Lenina huddled beneath the duvet, her limbs still singing with pleasure. She watched Tristen roll off the bed and stretch.
Rimmed in silver moonlight, his body resembled the sculpted perfection of an ancient Greek statue. She imagined running her hands over him again, picking out each muscle with the tips of her fingers. Feeling his body join with hers in the ultimate display of intimacy.
He smiled at her.
She looked away. ‘We shouldn’t have done that.’
His smile wilted at the corners. ‘I know this is hard for you, but—’
‘You do not know how hard this is.’ Shame gave her voice a raw edge.
‘Fine. You’re right. But we just shared something amazing. Don’t push me away now.’
‘Nick’s body is in the morgue. It hasn’t been a day. I cheated on him.’
‘You didn’t, you—’
‘We were getting married.’
‘That’s right. Were.’ Tristen sat next to her and tugged the duvet down to her chin. ‘You’ve been through a trauma. You’re scared. Don’t feel guilty about reaching out for comfort. Any normal person would.’
Staring into his eyes, Lenina wished she could believe him. But the sickly, crawling sensation twisting her stomach into knots refused to let her off so easily.
‘I’m not normal.’
‘You got that right.’ He touched her shoulder. ‘You’re an intelligent, strong, beautiful woman.’
‘I’m a monster.’
Any answer Tristen planned to make died as his phone rang. He crossed to the dresser and snatched it up. ‘What?’
‘You need to come down to the station, Tristen.’
Lenina heard the voice perfectly, even from so far away. She felt an inexplicable jolt of fear and watched Tristen’s face as he spoke warily into the handset.
‘Brad? Why are you calling my home line?’
‘You didn’t answer your mobile. You need to come back in.’
‘I’m supposed to be on leave.’
‘We have another murder.’
Tristen gave Lenina an apologetic glance and briefly covered the mouthpiece. ‘Sorry, I have to take this.’
She nodded, pulling the duvet even closer around her and turning her back to him. Despite his lowered voice, she heard every word.
‘What happened?’
Thorne chuckled, a dry sound, followed by his familiar smoker’s cough. ‘A woman in Grick Park. Bitten on the throat. Dead dog right next to her. Her name is Pauline Lock.’
Lenina froze. A chill raced through her limbs and her mouth filled with a familiar sour taste.
‘Grick Park?’
‘Same place Lenina Miller got bitten. Where is she, Tristen?’
Tristen cleared his throat. ‘With her friend.’
‘Bullshit. Her friend’s here, busting our nuts because that batty old neighbour rang her up to gossip. Chief Hobb is trying to get rid of her. Where’s the girl?’
Lenina closed her eyes. It might have been funny if not so tragic. In her mind’s eye she saw Ramona marching into the police station, her expression as fiery as the red curls surrounding her face.
‘Lenina was concerned for the safety of her friend. Given the circumstances, I think she’s right.’ Tristen’s raised his voice, each word clipped and harsh.
‘Where is she?’
‘I . . .’
‘You took her home with you.’ The flat disbelief in Thorne’s made it a statement, not a question.
‘It’s not a crime, Brad.’
‘She’s a witness.’ He sighed. ‘I’m coming to get her. If she’s worried we can put her somewhere safe, but she can’t stay with you. Stop thinking with your dick. We have a murder to investigate.’
‘Brad—’
‘Shut up and listen to me. Don’t touch her. Don’t talk to her. Don’t even offer her tea. You can’t be seen making moves on the woman whose fiancé just got murdered.’
‘I’m not making moves.’
Silence from the other end said more than words ever could.
‘Be ready in half an hour.’ Thorne hung up.
Tristen placed the phone back on the cradle then turned to face her. While he struggled to find the words, Lenina arranged her features into what she hoped was an innocent expression.
‘That was Brad. I need to work. He’s coming to take you to a safe house. I don’t want— you mustn’t think that I—’
She sniffed. Shook her head. ‘That’s probably for the best.’
‘I’ll get your things so you can get dressed.’ He left the room with a visible slump to his shoulders. When he returned with her clothes and handbag, she refused to meet his gaze.
‘I’ll wait for you downstairs.’
Nodding, she waited for him to close the door behind him before shrugging the duvet off her shoulders. Two minutes later she sat on the end of the bed with no memory of getting dressed. She stared at the opposite wall, tracing the patterns in the wallpaper as her mind whirled like a Ferris Wheel.
Finally she pulled her mobile from her handbag. Five missed calls waited for her. Four text messages. All from her father. As she read through them, her nerves twisted like a corkscrew.
Hey chuck, not heard from you. Can you call me?
Did you get my last message? Give me a call, chuck.
Where are you? Call me.
Lenina, answer your phone!!!
The panic riding in that last message brought on a wave of dizziness. Then, as if to think his name was a summons, the phone rang in her hands. Dad Mob flashed on the display.
Hand shaking, she pressed ‘connect’ and lifted the mobile to her ear. ‘Daddy?’
‘Thank God, chuck.’ Ray exhaled hard. Behind the sound of his voice was the rumble of rushing traffic and white noise provided by a radio station with the volume turned low.
‘What’s wrong?’
‘You didn’t call. You wouldn’t answer your phone. Nick’s phone is dead. No one’s answering the land line.’
She hesitated.
‘Ramona called me, but nothing she says makes sense. What’s going on? Are you okay?’
‘I’m fine, Daddy.’
‘Did something happen to Nick? He always answers his phone.’
‘Nick is—’ the tightness in her throat cut off further speech.
‘Chuck? Talk to me.’
‘He’s dead.’ She made herself say it slow, firm and clear.
In the silence that followed Lenina heard the low murmur from the radio. She imagined her father behind the wheel of his ancient BMW, gazing out the window while drumming his fingers on the wheel.
The image was so clear that she could almost feel the beaded seat cover beneath her, smell the lime-shaped air freshener her mother always hung from the rear-view mirror.
‘Daddy?’
‘What happened?’ His voice cracked. ‘Tell me.’
Her stomach writhed at the thought of sharing her lies. ‘He . . .’
‘Chuck, I know this is hard, but you have to tell me what’s happened.’
She dropped the phone. Though Ray continued to call out to her, she couldn’t move. Instead, she pressed her hands to her face and sucked deep breaths through her nose, swallowing repeatedly to tamp down the taste of bile on her tongue.
‘. . . to you now.’ She heard the tail end of Ray’s words while wiping a dribble of snot against her borrowed sleeve. ‘I’m already on the motorway.’
Lenina snatched up the phone and crammed it against her ear. ‘Don’t come here.’
‘I’m not leaving you alone over a hundred miles away.’
‘I’m with the police now. Detective Blake is here.’
‘Blake? The young one with the ponytail?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is the other detective with you?’ Ray’s voice dropped low. She recognised the change of tone from her early childhood when blaming her younger brother for broken furniture and stolen biscuits no longer worked.
‘No.’ Her voice became small.
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‘Stay away from that detective. Go to Ramona’s house. I’ll be there in two hours.’
‘Daddy, please—’
‘Do it, Lenina.’ The use of her full name stole her breath. ‘Text me when you get there.’
The phone buzzed then died. Lenina crammed the phone into her bag and ran from the room. As she reached the top of the stairs a heavy hand knocked twice at the front door. She froze.
Tristen stepped into view, hastily tying his hair back before pulling the door open. Huddled on the step, shoulders hunched against the rain, Detective Thorne nodded a grim greeting. He pushed his way through. Beneath his suit jacket, greasy stains formed a trail beside his tie. A missing button on his off-white shirt left a large gap, through which a patch of pale, flabby stomach was visible.
He shuffled his feet on the carpet and shoved his hands into his pockets. ‘Where is she?’
Tristen glanced towards the stairs, his eyes widening when he saw her poised on the top step. When Thorne followed suit, his gaze touched her injured left cheek then slid away. ‘Miss Miller, I know you’re frightened but you can’t stay here. Gather your things and I’ll take you to one of our safe houses.’
She saw Tristen lower his face to his hands, rubbing his jaw with the tips of his fingers.
‘My dad is on the way.’
‘Good. Once we get there you can tell him you’re safe but he won’t be able to visit you straight away.’
Lenina felt a small measure of comfort in that thought. When Jason found her again, at least her family would be safe.
‘I’m ready.’
‘Great, let’s go. Excuse us, Tristen.’
The younger man frowned. ‘What about the murder?’
Thorne shifted from foot to foot and fiddled with the knot of his tie. ‘I’ll handle it for now.’
‘Why? What’s wrong?’
‘I didn’t want to do this here,’ he murmured, gaze flicking briefly up the stairs. His voice lowered. ‘Chief Hobb knows what you did. You’re suspended until he has a chance to speak with you.’
Tristen’s hands formed trembling fists at his sides. He glared at his partner before dragging his coat off a hook near the bottom step. ‘You’re not leaving here without me.’
‘Don’t make this any worse.’
‘You’re not taking her.’
Shaking his head, Thorne nudged him aside. ‘Goodnight, Tristen. Let’s go, Miss Miller.’
Lenina followed. As she passed, Tristen snagged her hand and held it tight. She squeezed back and tried to continue, but he didn’t let go. Instead he stepped forward, swung her behind him. Standing between her and the way out he stopped with his arms folded.
‘What’s wrong with you?’ Thorne snapped. All traces of sympathy and patience fled his voice. ‘Don’t be an idiot.’
‘Leave now, Brad. Walk away.’
‘You know I can’t do that.’
‘Just go. I won’t offer again.’
Grunting, Thorne clamped his hand down on Tristen’s shoulder to drag him aside, but the younger man ducked and twisted away. He gripped his own fist and drove forward with his elbow, slamming the hard angle of bone into Thorne’s face. A strident crack preceeded the thud of Thorne’s knees hitting the carpet. Then his shriek cut off everything else.
Lenina had time to see blood gush from his nostrils before Tristen attacked again, leading with his knee. It struck Thorne in the chin, snapping his head back. His teeth clicked together. More blood flew from his mouth. The big man slumped on to the carpet. Tristen stepped clear of his writhing body the same way he might avoid a muddy puddle. He dragged Lenina back into the living area and pushed her into an armchair. She moved with him, too stunned to object, though her gaze slid past him when Thorne stumbled in after them clutching his bloody nose.
‘Leave,’ said Tristen. He didn’t look back. ‘Please. I’ll deal with you later but you have to go.’
‘Deal with me?’ The words slurred. Thorne’s voice was thick with clots of blood. ‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning walk out of here while your legs still work.’
Growling, Thorne launched forward. He caught Tristen by waist and pulled him to the ground. The pair rolled across the carpet, locked together in a tangle of flailing arms and legs.
‘Stop!’ Lenina circled them, trying to find a way in. She looked at Tristen, then Thorne, twisting her fingers. Her hands jerked towards one man then the other.
Neither of them needed help. In a display of grace and strength that belied his age, Thorne shoved his feet into Tristen’s stomach. The younger man flew back, skidding across the carpet and rolling into the back of the sofa. Thorne lurched to his feet. Lifting his fisted hands before his face, he balanced his weight on the balls of his feet.
Lenina stepped forward.
‘Stay back, Miss Miller.’ A bubble of pink-tinged spittle frothed from Thorne’s mouth as he spoke. He spat a tooth on to the carpet.
She backed off, pressing her back to the wall near the arch to the kitchen.
Tristen bounded to his feet. He did it with a flip like a break dancer and huffed a wisp of hair out of his face. He had a line of blood on his chin. ‘Not bad. Finished?’
‘Screw you,’ Thorne hissed.
‘Wrong answer.’ Then he moved, an incredible blur of speed that Lenina barely managed to follow.
Tristen’s leg flashed up, heel cocked, knee locked. The side of his foot caught Thorne in the chest, then again in the chin, knocking his head back with stunning force. Once more Thorne hit the floor, straight down like a felled tree. This time he didn’t move.
Lenina swallowed and tasted bile. ‘You’re crazy,’ she whispered. ‘Detective Thorne?’
A low moan.
She rushed to him, kneeling on the floor by his face. Warm blood slicked her fingers when she touched his cheek. For once the urge to taste it was absent; she felt nothing but revulsion and fear.
‘Are you okay? Can you stand?’
‘Broken ribs,’ Tristen murmured. ‘Probably punctured lungs too; he’s not going anywhere.’ He crouched beside Thorne’s groaning form with his hands dangling between his knees. ‘I warned you, Brad. We could have avoided all of this. Believe it or not, I need you. We work well together.’
Lenina stared at Tristen as though she had never seen him before. Perhaps she hadn’t. Though his green eyes were the same, and his breath still smelled of peppermint, his expression matched nothing she’d seen on his face so far. It was fury mingled with frustration and weariness.
He rubbed his hands over his jaw then leaned close to the other man’s chest. ‘You’re dying. I can hear your lungs filling up. I shouldn’t have kicked you so hard, I wasn’t exaggerating when I said I needed you.’
Thorne coughed. Blood ran down his chin.
‘I can’t always measure it with humans. You’re all so frail.’
Lenina stiffened. Through the wet bubbling of Thorne’s laboured breathing she heard Tristen’s words again and felt a shudder, like the cold dabble of clammy fingers down her spine. While Tristen stared at his dying partner, Lenina stood and inched towards the door. She stepped into the hallway just as he called out to her.
‘Don’t run, Lenina.’
She bolted. Skidding to a stop at the front door, Lenina grabbed the handle and jerked it open. Rain slanted in to meet her, cold and heavy. Through the gap she saw Tristen’s car and another marked car, complete with blue and white lights on the top. She caught sight of the empty street and the grey-black sky before the door jerked free of her grip and slammed shut.
Several loud clicks signalled the locks sliding magically into place. She tried the handle. The door didn’t move. The sound of footsteps made her turn.
‘I said, “Don’t run.”’ Tristen blocked the hallway behind her.
She pressed her back to the door. ‘What are you?’
‘You know. Why else would you run?’ He smiled and, as she watched, the emerald green of his eyes faded away beneath
a blinding flash of white. She shrieked and rushed at him. Wide eyes and grasping hands told her he hadn’t expected that. Ducking beneath his grip, she darted towards the sitting area, spinning round as she passed through the door. A fractional pause, then she slammed it shut on his advancing face. She heard the shout and the satisfying thunk as it hit him in the nose and she used the precious seconds saved to hurdle Thorne’s body and dash through the arch into the kitchen. She yanked open a drawer near the sink. Inside lay a selection of tea towels, place mats and sponges. Whimpering, she tried the next drawer. This one held cutlery, including a butcher’s knife the blade of which gleamed in the half-light.
Before she could close her fingers around it, a hand cupped the back of her head and shoved her face down. The granite worktop rushed up to meet her. Pain exploded through her face, spiralling outward from her nose and forehead. The kitchen swam across her vision.
Lenina slithered to the floor, cradling her face in both hands. She heard rather than saw Tristen moving around her.
‘You made this so much harder than it needed to be.’ His voice remained low and steady.
Nauseated, she clutched her stomach and tried to steady the sensation of flip-flopping that came from the taste of her own blood. After two attempts she managed to open her eyes. An additional three seconds allowed her to focus. ‘Stay away from me.’
When he crouched next to her, forearms resting on his knees, she wondered if Thorne had felt the same level of confusion and anger she did in that moment.
Tristen’s eyes were green again, and his gaze wandered over her body, lingering on her left cheek. She tried to stand.
‘I wouldn’t do that yet if I were you.’
She ignored him. Gritted her teeth. Leaned against the cupboards and shoved herself into a kneeling position. A firm grip on the worktop helped her reach her feet. Blood dripped from her nose, running into the borrowed sweatshirt. With shaking hands she wiped it away and realised the damage was already healing. She sniffed, winced and tried again.
Tristen nodded. ‘You’ll be fine in a minute.’
Lenina opened her mouth, but before she could speak, he stiffened and whirled to face the archway.
An instant later she heard it too: footsteps marching up the drive.
Chapter Twenty