“You knew about Cassie, too?”
“The name was on the badge. You told Helen Cassie worked at Oxford. It’s not rocket science.” Grice shrugged a shoulder. “This is a lot for you to take in right now but please understand that we did it for Helen’s own safety. At the time, we believed Jaxon was on his way to her. We needed her out of her home that day for as long as possible.”
“Why didn’t you just tell her all this? Bring her in and keep her safe?”
“Because she was also a prime suspect. We didn’t know what side she was on. She could’ve blown the whistle on us and Bates would’ve disappeared again. Thenyoumoved in that night. We had security ops patrolling the fields, so trust me, we would’ve intervened if either you or Hobbs were in any danger.”
Holy shit.
Grice picked up speed on the straighter roads. “A few days later, all intelligence indicated Helen was innocent and we confirmed that Jaxon had been using her, like he’d used the others. We were grateful she wasn’t living alone.”
The countryside blurred past. Seb tried to focus, reliving every second he’d spent with Helen. In public and in private. Especially the private times, when it had been just the two of them, in the meadows or down by the river and the lake. They were the happiest days of his life and he’d thrown them away.
“Don’t stew over it, Clarke. When you guys hit it off, we left you to it. All we wanted to do was keep track of Helen while we waited for Bates to get in touch. She’s a bloody tricky one to keep under surveillance. That woman doesn’t go anywhere, she barely ever leaves that cottage. Her payback placement was the only chance we got for a surveillance operation. You’ve seen where she lives. There were only so many lost hikers and dog walkers we could send down her way.”
“So, wow, you became a journalist to what? Snoop around and ask questions? That’s wild.” All this time, Grice had only ever been interested in Helen. “Did you actually write those articles about us?”
“No. That was someone in our press and media office,” Grice said. “When Helen told me that day that she’d be buying her cottage we had a motive for her needing a lot of money so we knew she’d be a prime target for Bates again. He preys on the vulnerable, sucks them in, makes them believe he’s their savior then tempts them with huge amounts of cash. We hoped she’d come to us of her own free will, and she did.”
“I saw the money and I left.” Seb dropped his head into his hands. The reality of his actions punched him in the gut so hard he almost doubled over. He’d just left, shut himself down and fucking left her, and now because of it—because of him—she was in danger.
“Is that why you fell out? Because you thought—”
“Yes.”
“Mate,” Grice hissed through his teeth, "no wonder she’s not returning your calls.”
“Crafty, bloody bitch.”
At the sound of Jaxon’s voice, Helen tried to think past the cracking pain in her head and the blood on her lip. She’d hit the floor hard, and now Jaxon was staring at her laptop, seething. Had he found traces of the tracking script? She had to get out.
“You are indeed a bitch,” Jaxon was saying as he typed furiously on her laptop. “But a fucking genius one. The program works and is nothing short of brilliant.”
Helen rested her pounding head back onto the floor. Maybe he hadn’t found any traces after all. Maybe he was still furious about being kneed in the balls. She heaved herself onto hands and knees.
“I don’t think so.” Jaxon, still seated, shoved her down with his foot.
Her temper sparked. “You’ve got what you want, now leave me alone!”
“I have more work for you to do.”
“No.” Helen got to her knees again. “Fuck off.”
Jaxon pushed her down again with his bloody foot, and Helen exploded with rage. She flipped onto her knees and—putting all her body weight behind it—punched the bastard in the gut. He doubled over and she kicked the chair forward, dumping him to the ground. Helen grabbed the chair and smashed it over his body.
And then she ran.
Jaxon screamed after her, but she was already out the kitchen door and scrambling over the fence toward the orchards. Her head throbbed from when she’d hit the kitchen floor and she kept stumbling, her clothes catching on branches as she thrashed past the trees.
Her heart pounded—or was that his footsteps?
If he caught her, he’d kill her.
So why couldn’t she pick up speed?
Why weren’t her legs racing as fast as her pulse?
Clumsy and fighting for breath, every hard bump on the uneven ground shot through. She wasn’t wearing any shoes and her bare feet were slowing her down. She tripped and tumbled to the ground, her ankle twisting. Pain exploded up her leg.Get up! Get up!Her limbs shook.Get up!
