Discarded by M. Hunter (fantasy books to read .txt) 📗

The woman immediately releases her husband’s hand and is around the table before I can move. She throws her arms around my shoulders and I feel compelled to catch her.

‘Thank God you’re here,’ she says loudly into my ear. ‘You’ve got to help us find our poor Jo-Jo.’

‘I’m happy to do whatever I can,’ I offer meekly.

Robyn pulls out one of the chairs to sit on but nods for Rick to leave the room. He closes the door behind him, and Tina Neville finally releases me and reclaims her seat. I take the remaining vacant chair, sliding the satchel from my shoulder and resting it beside my feet.

‘I can’t believe it’s really you,’ Tina says next, once again picking up her husband’s hand and squeezing it tightly. ‘That Rick said you’d come but I didn’t want to believe it. Do you think you can help us find our Jo-Jo?’

I don’t know how to answer. I can see from the way they’re both trying to meet my stare that they have pinned all of their hopes on me performing some kind of miracle, but they really would be better placing their faith in the police officers who are already working the case. I don’t want to tell them that they’ve got the wrong idea about me because I know from personal experience how important it is for parents in their position to keep hope alive.

‘I’m sure the police are already doing everything they can,’ I try.

‘It must feel like history repeating itself for you though, right?’ she asks, and the question catches me on the back foot.

‘Excuse me?’

‘Well, your sister went missing when she was that age too, didn’t she? This all must be a bit weird for you.’

I’ve made no effort to hide details about my sister’s disappearance so I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that they’ve made such a connection.

‘What can you tell me about Jo-Jo?’ I ask in an effort to steer the conversation back to the present. ‘Did she know not to get into cars with strangers?’

Tina looks to her husband for reassurance.

I can only assume the picture he is clutching so firmly is Jo-Jo. She’s very pretty, with chestnut-brown hair, presumably more akin to her father than to her mother’s bleached locks. In the picture she’s sitting on a neon-pink bicycle, proudly smiling and holding up a pair of stabilisers in her hands.

‘She’s a good girl, you know,’ he says, his voice less polished than his wife. ‘Kicked up a right fuss when me and her mum first got together, but things have been better these last six months. We’ve become a proper little unit, us and my Lola.’

‘Lola?’ I question.

‘Trey’s daughter from his first marriage,’ Tina clarifies. ‘Jo-Jo wasn’t happy when me and her dad got divorced last year, and she was a bit of trouble when we moved in with Trey, but things have improved a lot since then. Her grades have improved in school too. It actually felt like things were going our way for a change.’

There’s a knock at the door and Robyn stands to answer it, but I can’t see who’s there through the crack. She closes the door and leans over to whisper in my ear. ‘The SIO is outside and wants a word.’

Giving the Nevilles a reassuring smile, I stand and follow Robyn to the door. Stepping out into the corridor, my mouth drops when I see who’s called me outside.

‘The world really is too small a place,’ DI Zoe Cavendish says.

Chapter Thirteen Then

Piddlehinton, Dorset

Joanna was shivering when she woke up. She ran trembling fingers over the small bumps lining the skin of her arms. It was only as she forced herself to sit up that she saw the plates of pasta and sauce on the table, and the grim realisation of her current dilemma hit directly behind her eyes. It hadn’t been a nightmare, and she really was still inside this bitterly cold caravan. She scratched the tickle at the back of her neck, realising she was still dressed in the black sequin dress Chez had found for her. She’d felt every part a model when she’d pulled it over her head, but now she realised she was nothing but a cheap imitation.

Her mouth felt so dry, and as she skimmed the immediate horizon of the kitchen counters for anything resembling a drink, she was left disappointed. The mug of tea she’d all but finished on the table stared up at her, but she wasn’t desperate enough to down the ice-cold congealed contents. She was about to pick it up and attempt to fill it with water from the tap when she heard the key rattling in the door. Tucking her knees beneath her chin, she couldn’t tell if she was relieved or not when Chez crept inside.

‘Oh, you’re up,’ he muttered, closing the door behind him but not locking it. ‘Did you sleep okay?’

His eyes wandered across the table and settled on her pinhole eyes and squashed hair, realising exactly where she’d slept. He flashed her a pitying look, and it was all that was needed for the floodgates to open. She buried her eyes behind her kneecaps.

‘Hey, hey,’ Chez cooed, as he came over and squeezed himself behind the table, wrapping a warm and comforting arm around her shoulders, ‘there’s no need for tears. Your big brother is here now, Kylie, and you know I’ll look after you, don’t you?’

The truth was she knew nothing about him, and although she’d been willing to play along last night – her nails, eating pasta like grown-ups – she was suddenly only too aware of the grimness of their situation and she couldn’t pretend any longer. When sleep had finally come last night, it had been focused on the belief that she would be woken to the kind eyes of a police officer with her parents nearby, waiting to be reunited. She’d hoped if she wished for it hard enough that