The Secret Child (DI Amy Winter #2)(60)

‘She is now,’ Donovan said as Paddy left, his words loud enough for him to hear.

Donovan’s protective streak was something Amy had not seen before, and she had mixed feelings about it. ‘What are you doing here?’ Her voice was cold. She could feel her walls rising. Why was he here? Had he come to gape, just like the rest?

‘You weren’t answering my calls. I was in the area and thought I’d see how you were.’

‘Really? In the area? You work in Essex.’ Amy’s face was set in stone as she uttered the words. None of this was Donovan’s fault, yet she was taking her frustration out on him just the same. She folded her jacket, unable to meet his eyes. ‘So you’ve read the headlines then?’ she said, filling the uncomfortable silence.

‘I had an inkling of your connection to Lillian after our trip to Essex,’ Donovan said quietly, referring to Amy’s last big case. ‘I wondered why she called you Poppy. Then I spoke to one of the drivers, and he mentioned Lillian referred to you as family. But I wasn’t going to say anything – at least, not until now.’

A sick feeling grew in the pit of Amy’s stomach. So that’s why he had befriended her. He’d wanted to know what made her tick.

He reached out to touch her, frowning as she took a step back. ‘I wanted to see if you were OK, that’s all. I thought you could do with a friend.’

‘Well, friends are certainly in short supply right now.’ Amy looked into his eyes, surprised to see more than friendship there. She couldn’t do it. Could not allow herself to get hurt again. A cold smile graced her face as her internal walls rose another inch. ‘Who can blame them? If you’ve any sense, you’ll steer well clear.’

‘But what if I don’t want to?’ Donovan said, taking another step towards her as she turned towards the door. ‘I . . .’ he faltered. ‘I care about you.’

‘Care about me? Well, that’s pretty stupid of you.’ Amy opened the door to leave, barely giving him a second glance. ‘I’ve got work to do. See yourself out.’





CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

Throwing her car keys into the kitchen dresser drawer, Deborah shouted to her son, Max, that she was home. With one fluid movement, she retrieved a coffee pod and slipped it into the machine. Placing a glass cup beneath the spout, she inhaled the tantalising aroma as it poured. Not that she should be drinking caffeine. The detective’s visit had unnerved her, making her as jittery as hell. She had told herself to relax, that nothing could touch her now. So why had a high-ranking officer such as DI Amy Winter come knocking on her door? The attractive young woman had surveyed her with interest, intruding on every facet of her home. Had she sensed her guilt bubbling beneath the surface? Had she suspected her of foul play? But Deborah’s worst secrets were buried decades in the past.

‘I don’t think you should leave the house,’ she said, as Max plucked her car keys from the drawer. It was a gently worded command.

‘I’m only popping out for groceries. I’ll bring you something back.’ He turned his brown eyes upon her, pausing as he caught her worried gaze. He might tower above her, but he would always be her little boy.

She reached out and touched his forearm. ‘The police were here, it’s not safe. Stay home. We’ll put a movie on, have a duvet day. I’ve got some ice cream in the freezer. We can order food from that nice deli you like.’ She was grasping at straws, waffling in an attempt to keep him from walking out.

‘What am I, twelve?’ He chuckled. ‘You’ll be offering me jelly with my ice cream next.’

She smiled. ‘I know you’ve got things to do, but I’ve not been feeling very well. I don’t want to be on my own.’ Using her heart condition was a low blow, but she needed to keep him home. She had always wanted a big family, but the condition that came to light after she gave birth to Max meant having more children had been too much of a risk.

‘Fine,’ he said, the keys rattling as he dropped them back into the drawer. ‘We can put on a box set – but nothing soppy, mind. I get to choose.’

‘It’s Game of Thrones again, isn’t it?’ She shook her head in mock disgust, pleased she had won him around. The insistent ring of the phone in the hall drew her attention away. ‘I’ll be right back. There’s a leaflet for the deli in the drawer.’

‘Yes?’ she snapped, picking up the receiver. Her response was sharp, the interruption unwelcome. She rarely received social calls, and she wanted to forget about the past for one day.

‘It’s me – Stuart,’ the voice on the other end responded, making her spirits plummet. Couldn’t she have one evening alone with her son?

Lowering her voice, she closed the kitchen door fully before walking to the far end of the hall. She knew from the fear in his words that he was ringing to ask for help.

‘He’s got Toby. He’s got my boy. I don’t know what to do.’ Stuart quickly relayed the story of the courier visiting his workplace. Just like that, his son had disappeared into the ether, an unwilling pawn in a game he did not understand.

‘He sent me phials. Said I had to drink one or my son would die. I was going to call the police but then I saw Toby on FaceTime, crying to come home. What sort of sick fuck is he? Taking my boy like that. Toby needs his medication. He needs his routine—’