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

flush burning up her throat. She scuttled away, guilty as a cat on a wet carpet with an upturned fishbowl. She really hoped Mike wouldn’t say anything to Gary about her snooping around his laptop. Mike seemed OK, though. He probably wouldn’t.

‘Oh, um, Mike,’ she said, pausing outside as he locked up the office. ‘Have you had a snorkel handed in? A mum asked me about it at the pool and I said I’d check.’

‘I’ve already got a whole box of stuff,’ said Mike, rolling his eyes. ‘It’s like losing property is some kind of sport. Come by the hub and take a look whenever you want to.’

‘Will do,’ she said, and ran for her chalet, trying to disregard the email on Gary’s laptop. Even if they were trying to sue Buntin’s, there was surely no way they were going to come after her. She was a broke nineteen-year-old. No. Martin's death was nothing to do with her and there was nothing she could have done to prevent the kids from seeing it. They would get over it in time… especially if they believed the lie… and when you were five you were easily convinced.

She just wished someone could come along and lie to her about it too. She would take the lie over the truth any day. Any day at all.

8

‘Say sorry.’

She stared up at him. ‘What?’

‘Say you’re sorry for what you did.’

She saw the pan and what was in it and her pretty eyes grew round and scared.

‘What did I do?’ she whispered.

‘You broke something — something very special to me.’

‘How? I mean… what did I break?’

She looked exactly like the poolside Adonis had — absolutely baffled.

‘Do you even remember me?’

‘Um… well, yes… I mean, you used to… you were here back then, weren’t you?’

‘You’re looking very slim.’

That silenced her. She looked down at her flat belly and up again, eyes darting to the pan. ‘What have you got in there?’ she asked.

‘Have you kept that flat belly naturally… or did you get liposuction?’

‘Look… I don’t know what this is about,’ she said, standing up, glancing towards the door. ‘But my friends will be wondering where I’ve got to.’

‘I think you’re a little too skinny. You could do with eating a bit more.’

‘I eat plenty,’ she said, lifting her chin. ‘I just keep it low fat, low carb, and do lots of exercise.’

‘Fat is underrated,’ he said. ‘Everyone needs some fat.’

The pan was full to the brim, its contents warm, pale and viscous, slopping gently as it was set down on the chest of drawers. With both hands free it was easy to pin her to the bed. She screamed, of course, but not for long. Once she was quiet and no longer moving, it was quite rewarding, filling her up.

9

It was a warm evening and Lucas didn’t feel settled enough to go up to his room. He also didn’t want to spend any more time drinking with Lady Grace. He was getting a bit of a vibration there. Grace was bored and lonely. She hadn’t said as much, but he was pretty sure hers was a marriage of convenience. The items he had picked up while wandering idly around the elegant drawing room spoke of her husband Roger, quite clearly.

Roger was definitely gay, and Lucas was pretty sure he was spending his time in Italy in order to be with a male lover. He was fairly certain Grace knew about it and that it was an arrangement the couple had come to many years ago. He guessed her end of the deal was to get a title, a couple of children, a grand house to live in — and carte blanche for her own love life, as long as she was discreet.

Lucas was getting the feeling she was going to discreetly proposition him quite soon, and although he did find her attractive, he wasn’t sure he wanted this. If he got drunk with her, though, she would seduce him, he had no doubt about that. It had been more than a year since he’d had sex and he doubted he could resist for long, especially if he focused on that blonde hair and slim figure and thought about… but no. That just seemed seedy, whichever way he looked at it.

So he had excused himself from another glass of wine and headed to his room. Once there he settled down and tried to read a Brookmyre thriller. It took some effort to concentrate, even though he liked the writer and usually avidly read his work. He was distracted by the sense that he could hear something… something approaching… the way tracks begin to sing before a train comes into view around a distant bend. A train did not come, but his phone rang.

The number was withheld; something that always made him tense. He hit ACCEPT and heard a hiss and a click, but no voice. Bloody sales calls. He was about to cut it off before some chirpy voice asked him about the state of his pension/windows/whiplash from that recent accident, but something made his finger pause over the END CALL button and slowly bring the phone back up to his ear.

Someone was there. Someone he knew. He felt his skin prickle as he made out breathing… only just discernible over the hiss of whatever network was connecting them. ‘Kate..?’ he murmured, at length. The call cut out a second later.

He sat back on his bed, pulse suddenly racing. Had that been Kate? Had he just picked up her patterns through the phone? If so… why had she called him and not spoken to him? That wasn’t like her. She was a very straight-shooting kind of person… well… up to a point. There was some straight shooting she hadn’t quite got around to yet where he was concerned.

‘Oh for fuck’s sake, Lucas!’ he said, staring at himself in the age-spotted oval mirror above the old oak dressing table. ‘You’ve got to stop obsessing. That was just