For Wes Deakin, the murder of his wife is the beginning of a nightmare which can only get worse when he is suspected of the crime. He finds an ally in the shape of Detective Chief Inspector Samantha Feyer, the new head of Havensby CID. As evidence mounts, it becomes apparent that there is more to Sam and Deakin than meets the eye.
Murder follows murder, more and more evidence points to collusion, but is it really a conspiracy between the killer and the cop, or are Sam and Deakin in…
Deakin is on the run and Sam has been suspended from duty. Deakin needs her by his side.
Now read on…
Limes was busy. Rain, coinciding with the lunchtime break, encouraged the crowds to flood the shopping mall. Deakin did not mind. It suited his purpose.
He was mingling with a clutch of other people outside The Works, ostensibly studying the window display of jigsaw puzzles and children’s books, but in reality using the window as a mirror on what was going on behind him.
Sam walked right past him and made her way into the open food court where she stood, turning slow circles, looking for him.
He would need to be fast. He had to get her out of the mall, back to the car park quickly, preferably without fuss. He was about to move when a gang of reporters hurried in and surrounded her.
Deakin was amazed. He knew the media hassled the police for information, particularly on juicy murder cases, but these people appeared to be in pursuit of Sam personally. Surrounded, jostled, harassed, bombarded with a plethora of questions which came in so quick that she could make little sense of them, she appeared as if her brain was about to burst.
Snippets of their questions reached him.
“Is it true you’re sleeping with Wes Deakin?”
“How long has the affair been going on, Chief Inspector?”
“Will you be fighting these allegations?”
With crowds of shoppers looking on in rapt interest, Deakin pieced together the little he heard from the barrage. Someone had accused her of sleeping with him? Where had they got the idea? Defending allegations? Had she been suspended?
It was a ridiculous question. Under such accusations, the police would have no choice but to suspend her. It called into question her authority, efficacy and reliability as a serving detective.
And with that thought, Deakin suddenly understood all that had happened over the last couple of weeks.
Whether she knew it or not, Sam needed saving. Pulling the baseball cap down to cover his eyes and shade face, he moved as a swift, dark shape through the crowds, forced his way to the front of the press back, grabbed her arm and dragged her away, making for the car park exit.
“Take your hands off me,” she yelled.
“Shut up and get a move on,” he growled as he shouldered the doors open and led her into the car park. At the far end of the short corridor, where it opened out onto the parking bays, he paused, holding one door ajar. His timing had to be precise. As the reporters made it, he slammed the door shut, bursting the nose of a woman reporter heading up the front of the crowd. With a loud cry, she collapsed and her fellow newshounds tumbled onto her.
Taking a firmer grip on Sam’s arm, ignoring her protests, he hurried through the car park, to Charlotte’s compact Peugeot, where he opened the doors, and bundled her into the passenger seat. As he climbed behind the wheel, she made to get out, he restrained her, started the engine and tore out of the car park.
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