SEVEN DEADLY THINGS (Henry & Sparrow Book 3) by A FOX (best value ebook reader TXT) 📗

tension, although her mind still flickered around the situation. She wished she could see that suicide note. Wished she could sneakily locate it and make a copy. At the thought of locating things, her mind slid, not for the first time that week, or even that day, towards Lucas Henry. Goosebumps rose across her skin even under the hot jet of the water. She had last seen him outside the court, shortly after Donna Wilson’s sentence had been delayed, awaiting psychiatric reports.

The woman who had very nearly killed them both in a remote farm shed probably was a psychopath and therefore belonged in a secure unit. Still, Kate had left the court hoping the bitch didn’t get some cushy number in a mental hospital. Lucas, who’d given his testimony a couple of days earlier, had been up in the public gallery while she gave hers. She had made out his dark hair and stubbly beard as he rested his arms on the brass rail of the old balcony. She’d tried not to think about those moss green eyes staring down at her as she spoke to the judge and jury. At the end of the day, after sentencing had been set for another date, she had found her hapless partner in crime-solving sitting on the low yellow brick wall outside Salisbury Crown Court.

He’d got up as she passed, and turned to look at her. After a few seconds of silence, during which the same old attraction–repulsion fight got going somewhere in her belly, she’d looked away.

‘You OK?’ he’d asked.

‘I will be once she gets life,’ Kate had replied.

‘Ah. Yes. Me too,’ he’d said. ‘But… are you OK? You know… in yourself?’

‘Well, my shoulder’s still pretty sore,’ she’d said. ‘How’s your knee?’

‘Mending.’ He’d lifted an NHS issue walking stick. ‘Doc says I’ll be good as new in a month or two. It’ll take longer to fix my bike.’

‘Well… good luck with that,’ she’d said, trying to walk away.

Here in the Buntin’s chalet shower, she could hear his next words as if they were being piped in through the tiles.

‘Kate — when we were in that shed…’

She had frozen. ‘Yes?’

‘I think we were both rambling a bit. I know I was. I said some stuff. Do you remember?’

‘No.’ She had studied her feet. ‘I don’t really remember anything we said. It’s all a blur.’

‘Oh,’ he’d replied.

‘I don’t think anything either of us said would be reliable,’ she’d continued, giving him a tight smile. ‘I wouldn’t give it any thought. Take care, Lucas.’ And she’d walked away, fast.

The bitch got Broadmoor, as it turned out.

Kate shook her head under the jet of water, getting shampoo in her eyes and grabbing for the towel before the stinging could really set in. Dammit — the shower was meant to be relaxing! She made up her mind to focus on the evening ahead and not give a further thought to Lucas Henry or anything he’d once said… or not said… in a shed.

7

Barney Bagnall - AKA Backflip Barney - locked up the caravan and headed out for dinner. Most days he cooked up something on his stove inside the Sprite but tonight he actually felt like stepping out and dining with company.

Whether 300 holidaymakers from across the UK, including overtired kids, sulky teens and snappy, road-weary parents, really qualified as company was up for debate. Half of them would be crushing into the massive Buntin’s Family Restaurant now, creating a dull, hangry roar around the tables, the self-service counters, the cutlery bars and the pump dispensers of ketchup. It was hardly a dining experience at all — more a feeding frenzy free-for-all.

But there might be a chance of meeting Kate Sparrow as he queued for a burger. It had been seven years since he last saw her, but she was seared into his memory. She had shaken him up. Changed him. That wasn’t something that slipped your mind.

Barney was casually dressed and had not yet performed for the Buntin’s audience; his first booking was in the children’s theatre the following afternoon. So nobody knew who he was yet. This meant that any attention he might get from the female guests was entirely down to how he looked and nothing to do with wowing them all with his circus skills. In his tight-fitting jeans, fashionable trainers and the kind of thin sweatshirt that hugged his iron-hard six-pack, he was used to getting a bit of attention. After all these years he still found it hard to accept the flirty glances as genuine. He still, occasionally, looked over his shoulder in case the girls were in fact eyeing up someone actually good looking, just behind him. Emotionally, he was still the weedy teenager, nervous and awkward — a perpetual outsider with no social skills. He’d been told his curly dark hair and brown eyes were gorgeous but that made him feel more like a labradoodle than a stud. Even though he now knew how to dress to enhance his highly toned physique, he still felt like the clothes were wearing him.

That was down to her, wasn’t it? The one who still weighed on his thoughts every day and ultimately messed with every relationship he ever attempted. As if it wasn’t hard enough being a traveller, drifting from venue to venue, never fitting in, never there long enough to find real friends.

‘Hi Barney!’ One of the Blues went past — Ellie, he thought her name was — wearing the Buntin’s tracksuit.

He waved as she headed off towards the staff block with her regulation Bluecoat smile welded to her face. As soon as the punters got here a Bluecoat had to be smiling across every waking hour, like a strychnine victim. He’d heard resting bitch face could get you fired.

‘OH MY GOD! BARNEY! BACKFLIP BARNEY!’

He jolted and looked around to see a tall, good-looking black girl running towards him, her arms wide as she dumped her case on wheels. He blinked and squinted, trying to place her.

‘It’s me!