Page 3

Fear hit properly then, bright and overwhelming. She shoved at him, but he held on, so she drove her elbow into his face as hard as she could.

He recoiled with a curse.

She tore herself free, hit the lock and threw open the door.

Then she ran.

Her car was still back there, and she sprinted towards it, gravel unstable beneath her shoes, lungs burning as she fought to stay upright. Relief surged when she realised how close she was. If she could get inside, lock the doors, drive—

A car door slammed behind her.

Footsteps followed.

She ran faster, but not fast enough.

The man seized her ponytail and yanked. Pain ripped across her scalp as her head snapped back, tearing a scream from her throat as he feet went from under her. She crashed onto the gravel, the impact punching every last bit of air from her lungs.

Then he was on her.

“No!” She clawed at his hands, twisting beneath his weight as he dragged her around to face him. “Get off me! Please!”

He pinned her easily.

Panic swallowed everything else. Pride. Anger. Every rule she’d made for herself.

“I’ll do it,” she gasped. “Whatever you want. I’ll do it for free. No money. Just please.”

For one second, he stopped.

Hope came so quickly it hurt.

Then he spat in her face. “Whore.”

And slapped her.

Hard.

Backhanded.

Light burst behind her eyes. Her head struck the ground and the world tilted sideways, the fight draining out of her in broken pieces as his weight held her there.

And somewhere through the fear, the pain and the terrible understanding of what was happening, one thought came with absolute certainty.

No one would even care.

Chapter one

Play It By Ear

Jake Whitton shouldn’t care.

He’d spent thirteen years getting pretty fucking good at not doing it. Whatever clawed its way up inside him got beaten into a drum kit, worked into slate and timber, driven into a fist when things got bad enough, or lost in bodies that didn’t ask questions and he didn’t stick around long enough to answer.

Mostly, it worked.

Until DI Harrison Black.

Now Jake was driving across Hartswick on a Monday morning with some pathetic little flutter in his stomach because today might be…what? Different? A step closer? Another chance to find out what the fuck they were doing?