Just My Luck by Adele Parks (best romance books of all time txt) 📗

telling Toma about his torrid affair. “People have affairs, Toma, they make mistakes. We’ve been together for so long. I’m not throwing in the towel on my marriage after just one mistake.”

I do believe that, so I’m not sure why—now that Jake is finally home—I seem to be picking a fight with him. “It was really scary. At first, I thought it was an intruder and then I felt trapped. I couldn’t get the car out of the garage because the garage has an electric door and our gate is an electric gate. You know we are overly dependent on our gadgets, I didn’t know what to do with myself without the computer or TV.”

“You could have had a swim,” points out Jake. “Our pool is not electricity dependent.” This is not actually correct—the heater and filter are both dependent on electricity—but I know what he means. The truth is it hadn’t crossed my mind to have a swim. I haven’t quite taken on board the fact we have a pool—or a gym or a cinema room, come to think of it.

“So what did you do all night?”

“I read a book,” I mutter sulkily. The truth is, I didn’t miss the computer or TV—I had Toma. I feel guilty lying to my husband. I almost ask him what he’s been doing all night, but I guess he’ll just deliver up a lie, too.

Jake picks up his phone and calls the electrician or, at least, he calls the property manager, who I assume will call the electrician. It only takes fifteen minutes before the electricity is restored; it’s managed remotely. I feel like an idiot for sitting shivering in the dark for so long.

“The police have a lead,” Jake announces.

“They do?” I sit up, excited. “Who? Have they said?”

“Yes, it came off the back of Emily describing the kidnappers’ voices. And something to do with suspicious movement in our bank account. They didn’t really explain it to me, but they are looking for a man called Toma Albu.”

CHAPTER 46

Lexi

Wednesday, June 12

I call the police station at the crack of dawn and ask to speak to Detective Inspector Owens. They tell me I can come to the station at once. As I dress, Jake asks where I am going; when I tell him, he says he wants to come with me. I shrug. He can if he wants. I just want to get there as quickly as possible and put the record straight.

We are shown into a room that has a small, chipped Formica table and three plastic chairs in the center of it, nothing else. There is no window and so the air feels stale, as though it has been inhaled and exhaled too many times. I can’t help but think of who else might have sat in this room: hardened criminals, vicious or desperate types, the guilty and innocent. I think I can smell their fear, and maybe remorse, that has to have dripped onto the tiled floor. The chairs are arranged so that there is one chair on one side of the tatty table and two on the other. The setup is stark and intimidating. I’m glad Jake is with me as we sit side by side. My previous interview took place at our home; this one feels much more serious. The inspector comes into the room with a junior policeman. Presumably, two police officers generally interview one person, so the younger policeman has nowhere to sit. He stands against the wall, close to the door. Admirably, he resists the temptation to slouch.

“Do you mind if I record the interview?” asks DI Owens. I am instantly reminded of the inquiry held by the lottery company a few weeks back, a lifetime ago. Now, as then, I agree. “And you want your husband to attend this interview?” I nod. “And you don’t want to call a solicitor?”

“No. Why? Should I?”

“Entirely your decision.” DI Owens has a very dour face, the sort it’s hard to imagine ever breaking into a smile. When I first met him, I liked his no-nonsense approach, thinking he might be the person to get results. Now I feel his face is daunting, almost threatening. Dour people rarely like admitting to making mistakes. If he is spending time pursuing Toma, he is wasting time, time that should be spent pursuing the real kidnappers.

“It wasn’t Toma Albu who kidnapped Emily. He has nothing to do with it,” I state firmly.

“How do you know?”

“Well, firstly, I was with him at the time of the kidnapping so he has a watertight alibi.”

DI Owens sits up a little straighter, looking excited. “He was at your party?” Placing Toma at my party would strengthen their case against him.

“No, I was at his. The other side of town. There are a lot of people who can vouch for that.” I don’t look at Jake. “Toma is my friend.”

“A friend?”

“Yes.” I pause. I understand the inference and decide to take it full on. “Just a friend. We met through work. The night of my party happened to be the night Toma threw a leaving party so I left mine to go along to his for a bit.”

“Where is he going?”

“He’s gone. He went the next day, very early, back to Moldova.”

“He’s skipped the country!” shouts Jake, banging his fist on the table.

I turn to him. “No, don’t be stupid, he’s just gone home.”

“He’s from Moldova? Emily’s captors were foreign.”

“That’s quite a broad range. Toma wasn’t in the country most of the time she was captured.”

“He didn’t have to be there in person, he could have masterminded it from a distance,” insists Jake.

“He didn’t! He wouldn’t.” I lose patience with Jake and turn back to the DI. “I have Toma’s telephone number. You can speak to him yourself if it helps clear this up.”

“Oh, we will be, don’t you worry. We have his number already. In fact, we knew you were—” the DI pauses “—friends. We have your phone records.”

I blush and hate myself