Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
“Yeah, I know.” I take the book. “You and Kate okay?”
“Yeah, we’re good.”
“Will you let her know I’m taking Ava away tomorrow?”
He looks surprisingly surprised. “Where are you going?”
“I don’t know,” I muse, hoping I can convince her to let me get us away from the fucking city for a few days while we figure out what the hell is going on.
I’m not holding my breath.
I close the door on the boys and get my mobile, calling John.
“Are you back in the land of the living?” he asks, his deep rumbling voice strangely comforting.
“It was a bit of a shock, eh?”
He laughs. “A bit. How do you feel about it?”
“Good,” I say, knowing he knows it will have unearthed endless regrets and guilt in me. “I’ve told her about Jake.”
Again, the absence of Rosie and Lauren’s names in that sentence screams. “Okay,” he says slowly. “How did she take it?”
“Well.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less. Ava’s a reasonable young woman. When she’s not being driven crazy by her husband.”
I scowl. “Ha. Ha.” And is he trying to say something without saying it? Like . . . I bet she’d take the bombshell about your dead daughter and ex-wife well too. And I bet she’d be reasonable if you suggested Sarah returns to work. “Anything on the cameras?”
“I’m trying to access the backup recordings. Playback is on the blink.”
Jesus, the new system can’t come soon enough. “Let me know.”
“I will. Listen, a police officer gave me his number when I went back to the scene. You’d already left with Ava in the ambulance. I said I’d get you to call him. He wants a statement from Ava.”
My hackles rise. “They’ll have to wait.”
“This is serious. There were multiple cars involved. You can’t deal with this on your own, Jesse.”
“I know, John.” I wish I could, though. I wish I could find the fucker and break every bone in his body. Whoever the fuck he is. Jail time just won’t cut it.
“Your bike and Ava’s car have been picked up by the police. They may need them for evidence, depending on how the investigation goes.”
I blow out my cheeks. “Okay.” He’s right. This needs urgent attention. “Text me the officer’s number. I’ll call him now.” I hang up, and my phone soon bleeps the arrival of a message. I hit the number, taking my phone to my ear.
“PC Gladstone.”
“Yeah, Hi, my name’s Jesse Ward. My wife was involved in the collision today near Tower Bridge.”
“Mr. Ward, thanks for calling me.”
“No problem.” I lower to a stool and take a deep breath, fighting with my instinct to hold back information. I’ve dealt with the police before. I haven’t much faith they can work at a pace I’ll be comfortable with. Like really fucking fast. But I might know a man who will.
“Can I speak to your wife?”
“She’s sleeping.”
“Of course. Is she okay? Any injuries?”
“No, just shook up, as you can imagine. She’s pregnant with twins. I’m sorry I was so short with you on the scene.”
He breathes out. “Understandable. Would you get her to call me when she’s feeling up to it?” He’s not applying pressure, but I sense it. To John’s point, there were several vehicles involved and a runaway Aston. I should mention the Aston. It’ll look strange if one of the other witnesses mentions it and I don’t.
“There was an Aston at the scene.”
I hear the rustling of papers. PC Gladstone turning the pages of his notebook. “Yes, a black DBS.”
“It’s mine. It was stolen earlier today from my property outside of the city.”
I hear his shock, even if he doesn’t make a sound. No, PC Gladstone, this isn’t a simple case of reckless driving. “Are you saying this is a personal vendetta?” he asks.
“I think so.”
“Anyone spring to mind?”
I suppress my laugh. Where would I start? “No,” I say quietly. “I called Aston Martin to get information on the location—it has a tracker—but they couldn’t help me. Then I got a call from Ava asking me why I was following her. Obviously, my alarm bells went wild.”
“Obviously,” he parrots. “And you don’t know of anyone who would want to hurt your wife?”
“No.”
“Okay, well, we should definitely take a statement from you too. When’s convenient?”
“I’ll call you,” I say.
“Thank you. And thanks for calling me. I’ll wait to hear from you.”
I hang up and lay my phone on the counter, mulling over too many things in my mind. But the loudest question?
Who?
26
I fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow—I’m putting that down to mental exhaustion—and I don’t come round until morning. But I don’t open my eyes, too content with the feel of my hand on Ava’s tummy and the feel of her light fingertips tracing every inch of my body. Inevitably, she works her way down to my scar and lingers. Thinking, I suppose. Reflecting on what she’s learned.