“Okay. This is as far as we go unless you tell me you are seriously untidy.”
She was directly behind him, silent as usual, but he could hear her breathing in the now stillness of the house.
“I’m a neat freak.”
“Could’ve guessed. Abby, Ineedyou to answer some questions before I get forensics down here.” Because he couldn’t not call this in. Things like this didn’t happen in Severton.
He didn’t hear anything from her. Turning round, he saw that tears were running down her cheeks, silent ones, and the look on her face was of sheer terror.
One step towards her and he was holding her into his chest, his arms wrapped around her, lips pressing down on the top of her head. Alex Maynard didn’t talk about his feelings, but that didn’t mean he didn’t understand other people’s.
“We’re not going to let anything happen to you. Understand that. But you do need to tell me some more so I know what we’re dealing with here. Do you have a stalker? An ex who wouldn’t let go? Do you owe someone money?” He still had hold of her.
“I can’t tell you.” Her words were muffled by his T-shirt.
“Why not?” He felt himself stiffen, everything becoming tense, bracing himself for something he couldn’t predict.
“You’re a cop. You have to tell your boss.”
The alarm bells in his head couldn’t be any louder. Alex knew that Garrison, the chief inspector who currently led any serious crimes investigations in the area, was in the pocket of a gang boss.
“Which boss do you mean?” Because he had two. He was part of the serious crimes unit when needed, but the area was quiet enough for him to do local policing most of the time. Kind of. There was always more going on that Garrison didn’t know about.
“It doesn’t matter, Alex. Can’t we say this was random? They thought I had the bar takings with me? It could be that.”
It could. But it wasn’t.
Alex put his hands on her shoulders and manoeuvred her gently so he could look at her. “Abby, I don’t believe that. You’ve changed your identity, you’re hiding here and now this. You can tell me and I can help, or I can start digging and find out for myself.”
What he didn’t expect was what she did next.
Her fingers threaded through his hair and before it registered, she’d pulled his head down and met his lips with hers, making him forget all about the fact that her name was not Abigail Walker.
Three
Abby watched as the woman in the blue boiler suit with ‘Forensics’ written in white across the back examined her tiny hallway. She’d been walked through her house by an officer she recognised from the bar but hadn’t really spoken to properly. He was nice, pleasant, not asking anything intrusive. Alex had explained what had happened last night, quoted the log number that had been recorded and then said nothing else, standing back and watching.
“Can you tell if anything’s been taken?” Mia, the forensics specialist said. “Any jewellery or electronics?”
Abby shook her head. “All my jewellery and my laptop were upstairs.” Where no one had been. Her bed was neatly made and everything she kept underneath it – because she was that obvious – was untouched.
“Looks like whoever broke in was disturbed before they could go up there.” Mia gave her the once over. “Any spare keys that you had hanging around?”
Abby’s heart rate increased to the speed of cheetahs. “Near the front door.”
“Okay, show me where and if it’s gone, it’s nothing a locksmith can’t sort out.” Mia smiled and her tone sounded lighter. Reassuring.
“It just means they’re going to come back.”
“Possibly. I don’t want to scare you but you need to be alert. Maybe stay somewhere else for a bit, if you can.”
Abby nodded but she had no idea where. Family didn’t exist anymore. All of her old friends had been left behind. There were people in Severton who would put her up, but then there would be questions.
And she couldn’t even look at Alex after kissing him.
Impulsivity had been her middle name until she’d left everything behind to come here. Two and a half years ago, she’d been at Base Camp on Everest, about to start the ascent. When she’d arrived in Nepal four weeks later, she’d received a call from the British police telling her that her sister had been reported missing.
The climb up Everest was the last report on her blog, the one that had gotten her sponsorships and contracts. A book deal had been suggested. It hadn’t happened, wasn’t likely to.
