The Secret Child (DI Amy Winter #2)(15)

Luka frowned at his father’s use of the Russian word naivnyy as he continued to voice his concerns. It took him a few seconds to translate it into its English counterpart. Naive. Innocent. Simple. A spark of annoyance rose from within. Who was he calling simple? Then he saw the expression on his father’s face. Full of concern, his skin weathered from years of hard work. Up until now, Papa’s life had been hard but safe. He didn’t want to fly in an aeroplane or see the world. He was the simple one.

‘I want to go,’ Luka piped up. ‘Please. My friends are jealous. They wish they were me.’

‘Ack!’ Papa frowned, returning his glance to his wife. ‘Don’t you see? When people give you nice things for free, it means they want something in return. Say little. Make your silence a source of strength. In time, they will let down their guard. Only then will you know their motivations.’

Mama narrowed her eyes. ‘You’re so suspicious.’

‘And you’re too trusting.’ His voice softened. Rising from his chair, he took her by the hand. ‘Promise me, please. Be swift to hear and slow to speak. Make me a vow.’

‘So be it.’ She sighed, her earlier excitement having fizzled away. She turned to Luka. ‘Go to your room and sort through your clothes. We don’t need much. Pick out what still fits you and put it on your bed so I can wash and darn it in time.’

‘When are we going, Mama?’ Luka said, his conflicting emotions twisting his stomach in knots.

‘In two weeks,’ she replied, smoothing open the letter. ‘Enough time to say goodbye to your friends.’

Luka responded with a weak smile. Now the opportunity had presented itself, he was unsure if he wanted to go. Leaving home without Papa made him feel ill at ease. If he voiced his concerns, then Papa would put a stop to it for sure. Nibbling on his bottom lip, he watched his mama gather up their bowls, a serene smile on her face. He loved her too much to shatter her dreams.





CHAPTER ELEVEN

A seasoned journalist, Adam was unaccustomed to feeling so nervous. He waited in the prison visiting room, his right knee shaking as the heel of his boot danced against the floor. It was the link to Amy that had brought him here. He still loved her, no matter how hard he tried not to. What had Lillian Grimes meant when she’d hinted at a connection? Despite his misgivings, he was about to meet the woman who had shocked the nation with her acts. He had reported Lillian Grimes to be a monster, capable of the most despicable crimes. Would she be angry with him?

He thought of the letter he had received in the post. He had memorised every word. Each time he closed his eyes, it floated before his face.

Dear Adam,

I imagine my correspondence will come as a surprise. I have been following your newspaper reports with interest. I feel that we’re going to get along.

Did you know we were almost related, you and me? It’s a shame your engagement to Amy failed. It would have been nice to have a journalist in the family. Then again, perhaps when you know who she really is you’ll count your parting as a blessing.

I have arranged for you to visit me tomorrow. I’m sure you’ll find it useful, and I’m prepared to tell all. There are just a couple of things I need you to do for me first.

Yours, always,

Lillian Grimes

He had not visited the next day, as instructed. In fact, the letter had been sent months ago. His reluctance to take the bait had surprised even him. An exclusive with Lillian Grimes was something he could have only dreamt about before now. But this affected Amy and needed careful consideration. What had Lillian meant about having a journalist in the family? Were she and Amy related? Curiosity had got the better of him and, when she next requested a visit, he’d seized the opportunity to get answers once and for all.

He fidgeted with his hands. Had he done the right thing? Should he have told Amy about the letter? Since their split, they’d not been on the best of terms.

He sprang from his seat as his vision was filled with the sight of Lillian Grimes. She did not hold out her hand to shake his, obviously used to people keeping their distance. Her hair was shoulder-length, cut in a bob, and a half-smile played on her lips. She had an attractive face, which could easily lure people in, but if there was any resemblance to Amy it was nothing more than a shadow of one. Where Amy had depth, Lillian held a deadness behind her eyes.

Adam waited for her to take a seat across from him before sitting back down. She assessed him for a few seconds before speaking, her right leg gently bobbing in time with his. Adam realised that she was watching him very intently, and he stilled his movements as he waited for her to speak.

‘So you’re the famous Adam Rossi.’ Her head tilted to one side, her gaze crawling over his form.

‘Famous in what way?’ Adam replied, his throat tight as he swallowed. It was an unorthodox introduction, but they both knew who the other one was.

‘I have you to thank for all this attention in the press, don’t I? “The Beast of Brentwood” – what a frightening headline that was.’ She raised her hand as he opened his mouth in protest. ‘Yes, I know, you weren’t the first to use it. That started a very long time ago. But you were quite happy to resurrect it when the time came.’

‘Why did you write to me?’ he said, hoping she would get to the point.

‘Amy is my daughter. I thought you had a right to know.’ She paused, her dark eyes boring into him. ‘I can see why she took a fancy to you; you’re not a bad-looking young man. Shame you couldn’t keep your dick in your trousers.’