Not because Callum was threatening him. But because he didn’thaveto. The implication hung in the air like a lit match near dry leaves. One whisper. One conversation in the wrong pub or parent-teacher meeting. That was all it would take. Jude had spent years stitching himself into a new shape. Quiet. Composed. Trustworthy. He’d built a career. A reputation. A home. Worthbridge was the place where no one knew what he’d survived. What he’ddoneto survive. And Callum could undo all of it. One click, and that photographic and video evidence of Jude’s failings would be online for all to see.
Jude dropped his gaze.
“Now,” Callum brushed the back of his hand along Jude’s cheek, “why don’t you go fix me a sandwich, yeah?” He patted Jude’s face twice. Light, almost playful. As if he was praising a dog for finally lying down and shutting up. “I’ll go wash off the prison stink in your shower.” He turned towards the stairs. “Then we’ll talk. I’ll show you I’ve changed. That I deserve a second chance.” He paused, looking back over his shoulder with a smile that didn’t touch his eyes. “Like you got.”
Jude fluttered his eyes closed.
Callum jabbed a finger towards the stairs. “Take it up there?”
He grabbed his duffel bag from the floor, slung it over one shoulder, and started up the stairs as if he owned the house, the walls, the very air inside it. As if he hadn’t walked back into Jude’s life and rewritten the rules without asking.
Jude stood rooted by the front door, fingers clamped around the frame, lungs dragging in shallow, useless breaths. His body screamed to move. To run.Run! But his legs refused the command. It wasn’t a choice. It was a system crash. A fault line wired deep in his muscles. The same paralysis as before. And the memories hit like static: the crack of bone when he’d once tried to pull away, Callum’s voice snapping—don’t you dare turn your back on me.He knew instinctively that if Callum heard the door open, or caught the flicker of flight, the talking would end and the violence would begin.
So he waited. He had to. The safest moment wasn’t now.
Because if he tried and failed, he’d lose everything he’d built since the last time he ran.
The stairs creaked beneath Callum’s weight. Then silence.
A door opened. Closed.
The shower came on.
Jude stayed where he was, trembling against the frame, the sound of running water dragging him back through time. And the lessons he taught his students rang so very personal. History had an echo.
And it had found him.
Chapter seven
Keep It Brief
On Saturday, Warren was summoned.
Both he and Naomi.
To HQ, under the watchful eyes of Patel, Havers, and the rest of the squad. Naomi stepped inside the briefing room before him. Cool, composed, the way she always was, and cast a glance over her shoulder.
“Ready to be judged by the committee?”
Warren huffed a low laugh. “Always.”
Inside, DI Patel sat with her laptop open and a stack of paper files at her elbow, scrolling with her index finger. Havers was at the back, arms crossed and looking as if someone had pissed in his instant coffee. Maybe they had. Maybe he deserved it.
“Delaney. Beckford.” Patel nodded at them. “Take a seat. Let’s hear it.”
Warren slid into the chair opposite, straightening his spine, and crossed his arms. Naomi sat beside him. She looked fresh,polished. Whereas he felt as though he’d lived ten lives since they’d last sat here. Which was only a week ago.
Patel started with Naomi. “What’s the latest on Vivienne Radley?”
Naomi sat straighter. “Still playing the doting mum, still trying to mask a failing empire in activewear and aromatherapy. Morgan’s in deep. He stays over most nights. Whenever Graham’s away or at one of the other properties. I’ve been in earshot for several of their more… intimate exchanges.”
Havers grunted. “Jesus.”
Naomi didn’t look up. “Vivienne trusts me. I’ve had access to all three properties. Laundry, errands, school run. She’s letting me in properly now.”
“Any contact with Graham?” Havers asked.
“Barely. Saw him once coming out of the Hastings house. Didn’t speak. But…” She hesitated. “He looked at me like he knew me. Could’ve been nothing. Could’ve been instinct. I’ll tread carefully.”
