No Safe Place(Detective Lottie Parker #4)(75)

‘She sent me a text to let me know they’d arrived safely. I sent back a ton of messages but she hasn’t replied yet.’

‘Give the girl a chance.’

‘Maybe I should call her …’

‘Don’t you dare. Let her have a few weeks without you interfering.’ He sat down beside her. She noticed he was closer than he had been a moment ago. She drained her glass and poured herself another. Shit, she’d better slow down.

‘That’s twice in the space of a few minutes you’ve insulted me.’ She shifted to her left and was met by the arm of the couch. She knew he was smirking.

‘You fancied him, didn’t you?’ he said.

‘Who?’

‘Father Joe.’

‘If you keep that up, I’m going home right now.’

‘I apologise.’

She felt herself slowly unwind and studied him from the corner of her eye. ‘You don’t look at all sorry. Actually, you look a bit pale. Are you feeling okay?’

He reached out a hand and caressed her cheek. ‘I’m not feeling myself at all.’

‘You’re such a messer.’

But she didn’t spurn his advance. A tingle of anticipation curled around the pit of her stomach, and she welcomed it. Or was it just the wine? If he kisses me now, she thought, I’ll end up in his bed.

The clink of his glass on the coffee table jolted her. He took hers and put it down too, then his hand returned to her cheek. She turned to face him.

‘Will I put on some soft music?’ he asked.

‘Soft music? Boyd, you don’t even know what soft music is.’

‘Can I kiss you, then?’ he whispered.

‘I thought you’d never ask.’

‘That’s the corniest line I ever heard.’

‘Are you refusing—’

His lips on hers was answer enough.



* * *



Grace’s eyes flew open. She was shivering uncontrollably. Her skin felt like it had been flayed with a knife. When her chest constricted and the pain shot around her back, she was sure she was having a heart attack. But it was just her anxiety. She couldn’t have a panic attack. Not now.

The ground beneath her was damp. Through a boarded-up window, she could make out a weak stream of moonlight. Her breath quickened. This was bad. Very bad. With her hands bound to her sides, she had no way of finding her inhaler. Another few hours like this and she was sure she would die. He hadn’t brought her to Mollie. She had no idea where he’d brought her after he clamped the soaked cloth to her mouth in the car.

How had she been so gullible? Maybe everyone was right. Maybe she was stupid. And now, trussed up like a piece of meat ready for the oven, she had no way to prove them wrong.





Sixty-Four





Bridie McWard cuddled Tommy to her chest, wrapping the duvet tighter around them both. She had no idea what was eating Paddy the last few weeks. He was like a different man. Hardly ever at home. Angry when he was. Banging and shouting, upsetting Tommy. He was definitely up to something, but she was too afraid to ask. As she smoothed her baby’s hair, she realised that whatever Paddy was up to, she really didn’t want to know.

When Tommy fell asleep, she lifted him into his cot and returned to bed. Her head still ached from the thumping she’d got. Paddy had been so mad about that too. Maybe he was out trying to chase down her attacker.

As she settled herself in the empty bed, she felt the house shake with a violent bang. Tommy screamed in his cot. Bridie shot upwards, jumped out of bed and grabbed the baby.

Opening the bedroom door, she was flung backwards by a gust of wind. The noise deafened her and the light blinded her. She smelled something in the air, right before she felt the heat.

‘No!’ she screamed and tried to slam the door shut, but the flames had taken hold of the flimsy wood and she was driven back into her room, chased by the fire.

‘Paddy!’ she cried as she curled into a corner, shielding her screaming baby. ‘Help me. Someone help me.’

The flames rushed along the synthetic carpet, tracking her footprints until they lapped like scalding waves at her feet. She screamed until the smoke took her voice away and the noxious gases clogged her lungs.

As she buried her face in her son’s hair, folding herself into the corner, she thought she heard the sound of the banshee. And in her final moments, she understood that those screams of foreboding had not been for the girl in the cemetery. They’d been for her and her beautiful little boy.





Sixty-Five





The street light filtering through the slatted wooden blinds was the only illumination in an otherwise dark room. Lottie raised herself on her elbow and glanced around. Where was she? What time was it? God, her head! God, Boyd!

She sat up suddenly, her head spinning, and looked at him lying in the bed beside her. His face was shrouded in darkness except for the horizontal lines of light cast from the blinds. He groaned and opened his eyes.

‘Hello, gorgeous,’ he said. ‘What are you smiling at?’

She lay back down and curled away from him.

‘Was my lovemaking that bad?’ he said.

‘It was sublime, but I have to apologise. I’m so out of practice.’