Chapter Thirty-Two

New Year’s Day

Lori slurped her cup of hot chocolate. Her last indulgence from the festive season. She’d just set up her desk and laptop next to the window in her tiny third bedroom. Her study! Hah!

The house smelled of new paint. She’d thrown herself into the decorating while the furniture was still in store. Now everything was done and it was back. Mostly still in boxes, but back.

The computer burst into life. Putting down the cup, and trying not to disturb Griff, who was sprawled across her lap like a small fur blanket, she opened her e-mails. And was tempted to shut them down again, when she saw how many had accumulated while she was offline. The very top one caught her eye. It was from Dan. She smiled as she opened the attached photos – Misty and Nevada romping around the garden, with the puppy. Dan had already consulted a solicitor over custody. The power of money, even in the holiday season. The woman was hopeful.

Lori wondered how long it would have been before Lark came looking for her daughter. It might have been months. Now she’d find out that things had changed, when Dan challenged for custody. Seeing the photographs, Lori knew she’d done the right thing.

With a sigh she finished the hot chocolate and scrolled down to the bottom of the long list, to wade through the unopened Christmas wishes and Happy New Year messages. And it’s no good wondering if there just might be a message from Drew. How would he know your e-mail address?

There’d been nothing on the news bulletins about him being found, so presumably he was still lying low. She damped down the flutter of worry.

No longer your concern.

She’d been reading and zapping for half an hour when she came to it.

Her heart thumped when she read the name of the agent to whom she’d submitted three chapters and a synopsis, back in July.

Don’t get excited. Don’t get excited. Look at the date. Christmas Eve. The woman was probably clearing her inbox before the holiday. ‘Thanks but no thanks.’

With her lip caught between her teeth, Lori clicked to open the e-mail. There were two paragraphs, but one line leapt straight out.

‘I would love to see the whole of your manuscript.’

Drew waited in the corridor to be called into the conference room. He hunched his shoulders and had to remind himself to let them relax. The corridor was a perfectly serviceable space, with a well-kept if bland décor, as was the room on the other side of the pale grey door. Serviced offices, rented by the day. It was knowing who and what was waiting in the room that was making the space feel gloomy.

In the end it hadn’t been difficult to settle on a name. Aveline, the assistant in his agent’s office, who’d been responsible for liaising with the TV people over the arrangements. But they couldn’t be certain, which was why he was here.

Devlin had set this up. The man had contacts from way back. The kind it was better not to inquire too deeply about.

He pushed himself away from the wall when the door to the room opened. Joe, one of Devlin’s staff, gestured for him to enter. He knew Devlin wouldn’t be there. He was in a room on another floor, monitoring events on a CCTV connection.

The police inspector was sitting quietly in one corner, flicking through a magazine. Two women in a room, waiting. Drew hadn’t asked what excuse they’d used to draw Aveline here. He was just grateful that it had worked. His stomach churned. They’d positioned everything in the room carefully.

Aveline was sitting with her back to him as he walked in, but she could see the door, reflected in the mirror in front of her.

It was all over in an instant.

When she saw his face, she started to scream.

The police officer was on her feet, tossing aside the magazine, as Aveline swung round, toppling the chair, to launch herself at Drew, nails slashing at his eyes.

‘Bastard. Bastard. You were supposed to die. I wanted you dead.’ Her face was contorted, tears of rage and frustration pouring down her cheeks. As the inspector caught at the hem of her jacket, pulling her away, Aveline reared back and spat. ‘I wanted to take your heart.’

Horrified, Drew stumbled back, towards the door. The gob of spittle landed harmlessly at his feet. Tangling in the chair, Aveline nearly fell. The police inspector grabbed her arms to hold her as Devlin’s man helped Drew to regain his balance. The girl squirmed between them, eyes huge and dark and set on him.

‘Why?’ He got the word out, over the hoarseness in his throat. ‘What did I do?’ He couldn’t think of anything. He’d barely noticed the girl, one in a long line of uniformly pretty assistants and interns with shiny hair and floaty dresses, an interchangeable procession running through Geraldine’s office. Was that the problem? He should have paid more attention.

‘You didn’t do anything.’ The girl’s face was twisted and vicious. Alive with hate. ‘You just are. The great Andrew Vitruvius. You get it all, the publicity, the tours, the TV appearances and for what? Writing stupid adventure fantasies. Brandon Phipps.’ Her face softened at the name. ‘He’s worth a thousand of you. He can write.’ She began to thrash again in the inspector’s hold. ‘I wanted to take your heart.’

‘That’s enough now.’ The inspector shifted her grip on Aveline, who had crumpled against her, sobbing. ‘If you’d step out now, Mr Vitruvius.’ The inspector nodded towards the door. ‘You too, sir.’ She looked over at Joe. ‘I will take it from here.’ She was piloting the weeping girl to a chair.

Drew backed out. Joe followed. The door shut firmly behind them.

Stunned, Drew leaned against the wall for support.

No complex plot, no twisted joke, no revenge, no mastermind.

Just a girl he hardly knew, with an overpowering obsession.

‘Fucking hell!’ Joe wiped his hand across his mouth. ‘What was that about? This Brandon Phipps. He’s another writer?’

‘Yes.’ Drew found he was shaking. It was embarrassing, but he couldn’t seem to stop it. ‘Apparently a better one than me.’