t,’ Shawn said, close behind him. ‘I can’t let you do that, Daniel. You know I can’t.’

Daniel glanced back at him. Shawn’s expression was uncompromising. Enamoured of Roberts or not, the man wasn’t about to stand back and allow him to do something that would guarantee him a lengthy prison sentence.

‘Go on, go on down.’ Shawn looked away first. ‘I’ll have a smoke out here and give you and your missus some space. Stay where I can see you though,’ he warned, gesturing Daniel towards the doors and turning to perch himself on the handrail.

* * *

Jo nodded past Daniel towards the back doors, as he approached her. ‘Do you think his chain-smoking is a good sign, or a bad one?’ she asked as Shawn lit up a cigarette with the nub of the one he’d just smoked.

‘Not a clue.’ Daniel shrugged. ‘I’m not so sure he’s exactly in love with his mate though.’

Jo exchanged glances with Daniel. They were on the same page, she knew, both hoping that Shawn might crack before they did, and be of some kind of help to them.

She studied her husband. The pain was etched into his face. And his eyes . . . ? They were wretched with the same impotent anger Jo felt. How well she knew him. Yet seemed not to know him at all.

‘How is she?’ Daniel asked after Kayla, who he’d left sleeping, albeit fitfully.

Jo paused in her efforts to prise the lid off the beans. Here she was, pretending normality, while all around them was sheer madness. It was a joke. A cruel, sick joke.

‘I don’t know, to be honest.’ She sighed, rubbing her temples with her forefingers. ‘She’s okay, I suppose, given what she’s been through, but she goes into herself every time I try to talk to her about it.’

‘Give her some time, Jo. She—’

‘Don’t, Dan,’ Jo said quickly. ‘You said that before and look where she ended up.’ She eyed him accusingly, and felt sorry immediately. She’d just got through telling Kayla they were dumping the guilt, so what was she going to do with it now? Heap it all on Daniel?

He’d had enough.

Dear God, they all had. Jo raked a loose strand of hair from her face and glanced past Daniel to double check the animal was still out of earshot. With him at the back and the TV still on, they at least had a little privacy. ‘Time is not really such a great healer, is it, Dan?’ she offered gently.

Daniel sighed. ‘No,’ he said, running his hand wearily over his neck.

‘She’s frightened, Dan. And I don’t know how to help her.’

‘I know how she feels,’ Daniel said quietly, glancing towards the front of the boat where Kayla stirred in her sleep. ‘We let her down.’ He glanced back to Jo. ‘I let her down. I should have been there for her. Been stronger. We have to be there for her now, Jo. Both of us. Somehow.’

Jo looked at him. She’d heard what he’d said and it made sense, apart from one thing. The ‘I know how she feels’ bit. How could he know how Kayla felt? How could anyone know how she felt?

‘How Daniel?’ Jo asked, because she had to. ‘How can you know how it feels to be abused? To be hurt and humiliated at the hands of a sadistic bully?’

Daniel dropped his gaze, seeming to agonise before bringing it back to Jo’s. And in his eyes she saw something bordering on haunted. An uneasy feeling crept through her.

She glanced over his shoulder, making sure they were still alone and then looked back to Daniel. ‘Talk to me, Daniel,’ she implored.

Daniel’s eyes flickered away, then back. ‘My father . . .’ he started, and faltered.

‘The one you haven’t got?’ Jo hazarded.

‘Yes, him,’ Daniel said flatly, and looked away. ‘He said she’d been taken by the angels. My mother . . .’ He stopped again, checking behind him, deliberating, it seemed.

Jo waited, her heart wrenching for the child who’d lost the mother he’d loved. A little boy, whose fragile young life would depend on hers. This was unexplored territory for Jo. Daniel’s mother died when he was ten. An accident, he’d said, always reluctant to offer more, so she hadn’t pressed him. She wished she had.

Daniel sucked in a breath. ‘It wasn’t the angels, Jo,’ he said, at length. ‘It was a bucketful of paracetamol.’

Jo flinched and reached for his arm, but Daniel turned to gaze out of the window.

‘He drank,’ he went on, swallowing hard. ‘A lot. Hit out. Hit her. Made her life a living hell in the end.’

Jo stepped towards him. ‘And you?’

Daniel didn’t speak for a moment, and then nodded, a small, embarrassed nod.

And Jo couldn’t even begin to imagine. She shook her head, struggling to assimilate what he’d said. Oh, dear God. Finally, painfully, the missing piece of the puzzle that was Daniel locked suddenly, sickeningly into place. She studied his strong profile, looked hard at the little boy in the man, looking into his long-buried past.

‘Dan?’ Jo reached for his arm and found it this time. Gently, she encouraged him to turn around, to come back to the present.

To look at her.

Daniel did, eventually, but guardedly, Jo noticed, humiliation hot under the shadows that danced in his eyes. What had he done, his own father, that Daniel had drawn a veil so tightly over his childhood? ‘Talk to me, Daniel,’ she said softly.

Daniel pulled in a breath and glanced at the ceiling.

‘Daniel?’

‘I hit back, eventually. Just once. Hurt him; badly. Swore I’d never lose it again.’ Daniel stopped, obviously struggling. ‘Big boys don’t cry, Jo,’ he said simply.

‘Little boys do.’ Jo searched his face. A handsome face. A strong, honest face. She’d always known Daniel to be that, even when he’d locked his emotions safely away. ‘Why didn’t you tell me, Daniel? Why couldn’t you confide in me?’

‘Because I was ashamed.’ Daniel shrugged. ‘Because I was scared.’

‘Of?’ Jo urged him on.

* * *

Closing his eyes, Daniel willed himself to do what he had to, to tell things he never had, and had no clue how to.

Jo reached out as he hesitated, to brush his cheek with the back of her hand. ‘You don’t have to, Daniel, not now. Not if you—’

‘I want to.’ Daniel tugged in a breath, which stopped painfully short of his chest. He exhaled slowly. Jo was everything that mattered to him.

Everything. He couldn’t lose her. They would get through this. Somehow, he would make that happen. But he couldn’t live without Jo. It simply wasn’t an option.

Swallowing again, he forced himself on. ‘I was scared of the feelings talking about my past would dredge up,’ he admitted. ‘Scared I might lose you. That I already had.’

He looked hard at Jo, whose penetrating gaze back seemed to be peeling every painful strip of veneer away from his soul. ‘There was no way I could cope with that, Jo. I—’

‘You hadn’t lost me, Daniel.’ Jo’s look turned to confused. ‘We’d lost each other.’

Daniel nodded and looked down. ‘I wanted to talk to you, Jo. To be the man you needed me to be.’

‘You were,’ Jo said quickly. ‘You are.’

Daniel glanced back at her. ‘Was I?’ He scanned her eyes, knowing the answer was no. ‘I wanted to comfort you, Jo. You have no idea. To hold you. Tell you that I was hurting too, but . . .’ He hesitated. ‘. . . if I’d cried for the child I’d been instrumental in taking the life of, could I really have expected sympathy from her mother, Jo? Did I deserve it?’

‘Oh God, Daniel.’ Jo wrapped her arms about herself.

She was shivering. Daniel reached tentatively for her, desperate to pull her into his arms, keep her safe — away from that depraved bastard.

He gulped back his anger, relief flooding through him as Jo relaxed into him. ‘These feelings,’ she asked, after a moment, ‘can you tell me about them?’

Daniel hesitated. ‘Hopelessness,’ he said, after a pause. ‘Guilt. Most of all helplessness.’

‘Feelings around the attack on your father?’ Jo ventured.

Daniel didn’t answer.

‘Dan . . .’ Jo glanced up at him. ‘You don’t need to tell me about anything you don’t want to, really. I’d like to think that you could, but you don’t need to.’

‘Nothing much to tell.’

Daniel glanced behind him, and then braced himself to tell nevertheless. He’d come this far. And if Jo needed all of him in order to be with him . . .

‘He messed me up, basically,’ he said, his voice hoarse. ‘He drank most nights. And when he drank he, er . . . he’d . . .’ Daniel swallowed and closed his eyes, an involuntary shudder going through him. ‘. . . come into my room.’

Jo glanced sharply up.

‘I used to try to run away, so he . . .’ Daniel swallowed again, hard. ‘He nailed the windows shut.’

Jo balked. ‘The claustrophobia,’ she murmured, tightening her arms around him.

Daniel breathed in and nodded. ‘It wasn’t being shut in I was scared of,’ he paused, wondering whether Jo could hear his heart beating as loudly as he could. ‘It was being shut in with him.’

‘Oh, Dan.’ Jo leaned her head back to his shoulder.

‘Danny boy,’ Daniel said quietly, after a moment. ‘He used to call me that, when I was about four, five, maybe. That’s when the abuse started. It ended when I was fifteen. We fought. He fell. I . . .’ Daniel stopped, his throat constricting.

‘Danny boy?’ Jo’s voice came out barely a whisper. ‘Dear God.’

Daniel held her tighter, feeling the closeness of her next to him, the wholeness of her. The only good thing that had ever happened to him. Jo and Kayla and Emma.

‘You know, in there somewhere, I was supposed to be grieving for my mother,’ he said quietly. ‘How? How do you grieve, Jo, when you’re stuffed so full of guilt and anger, there’s just no room for anything else?’

‘Guilt?’ Jo looked up to search his face. ‘For what? Your father? Your mother? Daniel, you had nothing to—’

‘She killed herself, Jo.’

‘It wasn’t your fault,’ Jo whispered forcefully. ‘And you’d every right to feel angry.’

‘With her?’ Daniel asked, that same feeling of helplessness close to the surface. ‘I wasn’t angry with her for leaving me, Jo. Don’t you see? I was angry with her for leaving me with him. Selfish, or what?’

‘No, Daniel. Not selfish,’ Jo said passionately. ‘Just normal, human reaction. It’s allowed.’

‘Yes, right.’ Daniel smiled cynically. ‘Except it wasn’t. Tears and tantrums weren’t tolerated. I didn’t care much for the, er, punishment.’ He shrugged and glanced away. ‘So I kept quiet. Didn’t talk. You know? Didn’t think, eventually. Counted a hell of a lot though, from one hundred down. Kept right on counting until . . . he’d got out of his system whatever he needed to. It concentrated the mind. Kept the emotions in check. It was easier that way.’

‘Oh God, Daniel, you should have told me.’ Jo looked hard at him, her eyes brimming with tears.

Daniel pressed his forehead against hers. ‘I do love you, Jo. You know that, don’t you?’

‘That’s because you’re mad.’ Jo smiled, but her smile faded fast as someone came down the steps behind them.

* * *

Oh man, that was dynamite. Charlie was ecstatic. Pure dynamite.

Got him, he thought, supremely satisfied. Knew he would sooner or later. Everything comes to those who wait. And Daniel had supplied him with a truckload of information. Skeletons in his closet, Danny boy had. All Charlie had to do now was light his fuse, and then bring the man down.

Serve him right too. He should’ve shown a bit more respect, while he had the chance. Nobody tries to get one past Charlie Roberts. Bullshitting him Danny had been, again. Obviously thought he was stupid enough to fall for it. Bad move that, Danny boy.

Charlie yawned and scratched his head, feigning sleepiness as he came down the steps. ‘Danny.’ He nodded, smiled pleasantly at Jo, and then looked stonily back to Daniel. ‘Well?’ he said and left it hanging.

* * *

Daniel glanced quickly at Jo, then, gesturing her back with a slight incline of his head, he looked quizzically back to Charlie. He had no clue where this one was going. Wherever it was though, he didn’t want Jo in the middle of it.

‘Well, what?’ Daniel took a short breath and waited.

Charlie looked him over with his usual loaded contempt, and then held up the mobile. ‘You have some explaining to do, Danny.’

Oh, Christ . . . Daniel’s stomach knotted. He glanced from the mobile to Charlie. Now he knew exactly where this was going.

‘About the bank, Danny.’ Charlie smiled again, unnervingly. ‘The one you didn’t fucking well ring!’ Spitting with fury, Charlie swung around and slammed the mobile so hard against the wall, the boat tilted and keeled.

Shit! Daniel stepped back, his gaze firmly on Charlie, his aim to stop him getting within reach of Jo and Kayla, whatever it took.

Seemingly frozen with indecision, Shawn was halfway down the steps behind Charlie, causing the boat to tilt further, metal grinding creakily against metal, as the hull brushed the reinforced sides of the bank.

No one spoke.

Charlie dragged a hand across his face, wiping the spittle from his mouth. He breathed in, then out through his nostrils, dropped his gaze to the smashed phone in his hand — and then fixed eyes smouldering with hatred back on Daniel.

‘You didn’t ring, Daniel,’ he said flatly.

Daniel glanced past him to Shawn, who’d reached the well of the boat and was now risking a cautious step towards them.

‘You know I did. You were there,’ Daniel reminded him, appraising Charlie carefully. ‘You dialled the number.’

‘And you cut the fucking call off, didn’t you?’ Charlie jabbed a finger at him.

Daniel took another step back, one hand raised to ward Charlie off.

‘I confirmed the instructions, Charlie. You heard me.’ Daniel didn’t quite lie, but he prayed hard that Charlie hadn’t got wind of the other end of the conversation. The person at the call centre telling him there were insufficient funds. Daniel had replied nonsensically, praying hard then, too. That Charlie wouldn’t snatch the phone to listen in and hear the bank refusing to continue the conversation, data protection rules requiring them to call him back.

Charlie looked away, then down. ‘You’re dead, Danny. End of,’ he said unemotionally, ran his hand under his nose then fixed cold eyes back on Daniel. ‘Outside.’ He nodded towards the doors.

‘Oi, what you doing?’ Shawn took another step, his brow furrowed.

‘Taking Danny for a walk in the woods,’ Charlie said, with a matter-of-fact shrug. ‘He can have a think about what’s going to happen to his wife and daughter on the way.’

‘Dan . . . ?’ Jo gasped behind him.

‘Daddy?’ Kayla whimpered, sounding more like Emma, as she appeared in the corridor behind them.

Daniel shook his head hard, cautioning them to stay put. His gaze travelled from Shawn to Charlie and back. His heart hammered wildly and his muscles tensed, ready to fight; to kill the fucking psychopath, or die trying.

‘Don’t be bloody stupid,’ Shawn scoffed. ‘You can’t go and—’

Charlie levelled his gun. ‘This says I can.’ He gave Shawn a warning glance. ‘So shift your fat arse, mate, or you’ll get some of the same.’

Shawn’s face tightened. He breathed in, pulled up his rounded shoulders, and looked from Charlie to Daniel.

Holding his gaze for a second, he nodded, almost imperceptibly, and then looked back to Charlie. ‘So,’ he said, folding his arms, ‘what’s he supposed to have done, then?’

Charlie snapped his attention to Shawn. ‘What’s he . . . ?’ He shook his head, disbelieving. ‘Are you deaf? It’s what he hasn’t done, you soft twat.’

Shawn waited, arms still folded, his big bulk blocking the doors.

‘He hasn’t . . . rung . . . the . . . fucking . . . bank.’ Charlie spelt it out.

Shawn looked at Charlie dispassionately. ‘Says who?’

‘Says . . . ? I don’t believe this. They haven’t rung back, have they, you thick prick. He said they—’

‘Not likely to, now, are they? Phone’s broke, innit, Charlie.’ Shawn stood his ground, looking not very impressed.

‘It is now! Thanks to—’

‘You broke it, Charlie,’ Shawn talked over him, ‘because you’re losin’ it, mate. Now pack it up and go pop a freakin’ pill, or somethin’, or I’ll take a bloody walk. I mean it, Charlie. I’ve had enough.’ He looked Charlie over distastefully. ‘And so has he, so lay off.’

Charlie boggled, stunned for a second, then pulled himself — and his gun — up. ‘You are taking the piss, mate,’ he fumed. ‘No one, but no one takes the piss out of—’

‘And you . . .’ Shawn unfolded his arms and poked a finger at Charlie. ‘. . . are acting like a dickhead. He rang ’em!’

‘Aw, for Christ’s sake,’ Charlie rolled his eyes. ‘Do you think I’m dense as—’

‘And they rang back,’ Shawn went on forcefully. ‘If you hadn’t been busy shooting up, you’d have known.’

Charlie shook his head. ‘You what?’

‘The phone was on silent, Charlie, so you could get a bit of shuteye, remember? I took the call and passed it to him. Now leave it out.’

Shawn turned away.

‘Oh.’ Charlie seemed to debate. ‘Well, that’s all right then,’ he said, eventually and lowered the gun. ‘You should have said so, Danny boy. You really can be very irritating sometimes, y’know?’

He cocked the gun under his arm, and then called to Jo, ‘Get us that grub, darlin’. I’m starving,’ as he ambled to the saloon to seat himself in front of the telly.

Chapter Twenty-Three

‘Pants,’ Hannah muttered. ‘Sorry,’ she added, noting the desk sergeant’s arched eyebrow.

‘Would you like to leave your details?’ the officer suggested. ‘I’ll get DI Adams to contact you when he gets back to the station.’

‘Um . . .’ Hannah had a think. Leave her details? Yes, right. The law phoning home would go down well, wouldn’t it? ‘No, thank you.’ She smiled sweetly. ‘I’ll pop back.’

Typical, she thought, trudging down the station steps. Now the detective was on the missing list, too. Couldn’t be that much of an emergency, could it, if he wasn’t even at the station. Might be out on the case, she mused, organising the dredging of the canal, or something.

God, she hoped not. Hannah shuddered and wandered around awhile, then went back to the station. Still no DI Adams. She checked her watch. She’d nip home, she decided. Yeah, that’s what she’d do, go home and get changed, which should kill some time, and then go back to the station. Hannah didn’t want to talk to anyone else. This detective bloke was the one she wanted to see. And check out that earring, while she was at it, just to make sure.

An hour later, Hannah presented herself for the third time at the police station. ‘DI Adams, please,’ she asked.

At which the desk sergeant picked up his phone. ‘Hold on a minute,’ he said, ‘I’ll just check.’

Scanning the notices, which made really cheerful reading, Hannah waited, and checked her watch. And waited. Hell, where was he? Did they not realise every second could be crucial? Sighing impatiently, she turned back to the desk sergeant. ‘Can’t you text him or put an APB out or something?’ she asked him.

‘Possibly. If I was starring in an American detective series, I’d seriously consider it,’ the man said, smiling indulgently.

Which Hannah found actually rather condescending. She scowled and then looked hugely relieved towards the back door into reception as it finally opened. Oh. Not DI Adams, but obviously someone important, judging by the desk sergeant addressing him as sir.

‘So what do we have here?’ The important bod walked around towards Hannah.

An exhibit in the zoo, obviously, Hannah thought, as he looked her curiously over. ‘I’ve come to see DI Adams,’ she said determinedly, again.

‘Sorry, sir,’ the desk sergeant apologised. ‘She’s been back three times.’

‘Not to worry,’ the important bod said, smiling shortly in her direction. ‘It’s obviously important, Miss . . . ?’

‘It is,’ Hannah assured him, folding her arms.

‘Right,’ the man said, with another short smile. ‘Look, would you like to see a nice WPC, instead?’

‘What for?’

‘She could take a statement,’ he suggested.

‘What statement?’

‘A statement about whatever it is you want to see DI Adams about.’ Important bod knitted his brow.

‘No,’ Hannah said, adamant. ‘DI Adams is on the case.’

‘And what case would that be?’ the man asked patiently.

‘Dunno.’ Hannah shrugged. ‘I’ll wait.’ She plonked herself down on a chair, leaving the two hotshot cops exchanging evermore bemused glances.

* * *

‘Not bad.’ Charlie licked his knife and plonked his empty plate on the floor. He’d tasted better than tinned potatoes, corned beef and beans, but it wasn’t bad considering she hadn’t had much time to prepare for their little holiday.

Nobody else seemed to have much of an appetite though, he noticed. Strange that, what with all that hard work opening locks and whatnots. Ravenous, he was. Crack and speed usually left him a bit peckish, and knackered. And knackered whilst wired is not conducive to sleep, he’d found.

Good job he had some heroin in his bag of tricks. Shawn should try some instead of sitting there with a face like a spanner. Might mellow him out a bit. Charlie was definitely feeling better for it. Been a bit depressed he had earlier. Hearing Danny’s revelations had cheered him up no end though. Given him a high with a capital H that little lot had.

Well, waste not, want not. ‘Cheers, mate.’ Charlie reached for Shawn’s plate to relieve it of its contents.

* * *

Watching the freak slurping like a pig at the trough, Daniel resisted the temptation to walk across and wedge the plate in his disgusting mouth and headed for the back of the boat instead. Hopefully some fresh air would help alleviate his creeping claustrophobia.

‘Where’re you goin’?’ Charlie muffled, spitting corned beef.

Daniel stopped. ‘To open the hatch,’ he said calmly. ‘We need some air.’

Kayla definitely needed air, Daniel knew. He’d been keeping a close eye on her as they’d sat through feeding time at the zoo. Her hands were shaking, he’d noted, and she was as white as a sheet.

‘Stay,’ Charlie instructed. ‘You move when I tell you to,’ he reminded him, stuffing the last of the meal into his mouth.

At which, Kayla stood abruptly, picked up her plate — the food thereon untouched — eyed Charlie with disdain and banged it down in front of him. ‘Choke on it, cokehead,’ she spat, and then turned to march past Daniel to yank the hatch wide.

‘We need some air,’ she said, turning back to face Charlie, her arms folded insolently.

Jesus Christ. Daniel stopped breathing, as Charlie downed his knife and fork and looked Kayla over stonily.

An ominous minute ticked by, and then Charlie laughed, destabilising Daniel completely. ‘Ooh, a girly tantrum. Save me. I’m shaking in my boots,’ he sneered, looked her over derisorily again, and then turned his attention back to the television, leaving Kayla looking deflated and Daniel feeling uneasy relief.

At best, he’d expected another crippling blow with the gun. At worst he’d thought the sick bastard would carry out his threat to lock Kayla in a cabin she’d undoubtedly feel like she was suffocating in. So what the hell was he up to?

Daniel and Jo exchanged nervous glances.

Also looking decidedly nervous, Shawn got to his feet and lit up a cigarette.

* * *

Charlie split a matchstick and picked at his teeth.

Shouldn’t have done that, sweetheart, he thought. But he’d let it go, for now. Danny boy must swing both ways, he decided, because whatsername was definitely the product of both her parents, defiant little cow.

She’d learn.

They all would.

Pushing their luck they were, undermining him. And it wasn’t on, plain and simple. He’d sort them, though, when he was ready. Charlie burped loudly. Take out the linchpin and the women would tumble. Be no trouble at all, wifey and daughter with Danny boy subdued. And subdued he would be when Charlie had finished with him. He’d cut through Danny boy’s cool exterior like a knife through butter and serve him right.

Kills one daughter outright, couldn’t care less what company the other one’s keeping, and still they look up to him. Needed bringing down to size, Danny boy did. He’d shown Charlie absolutely no respect from the word go, and Charlie didn’t like it.

Worked out that nondescript look of his, Charlie had, as well. Danny boy was doing it now, unbelievably, looking right through him, as if he didn’t even exist.

Bloody head case.

* * *

Two minutes after he walked through the door, Matthew noticed DCI Davies striding towards his office.

Dammit. Matthew sighed. Still having no clue as to the whereabouts of Charlie Roberts, who seemed to have disappeared off the face of the earth, and no irrefutable proof that he was carrying to offer Davies, he was fully expecting him to tell him to drop it.

‘Matthew.’ Davies gave him that inscrutable short smile of his as he came in. ‘No DS Ingram?’ he asked, looking around, as if expecting Steve to appear from the ether.

‘No,’ Matthew stated the obvious. ‘He pulled an all-nighter. I sent him home to get some rest.’

‘Ah.’ Davies nodded. ‘On the mysterious case of the missing and possibly armed Charlie Roberts, I assume?’

‘That’s right.’ Here we go, Matthew thought, running a weary hand over his neck.

‘Right.’ DCI Davies studied him thoughtfully for a second, no doubt about to deliver his lack of manpower, waste of police resources speech. ‘Well, in your absence . . .’ He paused pointedly. ‘Something’s turned up.’

Matthew’s gaze shot back to his. ‘As in?’

‘It might not be much,’ Davies went on, his expression communicating it had better be.

‘Shoot,’ Matthew said, praying to God it was. He couldn’t leave this, even if he had to work through the night himself, which, given his reputation for ‘going solo’ wasn’t a great idea.

‘You have a little fan club,’ Davies announced.

Matthew looked at him askew. ‘Come again?’

‘In reception. A young girl, turned up out of the blue demanding to see you. She won’t talk to anyone else, it seems, but DS Collins mentioned you’d been visiting local schools regarding the Roberts case, so we decided to indulge her. You’d better go and see her.’

Thinking there could be no other reason for her wanting to see him other than as a result of the school visits, Matthew was so relieved he felt like kissing Davies, possibly not a great idea either.

‘Have DS Collins sit in on the interview,’ Davies said, for obvious reasons, as he turned for the door. ‘Oh, and if this doesn’t yield anything, I don’t need to remind you about waste of police resources, do I?’

* * *

‘Would you like anything, Hannah? Tea, coffee?’ DS Collins asked her. ‘I know you’ve been waiting a while.’

Hannah shook her head, eyed the male detective warily across the desk, and made up her mind. ‘Earring,’ she said, extending her hand.

DI Adams studied her, looking puzzled for a second and then, exchanging glances with the lady police officer, reached into his pocket and extracted the evidence bag.

‘Do you recognise it, Hannah?’ he asked, handing it to her.

Hannah glanced from it to him. She could see he wanted her to. She could tell, also, that her instincts had been right about him. There was something about his eyes. They were wary but kind, not judgemental, condescending or dismissive. The other two coppers had treated her like a little kid. She didn’t think this one would.

Looking back to the earring, she examined it. It could be. Then again, it could be any number of similar earrings. But throw Strobes into the pot, and Kayla and her parents suddenly eerily on holiday. ‘It’s Kayla’s,’ she said eventually, opting for safe rather than sorry. ‘Well, her mum’s, actually, but Kayla was wearing it.’

Handing it back, Hannah sat on her hands and shuffled her feet.

‘Oh?’ DI Adams drew in a breath and glanced again at his colleague. ‘And can you tell us when, exactly, she was wearing it, Hannah?’ he asked cautiously.

Hannah glanced from her knees to him and back. ‘Last night. At Strobes.’

‘Right,’ the detective nodded. ‘And did you meet anyone there, Hannah? At the club?’

* * *

Matthew mentally crossed his fingers and prayed. He doubted any of this would be usable as eyewitness testimony; he’d offered to contact the girl’s parents, she’d said an outright no to that. Ditto the responsible adult. Right now, though, Matthew’s concern was more about crime prevention than prosecution, preventing Roberts killing someone being preferable to charging him with possession of a firearm.

‘Take your time.’ He smiled, trying to sound encouraging rather than bloody desperate. ‘And don’t worry, anything you say will be strictly confidential, I promise.’

The girl searched his eyes again, seeming to assess him, then, ‘Shawn,’ she said. ‘Shawn Simmons. And Charlie.’ She shuddered visibly, a hand going to her face.

Where the vicious bastard had slapped her. Matthew felt anger rise in his craw. He’d noticed the finger marks not quite concealed with foundation as soon as he’d seen her. He’d known then with absolute certainty that Hannah had made Roberts’ delightful acquaintance.

‘Don’t know his second name,’ Hannah went on, with a scowl, ‘but he lives at 33 Dunston Towers.’

Which probably meant she’d been there. Matthew’s anger gave way to sick apprehension. ‘And where is Kayla now, Hannah?’ he probed carefully, his concern for the girl escalating fast.

‘I don’t know, do I?’ Hannah blurted. ‘They’re not there!’

Seeing Hannah’s obvious distress, Jamie got to her feet. ‘They’re not where, Hannah?’ she asked her gently, crouching next to the girl’s chair to wrap an arm around her shoulders. ‘Let’s start with Kayla’s address and surname, shall we?’

Five minutes later, Matthew was heading for the door. ‘Make sure Hannah gets home safely, will you, Jamie?’ he asked her. ‘And can you alert DCI Davies? I might need some backup.’

Matthew was halfway through the car park when he realised he had company.

‘I’m coming with you,’ Hannah informed him, matching him stride for stride. ‘I know a way into the house.’

Matthew glanced at her, noting the determined set of her jaw. She’d given Jamie the slip obviously. It was also plain that she was concerned for her friend, which was no bad thing. ‘Breaking and entering is against the law, Hannah,’ he pointed out patiently. ‘I think I might do better to gain entry the legal way.’

‘What, with a warrant?’ Hannah followed him to his car. ‘That’ll take time.’ She quoted a line from the telly, serious-faced. ‘You’re thinking Charlie and Shawn might be there, aren’t you?’ she asked intuitively.

Matthew sighed as he climbed behind the wheel. Definitely determined, he thought. She reminded him of Ashley and her absolute insistence on sticking to him like superglue when Rebecca had been kidnapped and his world had fallen apart. Despite the worst possible start in life, Ashley had shown a gritty resilience, a deep caring of other people and a maturity way beyond her years. This girl looked to be made out of the same stuff. It wasn’t going to be easy to put her off without hurting her feelings and he desperately didn’t want to do that.

‘I’m not at liberty to say, Hannah,’ he pointed that out too, keeping his tone measured, despite his growing frustration. He needed to be on his way there. Now. ‘You need to go home.’

‘You’d have to break the door down,’ Hannah countered. Standing her ground, she was preventing him closing his car door and clearly not about to go anywhere.

Glancing past her, Matthew was relieved to see Jamie emerge from the back of the station, her expression a mixture of apprehension and relief when she saw the girl.

‘Then that’s what we’ll do, Hannah,’ Matthew assured her. ‘If we need to. Now, would you please go back into the station and let DS Collins organise you a lift home, or we’ll both be in hot—’

‘But I know what she’d take,’ Hannah interrupted, now looking desperate. ‘Kayla, I mean, if she were going away, make-up and stuff. I even know where they keep the suitcases. You need me.’

‘Hannah . . .’ Matthew massaged his forehead. ‘I have to go. Please, go home.’

‘I know things about them. Kayla and her family. Their history,’ Hannah insisted. ‘Stuff that might help.’

Matthew hesitated. He also knew their history. As soon as Hannah had given them the address, he’d realised it was the Conner family, that Kayla was the missing daughter and most probably Daniel Conner the father who had been frantically searching for her. And now he felt sick to his soul. He wasn’t sure how it all linked together, but it did. And the link was Charlie Roberts.

‘There’s other stuff,’ Hannah said. ‘Things you should know.’

Growing irked now, despite his attempts not to, Matthew started the engine. ‘What things?’

‘I’ll tell you on the way.’ Hannah nipped deftly around to the passenger side.

Matthew drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘You have one minute, Hannah. I need to go. Start talking.’

‘Drugs . . .’ Hannah’s eyes flicked sideways. ‘Charlie, he gave Kayla—’

‘Fasten your seat belt.’ Matthew signalled to Jamie Collins, closed his door, and then skidded off as soon as she’d climbed in the back.

* * *

Daniel was struggling on three fronts: to stay calm, the closed-in hull of the boat seeming to creep ever closer; to breathe normally, which was more to do with the pain gnawing away at his chest than the claustrophobia; and, finally, to work out what was going on in Roberts’ fetid little mind.

Charlie was acting as near normal as it was probably possible for him to be. He’d complimented Jo on the meal. And now he was making conversation. He’d checked out the route, for his own purposes, obviously, but it was conversation, nevertheless.

He’d asked about water. Would they have enough? Satisfied that he wouldn’t die of thirst, he’d gone on to ask whether they could always get a good reception on the TV, for Christ’s sake. And now he wanted to know how much it would cost to hire the boat.

‘Oh man.’ Charlie whistled incredulously when Daniel told him. ‘No wonder you’re rolling in it.’

Daniel had to look away. Absolutely no way could he keep contempt from his eyes this time.

‘So what do you do when you run out of food and stuff, without a car?’ Charlie asked, continuing the banal small talk.

‘Towns,’ Daniel supplied. ‘Canal and riverside shops,’ he went on, playing the game, waiting to see where it was leading. ‘Pub meals sometimes.’

Charlie nodded thoughtfully and drew on his spliff. ‘And do we pass a shop soon?’

‘A town, yes. Tomorrow.’ Daniel’s eyes trailed after Kayla, who obviously finding Charlie’s puerile chatter repellent, went to help Jo clear up in the galley.

‘Good,’ Charlie said, seemingly pleased. ‘Shawn can nip off and get some bacon and eggs — and a new mobile for you, Daniel. All right, Shawn?’

Shawn dragged an eye from the TV, shook his head disbelievingly, and then turned his attention back to The Simpsons.

Charlie smirked. ‘Nothing like a traditional British breakfast when you’re on holiday, is there?’ He winked at Daniel, then, ‘Need a piss,’ he said, getting to his feet.

Disgusted, Daniel watched him swagger, his gun in one hand and his spliff in the other, both of which he was obviously taking with him.

‘All right, sweetheart?’ Charlie said, winking at Jo as she stepped back to allow him to pass by.

* * *

‘You can get me some cigarette papers, while you’re out shopping,’ Charlie addressed a disinterested Shawn when he came back to the seating area. ‘I’m running a bit low. And when he comes back, you, Danny . . .’ Charlie paused to grind out his spliff. ‘. . . can ring the bank again.’ He plucked a piece of stray tobacco from his lip and eyed Daniel levelly. ‘And this time, you can do it properly. On speaker.’

Shawn glanced at him. ‘Leave it out, Charlie. He’s already done it.’

‘Right.’ Charlie nodded thoughtfully. ‘And they rang back.’

‘S’right.’ Shawn shrugged, his eyes fixed on the TV.

‘Course they did.’ Charlie looked Daniel slowly over, who looked a bit agitated, he thought, sitting there massaging his temples. No prizes for guessing why. Really did think he was stupid, didn’t they? Pity they weren’t too stupid to check the soddin’ battery was in the phone before spouting cobblers. Needed a bit of a wakeup call, they did, all of them.

Danny boy should smoke some dope, Charlie reckoned. That’d chill him out a bit. Nah, he cocked his head to one side, debating, something that would hit the spot quicker would be better. And Charlie was just the one to supply it.

Turning away, he strolled casually back to the galley where the wife was up to her elbows in washing-up water and whatsername was dutifully drying up. Happy little domestic scene it was. Tugged at his heartstrings, it really did.

‘What’s for afters?’ he asked, smirking as the daughter looked past her mother, her big girly eyes shooting daggers at him.

Charlie tried not to mind. She’d learn to behave before too long. The remainder of this pleasant little voyage would be played his way. Her and her mother would realise there was simply no other way when he’d finished with Danny boy, who’d been bullshitting him from the outset.

‘I, er . . .’ Wiping a hand over her forehead, wifey kept her back towards him and her eyes fixed on the sink. ‘. . . don’t have anything.’

She waited.

Charlie smiled languidly. ‘Actually, I think you do,’ he said, reaching to trail a finger the length of her spine. ‘Something real sweet. And I think I’m just about ready for it. I bet you are as well, aren’t you, darlin’? Him being queer?’

Pausing, Charlie glanced interestedly sideways. As he’d predicted, Daniel was up on his feet, hurtling towards him, and almost falling over Shawn’s arm in the process, who was quick to intervene.

‘Sit! If you know what’s good for you, Danny boy.’ Charlie raised the gun to the side of Jo’s neck. That stopped the bugger dead in his tracks. ‘And stay, until I tell you to do otherwise.’

‘Bloody hell.’ Shawn scrambled to his feet, placing himself bodily between Charlie and Daniel. ‘Pack it in, Charlie,’ he growled over his shoulder, and then glanced back to Daniel.

Who was looking a bit pale, Charlie noted. And his eyes . . . Man, they were like thunder. Wound him up good and proper this time. ‘Whatsamatter, Danny?’ he taunted. ‘You getting all jealous?’

‘Charlie!’ Shawn shouted, watching Daniel steadily. ‘Bloody well leave it out! It ain’t funny.’

‘I ain’t laughing,’ Charlie assured him, looking past Shawn to Daniel, who’d taken absolutely no notice of his instruction to sit. Charlie hadn’t thought he would. Didn’t matter much. He’d get to him in good time.

Meanwhile . . . Charlie turned his attention back to the woman, tugged the knot from her hair and let it fall. Sexy that.

‘What do you fancy then, darlin’?’ Charlie asked, hooking Jo’s hair over her ear to tickle her lobe with his tongue. ‘Something hot, hmm?’

Jo stood stone still, her hands gripping the rim of the sink.

‘Later, sweetheart,’ Charlie said, moving his attention to the back of her neck. ‘You see . . .’ He glanced at Daniel and then sidestepped. ‘. . . I’ve got someone more pressing to attend to, haven’t I, darlin’, hey?’

Kayla stepped back, but Charlie was faster. Grabbing hold of her wrist, he twisted it cruelly, pushing her hard against the hull on the opposite side.

‘Mum! Get off me!’ Kayla cried and struggled.

‘Shut it,’ Charlie snarled, his hand tight against her throat, almost forcing her off her feet.

‘Stop it!’ Jo screamed. ‘Leave her alone!’

‘Stay!’ Charlie waved the gun with his free hand. ‘And you . . .’ He warned Daniel, who was now being physically held back by Shawn. ‘. . . don’t even think about it.’

‘Leave her alone, you sick bastard!’ Jo flew at Charlie, careless of the gun. ‘Get your filthy hands off her.’

Charlie tightened his grip. ‘I’ll break her scrawny neck, if you come one step closer, sweetheart. Now back off!’

‘Get away from her! Daniel!’ Jo looked desperately over her shoulder. ‘Do something! For God’s sake . . . !’

* * *

‘Don’t, Danny!’ Charlie warned as Daniel tried again to get past Shawn. ‘Or she dies, and you watch. And then you won’t have any kids left to screw up, will you?’

‘Sweet fucking Jesus.’ Daniel raked his hands through his hair. He looked back at the sick bastard hiding behind his gun, trailing his disgusting hands over Kayla. To Jo, who was begging him to do something . . . and he could do nothing.

‘Don’t you fucking touch her!’ Daniel’s head swam, his chest heaved.

‘And who’s gonna stop me?’ Charlie drawled, releasing his grip and dragging Kayla in front of him. ‘You?’ He pointed the gun past her. ‘What you gonna do then, Danny boy? Go tell your daddy? Oh man, that’s rich. Danny boy, macho protector of women, and he can’t even tell his old man to get stuffed.’

Oh, Jesus. Daniel’s stomach twisted violently inside him. He’d heard. Heard every word he’d said to Jo. He knew. He looked back to Charlie, noted the supremely satisfied smile, the merciless mocking eyes and knew that he knew the bastard was going to use every sordid detail of what he’d heard as ammunition against him.

‘Really are the jealous sort, ain’t you, Danny, hey? Of me giving her one I wonder, or because I ain’t giving you one?’ Sneering, Charlie looked Daniel derisorily over. ‘Maybe I should. Darling daughter here could watch, see what a weak pathetic specimen you are. And then I’ll fuck her afterwards . . . nice and slow. What d’y’think, Danny boy, hey?’

Bastard. His heartbeat a steady thrum in the base of his neck, Daniel wiped a forearm across his mouth.

‘Nah. I think I’ll do her first.’ Charlie looked back to Kayla, slowly appraising her. ‘Don’t want to keep the lady waiting, do we, Danny, hey? Not that she is much of a lady.’

Enough. Daniel stepped forwards.

Shawn blocked him. ‘Don’t,’ he said, locking eyes with Daniel’s. ‘It’s what he wants.’

‘What she wants, too, isn’t it, darlin’?’ Charlie said to Kayla, behind them. ‘Go on, tell them, sweetheart. How you was gaggin’ for it back at the flat. Don’t be shy.’

‘Daddy,’ Kayla whimpered.

‘You’re right, you know,’ Charlie said, his hand under Kayla’s chin, his cheek pressed close to hers, ‘your old man is a real pain. Still not to worry, he won’t be troubling us now, will you, Danny boy?’

‘Oh Jesus . . .’ Daniel ran his hand across his neck, as Charlie dragged Kayla back a step towards the corridor. ‘No!’ He launched himself forwards, but Shawn’s huge bulk barred his way.

‘Back off, mate,’ Shawn warned shakily, his face as pale as Daniel’s. ‘I ain’t letting you do this.’

‘Get out of my way,’ Daniel grated, white-hot rage coursing through him.

‘No!’ Shawn gripped Daniel’s shoulders. ‘I told you, this is exactly what he wants. Pack it up, Charlie! That’s enough!’ he shouted, his eyes not leaving Daniel’s. ‘This bloke’s ready to take a bullet, and I want no part of it!’

‘Oh man,’ Charlie said with a sigh, ‘what are you, his bodyguard all of a sudden? He’s not going to take any bullet, not if he wants to see to it they stay alive. And you’re not about to do anything silly either, are you, darlin’?’

He glanced at Jo, and then slid eyes full of innuendo toward Kayla.

‘Shift yourself,’ Charlie instructed. ‘Up there with hubby. And don’t worry. You’ll get your turn.’

‘Daniel . . . please,’ Jo sobbed, looking towards Daniel.

Shawn half-turned, catching Jo’s arm and pulling her past him to where she’d be safe. ‘Don’t do it, Charlie,’ he almost begged.

‘Here.’ Charlie tossed Shawn the gun and plucked a knife from the drainer. ‘Make sure he stays put. We might be some time,’ he said, winking at Daniel as he backed along the corridor to kick the main bedroom door open.

‘Dear God, no . . .’ Jo sank to the floor and Daniel’s heart exploded inside him.

‘No way! Move!’ he seethed as Shawn spun back around to face him.

‘He won’t hurt her,’ he tried to reassure him. ‘But he’ll bloody hurt you, if you try anything.’

Daniel looked through him. ‘Move,’ he repeated, his tone dangerously quiet.

‘Are you hearing me?’ Shawn asked as Daniel came towards him. ‘You’re walking right into . . . Back off.’ He pointed the gun shakily as Daniel continued to advance. ‘You won’t be any good to her if he—’

‘Get out of my way.’ Daniel kept coming.

Shawn stepped back, raised the gun, looked squarely at Daniel, and then lowered it. ‘This is bloody insane.’ He dropped his gaze. ‘I can’t.’

Daniel was on him in one stride, slamming his fist hard into Shawn’s jaw.

Shawn staggered back, but didn’t go down. He righted himself swiftly, then, the gun sideways on and full bodyweight behind it, he charged forwards, pinning Daniel hard against the hull of the boat.

Daniel’s breath came in short, sharp gasps. Shawn’s was heavy with exertion. ‘He’ll do you permanent damage if you go in there.’ He locked the gun hard across Daniel’s shoulders. ‘Don’t you realise?’

Shawn searched Daniel’s eyes. ‘You don’t care, do you?’ He narrowed his own.

Daniel held his gaze.

Shawn shook his head after a second, and then stood aside.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Waiting agitatedly for backup, Matthew reached for his inhaler, taking two sharp hits as he and Jamie waited in the lane out of sight of the boatyard.

All had become abundantly clear, thanks to Hannah. He checked his rear-view mirror, half expecting to see her blonde head bob into view, despite Jamie having escorted her personally to her front door. Silently cursing his inability to do anything but sit tight and wait, he flicked again to the CCTV stills taken from Strobes that had been sent to him on his mobile. They confirmed that Daniel Conner had been there, searching for his daughter in the same nightclub Charlie Roberts had been seen spoon-feeding an underage girl drugs in.

Waiting for the wheeze in his chest to abate, he massaged his temples and tried to get into Charlie’s mindset. Daniel Conner had sold the boatyard, according to Hannah. Charlie finds out how much for from his daughter and his eyes flash up pound signs. With or without a pressing drugs debt, the evil parasite would have gone for it, like a fly to dog faeces. Charlie Roberts wasn’t the sort to sell his granny. He’d put her on the streets to earn him a nice steady income and drop a few drugs while she was at it. Nigh on a million quid, he would kill for, Matthew was sure of it. Whether or not it was money on paper only probably wouldn’t even occur to him.

‘Where is that bloody backup?’ he muttered, now hard pushed to hide his frustration.

‘On its way,’ Jamie assured him.

‘What? On foot?’ Shaking his head despairingly, Matthew checked another incoming text to find Steve was also on his way: Sleep’s overrated. On my way.

Matthew blew out a sigh of relief, glad he’d have at least two officers behind him if there was any sign of action from within the boatyard, in which case sitting here with his hands tied by red tape might not be an option.

Growing more apprehensive with each passing second, Matthew glanced at his watch as if it might tell him a different time to the one on the dash. Fifteen bloody minutes they’d waited, while Roberts might well be inside, putting the girl and her parents through what kind of hell?

The kind of hell Joanne and Daniel Conner had already had a glimpse of, Matthew was well aware. His loathing for Roberts multiplied tenfold. He glanced towards the boatyard. The bastard probably wasn’t holed up there in reality. Intelligent, the piece of scum wasn’t. Clever, though, in the way his kind of criminal subspecies were, Roberts most definitely was. He was unlikely to have made himself a sitting target. Any leads as to where he might be, however, might well be inside the house. For the family’s sake they couldn’t risk going in without armed backup unless forced to. Any backup would be good.

‘We have company. Car approaching behind,’ Jamie said, nodding towards the rear-view mirror and simultaneously reaching for her door handle.

‘Hold on,’ Matthew said, noting it wasn’t a squad car, but a taxi. ‘Let it pass,’ he suggested. ‘See if we can get eyes on the passengers.’

‘One,’ Jamie informed him, as the vehicle pulled around them. ‘Male Caucasian. Early forties at a guess. Taxi firm . . . Blue Door.’

Matthew nodded. ‘We go if it stops at the boatyard entrance,’ he said.

Jamie nodded in turn, and then looked somewhat deflated as the taxi did in fact slow, but then drove on to take a left further down the lane.

‘So what was that all about?’ Jamie asked, suspicious, as was Matthew.

‘No idea. Can you put a call in to try and get an ID on the fare, Jamie?’ he asked her.

Jamie was doing as instructed, when the taxi reappeared, driving past in the other direction . . . minus its passenger.

‘So where’s it dropped him?’ Jamie glanced perplexedly at Matthew.

Good question. Matthew looked around. There were no other houses in the vicinity, no shops, no pubs. If the passenger had been resident on a boat, why drive past the yard?

‘No idea there either, but I think we should find out.’ Matthew started the engine and headed off in the direction the taxi had turned. Taking the same left turn, he drove only a few yards before passing a man fitting the description standing at the entrance to a field, wherein a Saab was parked askew.

Now definitely curious, Matthew pulled up and slipped out of his car. He was mildly surprised to find the guy was talking to himself.

‘Slight damage?’ The man slapped his forehead and stared hard at what appeared to be a nasty dent in the car’s bumper. ‘Daniel-bloody-Conner, bloody wanker,’ the guy muttered, walking towards the vehicle to retrieve the keys from the tyre at the front.

Turning back, he jumped, literally, when he found Matthew and Jamie standing behind him.

‘Shit!’ The man eyed them warily. ‘You nearly gave me a heart attack.’

Matthew looked him over, trying to reserve judgement, though the guy was clearly a boozer, Matthew could smell it on him. And possibly not a very pleasant piece of work, if the attitude was any indication.

‘Problem?’ Matthew enquired.

‘Not half as big a problem as Daniel Conner’s going to have when I get hold of him,’ the guy growled.

‘Oh? And this would be why?’ Matthew reached for his identity card.

Definitely wary now, the guy looked at the card, back to Matthew and Jamie, and then apprehensively past them.

Following his gaze, Matthew breathed a sigh of relief as he noted three squad cars — coming in dark, as instructed — slowing to a halt in the lane.

‘Wait,’ he told the baffled looking guy, and turned to signal one of the officers driving.

‘So,’ he turned his attention back to the man, as several officers spilled out of the squad cars. ‘Would you like to explain what your gripe with Daniel Conner is exactly, Mr . . . ?’

‘Clarkson. John Clarkson,’ the man supplied, his eyes boggling at the sight of armed police heading towards him. ‘Bugger’s damaged my car, hasn’t he? Practically written it off. And then he dumps it in the middle of a field.’

Matthew narrowed his eyes. ‘And you knew where to find it how?’

‘He sent me a text this morning to tell me where it is, but I only saw it an hour ago. No mention of the sodding damage.’

Clarkson turned to survey the car, his eyes brimming. ‘That’s just not nice, is it?’ He turned back to Matthew. ‘Not when I lent it to him in good—’

‘So you lent the car to Daniel Conner?’ Matthew cut in.

‘That’s right. He promised faithfully he’d—’

‘When?’

‘Last night.’ Taken aback by his sharp tone, the guy looked Matthew over curiously. ‘He came hammering on my door. Said his wife was in trouble. I’d have driven him but—’

‘She is,’ Matthew said tightly. ‘We’ll need the keys, please.’

‘Now, Mr Clarkson,’ Jamie urged him, extending her hand as the man gawped at them.

Christ. Matthew drew in a terse breath. Now the pieces were beginning to fall into place. Daniel and Joanne Conner had split up, according to Hannah. Matthew was guessing that Roberts had therefore had to lure Daniel back, torturing the man with threats to his wife and child, and then no doubt torturing him some more. No way was Charlie Roberts going to sit quietly twiddling his thumbs until he got his hands on whatever hard-earned cash Daniel Conner had got.

‘But I have to get her to the garage,’ Clarkson said passionately as he handed the keys over.

‘The car stays.’ Matthew walked towards it.

‘And you’re well over the limit anyway,’ Jamie informed the man. ‘Probably better to call your taxi back.’

John opened his mouth to protest, and then clamped it shut fast. ‘Blimey,’ he gasped, following Jamie’s gaze towards Matthew, who was now examining a distinct handprint on the driver’s side wing.

It was definitely blood. Matthew felt his own blood run cold. And not Charlie’s, he’d bet. Crouching down, he checked the tyre the keys had been left on. More blood, he noted. Shit!

Daniel Conner’s?

Who was most likely to have been forced to move the car, while Roberts was still inside the house with his wife and daughter, which would explain why Daniel had been in a hurry to park it. Matthew felt his gut twist. For all his theorising, he was still no nearer to knowing where Roberts was.

‘Fuck!’ he cursed out loud and got to his feet. He had to find him.

* * *

‘Anything?’ Matthew glanced hopefully at one of the officers returning from his reconnaissance of the property.

The officer shook his head. ‘Nothing, sir. Sorry.’

‘Right.’ Matthew nodded tersely. ‘Call it in. And tell them we need more men on standby.’

‘Sir.’

Christ. Matthew sighed heavily. Davies had put people on it, but they simply didn’t have time for painstaking information gathering about Daniel that might lead them to where Roberts was holding them. Close to a bank, possibly, Matthew pondered, assuming Daniel would have to physically present himself? In which case, would that be where this sick scenario would end, along with the lives of his captives?

God, Matthew hoped not. Hoped fervently that two-thirds of the family weren’t already out of the picture, Daniel Conner being strung along by a promise until Roberts had his hands on the money. With or without drug-induced mood swings, Charlie Roberts was unstable. It was only a matter of time before he did something he couldn’t hope to get away with.

* * *

‘Ah, Daniel, we were expecting you, weren’t we, sweetheart?’ Charlie smiled a slow satisfied smile, and twisted Kayla’s hair tighter around his hand.

‘What, Danny?’ Charlie sneered, as Daniel took in the scene before him. ‘Did you think you’d charge in here like something out of Lethal Weapon to find me raping your daughter? Not likely really, was it? Have to be a bit dense, wouldn’t I, to have my arse in the air, defenceless, with a faggot around.’

Charlie wrenched Kayla’s head back. Her hands went to his forearm, instinctively trying to relieve the pressure against her throat. ‘Because that’s what you are, isn’t it, Danny boy?’ Charlie went on, mockingly. ‘A child-murderer — and a faggot?’

Daniel didn’t move a muscle. He didn’t dare. He kept his eyes fixed on the sharp, cold metal pressed against Kayla’s throat, which could end her life in an instant if he made a wrong move.

‘Aren’t you?’ Charlie persisted, his tone more taunting by the second.

Daniel shook his head, desperately trying to think of a way to make the bastard let her go.

‘Wrong answer.’ Charlie pressed the knife closer.

‘Yes!’ Daniel shouted, panic surging him forwards.

‘Stay!’ Charlie spat.

Daniel forced himself to stand still. Forced himself to give the sick bastard the answer he needed. ‘Yes,’ he repeated, his tone subdued. ‘Whatever you say. Just stop.’ He swallowed back a salty taste in his mouth, and begged. ‘Please . . . just let her go.’

‘And do you think I’m dense, Daniel?’

‘Oh, Jesus, fucking . . .’ Daniel dragged his hands over his face. He wasn’t going to stop. The sadistic piece of scum was enjoying every second of it. This wasn’t just drugs. The man really was out of his mind. Daniel studied his twisted face, his cold taunting eyes.

He was terrified.

And Charlie knew it.

‘I asked you a question,’ Charlie said slowly. ‘Do you think I’m stupid, is what I asked, Danny?’

‘No,’ Daniel answered, dropping his gaze. Sick, but not stupid. In the psychological warfare this nightmare had become, Charlie was winning, hands down.

‘Then why do you insist on trying to undermine me, Daniel? Hmm?’

Daniel stared at him blankly. ‘What?’ he asked, disbelieving. ‘Undermine you how? I don’t—’

‘Don’t try to deny it,’ Charlie seethed. ‘I know very well the fucking bank didn’t ring back. There was no battery in the phone, was there?’

He glared at Daniel, who struggled for something to say. Anything. Jesus . . . Don’t let him do this. Please don’t let him do this.

‘You lied to me, Danny, which tells me you do think I’m stupid, don’t you?’

‘No! For Christ’s sake, just let her go!’

‘I can see the way you look at me, like I’m too thick to work it out. Like I’m a piece of shit you just stepped in. And her . . .’ He nodded beyond the door. ‘. . . precious little wifey, with her cat’s eyes. And your tart of a daughter.’ He twisted Kayla’s hair until he forced a cry from her mouth. ‘You even let them talk to me like I’m nothing.’

Charlie rambled on, every sentence he uttered sounding more and more insane, and Daniel grew more terrified by the second. What if he forgot he was holding the knife? One slip of his hand. One animated gesture and . . .

The small space around him heaved inwards. Daniel felt himself sway on his feet. Cold sweat tickled his spine, saturated his brow, but he didn’t dare move to wipe it away.

‘And I told you not to!’ Charlie’s voice permeated his panic. ‘But even with a gun pointed at you, you keep pushing your luck. So you obviously do think I’m stupid, don’t you?’

‘No, I . . .’ Daniel stammered, confused. ‘Yes . . .’ Christ, what was the right answer? Fear clutched at his insides.

‘Oh man, zip it.’ Charlie sighed. ‘And get down on your knees.’

‘Do . . . What?’ Daniel felt his stomach turn over. On his knees . . . why?

‘Leave it, Charlie,’ Shawn said, stepping into the room, Joanne close behind him. ‘You’ve had your fun. They’ve got the message. Now leave it out.’

Charlie threw him a murderous glance. ‘Do not tell me what to do, Shawn. I’ll leave it when I’m good and ready. And when I’ve taught that stubborn son-of-a-bitch a lesson.’

The knife still at her throat, Charlie pulled Kayla closer. ‘Now sit her down,’ he nodded at Jo, ‘and get him down on his knees.’

‘Shit, he’s lost it,’ Shawn muttered, half under his breath. He gestured Jo, who hardly dared to breathe, towards the bed, then walked around to Daniel’s side, shaking his head. ‘You’d better do as he says,’ he said, turning embarrassed eyes away from him.

Daniel’s shoulder stiffened as Shawn placed a hand on it. He looked from Shawn’s uncomfortable scowl, to Charlie’s inane smirk, to Jo, who was petrified, to Kayla, who was watching Daniel steadily, the terror in her eyes palpable. To resist could be to kill her. Daniel got down.

‘Good.’ Charlie nodded. ‘Thought you’d put up a bit more of a fight, though, Danny boy, I have to admit. Wasn’t quite sure what I’d have done then, with my hands full of your daughter. Now then, what to do with you? What do you think, sweetheart?’ Charlie asked, close to Kayla’s ear. ‘Shall we make him beg? Plead for your life?’

Charlie glanced back to Daniel. ‘No,’ he said, after a moment. ‘That would be letting you off too easily. Quite frankly, Danny boy, you’ve annoyed me. So before I do make you grovel, for her and for wifey, and then for your miserable self . . .’

Charlie paused, taking his time, getting his kicks.

‘. . . I’m going to have Shawn here hurt you.’

Daniel tensed. Panic knotted his stomach. He made sure not to look at Jo or Kayla for fear they might see his fear.

‘He owes you one after all, Daniel. An eye for an eye . . . Or in this case, a split lip. Return the compliment, Shawn.’

‘What?’

‘I said, return . . . the . . . compliment,’ Charlie said, extremely slowly. ‘Hit him back for fuck’s sake,’ he snapped, when Shawn still didn’t appear to be getting the drift.

Shawn gathered himself, finally. ‘No way,’ he said, tugging up his round shoulders in defiance. ‘I ain’t throwing punches at a bloke on his knees. No way, Charlie.’

‘I ain’t asking you to throw punches, Shawn, or sodding kiss him. You have the gun. Use it. Left-hand side, chest level. Or I’ll use it on you. Got it?’

Daniel flinched. A grin split Charlie’s face. ‘Thought I didn’t know, didn’t you, Danny boy? Nobody gets one past Charlie, sunshine. You should’ve realised that by now.’

Daniel eyed him contemptuously.

Charlie held his gaze. ‘Humiliating isn’t it, Daniel, to be looked down on? Do it, Shawn,’ he instructed.

‘Uh-uh, no freakin’ way.’ Shawn backed off.

‘It wouldn’t be very sensible,’ Jo said, finding her voice and sounding quite calm. ‘He’s had fractured ribs. You know that. He fractured them in the accident and then again working in the yard. You’ve very probably broken them for a third time,’ she went on as Charlie stared at her, his look one of mild irritation.

‘So?’

‘So he’s been coughing blood.’ She looked at Charlie. ‘And if he does as you say, one of those broken ribs might pierce his lung, and then he won’t be in any fit state to drive the boat, make phone calls or withdraw money, will he?’

Charlie narrowed his eyes and scrutinised her. Jo physically trembled, yet refused to look away.

Charlie did look away, eventually, not saying a word.

‘Over here.’ He motioned Shawn.

‘The gun,’ he said, when Shawn lumbered over, casting a worried glance at Daniel as he did so.

Charlie lowered the knife slowly, his eyes fixed on Daniel, and his other hand still tight in Kayla’s hair. Once he had a firm grip on the gun, he let her go, shoving her hard to one side. ‘Watch them,’ he commanded, handing Shawn the knife as Jo gathered her sobbing daughter into her arms.

Daniel closed his eyes, visibly bracing himself as Charlie loomed over him.

* * *

Charlie looked down at Daniel.

He would prefer the stubborn sod looked up at him, but he just wasn’t going to, was he? He glanced coolly back at Jo. She’d a fair point, he supposed, and an attitude that needed altering.

‘I won’t break any more ribs, darlin’.’ He smiled, walking casually around Daniel. ‘Not yet.’ He brought the gun down heavily across Daniel’s shoulders, and again across the back of his neck, because Daniel just refused to go down until he did.

Kayla screamed as Charlie straightened up, satisfied when the second blow sent Daniel sprawling. Still not down though. On all fours, panting for air, but not down. It would have to do.

‘You see, it’s his spirit I want to break,’ Charlie snarled. ‘Now, if you’d rather not see Daddy begging . . .’ He glared at Kayla. ‘. . . I suggest you go to the other end of the boat and keep it zipped.’ He dismissed her with a disdainful glance.

‘And you.’ He clutched the back of Daniel’s shirt. ‘Get the fuck up.’

* * *

Nobody could call him heartless, Charlie decided. He’d allowed Danny boy the luxury of sitting on the floor rather than kneeling, which couldn’t be anything but considerate. He waited patiently while Daniel got his breath back and tried to straighten his stubborn shoulders.

Oh man, Charlie’s eyes boggled as Daniel coughed and clutched his side. He was spitting blood. Have to heed wifey’s warning, he realised. Go easy with the old body blows. Didn’t want him to croak it before he’d popped to the bank.

He’d give him a few more minutes, Charlie thought generously.

Time enough, he thought two minutes later. If Daniel was with it enough to look at his wife and straighten up for her benefit, he was with it enough to be listening.

‘Now, Danny boy.’ Charlie paced slowly in front of him. ‘You have to learn to be better behaved, don’t you? Make phone calls when I tell you. Do everything I tell you.’ He stopped to finish rolling his spliff — and to give Daniel time to answer.

‘Didn’t quite catch that?’ Charlie said when Daniel didn’t.

Daniel nodded.

‘Good.’ Charlie smiled. ‘And you realise it’s for your own good?’ He paused to light up. ‘And hers.’ He exhaled in Jo’s direction and tried to ignore her snivelling, which was getting on his nerves. ‘Don’t you?’

Daniel didn’t move.

‘Didn’t hear you, Daniel.’ Charlie squatted to lift Daniel’s chin.

‘Yes,’ Daniel said quietly, his voice hoarse, his eyes devoid of emotion.

Unbelievable, thought Charlie. Still he looks at me like shit. ‘Inject him.’ He stood abruptly.

‘What?’ Shawn asked, astonished.

‘Oh man, will you stop saying what? I said inject him, and you . . .’ He turned to Jo. ‘. . . shut up, or it’ll be the worse for your hubby. Got it?’

Shawn appeared to be struggling with his decision. ‘Bloody ’ell, we can’t do that, Charlie. You don’t go around forcing people to shoot up if they don’t want to.’

‘No?’ Charlie eyeballed him. ‘Well, we’ll keep him awake then, and subdue him some other way. Fetch the gear, Shawn, and stop giving me grief, okay?’

Shawn looked at Jo.

Jo looked at him, horrified.

‘It’ll be better for him.’ Shawn looked away, shrugged uselessly and went to do as instructed.

* * *

Charlie stood a fair way back from Daniel, who sat quietly. ‘Now, while Shawn’s warming your medicine, and just to show you how stupid I’m not, Danny, I’ll fill you in, shall I?’

Charlie waited.

‘You’re not answering me, Daniel.’

Daniel shrugged, then, rapidly realising that that might be deemed a wrong answer, nodded. Provoking the bastard wasn’t a good idea when he was about to be pumped full of drugs, leaving Jo and Kayla . . . to what?

Jesus, how had he let it come to this? Daniel swallowed hard, rested his head in his hands, and waited, more scared than he’d ever been in his life, and totally powerless.

‘That’s better,’ Charlie said, seemingly content. ‘I’ll continue then, shall I? You see, my intention wasn’t to have your daughter . . .’

He waited for Daniel to respond.

Daniel didn’t.

‘. . . not just yet.’ Charlie examined his nails.

Daniel wiped a hand across his mouth.

Charlie took a long draw on his spliff, and then went on. ‘She’s going to keep me warm tonight, you see, Daniel, while you’re flying so high you won’t give a toss.’

Daniel tried to keep his face impassive. He knew Charlie wanted a reaction from him.

‘Oh man, if looks could kill . . .’ Charlie laughed. ‘Danny boy, you should see your face.’

Charlie took another slow draw on his spliff. ‘In fact . . .’ He exhaled. ‘. . . I quite fancy a threesome.’

Daniel locked smouldering eyes on his. ‘Bastard,’ he grated, attempting to lever himself to his feet.

‘Tut, tut.’ Charlie turned the gun rapidly towards Jo. ‘Sticks and stones, Daniel. Names can’t hurt me.’ He smiled. ‘But I’ll hurt her.’

Daniel sank back to the floor, and slammed his head back, hard. ‘Bastard!’

‘We’ve established that, Daniel.’ Charlie smirked coldly. ‘And you’ve just demonstrated my point admirably, haven’t you? You just won’t do as you’re told. So you have to learn a little humility, to be a bit more submissive, Daniel. Get my drift?’

‘Christ!’ Daniel raked his hand through his hair. How much more? How much more was he supposed to take?

‘Obviously, you don’t.’ Charlie tossed his joint aside. ‘So I’ll spell it out for you, shall I? I’m going to soothe you to sleep, Danny boy. Just like daddy did.’ Charlie smiled nastily. ‘Now, have you got it?’

He motioned Shawn who stood, apparently dumbstruck, with a syringe and a rope. ‘Hope that’s good stuff, Shawn. He is paying for it, after all.’

Charlie winked at Daniel. ‘Sweet dreams, sunshine.’

Chapter Twenty-Five

‘Force it,’ Matthew instructed the officers standing ready to gain entry to the house.

‘Going to need a fair bit of forcing that,’ said a familiar voice behind him.

Matthew turned, relieved, to see Steve walking up the drive.

‘All right, boss?’ Steve smiled, still looking bleary-eyed and exhausted.

‘Never better,’ Matthew said, half-heartedly. ‘I thought I told you to catch up on your beauty sleep.’

‘Can’t improve on perfection, can you?’ Steve quipped. ‘I thought Daniel Conner might need all the help he can get. Looks like I was right. You might do better to use brains instead of brawn,’ he suggested, eyeing up the front door.

Matthew glanced at him, puzzled.

‘Shift over,’ Steve instructed him, removing his jacket and wrapping it around his hand.

‘Why don’t you use the key?’ a female voice piped up, as he was poised to punch out a low pane of glass.

Closing his eyes, Matthew sighed resignedly and turned around.

‘I see you drafted someone in in my absence,’ Steve observed drolly, also turning to size up the owner of the voice.

‘Well, she’s certainly easier on the eye,’ Jamie couldn’t resist commenting. Steve’s answer to which was a flat smile.

Shit, Matthew cursed silently. Who the bloody hell let her slip by? ‘What key would that be, Hannah?’ he asked, trying hard to remain patient.

‘This key,’ Hannah replied, shoving a ceramic tub to one side. From under which she retrieved the key and plopped it into Matthew’s hand.

Diligent detective work inspector, Matthew congratulated himself. ‘Thank you.’ He offered her a smile, and attempted to hide his annoyance that a young girl had been allowed access to a possible crime scene. ‘Now, for pity’s sake, will you please go home and stay there.’

Matthew glanced apologetically towards Jamie, who, being a female police officer, would now be tasked with escorting the girl home once again, and then sighed heavily as Hannah looked close to tears. Obviously he hadn’t hidden his annoyance very well. ‘Hannah, this is a dangerous place to be,’ he tried, moderating his tone. ‘Very dangerous. If your parents knew you were here you’d be in big trouble, wouldn’t you?’

‘Parent,’ Hannah corrected him. ‘My dad doesn’t much care what I do.’

Oh, nice going, DI Plod. Despairing of himself, Matthew tried another tactic. ‘Hannah, if you don’t go home, I’ll be in big trouble. Please give me a break and—’

‘Go,’ Hannah finished.

‘Yes.’ Matthew smiled tightly. ‘Please.’

‘No worries. You only needed to ask.’ Hannah shrugged and turned away.

Shaking his head, Matthew watched her trail towards the gate, a pretty, chippy, young woman on the outside but just an insecure child on the inside. What was it with some fathers? He could never be disinterested in his kids’ activities. But then, he hadn’t been the best father either, had he? His thoughts shot immediately to Lily, his firstborn beautiful little girl, her wide blue eyes, once crystal clear with the innocence of childhood, filled with confusion and pain as her life had ebbed away. To Mia, who might also have died, if not for Steve, Becky and Ashley, his colleagues, doing what he needed to do now. He needed to save Daniel Conner’s family. Matthew swallowed a hard knot in his throat. Somehow, God giving him some kind of guidance because he had nothing else, he had to.

‘Don’t dwell on it,’ Steve advised astutely, watching him in that way he did sometimes, usually when Matthew found his memories creeping back to haunt him. ‘She’ll be all right. She’s a tough nut that one.’

She’d have to be to come through this unscathed if he didn’t find them, Matthew thought, his chest heavy as he turned back to the door.

Despatching officers upstairs to note absence of suitcases amongst anything else that might be of use, Matthew headed towards the kitchen. There might be DNA evidence there to be collected proving Roberts had been in the property, though that would be of little use to him in regard to locating the bastard now.

‘Too much to hope there’ll be anything useful in the post, I suppose,’ Steve said behind him, bending to retrieve a wad of envelopes from the doormat.

‘On the other hand . . . Bingo!’ he called as Matthew, his heart sinking further, surveyed the remnants of what had presumably been the Conner family’s last breakfast. It looked like something off the Mary Celeste, as if the family that lived here had simply stopped being. Dear God, Matthew hoped not.

‘A bank envelope,’ Steve said, waggling it in Matthew’s direction as he came back into the hall.

A statement by any small miracle? Matthew didn’t dare hope, given miracles for Daniel Conner had obviously been in short supply lately. Not letting private and personal stand in the way of police work, he took the envelope and tore it open, then offered up a prayer of gratitude to the ceiling.

‘Mortgage statement,’ he elucidated, giving Steve a ghost of a smile.

‘Still there, sir,’ a uniform reported, descending the stairs as he studied it.

‘What’s still there?’ Steve asked as Matthew digested the contents of the statement, which clearly showed the mortgage redeemed, therefore no million pounds available.

Did Charlie Roberts know that? There was still a fair whack left over — in an account at the same bank. However much it was, Roberts would be aiming to get his hands on it, Matthew had no doubt about that. Presumably, Daniel would have to have given instructions for the funds to be released, which might mean that Roberts, plus hostages, would be lying low somewhere between Thrupp and Oxford. That narrowed it down a bit. Matthew’s gut twisted at the thought of what those hostages might be going through. What Roberts, despicable unfeeling little shit that he was, might be doing to amuse himself while he passed the time.

‘The suitcases, sir,’ the officer supplied. ‘They’re still there, where the girl . . .’ He nodded past Steve to the front door. ‘. . . said they’d be.’

‘Right, cheers,’ Matthew said, glancing up. And then doing a double take as he met the gaze of a sheepish looking, and clearly still here, Hannah.

‘Like I said, a tough nut that one,’ Steve observed, looking her over with a wry smile.

‘For Christ’s sake!’ Matthew stared at her disbelieving. ‘Jamie, I thought I told you to take her home. Will you please just—’

‘I think you should listen to her, sir. She has a hunch,’ Jamie Collins interrupted him.

‘A hunch,’ Matthew repeated, shaking his head bemusedly.

‘There’s a boat out,’ Hannah stated. ‘Water Lily. It wasn’t out before, because Kayla and I got ready on it, but it’s out now.’

‘It’s a boatyard, Hannah,’ Matthew pointed out. ‘Boats generally go out of boatyards. Unless . . .’ He stopped, realisation dawning.

‘. . . the boatyard’s closed,’ Hannah finished triumphantly.

At which, Matthew dispensed with protocol, to his audience’s amusement, and stepped forwards to cup Hannah’s face in his hands and plant a kiss firmly on top of her head. ‘Thank you.’ He smiled appreciatively.

‘Now, Jamie, take her home. Your mother will be frantic, Hannah.’

They were halfway down the drive when something occurred to Matthew. ‘Hannah, wait,’ he called. ‘Which way to Oxford via the canal?’

‘That way.’ Hannah pointed. ‘But it’ll take you an awful long time on foot.’

Dammit, she was right. They’d probably be well along the route by now. So what was he going to do? He could hardly drive along the towpath and he doubted air surveillance would have been despatched yet.

‘They have bikes,’ Hannah suggested as he debated. ‘Kayla and her mum and dad.’

Bikes? Matthew thought about it, and it actually made sense.

‘Where?’ Steve asked, bending to tuck his trouser leg in his sock and clearly unperturbed by the mode of transport on offer.

‘In the garage. Where else?’ Hannah looked at him askew. ‘The keys are hanging in the kitchen,’ she added as Matthew and Steve turned to head in that direction.

Matthew did an about turn. ‘Thank you, Hannah.’ He gave her another appreciative smile. ‘You’ll make some lucky policeperson a wonderful partner one day. Now—’

‘Go home.’ Hannah sighed and turned reluctantly, yet again, towards home.

* * *

‘No choice, mate,’ Shawn told Daniel as he tightened the tourniquet. ‘If I don’t do it, he will.’

Daniel flinched as he pushed the syringe home.

‘Hold still,’ Shawn said, keeping eye contact with him. ‘I know what I’m doing.’

Daniel looked hard at him, daring to hope that Shawn might be his only last hope. He kept looking at him. Then cocked his head to one side as the drugs he’d pumped into him coursed through his veins, red hot. Flowing. White hot. Lava, inside his mind.

Christ, he couldn’t cope with this. Couldn’t . . .

Daniel tried to draw breath. It hurt. Nausea swept through him. His stomach churned. His heart slammed against his chest.

Oh, Jesus. He reeled forwards. He was going to throw up. How? How could he throw up, if he couldn’t breathe?

Moaning, he dropped his head to his knees, and the floor tilted and slipped to one side. It’s folding up, Daniel thought blearily, as a wall leaned to meet it. The room was shutting up shop and going home. He couldn’t think straight.

Couldn’t think.

No! Daniel breathed deep, and a pain seared through his side. He started counting.

Tried to stop shaking, as a stair creaked beside him.

But . . . Daniel shook his head, blinking against the light, the naked bulb swinging on the landing. He blinked again, hard.

Tried to focus, but swayed to one side.

. . . How could the stairs creak, he wondered obliquely, when there weren’t any stairs? No bulb. No landing.

Crap! Daniel jolted. Then jolted again. He was falling. He jolted again. The floor shifted beneath him, faster this time, pulled itself from under him and stood on its side.

* * *

Shawn waited until Daniel’s eyes rolled. ‘Leave him alone now, Charlie. There’s no need for more,’ he said, trying to make sure Daniel fell on his good side, before getting to his feet.

Charlie watched, amused. Shawn had missed his vocation in life. Should have been a mother, he thought cynically. ‘You wouldn’t be telling me what to do, would—’

‘Yes!’ Shawn squared up to Charlie. ‘You touch him while he’s out over my dead body!’

Charlie laughed, though he was actually quite taken aback. Shawn bailing on him at this stage he didn’t need. ‘Oh man, lighten up,’ he said. ‘I’m not going to—’ Charlie stopped and glanced at Jo. ‘Outside,’ he said, motioning Shawn towards the door.

‘Shawn, use your brains, hey?’ He draped a chummy arm over Shawn’s shoulder, once they were out of earshot of wifey. ‘I’m not actually going to do anything . . . much. It’s what he thinks we’ve done. We have to have him at a psychological disadvantage, mate,’ Charlie went on, as Shawn looked at him warily. ‘That way, when Danny boy’s in the bank, knowing rather than wondering what we’re capable of, he’ll be making sure to dot all the i’s and cross all the t’s correctly, won’t he?’

* * *

‘Oh, God, just make it stop. Please!’ Jo pleaded as they came back into the room. Crouching beside him, she raked her hair from her face, wiped the sweat from Daniel’s.

Daniel stirred, lifting eyelids heavy with heroin. ‘I can’t do this, Jo,’ he said, barely audible, jerked, then let go a moan that seemed to come from his soul.

‘Out of my way.’ Charlie lashed out with his foot as he strode past.

She was getting under his feet and on his nerves.

‘I said, move! Now!’ he shouted, when Jo didn’t budge. Well annoyed, he was, with all of them, and Shawn in particular.

Acting like he was Danny boy’s guardian angel or something. Touch him, he’d said piously, and you’re on your own. Soft twat. Anyone would think he was intending to screw the bloke. Yeah, right. Mess with his mind, was all Charlie intended. But, for the sake of their friendship — and a cool million — he’d relented.

He’d just readjust his attire, he’d promised . . . maybe.

And still Shawn had got a strop on, spineless twit.

Charlie squatted beside Daniel, once Jo had moved. ‘How you doin’, Danny boy?’ he cooed. ‘Nice trip you havin’? Hey?’

Didn’t look as if he was having a very nice trip, actually. Shaking fit to bust something loose, the bloke was. Shame that. Charlie reckoned Danny could have used a bit of mellowing out, being so stressed, and all.

He didn’t demand an answer this time. Fairly, Charlie thought.

Daniel was hardly capable of giving one, after all.

‘Too hot, are we, sunshine?’ He ran a hand across Daniel’s forehead, trailed it slowly down his cheek, unfastened a button of his shirt, and the next, and then stopped to have a little look at the wife’s face.

Oh man, what a picture. Her cat’s eyes were about to pop right out of her head. Shocked she was, and he’d barely touched him.

‘Let’s see if we can’t cool you off a bit, hey, Daniel?’ He smirked at Jo, and then proceeded slowly through the rest of the buttons, laughing as Daniel tried to lift his head from the floor.

‘Come on, Daniel, don’t fight it.’ Charlie yanked the shirt open and ran the gun over his chest. ‘You know you want it.’

He laughed again as Daniel made a supreme effort to raise himself, and failed miserably. Charlie had been wrong. The bloke obviously wasn’t a user. Couldn’t handle it at all, poor sod, which really was a shame. Danny boy putting up a bit of a struggle might’ve been more interesting.

Still, the look in his eyes was enough. Wasn’t looking right through him anymore. Oh, no. He could see him all right. See exactly what he was doing.

He trailed the gun slowly over the flat of Daniel’s stomach.

Deliberately slowly, he followed the gun with his hand to let it rest lightly on his waistband.

‘Would you like your pretty little wife to watch, Danny boy?’ He grinned as Daniel’s eyes flickered open, swam hazily, and closed. ‘Or shall we ask her to leave, hey?’

‘Stop!’ Jo screamed, jumping up on her feet.

‘Sit!’ Charlie spat, whirling around.

‘Please.’ Jo took a hesitant step forwards. ‘He’s done everything you’ve asked. Please, leave him alone now.’

‘Pack it up!’ Shawn said from the doorway. ‘Lay off, Charlie. I mean it.’

Blimey, thought Charlie, what’s this? A conspiracy? He noticed the tight set of Shawn’s jaw and decided telling him to button it might not be prudent.

‘What?’ Charlie blinked in surprised innocence and held his hands in the air. ‘I haven’t touched him.’

‘Well, don’t.’ Shawn fixed him with a furious glare. ‘I’m warning you, Charlie. I’m out of here if you do.’

‘One more minute, and that’s it, I swear.’ Charlie did his best to look like a boy scout. ‘Just let me get him out of the shirt. Nothing else, honest.’ Dib bloody dib, he thought.

He leaned back over Daniel, making sure to hold his gaze.

* * *

Daniel watched from a faraway place, the psycho drifting in and out of his vision, undoing his shirt? The gun, not slamming down so hard he heard his bones crack this time.

Trailing instead.

Slow cold metal, caressing his skin, sliding over his stomach. Christ, he was going to throw up.

Instinctively, he heaved himself from the floor, swallowing back the nausea, trying to still the merry-go-round room. The troglodyte was behind the psycho now, mouthing something. And Jo? She’d come to the fair, too.

Daniel squinted. She didn’t like the music though. She’d clamped her hands over her mouth. Kayla was there, somewhere. Daniel could feel her. But where was . . . Oh, shit, no. He struggled to sitting, reached a hand to the wall and tried to stand up, but the floor tipped and tilted beneath him.

‘Can’t,’ he mumbled, and staggered, and the troglodyte caught him.

This wasn’t right. This was all wrong. This wasn’t the fair. It was a freak show, and there were too many people. And someone was missing.

‘Where’s Emma?’ he shouted, shaking his head to try to clear the fog from his mind. ‘Where is she?’ Sheer panic swept through him, fast on its heels, absolute terror. He clutched two fistfuls of the troglodyte’s shirt, bunching it at his neck.

‘Where?’ Daniel screamed, his throat tight, his head pounding.

His heart bursting.

The floor undulating.

His body shaking. Why couldn’t he stop?

Couldn’t stop. Couldn’t stop shaking.

‘Please!’ Jo begged, as Daniel slid to the floor. ‘No more!’

‘Shut it!’ Charlie snapped. ‘You’re doin’ my head in!’

‘I hope you’re satisfied?’ Shawn glared at Charlie as he eased one of Daniel’s arms over his shoulder to half-carry him towards a berth.

‘Come, on, you’re all right, mate,’ he tried to reassure him, unhooking Daniel’s arm from his neck. ‘Just try to lie back. It’ll pass.’

But Daniel wouldn’t lie back. Couldn’t seem to stay still. He was twitching and gasping, his chest rattling.

* * *

Shawn held Daniel by both shoulders and studied his face. ‘He ain’t breathing right,’ he said, drawing in a terse breath of his own and turning to look Charlie over with open contempt. ‘You finished now?’

‘Serves him right.’ Charlie paced agitatedly to the door. Then back again.

He stopped. Lit up a spliff, drew back hard, and paced some more.

Sympathy for Daniel was sympathy wasted, as far as Charlie was concerned. And what’s more, it was dangerous, Shawn letting sentiment get in the way of what they were doing here. Currently, and crucially, making sure the stubborn sod did exactly as he was told, without question.

‘Not quite,’ he answered finally, crushing out his joint and striding angrily to the berth. ‘Shift,’ he said, catching hold of Shawn’s shoulder to shove the pathetic, mother-clucking hen away from Daniel. Be tucking him up under the quilt in a minute.

He stilled Shawn with a warning glance as the arrogant numbskull actually dared to look as if he was about to interfere, then caught hold of Daniel’s shirt collar and hauled him towards him.

‘This . . .’ Charlie snarled, his face close to Daniel’s. ‘. . . comes off, Danny boy.’ He yanked the shirt over his shoulders and down over his biceps.

‘You bloody lunatic,’ Shawn muttered, his tone utter disgust. ‘The bloke’s covered in bruises. No need. Not for any of it.’ He took a step towards Charlie, but stopped as Daniel laughed. Then laughed again — out loud; and right in Charlie’s face.

‘Freak.’ Daniel smirked, unfocused eyes swimming around in his head. ‘Pathetic little freak.’

* * *

Not bad, detective — Matthew congratulated himself on his reasonable progress along the towpath. Considering his usual excursion on a bike consisted of the odd family trip to the park on Sundays, he’d managed a fair pace. He might just be in danger of imminent heart attack, though, he decided, slowing to catch his breath and wipe the sweat from the back of his neck.

‘All right, boss?’ Steve asked as he slowed next to him, looking annoyingly fresh-faced. ‘Got your inhaler?’

Blimey, another one trying to mother him. ‘Yes, I’ve got my inhaler.’ Matthew shook his head. ‘Nothing on the air surveillance yet, I suppose?’ he asked, Steve having been checking in at regular intervals.

‘On its way,’ Steve assured him.

Finally. ‘Good.’ Matthew nodded tightly, trepidation at what might happen if this didn’t come off knotting his stomach. ‘Can you make sure the ground troops know our location at each bridge?’

‘On it,’ Steve said. ‘So what’s the plan?’

God only knew. Matthew didn’t have one. He was winging it. Men on the ground weren’t going to have vehicle access either, were they? His best hope was that the boat might be moored not too far from a bridge. And, crucially, at a point where the undergrowth on the embankment was dense enough to provide cover. Charlie Roberts wasn’t the sharpest tool in the box, but he was sure to suspect something if he spotted uniforms crawling all over the bank.

‘Get them to regroup at the nearest bridge to the boat,’ he said, ‘and then despatch uniforms to approach on foot.’

Assuming they found the boat, that was, and Roberts and the Conner family still on it. Possibly Shawn Simmons as well. Uniform had gone to his address but he wasn’t home, so Matthew was guessing he might well also be on board, being Charlie’s wingman. They had slowed down at every narrowboat they’d passed, checking to see if it was Water Lily.

Pushing on, Matthew prayed they weren’t on a wild goose chase.

* * *

‘That is it!’ Charlie struggled to pull himself off Daniel, where he’d landed, humiliatingly, when Daniel fell backwards, after laughing in his face.

Finally managing to free himself of Daniel’s arm, which seemed to be gripping him like a vice, he got to his feet, and his temper snapped. ‘Bastard!’ he growled, his fist clenching before he’d even had time to consider the damage to his knuckles. Who did he think he was calling him a freak?

The punch landed heavily, causing Daniel to double up.

Subdued, Charlie wiped his hand across his mouth. He was sorely tempted to beat Danny boy to a pulp, embarrassing him like that, but Charlie wanted him conscious while he tripped through his sad little memories.

Shawn had at least found enough brain cells to escort the wife to the other end of the boat. Screaming her bloody head off, she’d been, and doing Charlie’s head right in.

‘Tie him up,’ he instructed over his shoulder when Shawn returned, having presumably given wifey and whatsername a little talking to. Quiet, they were, for two minutes, thank God. Charlie kneaded the knot in the back of his neck and waited, to make sure Shawn could actually tie the rope unaided.

‘Fine.’ Shawn nodded. ‘But you get out.’

‘Excuse me?’ Charlie shook his head, disbelieving.

‘Out, Charlie,’ Shawn said calmly. ‘I’ll tie him. You get out. I’m not letting you touch him again.’ He planted himself firmly between Charlie and Daniel, his arms folded, his eyes challenging.

Charlie stared, incredulous for a second, then looked Shawn over curiously. Getting a bit over-confident, all of a sudden, wasn’t he? Ought to put him in his place, as well. Point out that it was Danny boy putting this whole thing at risk with his persistent refusal to obey simple commands. No, couldn’t risk a confrontation, Charlie realised, curtailing his temper. Didn’t want one either, if he could avoid it. Shawn might be a wuss, but he was a big bloody wuss. Not that Charlie thought Shawn wouldn’t back down, if he did confront him.

‘Hands behind him.’ Charlie dropped his gaze to examine his own bruised hand, rather than continue to meet Shawn’s intimidating stare. Not that he was intimated. ‘Nice and tight,’ he added, turning away.

Charlie had other fish to fry while he waited for Danny boy to come down, come to his senses and stop deliberately provoking him.

Blimey, his knuckles hurt.

Chapter Twenty-Six

‘She’s not, you know.’ Kayla wiped her hand under her nose and seized her chance to talk to Shawn when Charlie went to the bathroom, for once closing the door behind him.

Shawn glanced at her, then back to the TV. ‘Who’s not?’

‘Hannah,’ Kayla pressed on, despite Shawn’s obvious disinterest.

She’d kept quiet for fear of provoking further vicious attacks on her father. They were going to kill him, cold fear clutched at her tummy. They’d hurt her, to hurt him, to break him and humiliate him. Kayla knew that. Charlie had left his weak spot alone all right, but only because he’d found another more vulnerable one.

She had to be brave, to not give in, just like her dad was trying so hard not to give in, so she’d kept quiet, like they’d told her to. But she’d listened and heard, biting down hard on the back of her hand when her dad had screamed out loud, or moaned softly, or worse, made no sound at all.

She’d heard Shawn’s and Charlie’s debate when they’d drugged him, and Charlie’s subsequent vile taunts. If anyone was fubar, that flat-eyed freak was — Kayla had christened him thus on the back of the last word she’d heard her dad say. And Shawn knew it.

They needed Shawn, Kayla decided. If not on their side, at least not on the freak’s.

‘Hannah, she’s not a tart.’ She willed him to stop chewing his nails and take up the bait.

Shawn studied her face for a second, and then reached for a cigarette. ‘Not interested.’ He shrugged and lit up.

‘She isn’t, Shawn,’ Kayla went on, using his name and keeping her tone civil, though she’d rather spit in his eye. ‘She’s never even been near anyone, except you.’

‘Bullshit.’ Shawn puffed hard on his cigarette.

‘It’s not, I swear,’ Kayla insisted urgently, as a tap ran in the bathroom. ‘She thought the world of you. Thought you were dead cool. Said she respected you for . . . You know, not pushing her to do anything she didn’t want to.’

Shawn stubbed his cigarette out moodily, then glanced at Kayla, his cheeks flushed, she noticed, and his eyes uncertain. ‘You’re lying.’

‘I’m not lying.’ Kayla held his gaze. ‘He is.’ She nodded toward the bathroom door as it clicked open.

* * *

Charlie sauntered from the bathroom, whistling, and feeling pretty pleased with himself. He’d had a quick wash and brush up, and another line of coke. He was looking good. Feeling good.

He was good. Well, okay, he wasn’t. But he’d been generous enough to allow wifey to keep an eye on Danny boy in case he choked. Deserved a few points for that, Charlie reckoned. Deserved a bloody cup of tea, at least. His throat felt like sandpaper. He’d kill for a lager, but a cup of tea would have to suffice.

He wandered towards the bedroom Daniel was in and poked his head around the door. ‘Any chance of a cuppa?’ He smiled at Jo. ‘He’ll be fine,’ he assured her.

* * *

Jo blinked stupidly, caught completely off guard by his pleasant tone.

What was he up to?

She moved closer to Daniel, determined that if Charlie came anywhere near him, she’d kill the animal somehow.

‘He’ll be on his way down.’ Charlie glanced to where Daniel was sitting on the berth, his hands tied behind his back, his head hung, and still shaking. ‘Not pleasant,’ Charlie went on, ‘but he ain’t going to croak it.’

Jo dragged her eyes away from Charlie’s absurd smile to Daniel. He had no idea. None whatsoever, she thought, astonished. Daniel was struggling to breathe. Couldn’t he see? The drugs had exacerbated it, not caused it. It wasn’t going to bloody wear off.

‘Tea,’ Charlie repeated patiently. ‘Two sugars.’

Jo nodded and slipped off the berth. How long, she wondered, before three in a bed suited his mood better? She hesitated as she approached the door, not sure whether to say, ‘excuse me,’ or look down.

‘Squeeze past, sweetheart.’ Charlie apparently noted her dilemma and turned to one side to allow her to pass. ‘I don’t bite.’

No, but I will, Jo thought angrily, the hairs on the nape of her neck rising as she passed the loathsome creature. God help her, if she had hold of that knife, she’d plunge it straight in his vile heart and twist it.

‘Could I, er . . .’ She hesitated, once outside. ‘Do you mind if I leave the door open?’ she asked, as politely as she could. Surely he wouldn’t deny her that, would he? To listen from a distance and make sure her husband didn’t die while she was making tea. Even the animal would have brains enough to see it was in his interest to keep Daniel alive . . . for now.

Jo shuddered involuntarily.

Charlie looked her over. ‘Don’t see why not,’ he said, eventually. ‘Not that I particularly want to hear Danny boy coughing his guts up, but we don’t want him to gag on them, do we, sweetheart?’

* * *

Charlie smiled magnanimously and headed for the saloon area and the TV.

He winked at Kayla and plonked himself down next to Shawn.

‘All right, mate.’ He nodded when Shawn glanced at him, and then reached over to the TV to flick through the channels.

‘Think they’d have a bloody remote, wouldn’t you?’ he moaned, after a minute. ‘Charge hundreds to hire out these heaps of metal, and they don’t even have a remote for the . . .’ Charlie stopped as Shawn stared at him coldly. ‘What’s your problem?’ he asked, surprised.

Shawn looked away. ‘You are, mate,’ he muttered.

‘Oh man.’ Charlie laughed. ‘You’re not still pissed with me, are you? I swear I won’t touch him again.’ He crossed his heart. ‘Honest.’

Shouldn’t need much more than the odd slap to keep Danny boy in order now anyway, he thought, content with a good day’s work. And a promise is a promise, so he’d leave him alone, for now.

Didn’t say anything about not touching the wife though, did he? Charlie gave her a sideways glance, and then himself a mental redressing. She was behaving herself, so he’d leave her be, too, for a while. He smiled and awaited his tea. Some chocolate digestives would be nice, he mused.

His chocolate-covered fantasy was rudely interrupted by the wife clanging the tea caddy to the work surface and clutching her hand to her mouth. Oh man. Charlie rolled his eyes. Not another one gonna puke all over the place.

‘Oh God,’ she mumbled, trying to suppress a sob.

‘What the . . . ?’ Charlie was on his feet. If there was anything worse than people throwing up all over the place it was birds blarting. Couldn’t abide it. If she cried any more, she’d sink the bloody boat.

She turned eyes wide with fear on Charlie as he approached, stopping him in his tracks. She was all right five minutes ago, he thought perplexed, and he hadn’t been near her since. Hadn’t touched her. Didn’t even feel the inclination to, yet. Unnerving it was, those bloody green eyes staring at him.

‘There aren’t any teabags,’ she whispered, glancing towards the bedroom, then back to Charlie.

‘Blimey, is that all?’ Charlie shook his head. Bless her bemused little face, he thought, touched by her concern. ‘I thought your old man had gone and snuffed it.’

She’d spooked him for a minute there. He really had thought the stubborn sod had croaked on him.

‘I’m not an unreasonable person. I’ll have coffee,’ he offered good-naturedly.

* * *

Matthew dropped down fast. Cursing his incompetence as the boat — Water Lily — alongside him pulled tightly on its mooring rope, he held his breath and waited, relief flooding through him when it floated gently back into the bank. She’d seen him, unmistakably, locked eyes with him for a blood freezing second, sheer terror in her own. Christ. Matthew swallowed back his racing heart and thanked God that Joanne Conner, petrified though she was, still had wits enough about her to divert attention away from him.

So now what did he do? Having holidayed on one of Conner’s boats, Matthew guessed the layout would be much the same inside, but knowing where Daniel Conner was and whether Roberts was working alone was paramount if they had any hope of pulling this off.

Signalling Steve to call in the location of the boat, which was tied up and isolated in the middle of nowhere, Matthew debated whether to risk moving further along the hull to see if he could catch sight of anything through any of the other windows. DCI Davies’ instruction to wait until backup was in situ, where they’d wait again for first light, might be the safe option, but Matthew knew with sick certainty that Charlie Roberts would be highly unlikely to be bedding down for the night, unless with someone?

That thought tightening his chest, Matthew made his decision. He just hoped he wasn’t about to hand Roberts another hostage. A copper would be a reasonable bargaining chip when he realised his game was up.

Praying for the lives of the hostages Roberts already had, adding a fervent request, if God was in his heaven, that he didn’t put those lives at further risk, Matthew moved silently on, past the galley porthole and two windows, the curtains at which were closed. Judging by the sliver of light spilling through it though, the curtains at the end window seemed to be open a fraction.

Crouching low, he offered up another prayer, then snatched a glimpse through the window. Time enough to see Daniel Conner trying to get to his feet. More than enough time to see that there was something very wrong.

Matthew’s heart plummeted. He closed his eyes briefly, then, anger and nausea churning inside him, he continued to watch Daniel reeling and stumbling, his torso covered in bruises.

Half-naked, his hands trussed behind him, Daniel Conner dropped to his knees and looked to the heavens.

Then let go a cry that chilled Matthew to the bone.

And here he was — Matthew sucked in a breath — good old Charlie Roberts, banging through the door to help Daniel to his feet. Drag Daniel to his feet. Slam him against the wall and tell him to shut the fuck up. And stay. Stay, face to the wall and shaking.

The absolute bastard.

Daniel was staying all right — Matthew clenched his jaw hard. Staying right where he was. Banging his head slowly, repeatedly against that wall.

Matthew dropped to his haunches, every ounce of his willpower holding him down. He made his way back along the length of the boat, and then got himself well out of sight.

* * *

‘He stays until he learns to be quiet.’ Charlie pulled the door closed behind him.

He’d got Daniel where he wanted him, stripped of his obstinate pride, subdued somewhat. But quietly subdued was what Charlie was looking for. Danny boy was making enough noise to wake the freakin’ dead. And that was plain disobedient.

He’d have to stay where he was, Charlie decided, until he learned a little self-control. He could wait. He’d got bags of time, and plenty to amuse himself with while he killed it. ‘So,’ he asked, swaggering the length of the boat. ‘Which one of you lucky ladies would like to go first?’

Shawn gawked. ‘What you playing at now?’ he asked furiously. ‘What you done to him, Charlie? Has the coke softened your bloody head, or what?’

‘I helped him up,’ Charlie said, with a casual shrug. ‘Can I help it if he’s coming down hard? Now watch your lip, mate.’

He came to a standstill in front of wifey, now seated on the sofa, the daughter sitting next to her. Tough call, he debated, eyeing the wife, whose cat’s eyes told him she’d be an interesting challenge. Whatsername could use a little warming up though, shaking she was, poor cow.

Yeah, he’d keep wifey on ice, he decided, and generate a little body heat with whatsername. He smirked and trailed his eyes over the girl’s obvious curves. Soft curves, he thought with sweet anticipation, untouched by human hand, he reckoned, as yet.

‘Fresh meat, I think.’ Charlie winked at Jo. ‘Keep it warm, sweetheart. You’re next,’ he said, reaching for the girl’s arm.

‘No!’ Jo screamed, catapulting herself from the sofa to face him, catching Charlie off guard.

‘Don’t you ever touch her again,’ she warned, dragging her hair angrily from her face.

‘Oh man.’ Charlie laughed. ‘Who’s gonna stop me, then? You? What you gonna do? Claw me to death? Do yourself a favour, darlin’, shut up and sit down until I tell you to do otherwise.’ He made to push past her.

But the woman pushed back, hard, shoving Charlie backwards with a force that had him struggling to stay upright.

Charlie righted himself, looked at her blankly, and then smirked. ‘Oh deary me, the bitch really has got her claws out.’

‘You sad bastard,’ the woman spat. ‘Want to play, do you? Prove your brains, which are obviously in your balls, are working? Come on then,’ she challenged him, her eyes blazing. ‘Let’s see what you’ve got, big boy. Or aren’t you man enough?’

Charlie felt the blood drain from his face. Unbelievable. Danny boy is about as useful to her as sun in the desert, and she dares to question his manhood. He fixed her with cold contempt. He’d show her who was man enough all right.

‘Shit.’ Shawn muttered worriedly behind her. ‘Stay there,’ he instructed Kayla, then took hold of Jo’s shoulders and eased her firmly back, his gaze all the while on Charlie.

Charlie’s gaze, in turn, never left Shawn’s. The gun itched at his side, but he studied Shawn’s face and read what was there. Mutiny, he thought, furious. He was ready to throw it all away for some cheap little tart. Charlie should never have brought him in on this. Knew Shawn was unreliable, the big wimp. Knew it way back, when he’d got a girly crush on that Hannah bint. Should have ditched him then.

Well, he would now, no messing. As soon as he got his hands on the dosh, Shawn was history, along with the happy pain-in-the-arse family.

‘You, mate, are an inch away from getting your dear old gran evicted. You realise that, don’t you?’ Charlie looked away from Shawn, disgusted. ‘Keep her out of my way,’ he warned, and turned to the fridge, where there was no lager. ‘Piss box of a toy fridge,’ he cursed, banged the door closed and slammed his fist against it.

‘Bloody nutter,’ Shawn muttered, steering Jo and Kayla towards the back of the boat.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Matthew pulled in a tense breath. Everything was set. The road and canal bank were cordoned off. Armed officers were in position up front, just beyond the next bridge, should Roberts make a bolt for it in that direction. Men on top of the bridge, ready to blow the little shit’s legs from under him if he showed enough of himself wielding his shotgun. That would wipe the gloating smirk off his face. Matthew pictured the scene with not nearly enough satisfaction.

Behind the boat, officers had moved stealthily to secrete themselves on the steep incline of the embankment, trees as cover and weapons at the ready.

Davies had pulled off a small miracle, making sure air surveillance was ready to circle and run the rat into the ground if by some chance he did manage to slip through the net.

For now though, the silence was so profound, a pin dropping on soft grass would have been heard. Everyone was poised, awaiting his instruction, and Matthew was praying for inspiration that might enable him to postpone issuing that instruction. He needed to take Roberts by surprise. To get to him before he had the chance to scurry behind his victims and use them as a shield. Shoot one of them possibly, which he would, to prove a point. Point being, he wouldn’t hesitate to kill them all if he wasn’t guaranteed safe passage out of there.

‘Well, DI Adams, do we go in?’ DCI Davies asked, crouching next to him in the undergrowth.

‘I suppose.’ Matthew sighed, still racking his brains for anything that might lure Roberts out into the open, and came up with nothing short of divine intervention that wouldn’t alert him to the police presence.

‘Shit!’ He wished there was some other way but it would be getting dark soon and leaving Roberts on that boat with his hostages all night was not an option. Reluctantly, Matthew made ready to signal the front line of officers to sweep in, keeping it tight, when a thought occurred. ‘Batteries,’ he said out loud.

DCI Davies craned his neck to peer at him blankly.

‘They’re outside.’ Matthew nodded towards the boat. ‘Under the decking boards on the back, if my memory serves me right.’

DCI Davies didn’t look any the wiser.

‘We hired one of Conner’s boats last year,’ Matthew explained as Davies continued to look at him perplexed.

‘They supply the power to the engine and the electrical system. If I can—’

‘The lights. Of course! Well done, Adams.’ Davies smiled delightedly, possibly for the first time in his life.

* * *

‘Right, Daniel, you ready to behave?’ Charlie asked. He’d have to be nuts to consider anything but compliance after what he’d been through — what his obstinacy might have put his dearly beloved through. Assuming he was capable of considering anything, that was. Meek as a lamb, he looked. Blimey, hope his mind hasn’t gone, Charlie thought a bit panicky. He’d need him in possession of his marbles when he went to the bank.

‘Daniel?’ Charlie looked at him quizzically. ‘You hearing me?’

Daniel nodded.

‘Speak up, Danny boy,’ Charlie said, a warning edge to his voice. ‘Didn’t quite catch that.’

‘Yes,’ Daniel managed.

‘That’s better, Danny. Much better. So tell me, what do you do when I tell you to, Daniel?’

Daniel hesitated, looking uncertain.

‘Need a little reminder, Danny?’ Charlie enquired.

‘No!’ Daniel said quickly. ‘Shit . . . no. I jump.’ He swallowed hard.

‘Correct.’ Charlie nodded, pleased. ‘And what else?’

‘I speak when you say so,’ Daniel said quietly.

‘Full marks, Danny boy.’ Charlie grinned. ‘I do believe you’ve got it. Now, while you’re learning so fast, I think it might be better if you don’t speak to anyone, unless I invite you to do so. Understand?’

Daniel nodded.

‘And you don’t look at anyone either, especially not me.’

Daniel nodded again and glanced down.

‘Good boy,’ Charlie said pleasantly, patting him on the shoulder. ‘Now, go get cleaned up and maybe we’ll let you get some air. Having a little trouble breathing, ain’t you?’

He’d overlook his not answering that one, Charlie decided. Bit difficult talking while you’re coughing. He pulled Daniel to his feet, freed his hands, and then steered him out of the door and towards the bathroom. Not too roughly though. Danny boy still seemed a bit unsteady on his feet. Didn’t want him hurting himself.

‘Hubby’s going for a freshen up.’ He winked at Jo, seated at the dinette. ‘Make him a cuppa, there’s a good girl.’

* * *

Jo looked from Charlie to Daniel. Daniel didn’t meet her eyes. She got shakily to her feet. ‘Tea or coffee?’ she asked him, desperately trying to touch base. To somehow communicate that help might possibly be at hand.

Daniel glanced at Charlie before answering. Charlie nodded his approval.

‘Coffee,’ Daniel replied, so quietly Jo could barely hear him.

Jo turned away. No, she screamed inside. Wrong answer, Daniel. It’s caffeine you want. Not coffee. She forced back a sob. She’d lost part of him when Emma died. Now she was terrified she’d lost him completely. What dark, lonely place had that animal driven him to, where she couldn’t reach him?

* * *

Daniel clutched the sink and pressed his forehead against the cool of the mirror. He didn’t pray. Not much point. Instead, he steeled his resolve not to do, say, or see anything that would provoke the psychopath. And to jump — he ran the cold tap and threw water over his face and chest, attempting to bring his temperature down — when he was told to.

‘Hurry it up, Daniel.’ Charlie rapped on the door. ‘Stop messing about. You’re getting on my nerves.’

Daniel made eye contact with himself in the mirror. Jump to it, Daniel, he said silently. Don’t keep Charlie waiting. ‘One hundred and counting,’ he grated out loud, raked his hand through his hair, and slipped the latch.

‘What was that?’ Charlie eyed him narrowly as he came out.

Daniel averted his eyes fast. ‘I said, sorry, I’m coming.’ He coughed, a hand going instinctively to his side.

Charlie looked him over, and apparently decided Daniel wasn’t deliberately trying his patience. ‘Come on, let’s get you some air.’ He steered Daniel ahead of him towards the back doors, past Shawn who didn’t look at Daniel, and Kayla who clearly couldn’t. ‘You’ll be all right when the smack’s out of your system.’

‘Bring the coffee outside, darlin’,’ he addressed Jo pleasantly, over his shoulder.

* * *

Steve stripped off his jacket with grim determination.

‘Uh, uh, no way.’ Matthew extended an arm against his chest. ‘This one’s mine, Steve.’

‘No chance.’ Steve made to move forwards. ‘You’re needed here to—’

‘That’s an order, Steve.’ Matthew pulled rank, to Steve’s disgruntlement, but there was no way he was going to put Steve in the firing line of a psychopath. The man had been there, done that, taking a bullet that almost paralysed him in an attempt to save Matthew’s family. In Matthew’s book, that definitely made this one his call.

‘Just don’t go filing your nails and miss my signal.’

Steve shook his head. ‘Prat,’ he whispered.

‘I know. But you love me.’ Matthew smiled, quickly stripped off his own jacket, which might prove a hindrance, and handed it to Davies.

If his memory was serving him right, the batteries would be located directly under the right-hand side decking, which he’d have to lift without making a sound. He pictured the batteries in situ, the flip switch that should disengage them in an emergency. Failing that, he’d have to rip out the wiring.

‘Right, cover my arse, I’m going in.’ Giving Davies a nod, he moved past him to pick his way carefully through the undergrowth along the embankment.

Just short of the back of the boat, he checked the officers behind him were closing in to give him cover, and then, dodging flailing branches, made his way down to the towpath.

Keeping as low as he could, he tugged in a deep breath and moved silently closer. Careful, he cautioned himself, as he got within reaching distance of the handrail stern-end, just about to climb on board when—

Shit! Matthew dropped low and moved on to the bow end of the boat.

Dammit! Glancing around, he realised his only course of action was to scramble back up the embankment, hope to God whoever was emerging didn’t see him, and lay low.

Seconds later, Matthew stopped dead still, feeling the collective police presence breathe in as one. A dragonfly dancing on the water could be heard so complete was the silence, but he sensed arms tensing and fingers brushing triggers.

Who the hell was it? Matthew squinted against the fading light as two figures appeared on deck. Charlie Roberts and Daniel Conner were similar in height, it occurred to him. How in God’s name were they supposed to distinguish persecutor from prey hindered by the approaching darkness?

Bloody hell! Matthew couldn’t quite believe it when divine intervention did indeed appear to step in. Or something damn close to. Somebody up there obviously didn’t like Charlie Roberts any better than he did. The parasite was suddenly floodlit — by the deck light. And also half-hidden — Matthew’s euphoria dwindled — by Daniel, who stumbled before him as Roberts shoved him from behind.

No way could Matthew risk moving in with Conner so close to him. Roberts wouldn’t lay down his weapon, a handy little sawn-off that doubled as a stick with which the sadistic bastard had beat his victim, bruises as evidence. And with which he now jabbed Daniel between the shoulder blades, presumably to help him with his sense of direction. Daniel didn’t seem to know his left foot from his right.

Matthew’s gut twisted inside him. Roberts had pushed the man as far down as it was possible to go, beaten him, drugged him — crushed him. And still he kept pushing. Matthew’s jaw tightened.

He’d been harbouring a small hope that Roberts might stray far enough from the family to dig his own grave. Give one of his men a chance to pick him off, if he so much as twitched whilst holding that gun. The gun that was now pointed casually less than six inches from the father of the family still inside.

No chance.

Matthew’s choices, it seemed, were two. Sit tight and keep hoping. Or make their presence known, which might mean that Daniel Conner would be in the line of fire, from both directions.

* * *

Daniel sat on the seat next to the tiller slowly — as instructed — and tried to do what should be the most natural thing in the world: breathe.

Whichever way he turned, the psycho kept jabbing that gun into him. He’d got on his nerves, apparently. Didn’t move fast enough. Must remember that next time. Daniel made a mental note, and then made the mistake of shaking his head, which earned him another sharp poke in the shoulder.

Tolerable, Daniel thought, counting sixty down to fifty-five as he took five shallow breaths. Passing out was what he was desperately trying to avoid, though that might be the only way to stop the panic supplying the sadistic freak more reason to hit out — when they had to go back inside, where the walls would slip silently closer.

Don’t. Block it out, Daniel willed himself, counting more slowly, and unconsciously taking a deep breath, which sliced through his chest like a knife. Christ, he couldn’t pass out. He massaged his side and tried to still the swimming deck of the boat.

‘Don’t do it, Danny,’ Charlie warned.

Daniel looked up, confused. Oh shit. Mistake. He dropped his gaze. Do what? What the hell was he supposed to . . . ?

Charlie trailed the gun lightly under Daniel’s chin, and on up his cheek. ‘Don’t think, Danny boy,’ he clarified coldly, sliding the barrel across his temple. ‘Could be dangerous. Got it?’

* * *

Charlie watched and waited.

And there Danny boy went, running his hand over his neck. Which was a sure sign the wheels were still going round. Charlie had watched him long enough to interpret his annoying little habits. Might not say a lot, but the body language was a dead giveaway. Think he’d have more sense than to be thinking. Man, he was annoying.

‘You didn’t answer me, Daniel.’ Charlie pressed the gun closer.

‘I, er . . .’ Daniel breathed out, slowly. ‘Sorry.’

Charlie considered. ‘Accepted,’ he said. ‘But make it a bit snappier next time.’ He relaxed a little as Jo appeared below the steps, and let the gun drop to Daniel’s shoulder.

‘Ah, good. Coffee. Service is a bit slow around here, if you don’t mind me saying so, sweetheart.’ He motioned her up on deck. ‘You’d do better to move quicker when I tell you to, as well, next time — as in into the bedroom.’

Charlie smirked and waited, his satisfaction immense when Daniel didn’t move so much as a muscle.

She did though. Shot him a look of pure venom from under her eyelashes.

Superior, smug cat’s eyes, thought Charlie, watching her looking down, pretending acquiescence. She definitely needs to learn a little humility, he decided, aroused at the prospect of knocking the arrogance out of her while Danny boy watched.

Meanwhile . . . Charlie clicked his fingers, indicating she should serve him his coffee.

* * *

Dammit! Right in the line of fire. Matthew cursed silently. Looked like he only had one choice after all. The parasite was obviously sticking close to his host.

Carefully, he shifted his position, ready to move as soon as he had to — and then squeezed his eyes closed as a twig snapped.

* * *

Charlie whirled around.

Sure he’d heard something, he narrowed his eyes and scanned the undergrowth to the side, and then breathed out a sigh of relief as a bird flapped from the bushes. Should shoot the bloody thing, scaring him like that. His nerves were on tenterhooks with these two going out of their way to irritate him. He’d sort them though, once and for all when he’d got the cash. Only question was, which one to shoot first. Her?

He glanced at Jo. No, Danny boy, he decided. And watch her suffer. Nah, whatshername. Watch them both suffer. Right now, he needed some coke. He jerked around to summon Shawn and knocked into wifey.

Jo stepped back, but not fast enough. ‘Oh God!’ She clamped a hand to her mouth as the contents of the coffee mug spewed forth.

Charlie clutched his brand-new shirt from his chest, blinking stupefied at the white stripes turning coffee-coloured brown.

* * *

An agonising second slipped by while Roberts studied his shirt, and then he lashed out, sending Jo sprawling, and bringing Daniel swiftly from nine down to one, nothing in between.

‘Clumsy cow.’ Charlie seethed, dabbing at the coffee stain with his sleeve, his attention diverted from Daniel, whose eyes were fixed firmly on Charlie.

Daniel stood shakily.

It was right inside his head this time, the lightning turning the room blue-white.

The thunder clapping as an old man hit the last stair.

Metal concertinaing against metal.

The front of the car crushed by a truck.

Over and over, twisted metal unfurling, so loud in his head, he couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t bear to hear Jo sobbing. See the tiny white coffin, so small he . . .

Should have carried Emma home in his arms.

Daniel shook his head, tried hard to stop the slide show in his mind.

Jo sobbing? That filthy freak standing over her . . .

‘Shut your fucking noise up,’ Charlie snarled at Jo. ‘Or I’ll—’

Charlie stopped as Daniel’s arm snaked silently around his neck.

‘What will you do, Charlie?’ Daniel yanked him backwards, jerking his arm upwards, savouring with sweet satisfaction the sound of teeth hitting teeth, of sinew stretching. ‘You’re not answering me, you snivelling little shit,’ Daniel grated, locking his arm tight.

Charlie gagged, flailing about with his free hand, finding Daniel’s forearm and desperately trying to prise it from his windpipe.

‘Didn’t quite catch that, Charlie.’ Daniel squeezed tighter.

* * *

Charlie struggled, determined not to free his other hand and let go of . . . the gun! A spark of hope surfaced above his desperation. He brought his gun hand up, and back, and home, sharp, into Daniel’s side.

Heard ribs cracking.

A low moan close to his ear.

Daniel’s breath cut short — and then his grip faltered and loosened.

‘Thank you, Lord,’ Charlie muttered as he spun around to see Daniel keel forwards, clutching his chest.

‘Bastard,’ Charlie rasped, kicking out, forcing Daniel onto his back. Face twisted, he advanced, gun pointed, intent on his aim. His heart thudded, his finger itched. Kill him, a little voice said. But he’s the golden goose, another argued.

‘Bastard! You are dead meat!’ Charlie shouted, turning the gun around, holding it high. ‘Choose a spot, Danny boy.’ Charlie smirked as Daniel writhed, but the smirk slid fast from his face as the gun tensed above him.

‘No need,’ Shawn said. ‘No need for any of it.’ He clamped his other hand around the gun.

‘What the—?’ Charlie turned awkwardly, still hanging onto it. ‘What the hell are you doin’?’

‘Relievin’ you of this,’ Shawn informed him calmly, and wrenched the gun out of Charlie’s grasp.

Charlie faced Shawn full on. ‘Have you gone mental, or what?’ he gasped incredulously. ‘Did you see what he did?’

‘Yep.’ Shawn skirted around him and then, holding the gun with one hand, he eased his other under Daniel’s arm to help him into a sitting position.

Daniel’s breaths came short and sharp. He wiped his hand across his mouth and looked from the gun to Shawn’s face. ‘You’re going to have to use it,’ he warned him, struggling to swallow a cough. ‘Because there’s no way that bastard goes near my wife.’

‘Shoot him in the arm,’ Charlie muttered. ‘That should stop his bravado.’

Shawn locked eyes with Daniel. ‘For what it’s worth,’ he said, ‘I’ve seen how much you care for your family. Charlie’s got it coming.’

Shawn nodded at Daniel, then handed him the gun. ‘I’m out of here,’ he said, standing up to help Jo, who was crouched in the corner, to her feet. ‘Course, you could stop me.’ He glanced at the gun, then back to Daniel. Waited, seemed to debate, and then turned to step off the boat — and straight into Matthew.

* * *

How the fucking hell . . . ? Shit! Charlie looked frantically for an escape — only to see a swarm of uniforms advancing towards him.

Oh man . . .

Charlie backed off, intending to go inside and grab whatsername, forgetting the crucial component required to carry out that course of action.

‘Stay,’ Daniel instructed.

Charlie snapped his attention back to Daniel and found himself looking down the barrel of his own shotgun.

Matthew herded Shawn Simmons towards the officers behind him, and turned his attention back to Daniel Conner, who was in possession of the firearm, which was aimed squarely at Charlie Roberts.

‘Dammit. Don’t shoot!’ he instructed as armed officers closed in from all quarters.

Charlie eyed Daniel steadily. Shocked at first, he had to admit, and nervous, until he noticed the tremor to Daniel’s hand.

He wasn’t going to pull the trigger. Needed killer instinct that did, he reassured himself. Danny boy hadn’t got the bottle. Shaking in his boots he was. ‘What you gonna do then, Danny boy? Gonna shoot me, are you?’ Charlie smirked and looked towards the safety of DI Adams and his minions.

‘Yes,’ Daniel said simply.

‘Yeah, right.’ Charlie laughed. ‘Move over, Bruce Willis.’ Got his own police protection, hadn’t he? No way was Danny going to use that gun, especially not in front of wifey, who was still snivelling behind him.

He smiled leisurely as Daniel stepped back to assist her.

Nah, Charlie decided, as Daniel urged his wife gently into a waiting officer’s arms, his nondescript eyes locked on his as he did so, annoying sod. He wouldn’t do anything in full view of her, and certainly not in front of whatsername.

Daniel’s eyes flickered away from Charlie for a second. ‘Come on, baby, come out,’ he said to the daughter, who was standing hesitantly on the top step. ‘It’s safe now.’

‘Yeah, come on, baby,’ Charlie mimicked. ‘Come and join the party.’

Charlie stepped sideways, allowing the girl to exit, her eyes like a terrified Bambi’s and shaking as much as Danny boy, poor cow. Must be hereditary.

‘Give me a shout if you fancy another quick shag, sweetheart,’ Charlie called as she stepped onto the towpath.

A tic went at the side of Daniel’s mouth. He walked calmly over to Charlie and smiled, which had Charlie momentarily flummoxed, then pulled back the gun and rammed it hard into his stomach.

* * *

Matthew flinched as Charlie doubled up. ‘Ouch,’ he said under his breath. ‘Okay, Daniel,’ he said carefully. ‘I know how you must be feeling but you need to let him go now. He’ll get what’s—’

‘You have no fucking idea how I feel,’ Daniel shouted, glancing quickly at Jo. ‘The only way that bastard goes anywhere is feet first.’ He raked a hand angrily though his hair. ‘Got that, Charlie? Now, get down on your knees.’

Charlie looked up, astonished. ‘You must be joking. I ain’t—’

‘Do I look as if I’m joking?’ Daniel asked, his eyes burning with hatred.

‘For fuck’s sake,’ Charlie uttered, turning to Matthew, his hands nursing his stomach.

‘On your knees, Charlie,’ Daniel repeated. ‘Now!’

Matthew dearly wished he could turn a blind eye as Roberts blinked at him beseechingly, and scared witless, satisfyingly. Unfortunately, as much as he would relish seeing the abusive piece of scum get a taste of his own, he couldn’t.

‘You need to drop the gun, Daniel,’ he said, moving cautiously towards the boat. ‘Leave him to me and get your wife and child—’

‘Don’t,’ Daniel warned, his eyes and the gun still fixed on Roberts. ‘Back off.’

Matthew hesitated, uncertain. God knows, the man had every reason to . . . But was Conner actually going to shoot Roberts?

‘I can’t do that, Daniel.’ Matthew stepped closer. ‘You know I can’t.’

‘Stay!’ Daniel shouted, swinging the gun around, then fast back to Charlie. ‘And you,’ he grated, ‘down on your knees, while you still can.’ He aimed the gun lower, which had Charlie dropping to his knees, fast.

‘Get them out of here,’ Matthew shouted, indicating Jo and Kayla over his shoulder. Roberts had pushed Conner right over the edge. He bloody well was going to shoot him. Christ, hadn’t this family already been through enough?

‘Daniel . . .’ Warning himself to tread carefully, empathising with the man more than he could possibly know, Matthew tried again. ‘You can’t take the law into your own hands.’ He stopped and waited, wondering whether Daniel, who was now swaying on his feet, could even hear him. ‘You have to do this the legal way. Please, give me the gun, Daniel.’

‘Can’t.’ Daniel closed one eye.

Matthew took a breath and stepped closer. ‘Why can’t you, Daniel?’ he asked quietly.

‘Three, two, one,’ Daniel replied, nonsensically.

‘Right.’ Matthew was scared for him now. If he used that gun with police marksmen aiming right at him . . . ‘Which means what, exactly, Daniel?’

Daniel shrugged. ‘Bang.’ He concentrated his aim.

‘Fuck,’ said Charlie, turning a pale shade of white. ‘Don’t, Danny,’ he pleaded.

Daniel cocked the gun.

‘Look, I didn’t touch your daughter—’

‘Shut the fuck up!’ Daniel yelled.

‘I didn’t. I swear I didn’t.’ Perspiration broke out on Charlie’s forehead. ‘Danny, please. I’m sorry. Okay? I—’

‘The name’s Daniel, not Danny. Not fucking Danny boy. Daniel! Got it?’

‘Yeah,’ Charlie nodded quickly. ‘Daniel. Whatever. Just put the gun down.’

Daniel continued to stare at him.

‘Shit. This is nuts.’ Charlie looked desperately to Matthew. ‘Do something! Don’t let them go!’ He nodded past him, to where the man’s wife and daughter weren’t being persuaded to leave. ‘He won’t do anything in front of them.’

That’s probably the first, and might well be the last, time you’ve said anything sensible in your entire life, you piece of shit. Matthew looked him over derisively. Conner cared about his family. They’d endured too much to go through anymore. He must know it.

Matthew drew in a breath and then took a gamble. ‘Okay, Daniel. Fine. Do it,’ he said.

Charlie gawked.

‘Go ahead. Blow his brains all over the boat if it will make you feel better.’ Matthew paused for an instant. ‘And leave your wife wondering why you did it in front of your daughter. Whether to visit you in prison, when you didn’t care enough about her, or Kayla, not to.’

Daniel tightened his grip on the gun.

His hands were shaking, Matthew noticed. Shaking badly.

‘I have kids of my own, Daniel,’ he said softly, taking another careful step towards him.

Daniel’s shoulders stiffened.

‘I know you lost your little girl, Daniel.’ Seeing Daniel reel on his feet, Matthew pushed on and prayed. He needed to get through to him. Had to.

‘You think I can’t know how you feel, but . . . I lost my little girl too, Daniel,’ he confided, though it almost choked him to say it. ‘I do know at least some of how you feel.’

Still Daniel didn’t move, but Matthew saw a swallow slide down his throat.

‘That bastard has piled pain on top of pain, hasn’t he?’ Matthew kept going, touching raw nerves, he was well aware of that, but what other choice did he have? ‘Persecuted Kayla and Joanne? Taunted them. Touched them, Daniel?’

Daniel’s jaw tightened.

‘Dared you to do anything about it, so he could revel in his pathetic power and beat you senseless? I know him,’ Matthew said forcefully. ‘He’ll get what’s coming to him. But you have to stop this. Now, Daniel. For the sake of your wife and daughter. Show them you care enough not to put them through this.’

‘Jesus!’ Daniel leaned to wipe his perspiring face against his shoulder. ‘Of course I care!’ he raged frustrated, and obviously confused. ‘But he’ll get out, won’t he?’

A sharp cough rattled his chest.

‘Jo and my kids are my life. Jo and Kayla . . . Were my . . . I . . .’ Trailing off, Daniel closed his eyes.

And lowered the gun.

‘Hah.’ Charlie levered himself to his feet. ‘No bottle. Knew it. I’ll catch up with you when I’m out, Danny boy.’ He smirked, as Matthew climbed on board. ‘Keep that pretty wife of yours warm for me, won’t you?’

Daniel brought the gun back up sharp. ‘Say your fucking prayers, freak,’ he hissed.

‘Shit!’ Matthew reacted instinctively.

Charlie Roberts also acted instinctively. It took him two seconds to snatch up the gun, which clattered to the deck as Matthew used his bodyweight to force Daniel down.

‘Take the bastard out!’ Matthew yelled, making sure Daniel stayed down.

It took less than one second for a marksman to carry out Matthew’s instruction and make sure Roberts didn’t use the gun.

Jesus Christ. The shot ringing loud in his ears, Matthew lifted his head, looking towards Roberts, whose steady flow of blood was staining the decking deep crimson, and then back to the man underneath him.

‘Oh no.’ No, no, no! ‘Daniel!’ Panic gripping his stomach, Matthew rolled away from him. Scrambled to his knees and eased an arm under the man’s neck.

Willed him to draw breath past the audible rattle in his chest. ‘Don’t do this, Daniel,’ he begged him. ‘Do not let that bastard win.’

Matthew held him tight, as a cough wracked through the man’s body, a telling spray of death spattering Matthew’s shirt and speckling his face with dark droplets of red. ‘Get the fucking paramedics here! Now! Don’t Daniel,’ he said hoarsely, feeling his own chest tighten. ‘Your family needs you. You need to live, damn you.’

* * *

Jo tried to shield Kayla. Gulping back her own tears, she tried desperately to hold onto her, but Kayla seemed to possess the strength of three men.

‘Let me go!’ she sobbed, breaking free to run back down the towpath.

DI Adams, thank God, saw her coming. ‘No, Kayla!’ He caught hold of her arm, wrapped his own free arm around her waist, and held her tight. ‘Give the paramedics space to do their job, hey?’

‘Let go!’ She writhed, desperately attempting to wriggle free.

‘Kayla, no!’ DI Adams wrapped both arms around her, pulling her hard back into him. ‘It won’t help!’

‘He’s dying!’ Kayla screamed. ‘I have to go to him. I have—’

‘Kayla, he’s not!’ DI Adams insisted forcefully. ‘You have to try to stay calm, for your father’s sake.’

Ashen-faced, Jo clamped a hand to her mouth as the paramedics fought to resuscitate Daniel; to get him to take a breath of his own. Please breathe, Daniel. Please.

He’d told her he loved her. He’d laid his soul bare. Swallowed every ounce of his pride. Been prepared to die to protect his family in what must have already felt like a tomb, and she hadn’t been able to respond, because that disgusting . . . thing . . . had stolen the moment away.

Stolen her husband.

She wouldn’t let him. Wouldn’t!

Couldn’t.

Please God, not her man, as well as her child.

He might never know was all Joanne could think. He might never know how much she had loved him. Still loved him. Would never be whole again without him.

How hard would it have been to have told him before this? That though she hated what he’d become, withdrawn, emotionally inaccessible, she hadn’t hated him for Emma.

Why hadn’t she made it clear? Because alcohol had muddied her brain.

All she’d had to do was think, clearly. She’d known Daniel didn’t speak easily of emotional things. She could have eased the door open for him, instead of slamming it in his face, leaving him with the guilt, piling guilt on top of that guilt. Wasn’t that what insisting on going to counselling had done, in reality? Implied that guilt was what he should feel?

What was the point in raking over old coals? What had his childhood got to do with any of this? She repeated to herself what Daniel had said at the counselling session, selfishly, Jo had thought then, before he’d stormed out, effectively shutting her out.

He had known what terror was. He’d been terrified of opening old wounds, of probing new ones. He’d learned silence as a child. Not to speak of his pain because he wouldn’t be heard, because there was no one to hear him. How else would he have got through it, but to bury the pain so deep down, he could pretend not to feel it?

Daniel’s inability to talk about Emma hadn’t meant he’d hurt any less than her. If anything, he’d hurt more. He’d been behind the wheel, for God’s sake.

She really had been blind, lost in her own pain. But how could she have seen, when he couldn’t say?

And now . . . it might be too late. To hold him.

To comfort him.

To be there for him.

Her own breath coming in sharp gasps, Jo watched terrified as the paramedics frantically examined Daniel’s torso, searching for a spot, she could see, searching for the right spot. She saw the sharp glint of a scalpel and felt the ground sway beneath her as they found it.

‘Come on.’ DI Adams eased Kayla around to face him, the fight draining out of her as she watched and saw what Jo saw. He looked back to Joanne, trying to reassure her. ‘It’s a standard procedure, Mrs Conner. They’re just trying to ease the pressure from his lungs. He’ll be fine.’ He folded Kayla to him and reached out his other arm for Joanne. ‘I’ve seen it done a hundred times.’

He was lying. Jo felt the tension in DI Adams’ muscles as he pulled her towards him and knew he must be praying as hard as she was. She buried her face in his shoulder and reached a hand out to circle her daughter’s waist, to hold Kayla close and never, ever, lose sight of her again.

‘Mum,’ Kayla said in a small voice beside her, ‘will he come back?’

Jo tugged in a breath. ‘Yes.’ She nodded determinedly, tightening her arm around her daughter. ‘He’ll come back. We’ll be together again soon, I promise.’

He would come back. He had to. She forced herself to believe it. And when he did — Joanne made another promise, to herself and to Kayla — they would have all of him, the best of the man that had somehow got lost. Because while Joanne had breath in her own body and with God as a witness, she would not let Daniel Conner shut his emotions away ever again.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Jo woke with a start, not sure where she was until she heard the steady blip, blip of the monitor. Easing the crick in her neck, she glanced to where her hand still lay on Daniel’s, her fingers curled gently around his. He hadn’t moved. No movement at all apart from the soft flicker of his eyelids as his eyes chased his dreams.

Jo prayed they weren’t nightmares.

The surgeons had worked relentlessly, tirelessly, and by some miracle managed to prevent the blood clot caused by that animal’s vicious blows from reaching his heart. It had been a miracle too. Even with surgical intervention, his chances had been slim to none, Jo had been made aware of that at the outset. He was weak. Still stuffed full of anaesthetic and morphine but, God willing, he would recover physically. Mentally and emotionally though, Jo knew that those wounds would take longer to heal.

He was alive. That was all that mattered for now.

Pulling in a shaky breath, she studied him, his strong profile, and desperately wanted to lie next to him. ‘Don’t you dare die on us, Daniel Conner. Not now. You’ve come too far,’ she whispered, her voice loud against the silence punctuated only by the bleeps of the life support system. ‘You get well. Get strong, do you hear me? Or you’ll be in big trouble. And this is just from your daughter.’

Forcing her tears back, she went on, praying he could hear her. ‘We have things to do, you and I.’

Lives to rebuild, she thought, her mind drifting to their home and everything they’d built together, then almost shot out of her skin as Daniel said, ‘Lie for me.’

‘What?’ Getting unsteadily to her feet, Jo searched his face, confused.

‘Don’t let her see me like this. Tell Kayla I’m still sleeping.’

Daniel’s eyes fluttered open, he coughed, painfully, and then squeezed Jo’s hand hard.

Jo wasted no time, jabbing buttons and calling for help, and when it came, even while they were checking monitors and tubes, Daniel refused to let go of her hand.

Finally, as comfortable as he could be, he dozed. Fitfully, Jo noticed as she watched him; jolting painfully awake, perspiration beading his brow and sheer terror in his eyes when they occasionally shot open.

He spoke little and incoherently mostly, sometimes the odd thing that made sense. Where’s Kayla, he’d asked at least four times, only to ask again, though Jo kept repeating she was safe with Matthew Adams and his wife.

He’d asked where Emma was, too, which broke Jo’s heart all over again, for Daniel. Had he ever come to terms with the fact that she was gone, Jo wondered. The doctor had confirmed that the morphine was feeding his confusion, but still Jo worried. Daniel needed help, now more than ever, to be able to deal with their loss and let go of Emma. She would always be in their hearts. No one could ever take that away. But they had to put the bad memories to rest, treasure the good, and move on.

Both of them, together. They needed to talk. They needed to talk like never before, openly, honestly, and to each other. But not yet. If she was too numb to think straight, God knew Daniel had every right to be.

Jo checked again. He was still sleeping. Reluctant though she was, she knew she should leave him to rest. Use the time to see Kayla, who would be frantic with worry and desperately in need of comfort too. Once she was sure Kayla was coping, she would be back by Daniel’s side where she should always have been.

Weary to the bone and almost incapable of keeping her own eyes open, Jo brushed his damp hair from his forehead, pressed her lips lightly against his cheek, then left him to rest. She wasn’t going far though, or for long until Daniel was out of danger. Matthew had said that Kayla was welcome to stay with his family for as long as she needed her to, but Jo couldn’t impose. She’d book a room at a nearby hotel, she decided, at least until she’d sorted out where on earth they were going to live.

She couldn’t go back to the boatyard, even though she was apparently free to do so. The police had finished their business there and Tony wasn’t pressuring her to move out. He’d been as good as gold when she’d rung him, caring and considerate, saying he’d put things on hold, but she couldn’t go back. Not yet. If ever. Charlie Roberts might be dead — she’d seen with her own eyes the life vanquished in his vile taunting eyes — but still his ghost haunted her, as it would all of them.

She certainly couldn’t go back without Daniel. Whether they chose to go back was a decision they would all have to make, together.

Meanwhile, Jo needed to get her own emotions in order. She needed to be able to make whatever decisions needed to be made while Daniel wasn’t capable. To make the right decisions, for her family.

* * *

Jo headed for the main entrance to the hospital where Matthew Adams waited. Bless him for going several steps above and beyond the call of duty, opening his home up to Kayla, stopping by to check on Daniel. And now here he was offering to drive her to the bank. She’d forgotten, of course, that having left home in the awful way they had, she had no purse or credit card with her, therefore no way of actually obtaining money with which to book into a hotel. She’d felt safe to call him. Safe to leave Kayla in his charge, especially when she’d realised who he was and that his wife was the same kind woman who’d tried to reach out to her at the cemetery. That he, too, was a father grieving the loss of a child. He hadn’t revealed too much and she hadn’t pried, but she could see in his eyes the empathy, the sympathy, the pain. That was definitely there, the same dark shadows dancing beneath the surface she had seen in Daniel’s eyes. This couple had got through it, somehow come through their loss intact. She only hoped that Daniel could. That they would.

‘Joanne.’ Matthew stood to meet her, looking concerned, and as exhausted as she felt. ‘How is he?’

Jo smiled. He was a good man, a kind man. That was also apparent in his eyes.

‘Better,’ she said. ‘Conscious, but not making much sense, I’m afraid.’

‘Do men ever?’ Matthew smiled. A mischievous yet compassionate smile, Jo noticed, and knew she was right. She could trust this man.

‘What will happen to Shawn?’ she asked him. She owed Shawn Simmons nothing, even though, ultimately, he’d tried to save them, but Jo couldn’t help but feel for his gran, whose future, she’d gleaned through the animal’s threats, had depended on him.

Matthew studied her for a second. ‘Ten years custodial minimum, I should think. He could be out in five years on licence, with good behaviour.’

Jo nodded and hesitated. ‘He has a gran,’ she said, knowing she couldn’t rest if she didn’t mention her. ‘I’m not offering any excuses, God knows there are none, but I think Roberts coerced him in some way. I just wondered . . .’

‘What would happen to her?’ Matthew picked up. ‘He told me. And, honestly, I don’t know. I’m looking into extended family, trying to find out if there is anything that can be done. It’s not something you should worry about though.’

Not something he should be overly concerned with either. Yet he was. Definitely a good man.

‘So to the bank and then to find a hotel?’ he asked, walking with her to the exit. ‘Somewhere close at hand, I presume?’

‘And cheap but cheerful.’ Jo nodded. ‘At least until I know Daniel’s out of danger. How’s Kayla?’

Matthew hesitated, then, ‘Quiet,’ he answered her honestly. ‘Becky and I have tried to coax her to talk, but she’s reluctant, understandably.’

Jo’s heart sank.

‘Ashley, my foster daughter,’ he reminded her, ‘is loading down some Netflix stuff. She’s suggested they have a “girly” night. It might help.’

‘You might have to make yourself scarce, though,’ Jo said, managing a small smile at the thought of the man’s house being taken over by teenage girls.

‘I think that’s obligatory. I’ve been told my absence, along with my credit card for payment of pizza, will be required.’ Matthew rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

Jo laughed at that. ‘Thank you, Matthew,’ she said. ‘I honestly don’t know what I would have done without you.’

Matthew turned to study her as they stopped outside the hospital. ‘Survived,’ he suggested, after a second. ‘Even if there’s a part of us that doesn’t want to, somehow we do when we have to.’ He smiled at her.

Jo nodded.

‘Kayla will be fine, in time,’ he added astutely, as Jo swallowed back a lump in her throat. ‘It’s early days yet and she’s obviously worried sick about her father.’

Still blaming herself, Jo wondered? She glanced down, overwhelmed by tiredness now, and the sheer weight of worry.

‘She’ll come through it,’ Matthew said, reaching to place a hand on her arm. ‘With the right help.’

Jo nodded, wishing she could be so certain.

‘Look, forget a hotel, why don’t you come and stay with us?’ Matthew asked. ‘I’m guessing you won’t want to be going straight back to the boatyard.’

Joanne looked back up. ‘No, I . . . We could, but . . .’

‘No, I wouldn’t want to either,’ Matthew finished. ‘I’m also pretty sure I wouldn’t want to be on my own in a hotel room. It will be a bit of a squeeze, but we can sort something out, at least until Daniel’s back on his feet. What do you think?’

‘But what about Becky?’ Jo asked, not sure his wife, however kind she was, would be happy with her husband turning their home into an open house for strangers.

‘It was Becky’s idea,’ Matthew assured her, with an easy smile. ‘She said, and I quote, “Ask her, but do it diplomatically, Matthew. We don’t want her to feel obliged when she might need some space.” So how did I do?’ He furrowed his brow worriedly.

‘I, um . . .’ Jo laughed, searched his face, and promptly burst into tears.

‘That good, hey?’ Matthew moved to wrap an arm around her shoulders and guide her towards his car.

* * *

Fresher if not exactly refreshed — the nap she’d hoped for being utterly elusive — Jo peered into Matthew’s lounge, where Kayla and Ashley were heavily into some Netflix thing. She made signals to Ashley, who, as astute as Matthew, dutifully hit the pause button. ‘Just going to grab us a couple of Cokes and check on Mia,’ she said, heading for the hall.

Left to babysit her little sister while Matthew and Becky grabbed the opportunity to go out, in reality to give them some space, Ashley was obviously a competent, caring young woman. She’d had her fair share of problems, more than, Matthew had confided, but Jo could see why he was proud of her.

‘Hi, sweetie,’ she said, seating herself next to Kayla curled up on the sofa. ‘How are you doing?’

‘Fine,’ Kayla replied, far too quickly. ‘I already said.’

‘We need to talk, Kayla,’ Jo ventured carefully. ‘All of us.’

Kayla said nothing, just curled herself tighter.

‘There’s no use in bottling it up, Kayla,’ Jo said softly. ‘There’s been far too much of that, don’t you think? We have to grow up and talk to each other like adults. You said so, remember?’

Kayla answered with a small nod.

‘I, um, was thinking about counselling maybe.’

Kayla tensed.

‘Family counselling, this time. Not yet, and only if we all feel—’

‘Will Dad go?’

Jo hesitated. ‘I don’t know. I think so. I hope so. He’s still so weak though.’

‘I’ll think about it,’ Kayla said, her eyes still glued to the mute TV.

‘Good.’ Jo nodded, relieved, and got to her feet. She knew Kayla wanted to go with her to the hospital, but Daniel was right, it would do her no good seeing him so weak. Kayla needed to see her father smiling and fighting back, which might prompt Kayla to do the same.

‘I’ll see you later.’ She squeezed Kayla’s arm and got to her feet. ‘Around about—’

‘If Dad says he’ll go, I’ll think about it,’ Kayla said, her gaze flicking towards Jo’s.

* * *

Jo found Daniel awake when she visited a few days later, but still subdued, as he’d been on her previous visits.

That was okay. To be expected. He’d still be in considerable pain and Jo was aware he wasn’t likely to want to go over what had happened yet. Even giving his statement had been an enormous strain, emotionally as well as physically, Jo guessed. She didn’t want him to slip backwards and close up again, not after confiding so much in her after so long, which must have taken considerable courage.

‘Hey,’ she said, settling down in a chair, prepared only to do small talk for now.

Try to coax him to smile, if nothing else.

‘Hi,’ Daniel said, glancing at her, then immediately down and trying to rake a hand still encumbered by tubes through his hair.

Not a good start, Jo thought, judging by the body language. ‘How are you feeling?’ she asked, after several seconds’ silence.

Daniel shrugged. ‘Okay, I think. How’s Kayla?’

Jo took a breath. She’d been stalling up until now, saying she was doing well, looking forward to seeing him. ‘Physically she’s fine,’ she started.

Daniel glanced up sharply. ‘Physically?’

Jo hesitated. She didn’t want things to get heavy. Now wasn’t the right time. Getting stressed would help no one to heal, particularly Daniel, but she felt she at least had to broach the subject of family counselling. Give him time to consider while he had time on his hands. ‘She’s withdrawn, Dan. Not talking, about what happened, or anything very much.’

‘Christ.’ Daniel glanced away. He kneaded his temple with his free hand. ‘Do you want me to try to talk to her?’

Jo felt a surge of hope rise in her chest and tentatively took the opportunity to follow through. ‘You could try, but if she won’t even talk to her best friend . . .’ Hannah had been a constant visitor to Matthew’s house the last few days. Kayla, it seemed, was reluctant to share details with her either.

Jo let it hang, and then took the bull by the horns. ‘I was hoping we might try counselling again, Dan. Family counselling,’ she added quickly, aware that relationship counselling had been a road to nowhere, ending in Daniel retreating further into himself.

‘Dan?’ She pressed him carefully, despite her intention not to. But then she could hardly keep lying about the state of their daughter’s health.

Daniel nodded half-heartedly. ‘I suppose, but . . . Do you think it might be a bit soon?’ He glanced uncertainly at her. ‘I mean, shouldn’t we give her more time?’

Time for what, she wanted to ask. For it to eat her up until she’s as dysfunctional emotionally as you were, Daniel? We were? Jo steeled herself. She’d planted the idea. It was Daniel who needed the time now, to consider.

‘I’ll get us a drink.’ She changed the subject; Daniel no longer making eye contact suggested she should. She’d been hoping to talk to him about other things. The boatyard, for one, given their current state of no abode and her conversation with Tony, who’d now offered to rent them the house, or let them buy the boatyard back, should they feel able to go back.

Jo was still of the same mind, that it had to be a joint decision. But that could wait too, she supposed, until Daniel was strong enough to talk things through properly.

She smiled and got to her feet. ‘Tea or caffeine?’ she asked, doing her best to keep it light and touch base with him.

‘Coffee, thanks,’ Daniel answered distractedly.

No touchdown then. Jo sighed and headed for the door, Daniel seeming off away in his head somewhere. ‘Back soon.’

She waited.

No response.

‘What? Oh, yes. Great, thanks,’ Daniel said, as Jo walked out of the room.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

The walls were closing in, inch by suffocating inch. Daniel knew he was losing it, but he couldn’t get past it. No amount of counting would make Roberts’ goading face go away; that flat, evil look in his eyes that had Daniel wanting to rip his black heart out, his taunting voice, which Daniel could hear even in his dreams. Oh man, the bloke’s a fuckin’ basket case. Attacked his own father, did Danny boy.

The nightmare was never going to end. Over and over it played. If he went anywhere near counselling, they were going to dig up his past.

All of it. In minute detail. His mother’s suicide. The abuse.

The fact that Daniel Conner had broken his own father’s spine.

That he’d killed his baby daughter.

Daniel’s heart lurched. He couldn’t do it. That freak had been right. He was no macho protector of women. He hadn’t been able to protect his family. He hadn’t been able to stop his father, stop any of it.

It had been his fault. He’d been to blame.

And now . . . What now? Push the onus back on Jo? The guilt? Ask her outright if she wanted to be with him, a man so dysfunctional he couldn’t even talk to her, so fucked up he’d allowed a psychopath to mercilessly torture his wife and his daughter?

He’d be the one piling pain on top of pain. He simply couldn’t do it. The only real option as far as Daniel could see, was to remove the source of that pain.

Wincing, he pulled the drip from his hand, eased his legs over the bed, got unsteadily to his feet, and the walls shifted, audibly. He could fucking hear them. Christ! He had to get out. Now! A knot tightened in Daniel’s stomach. No more. He couldn’t do this.

Finding his clothes in the bedside locker, Daniel tried to quell his growing panic and keep himself upright long enough to get dressed, and then get out, before the confined space buried him. He’d talk to Jo from a safe distance, where she wouldn’t have to feel obliged to stand by him lying injured in a hospital bed.

But she didn’t. Did she? Daniel swallowed hard, heading through the hospital for the exit. He knew Jo well enough to know she wasn’t by his side through some sense of obligation. Didn’t he? Daniel tried to be rational, to think through the fog in his head. Where was he going to go? How was he going to talk to Jo, if he couldn’t even think? Talk to her at all when . . . He simply hadn’t got the courage.

No, Jo didn’t need him to screw up the rest of her life. She’d be better off without him. Did he really believe that? Daniel didn’t know. All he knew was he needed to get away from the madness, which seemed to be all around him, and inside him too.

* * *

‘He’s discharged himself?’ Matthew asked incredulously, his mobile pressed to his ear as he headed for the station car park.

‘No, not discharged,’ Jo answered him, and by the sound of her voice she was trying very hard to hold it together. ‘Gone as in gone, left the hospital without telling anyone.’

Including her, obviously, Matthew surmised. ‘Look, Jo, don’t panic.’ He tried to calm her. ‘I’m on it. He can’t have got far.’

‘Yes, but . . .’ Jo’s voice faltered. ‘. . . why did he do it? And where has he gone?’

Matthew had a shrewd idea about the why. Daniel had been balancing on the edge of sanity on the back of that boat. He’d been uncommunicative in the hospital, introspective, events past and present playing over and over, like sick movie stills through his mind. He’d been blaming himself for things that were beyond his ability to control. Matthew had been there. Dammit! Why the hell hadn’t he alerted someone to his possible state of mind?

As for the where, Matthew’s own experiences told him he might just know, but he wasn’t about to share that with his wife and drive her insane with worry.

‘Look, Jo, go back to Kayla,’ he urged her, throwing himself in his car. ‘I’ll get every available man on it, I promise. We’ll find him. And as soon as we do, I’ll call you.’

He would get every man he could on it, but not until he’d at least checked this out. Daniel might have gone voluntarily missing, but his reasons why, Matthew suspected, put him in the medium to high vulnerability risk category, meaning Daniel Conner might well be a threat to himself. If Matthew called it in, Davies would be obliged to call in a Senior Investigative Officer, which might mean media involvement.

No, if Daniel had gone to the place Matthew thought he had, then he aimed to find him before there were police all over the place, which would do the man no good at all.

* * *

Kayla watched her mum sitting in the armchair pretending to watch Skyfall. Normally, she’d be salivating over Daniel Craig, which Kayla thought was totally juvenile, but not tonight. She’d looked at her watch more times than she’d looked at the TV.

‘What’s up, Mum?’ she asked for the second time.

‘Nothing,’ Jo snapped.

‘Sorr-ee, I am sure.’ Kayla folded her arms and fixed her gaze back on the telly. She actually felt like crying but guessed that might be pretty juvenile too. Her mum obviously had a lot on her mind, but she really hoped they weren’t going to go back to the ‘You do as I say, young lady’ scenario.

‘Oh, Kayla, I’m sorry,’ Jo said wretchedly, coming to sit next to her. ‘It’s nothing. I’m just a bit overwrought, that’s all.’

‘Yeah, right.’ Kayla wasn’t convinced. ‘If you chew any more nails you’ll have to start on your toes.’

Jo forced a smile.

‘Is it Dad?’ Kayla asked guardedly. She was supposed to be seeing him tonight and suddenly it was off. Her mum had come back early, so Kayla supposed that Matthew must be seeing him about stuff, like Jo said. Still, she couldn’t help wondering if maybe this was a ploy on her mum’s part to get her to go to this counselling thing. She’d said her dad was considering it. Was he? Worked out crappily last time, didn’t it? Or was her mum bluffing, trying to get her to agree to go and then work on him?

Kayla twiddled an eyebrow stud pensively. Had he taken a turn for the worse and her mum wasn’t saying? She glanced worriedly at Jo, who was checking her mobile signal for about the bazillionth time.

* * *

Matthew parked illegally and climbed over the low wall into the closed cemetery.

He stopped short of the plot where he’d seen Joanne Conner before another painful nightmare for them had begun. Daniel was there, sitting with his back to the stone, his head bowed and his hands hanging loosely between his knees. Matthew offered up a prayer of gratitude and hoped to God the man hadn’t done anything stupid.

Slowly, he skirted around until he could approach Daniel from the front, and then walked carefully towards him. ‘Nice night for it,’ he said, and waited. Recalling how close he’d been pushed to the edge, how skewed his own thinking had been about the pain he’d caused his own family, Matthew knew he’d have to handle this very carefully.

Daniel dropped his head lower and scratched his forehead with his thumb. He laughed at length, a tight, slightly strangulated laugh. ‘I thought this was the last place anyone would look for me.’

‘First place I thought of, actually.’ Matthew moved forwards with less trepidation now that he could see no evidence Daniel had harmed himself, not externally anyhow. Daniel glanced up, and what Matthew saw in his eyes rocked him to the core. His expression might not be giving much away, but in his eyes . . . absolute, unadulterated terror.

‘It’s good to grieve, Daniel.’ Matthew eased himself down next to him. ‘I come here when I need some quiet time. I don’t get much of that at home, living in an all-female household,’ he carried on chatting in the absence of any response from Daniel, trying to keep it light. The man knew now that he’d lost a daughter too. He knew he understood some of what he was going through, although, in fact, Matthew understood much more than he’d shared. Daniel didn’t need those sorts of details though, not now.

Daniel shook his head.

Matthew twisted to look at him. ‘The man smiles.’

‘Yeah.’ Daniel dragged his hands over his face. ‘Not much lately though.’ He swallowed hard. ‘Does Jo know I’m here?’

‘Nope, not as far as I know.’ Matthew felt for his mobile in his pocket, ready to ring whoever might be needed at short notice, including Jo. ‘It’s just me, I’m afraid.’

Daniel nodded, obviously relieved, then leaned back to rest his head against the cool of the stone.

‘Do you want to talk?’ Matthew ventured.

Daniel didn’t answer.

‘Don’t go in for the heart-to-heart stuff much, do we? I’m reliably informed by my wife that this is not such a great thing. It took me a while to realise she was right.’

Silence.

Matthew continued to wait.

‘I can’t,’ Daniel said throatily, folding his arms across his chest, which exacerbated by the damp atmosphere, was probably hurting like hell. ‘Not about this.’

Matthew nodded slowly. ‘The kidnapping you mean? Or other stuff?’

Daniel said nothing, just tightened his arms around himself.

Matthew watched him, assessing him carefully. Had he taken anything? Pills of some sort? He hoped not. Hoped that once Daniel had thought it through, he would have realised how much more painful that would be to his family than anything Roberts had done.

Daniel bowed his head again, a cold shiver seeming to run right through him.

‘I do know about the other stuff, you know, Daniel. I am a copper.’ Matthew pressed on, trying to elicit some response from the man, even if it was only to tell him to piss off and mind his own business. A spark of anger would at least indicate Daniel Conner was still willing to fight.

Daniel massaged his temples.

‘You have to go back, Daniel. You know you’ve let that bastard win if you don’t?’ Matthew pushed it, prayed he wasn’t pushing too hard.

Still Daniel said nothing.

Now Matthew was seriously worried. ‘Daniel,’ he started cautiously, his own voice tight, ‘you haven’t taken anything, have you? Because if you have, I have to make calls. You know that, don’t you?’

Daniel answered with another shake of his head.

A resolute shake, Matthew noted. A delay before that response and he’d have had to assume that he had.

‘Well, that’s a relief.’ Matthew blew out a sigh. ‘I didn’t much fancy giving you the kiss of life in the dead of night in a graveyard. Might look a bit iffy.’

No response this time.

Stone walls, Matthew thought despairingly. The man had been erecting them since he was a kid. He wasn’t easily going to be persuaded from behind this one.

‘Blimey, this wet grass isn’t doing me much good after a pint at the pub,’ he remarked suddenly. ‘If we’re here for the long haul, I need to attend to a call of nature. Don’t go anywhere, Daniel,’ he warned him, wishing the man would at least make eye contact with him, ‘or you’ll leave me no choice but to call for assistance.’

Matthew got to his feet and headed in the general direction of the toilets, glancing over his shoulder to make sure Daniel stayed put as he went.

* * *

‘Where is he?’ Kayla demanded, eyeballing Jo with a mixture of belligerence and bewilderment as she came back into the lounge. ‘Mum, tell me! I’ve just rung the hospital,’ she shouted desperately, her expression that of an angry young woman and a frightened little girl all at once.

Oh no. Jo closed her eyes. What on earth was she going to tell her? Had Daniel thought about that when he’d . . . ? Of course he hadn’t thought about it. He’d barely been capable of thinking at all when she’d last seen him.

Dear Lord — Jo squeezed back the tears threatening to spill over — please let him get through this. Let him be safe somewhere, and alive. Jo’s heart almost jolted to a stop, now she’d acknowledged he might not be.

Getting to her feet, she looked at her daughter and took a deep breath. ‘I don’t know where he is, Kayla.’ She took a step towards her. ‘He left the hospital. We’re not sure—’

‘Wha’d’y’mean left?’ Kayla backed away. ‘Left to go where? Why did he leave?’

‘I don’t know, darling.’ Jo felt her heart twist painfully inside her.

Kayla was shaking. Physically shaking and Jo had no idea what to say to stop it. ‘I think . . . The doctors think he might have had some sort of a breakdown.’

‘Breakdown?’ Kayla paled.

‘Oh baby . . .’ Jo moved quickly towards her, and then stopped dead as her mobile rang. Terrified, her eyes holding Kayla’s, she fumbled the mobile out of her pocket and clutched it to her ear.

‘Jo, we’ve found him. He’s okay,’ Matthew said immediately.

Jo closed her eyes, relief flooding through her and leaving her weak in its wake.

‘That is, he’s physically in one piece, but . . . he needs some time, Jo.’ Matthew paused. ‘To collect his thoughts, you know?’

Jo did know. Her mind was screaming with questions. But she did know. She hoped. Prayed he hadn’t run away from her again. No, he needed time; that was all. Thinking things through was Daniel’s way.

‘Has he said anything?’ she asked, trying to sound calm for Kayla’s sake.

‘Not much. He’s confused. The medication on top of everything else, I imagine. I’m right by his side, Jo.’

Jo nodded, her heart plummeting. He’d shut it all in, determined to cope with it alone, again. How could he though? The weight was too much for one person to carry, the pain, the grief, the bewilderment, all stuffed inside. She wouldn’t let it crush him. Would not let Daniel slip away from her. Not again. ‘Where is he?’ she asked, trying to imagine where he could be. How Matthew had managed to find him.

Matthew hesitated. ‘Not in a great place at the moment, Jo. To be brutally honest, I think he’d rather you didn’t see him like this.’

Oh, God. Jo swallowed and glanced at the ceiling. ‘Has he . . . ? Will he be . . . ?’ A sob catching her throat, Jo stopped.

‘Joanne, he’s all right,’ Matthew assured her. ‘He just needs some space to get his head together, that’s all. I’ll be here with him. I won’t leave him. I give you my word.’

Jo gulped back, hard.

‘I’ll call you again as soon as I can.’

‘Thank you,’ Jo said, her legs threatening to give way as Matthew rang off.

‘Have they found him?’ Kayla asked tremulously.

Jo couldn’t speak. A hand clamped over her mouth, she nodded vigorously instead, and then reached for Kayla to hug her close to her.

* * *

Matthew waited. A good fifteen minutes had gone by and still he was getting nothing from Daniel but monosyllabic answers.

‘Do you come here much, Daniel?’ he asked, trying a different tack.

To which Daniel replied with a tight intake of breath. ‘No,’ he said eventually, letting a ragged breath out.

‘Why’s that, Daniel?’ Matthew pressed on gently. ‘Because you couldn’t accept it?’

Daniel shrugged. ‘Deal with it,’ he answered, after a pause. ‘Talk about it.’

‘About how you felt?’

Daniel tugged another breath in, trying hard to keep his emotions in check, Matthew guessed.

‘How was that, Daniel? How did you feel?’

‘Honestly?’ Daniel smiled wryly. ‘Like a bastard. Like I was dying inside. Like I deserved to.’

Matthew glanced sharply at him, empathising with the man entirely. Oh no you don’t, Daniel, he thought determinedly, as the man looked to the heavens for answers. Not on my watch. ‘And you couldn’t talk to Joanne about any of this?’

‘No. Not about Emma. Not about . . .’ Daniel stopped and looked down. ‘. . . other stuff. I tried. I couldn’t. Didn’t know how to deal with the anger, I guess.’

Anger being an emotion Daniel Conner would definitely work hard to keep in check. Matthew made another shrewd guess based on his history. ‘So Joanne doesn’t know about your father?’

‘Yes. Yes, she does.’ Daniel nodded, seeming relieved that Matthew had mentioned the subject outright and uncertain all at once. ‘Now, anyway.’

Something he’d confided thinking they might not come out of the hostage situation alive, Matthew wondered? Attempting to allay Jo’s fears that their inability to communicate had been anything other than down to him? Probably.

Debating for a second, Matthew decided he’d no choice but to venture further onto sensitive ground. Daniel Conner loved his wife, enough to give his life for her. He didn’t deserve this. His family didn’t. He needed to get Daniel out of here, and to do that, he needed to get him talking properly and, hopefully, rationally.

‘A man’s no less of a man for being taken advantage of as a child, you know, Daniel?’ he started, aware that this was a particularly emotive subject, but hoping to prod Daniel into a reaction. ‘Joanne married the person you are. You’re still that person. I’m sure you’ll find she doesn’t love you any the less.’

Daniel didn’t look convinced.

‘You have to confide in her,’ Matthew went on. ‘Trust her, Daniel. Or you might well end up losing her. You have to at least—’

‘I know!’ Daniel cut in quickly. ‘I want to. I just . . .’ He shrugged hopelessly.

‘Don’t know how?’

‘Would you?’ Daniel looked at him, at last. ‘I mean, is there a way to tell her I’d rather she leave me than pity me, that I don’t want her to feel obliged, without sounding like the weak specimen I am?’

‘Is that what you’re scared of? Jo seeing you that way?’

‘She’s been through enough,’ Daniel answered forcefully. ‘Kayla has. Jesus, whatever I say, I’ll be compromising her, don’t you see?’

Massaging the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, Matthew thought about it, then decided to do something he’d never imagined himself doing in his wildest dreams. ‘I see you think you will,’ he acknowledged and reached for his phone. ‘I want to show you something. Might put it into perspective.’

It didn’t take him long to find the video he hoped people who knew him even remotely would never see. Recalling with absolute clarity his own feelings around the origin of the video, anger, bewilderment, deep shame, worst of all culpability, he handed the phone to Daniel, watching the man’s expression change from confusion to open incredulity as he viewed it.

Daniel shook his head. ‘You?’ he asked, his look now a mixture of shock and sympathy as he handed the phone back.

‘Yep,’ Matthew said, around a tight intake of breath. ‘Rohypnol induced, I hasten to add. Nothing like a video going viral to hammer the humiliation home, is there?’

‘Bloody hell.’ Daniel took a minute to digest.

‘I think I do have a shrewd idea of how you’re feeling,’ Matthew picked up. ‘Defiled. Responsible. All the emotions victims of sexual crimes usually feel and shouldn’t. Truth be known, I felt like the weakest specimen of manhood that ever walked the earth. I’ll give you one guess how I thought Becky would feel.’

Daniel looked at him, finally making full on eye contact with him.

‘The thing is I didn’t ask her. I made assumptions,’ Matthew went on, sharing stuff he definitely didn’t find it easy to do. ‘I didn’t think she was strong enough, which was ultimately telling her that I thought we weren’t strong enough. I didn’t give her the choice to make her own decisions, decisions she could only make if she knew how I felt. I was wrong. I only had to talk to her, properly, honestly, to realise she didn’t think any less of me.’

Daniel searched his face, nodding at length. ‘You got through it though?’

‘I think the fact that we’re still together speaks for itself. She loves me.’ Matthew smiled. ‘Yeah, I know, I can’t think why either,’ he added, which at least raised a smile from Daniel.

‘I wanted to kill him,’ Daniel said, after a pause. He glanced uncertainly at Matthew. ‘It wasn’t a gut reaction. I really wanted to kill the bastard. Would have done, if not for you.’

Again Matthew waited, knowing where Daniel was coming from here too, and that he needed to admit it.

‘I was so fucking angry. Still am.’

Matthew got that too. More than Daniel could know. ‘Right, so rather than deal with all these negative emotions, you decided to top yourself instead?’ he asked him bluntly, because Daniel also needed to admit to that, to see the absurdity of it. ‘And this was supposed to make Jo feel better how, exactly?’

Daniel closed his eyes. ‘I wasn’t thinking straight.’ He swallowed and raked his hands through his hair. ‘I was confused. Scared . . .’ He shrugged embarrassedly.

‘Understandable,’ Matthew assured him. ‘You know, while killing people by way of venting your frustration might not be allowed, Daniel, anger is. Fear is too. Both perfectly normal, I’d say.’

Daniel opened his eyes but didn’t say anything.

‘So, what’s your plan now?’ Matthew asked. ‘Give in and allow Roberts to win after all? Or get on with your life?’

‘The latter,’ Daniel said adamantly. ‘Somehow.’

‘Good,’ Matthew said, with a quiet sigh of relief.

‘I think I might need help though,’ Daniel went on hesitantly, ‘to, er . . .’

‘Get your thinking straight?’

Daniel nodded. ‘And some.’

‘Ah, well, that’s where you’ll find I’m a handy copper to have around. I know someone who can help you,’ Matthew offered. ‘A psychiatrist. Knows his stuff too.’

Daniel looked doubtful.

‘Can’t say I blame you for the scepticism, but this guy comes personally recommended by yours truly, and I was the world’s biggest sceptic, trust me. Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, Daniel. That’s my motto now.’

‘Personally recommended, hey?’ Daniel thought about it. ‘Okay, so tell me more.’

‘He’s based at a low security open mental health facility,’ Matthew supplied warily.

Now Daniel definitely looked doubtful.

‘The facility also offers extensive life counselling,’ Matthew added, praying for the man’s sanity’s sake, as well as his family’s sake, that he would go for it. ‘You can go as often as you need to on a day care basis.’

Daniel considered. ‘Sounds like a plan,’ he agreed eventually. ‘Suppose I’ve nothing to lose really, have I?’

‘I’d say you’ve an awful lot worth fighting for, Daniel.’

‘Okay, I’ll do it.’ Daniel sounded more positive. ‘But on one condition,’ he paused, making sure he’d got Matthew’s full attention.

‘Which is?’

‘You don’t tell Jo about this. My, er . . .’

‘. . . dark thoughts?’ Matthew supplied.

‘It would destroy her.’ Daniel dropped his gaze.

‘Are you sure about that, Daniel?’ Matthew asked, finally easing himself from the damp grass. ‘Strikes me Joanne Conner is an extremely strong woman.’

Waiting until Daniel looked back at him, he nodded past him and then extended a hand to help the man back to his feet.

* * *

Christ, no. Daniel’s heart plummeted to the depths of his soul. He glanced back to Matthew, who nodded him on.

‘It’s good to talk, Daniel,’ he said, offering him a reassuring smile, and then turning to walk away.

She’d heard was all Daniel could think. Everything he’d said.

Jo had heard it all. A new kind of panic clutched at his chest, as he searched her face, seeing the bewilderment there, sheer disbelief and open disillusionment.

‘Daniel?’ Jo said shakily.

Daniel closed his eyes, not sure he could bear to see the pain in hers. What the hell had he been thinking?

‘It’s where I come, too,’ Jo said, after a second, ‘to think things through. I sit for hours sometimes . . . on my own.’

‘Jo, I . . .’ Daniel swallowed back a sick taste in his throat.

‘It’s the one place I don’t mind being on my own, strangely enough.’

‘Jesus,’ Daniel’s heart twisted inside him, ‘Jo, I am so—’

‘I always came home though. Even though, God help me, sometimes I didn’t want to, I always did, Daniel.’

Hearing the sob catch in her throat, Daniel gulped back a hard lump in his own. Her pretty green eyes were red-rimmed and wide with palpable fear. Her cheeks streaked with hot tears. He’d done that. Him! He’d wanted to keep her safe. Swore he’d never let anything hurt her again. And he’d done this. ‘Jo, I . . .’ He took a faltering step towards her.

‘Why, Daniel?’ Jo backed away. ‘Why? Why did you leave the hospital? Why did you go? Daniel, tell me! For God’s sake, why?’

Daniel searched for a way to answer. Panic gripping him, he scrambled for the right words. Any words to explain the most selfish thing he’d ever done in his life.

‘Daniel, talk to me. Dear God!’ Jo stared at him hard, and then, shaking her head when Daniel didn’t answer, she turned away.

And Daniel’s heart stopped in his chest. ‘Jo, please . . .’

Jo kept walking.

‘I fell, Jo! I was climbing the fucking walls and I fell!’ Daniel shouted, his frustration and fury spilling over.

Jo stopped.

‘I didn’t know whether you wanted to be with me,’ Daniel went on, more quietly. ‘I didn’t know how to ask. I didn’t think I could . . .’ He stopped and swallowed. ‘I fell, Jo. And I’m sorry. I never meant to hurt you.’

Slowly, Jo turned back, a look of desperation now in her eyes. ‘I love you, Daniel! I need you. I want you. All of you. Doesn’t that mean anything to you?’

Daniel pulled in a breath — and breathed out slowly. Little by little, his heart started beating again, urging his stubborn legs to move forwards. ‘Everything, Jo. It means everything to me. I’m so sorry.’

‘Come back to me, Dan.’

‘I’m here, Jo,’ Daniel assured her hoarsely. ‘I love you. With every fibre of my being, I love you, Jo. I swear to God, I will never do anything to hurt you ever again.’ He brushed a tear from her cheek, folded her gently to him, then — for the first time ever — Daniel cried openly.

Epilogue

It was still hot outside. Daniel towelled himself off, and then selected a white shirt with a blue tie. Too much, he wondered? And then decided to go with it.

‘Ready?’ Jo asked as he came into the kitchen.

Daniel tugged at his shirt collar. He never was much good with suits. ‘As I’ll ever be. You?’

Jo nodded and came over to straighten his tie. ‘You look great,’ she assured him.

‘You look pretty good yourself, Mrs Conner.’ Daniel smiled, despite his nerves, and looked his wife over. With a tan and dressed in a simple yellow shift dress, she looked elegant and confident all at once. His sunny, self-assured Jo. The woman he thought he’d lost, then by some miracle, managed to find again. There would always be a part of them missing, but his life was complete, his heart filled with gratitude and love for this woman, who loved him back unquestionably.

‘Do you know what time Ashley’s picking her up?’ he asked. He tried not to make it too obvious, but Daniel doubted he’d ever stop worrying entirely about the women in his life being in the house on their own.

‘Soon,’ Jo assured him, giving him that look that told him she knew full well he was worrying. ‘They’re hitting the shops, so Kayla tells me, with Hannah for some retail therapy, followed by lunch. After that, they’ll all be at Matthew and Becky’s house watching some girly movie.’

Daniel shook his head. ‘That’ll be Matthew evicted from his lounge again then?’

‘And paying for pizza,’ Jo reminded him.

Daniel smiled. He’d never imagined he’d come to like and respect one of the police officers he’d first encountered after the accident. He’d had nothing but contempt for the way they’d handled things after Emma’s death. DI Matthew Adams, though, was definitely worthy of his respect. A man determined to go above and beyond the call of duty, he’d saved Daniel, more than once. Daniel owed him, big time.

Jo checked her watch. ‘She should be here any—’ She stopped as a car horn tooted outside, followed closely by the sound of Kayla thundering delicately downstairs.

‘Catch ya lata,’ she said, flying into the kitchen to pluck up her key.

‘We’ll do dinner at the weekend,’ Jo promised, giving her a quick hug before she dashed off. ‘Your choice.’

‘Um,’ Kayla pondered. ‘Italian. Pasta, with loads of garlic dough balls,’ she said, heading swiftly for the door, then back again to throw her arms around Daniel’s neck, almost pulling him over, as she planted a kiss on his cheek.

Daniel laughed, bemused. ‘What was that for?’

‘’Cos Hannah and Ashley think you’re all right.’ Kayla waggled her eyebrows insinuatingly. ‘Me too. Good luck.’ She gave him another hug, and then skidded off again.

And Daniel swallowed a lump in his throat.

That was his daughter. Unmistakably Kayla. The Kayla of old, a teenager with attitude. Almost grown up and dressed her age in vertiginous shoes, denim shorts and T-shirt. No layers of make-up to hide behind though. Just the minimum required to enhance the natural beauty of a confident young woman.

How could he ever have contemplated not being here for her?

‘I think she’s back on form.’ Jo smiled, went to check the back door was locked, and then collected the car keys from the table. ‘Come on,’ she said, hooking her arm through Daniel’s, ‘let’s go and dazzle the bank manager with our business plan.’

Daniel glanced at the boats bobbing lazily on the water, breathed deep the smell of diesel and oil thick on the air, and thanked God he was alive. He double-checked the front door was locked, wrapped his arm around Jo, and together they walked across the boatyard they were planning to extend, along with other things.

Daniel pulled Jo closer, his free hand straying to the soft round of her tummy. She wasn’t showing much yet, but she soon would be.

THE END

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Thank You

Hello,

I’d just like to say a massive thank you to all those readers and book bloggers who read and reviewed the first two books in the Detective Inspector Matthew Adams series. The books are doing well and really have had some fabulous feedback. I’m truly grateful for the fantastic support.

I do hope you have enjoyed reading the third in the series, Want You Gone, which tells the story of a psychological battle between everyman Daniel Conner, who is forced into becoming a hero, after being tortured and forcibly drugged, and drug addict Charlie Roberts, who has taken Daniel’s wife and daughter hostage.

The story was inspired by my experience of boating. We own a small narrowboat and, after a hard day on the river locks, we tend to moor up near a pub for our evening meal. Often, the areas we moor in can be very rural and remote. On one particularly spooky, moon-free evening, on the walk back, I noticed a man parked up adjacent to the bank. A prickle of apprehension ran the length of my spine. Strange, I thought, that he should be just sitting there in the dead of night in such a secluded spot. On reaching the boat, my partner promptly announced he’d left his phone in the pub and skedaddled off back along the riverbank to retrieve it, leaving me alone with my imagination. Want You Gone therefore definitely came from a ‘what if’ scenario. Panic not, my partner hadn’t hired a hit man.

I’m often asked what I found most challenging in writing the book. Without doubt, that would be the drug-related scenes. Obviously these sections weren’t inspired by personal experience. Thanks to information gathered from a Forensics course I undertook, though, along with feedback from Former Senior Police Detective, Stuart Gibbon, I think I managed to write them successfully, as indicated by a snippet from a recent reviewer: “Where an earth did you learn all about drug use!!! — very graphic. Overall verdict, marvellous achievement — well done!”

I also found it hard to be cruel, as Charlie Roberts most certainly is. Getting into the psyche of such a twisted antagonist was difficult, but, apparently, I make a great psychopath!

The road to publication can sometimes be a little bit bumpy and seeing your book finally ‘out there’ is truly amazing. Knowing people are reading it is equally amazing and reader feedback is invaluable. Reviews can do so much to up a book’s profile but they do also inspire the author to keep writing and improving. If you’ve connected emotionally with DI Adams and his family, therefore, and you have time to leave a brief review either on the site where you bought the novel, or somewhere like Goodreads, it would be hugely appreciated.

Please do feel free to contact me anytime. You can find my details under my author profile. You can also find details of my other contemporary fiction books on my website or on the Choc Lit website. Meanwhile, I’ll keep being inspired and I’ll keep writing.

Happy reading all!

Lots of love,

Sheryl x

Acknowledgements

With thanks to former Police DCI Stuart Gibbon at GIB Consultancy for his fabulous advice on Police actions and procedures.

Thank you too so much readers and book bloggers for taking time to leave a review. You all work so tirelessly and your support is so hugely appreciated.

Special thanks to Shell Baker at Crime Book Club for your unstinting support when I truly needed it. It meant a lot! Special thanks too to Helen Boyce and all the reviewers at The Book Club, who took time to read After She’s Gone and Sins of the Father and give me some amazing feedback. And to Mark Clegg at Memoir and Biographical Fiction Book Club! You’re all stars!

Huge thanks also to the members of the Choc Lit Panel (Emma R, Susie D, Els, Sue H, Sue R, Sigi, Debbie J, Jo O, Karen M, Barbara P, Alison G, Colleen S, Ruth N and Carol F) for recommending Deadly Intent for publication I’m thrilled and humbled. I simply could not do this without you.

Keep safe all.

About the Author

Heartache, humour, love, loss & betrayal, Sheryl Browne brings you edgy, sexy, poignant fiction. A member of the Crime Writers’ Association, Romantic Novelists’ Association and shortlisted for the Best Romantic e-book Love Stories Award 2015, Sheryl has several books published and two short stories in Birmingham City University anthologies, where she completed her MA in Creative Writing.

After She’s Gone is the first book in Sheryl’s Detective Inspector Matthew Adams series.

www.twitter.com/SherylBrowne

www.sherylbrowne.com

Discover More Books By Sheryl Browne

AFTER SHE’S GONE

UK www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B0DPL5HTBC

US www.amazon.com/dp/B0DPL5HTBC

Gripping from page one.

DI Matthew Adams’ little girl is lying on the cold floor.

Tears he couldn’t hope to hide streaming down his face, Matthew leans towards her, brushing her blood-matted, beautiful blonde hair gently away from her face. ‘Daddy’s here, darling,’ he chokes. ‘It’s going to be just fine.’

Lies. Lies. He screams inside. It isn’t going to be fine.

There’s evil and then there’s Patrick Sullivan. Drug dealer, pimp and now his daughter’s killer.

Matthew has always prided himself on his unwavering moral compass. But after what happens to his daughter, he has nothing left to lose.

Also by Sheryl Browne

DETECTIVE INSPECTOR MATTHEW ADAMS SERIES

Book 1: AFTER SHE’S GONE

Book 2: DEAD AND GONE

Book 3: WANT YOU GONE

The Choc Lit Story

Established in 2009, Choc Lit is an independent, award-winning publisher dedicated to creating a delicious selection of quality women’s fiction.

We have won 18 awards, including Publisher of the Year and the Romantic Novel of the Year, and have been shortlisted for countless others. In 2023, we were shortlisted for Publisher of the Year by the Romantic Novelists’ Association.

All our novels are selected by genuine readers. We are proud to publish talented first-time authors, as well as established writers whose books we love introducing to a new generation of readers.

In 2023, we became a Joffe Books company. Best known for publishing a wide range of commercial fiction, Joffe Books has its roots in women’s fiction. Today it is one of the largest independent publishers in the UK.

We love to hear from you, so please email us about absolutely anything bookish at choc-lit@joffebooks.com.

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Glossary of English Usage for US Readers

A & E: accident and emergency department in a hospital

Aggro: violent behaviour, aggression

Air raid: attack in which bombs are dropped from aircraft on ground targets

Allotment: a plot of land rented by an individual for growing fruit, vegetables or flowers

Anorak: nerd (it also means a waterproof jacket)

Artex: textured plaster finish for walls and ceilings

A levels: exams taken between 16 and 18

Auld Reekie: Edinburgh

Au pair: live-in childcare helper, often a young woman

Barm: bread roll

Barney: argument

Beaker: glass or cup for holding liquids

Beemer: BMW car or motorcycle

Benefits: social security

Bent: corrupt

Bin: wastebasket (noun), or throw in rubbish (verb)

Biscuit: cookie

Blackpool Lights: gaudy illuminations in a seaside town

Bloke: guy

Blow: cocaine

Blower: telephone

Blues and twos: emergency vehicles

Bob: money, e.g. ‘That must have cost a few bob.’

Bobby: policeman

Broadsheet: quality newspaper (New York Times would be a US example)

Brown bread: rhyming slang for dead

Bun: small cake

Bunk: escape, e.g. ‘do a bunk’

Burger bar: hamburger fast-food restaurant

Buy-to-let: buying a house/apartment to rent it out for profit

Charity shop: thrift store

Carrier bag: plastic bag from supermarket

Care home: an institution where old people are cared for

Car park: parking lot

CBeebies: kids’ TV

Chat-up: flirt, trying to pick up someone with witty banter or compliments

Chemist: pharmacy

Chinwag: conversation

Chippie: fast-food place selling chips, battered fish and other fried food

Chips: French fries but thicker

CID: Criminal Investigation Department

Civvy Street: civilian life (as opposed to army)

Clock: punch (in an altercation) or register

Cock-up: mess up, make a mistake

Cockney: a native of East London

Common: an area of park land or lower class

Comprehensive school (comp.): a public (re state-run) high school

Cop hold of: grab

Copper: police officer

Coverall: coveralls, or boiler suit

CPS: Crown Prosecution Service, who decide whether police cases go forward

Childminder: someone paid to look after children

Council: local government

Dan Dare: hero from Eagle comic

DC: detective constable

Deck: one of the landings on a floor of a tower block

Deck: hit (verb)

Desperate Dan: very strong comic book character

DI: detective inspector

Digestive biscuit: plain cookie

Digs: student lodgings

Do a runner: disappear

Do one: go away

Doc Martens: heavy boots with an air-cushioned sole, also DMs, Docs

Donkey’s years: long time

Drum: house

DS: detective sergeant

ED: emergency department of a hospital

Eagle: children’s comic, marketed at boys

Early dart: to leave work early

Eggy soldiers: strips of toast with a boiled, runny egg

Enforcer: police battering ram

Estate: public/social housing estate (similar to housing projects)

Estate agent: realtor

Falklands War: war between Britain and Argentina in 1982

Fag: cigarette

Father Christmas: Santa Claus

Filth: police (insulting)

Forces: army, navy and air force

FMO: force medical officer

Fried slice: fried bread

Fuzz: police

Garda: Irish police

GCSEs: exams taken between age 14 and 16, replaced O levels in 1988

Gendarmerie: French national police force

Geordie: from Newcastle

Garden centre: a business where plants and gardening equipment are sold

Gob: mouth, can also mean phlegm or spit

GP: general practitioner, a doctor based in the community

Graft: hard work

Gran: grandmother

Hancock: Tony Hancock, English comedian popular in 1950s

Hard nut: tough person

HGV: heavy goods vehicle, truck

HOLMES: UK police computer system used during investigation of major incidents

Home: care home for elderly or sick people

Hoover: vacuum cleaner

I’ll be blowed: expression of surprise

In care: refers to a child taken away from their family by the social services

Inne: isn’t he

Interpol: international police organisation

Iron Lady: Margaret Thatcher, applied to any strong woman

ITU: intensive therapy unit in hospital

Jane/John Doe: a person whose identity is unknown/anonymous

JCB: a manufacturer of construction machinery, like mechanical excavators

Jerry-built: badly made

Jungle: nickname given to migrant camp near Calais

Lad: young man

Lass: young woman

Lift: elevator

Lord Lucan: famous British aristocrat who allegedly killed his children’s nanny and disappeared in 1974 and was never found

Lorry: truck

Lovely jubbly: said when someone is pleased

Luftwaffe: German air force

M&S: Marks and Spencer, a food and clothes shop

Miss Marple: detective in a series of books by Agatha Christie, often used to imply a busybody, especially of older women

MOD: Ministry of Defence

Mobile phone: cell phone

MP: Member of Parliament, politician representing an area

MRSA: A strain of antibiotic-resistant bacteria

Myra Hindley: famous British serial killer

Naff: tacky/corny, not cool

Naff all: none

National Service: compulsory military service, in the UK ended in 60s

Net curtains: a type of semi-transparent lace curtain

NHS: National Health Service, public health service of the UK

Nick: police station (as verb: to arrest)

Nowt: nothing

Nutter: insane person, can be used affectionately

Nursery: a place which grows plants, shrubs and trees for sale (often wholesale)

O levels: exams taken between age 14 and 16 until 1988 (replaced by GCSEs)

Old bag: old woman (insulting)

Old Bill: police

OTT: over the top

Owt: anything

Pants: noun: underwear, adjective: bad/rubbish/terrible

Para: paratrooper

Pay-as-you-go: a cell phone on which you pay for calls in advance

PC: police constable

Pear-shaped: gone wrong

Petrol: gasoline

Pictures: movie

Pillbox: a concrete building, partly underground, used as an outpost defence

Pillock: fool

Pips: police insignia indicating rank

Piss off: an exclamation meaning go away (rude), can also mean annoy

Pissing down: raining

Playing field: sports field

Pleb: ordinary person (often insulting)

Portakabin: portable building used as temporary office etc.

Post: mail

Planning Department: the local authority department that issues licences to build and develop property

PNC: police national computer

PSNI: Police Service of Northern Ireland

Prat: idiot, can be used affectionately

Premier League: top English soccer division

Proms: annual concerts held at the Albert Hall

Public analyst: scientists who perform chemical analysis for public protection purposes

RAF: Royal Air Force

Rag: newspaper

Ram-raiding: robbery where a vehicle is rammed through a shop window

Randy: horny

Recce: reconnaissance

Red Adair: famous oil well firefighter

Resus: resuscitation room

Right state: messy

Ring: telephone (verb)

Roadworks: repairs done to roads

Rozzers: police

RSPB: Royal Society for the Protection of Birds

RTC: road traffic collision

RV: rendezvous point

Royal Engineers: British army corps dealing with military engineering, etc.

Rugger: rugby (posh American football)

Sarge: sergeant

SCO19: Specialist Crime and Operations Specialist Firearms Command

Scrote: low life

Section: to have someone committed to a mental hospital under UK mental health laws

Semi: semi-detached house, a house with another house joined to it on one side only

Shedload: a large amount

Shop: store

Shout the odds: talk in a loud bossy way

Sickie: day off work pretending to be ill

Sixth-form college: where students study A levels

SIO: senior investigating officer

Skell: a homeless person, aka ‘tramp’ (insulting)

Skip: a large open container used for building waste

Slapper: used to label somebody as overtly sexual, typically a younger woman, aka ‘skank’ (insulting)

Smackhead: heroin addict (insulting)

Snout: police informer

SOCO: scene-of-crime officer

Sod: an annoying person

Sort: to do or make

Solicitor: lawyer

Sparky: electrician

Spook: spy

Spuds: potatoes

Squaddie: a soldier of low rank

Stunner: beautiful woman

Super: superintendent (police rank)

Surveyor: someone who examines land and buildings professionally

Sweeting: endearment, like sweetheart

Tabloid: newspaper, typically known for a sensationalist style of journalism

Tea: dinner (Northern English)

Tea towel: drying cloth

Till: cash register

Tip: a mess, e.g. ‘This room is a tip’, or a local garbage dump

Tipsy: a bit drunk

Top oneself: commit suicide

Torch: flashlight

Tutor: university teacher

Tower block: tall building containing apartments (usually social housing)

Twoc: steal a car, often just for joyriding (taking without owner’s consent)

Upmarket: affluent or fancy

Wacky baccy: cannabis

Wally: silly person (can be used affectionately)

War Cry: Salvation Army magazine

Wash: the washing machine

Water board: company supplying water to an area

White van man: typical working-class man who drives a small truck

WI: Women’s Institute, organisation of women in the UK for social/cultural activity

Widow’s weeds: black clothes worn by a widow in mourning

Wilco: will comply, i.e. ‘yes’

Wrinklies: old people

Yellowbelly: native of Lincolnshire (not to be confused with yellow-belly, meaning a coward)

Yob: a rude or aggressive youth or person

Yorkie: type of chocolate bar