Page 58 of Death Kiss

Liam pulls me to his chest, the little dog yipping excitedly between us. Then he turns to the side and promptly vomits all over the floor.

‘Oh my god,’ I squeak, stepping back. ‘Shit, are you okay?’

‘Not really, but I’ll power through. We need to get this place cleaned up. The bodies…’ Liam looks around like he doesn’t know where to begin.

But I do. I want these men found. I want the bodies found. And I don’t want it being covered up.

‘Sit your ass down and watch our dog. I’ll scrub the place.’

‘Our dog?’ Liam says, obeying.

‘Yeah. Do you think Reggie will mind?’

‘He’s going to be furious.’ Liam pets the dog, who looks up at him like he’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

‘Well… I’m sure he’ll get over himself.’

We both end up cracking up, because there’s no way Reggie is the kind of cat who gets over himself. We’re all going to suffer.

TWENTY-SIX

FREDDIE

My laptop dings as I exit the bathroom, enveloped in steam, with a towel around my hips. It’s nearly five am. Who the hell is emailing my work address at this time of morning, and on a Sunday, no less? I’ve submitted my puff pieces for tomorrow already.

I almost dismiss the email as bullshit. The address is just a string of numbers and letters.

URGENT

Hardly an inventive subject title for spam.

I select the box next to it, then move to the delete icon, but something stops me from pressing it. The email opens to a line at the top.

The story you’ve been chasing

.

A chill runs up my spine.

I can offer you the biggest story of your career in exchange for a favour to be determined later, at a time of my choosing. If you accept, you have ten minutes to post a picture of a tree on your social media.

What the fuck?

A prank, maybe? There’s no signature of any kind. Could a rival reporter be winding me up? Or Ellie?

No, she wouldn’t. Not about this.

Owing a stranger a favour is ominous. I don’t like that one bit. The idea of a career-making story… that’s a whole different matter. It starts as a burning low in my stomach that flares up and eradicates any sense of self-preservation I have.

I’ve got a pine tree posted everywhere within three minutes.

The email comes a few minutes later.

There’s a map. What looks like a house floor plan, crudely drawn. The crosses inside, and one outside.

I actually wriggle with excitement before I catch myself and calm the fuck down. Externally, at least.

An address, followed by instructions.