Flesh and Blood (A DI Amy Winter Thriller) by Caroline Mitchell (best love novels of all time .TXT) 📗

a caution. When he got out, he nicked his girlfriend’s car from a forecourt while she was inside paying for petrol. But her two-year-old kid was in the back.’

‘Oh no,’ Susi exclaimed, dropping her knife and fork with theatrical display. From the frown growing on Donovan’s face, Amy could guess where this story was leading, and it was not somewhere good. Her stomach tightened as Bicks recalled the incident.

‘He drove the car into the sea as the tide came in, but then he chickened out and swam to shore. He said he couldn’t manage to get the kid out of the car seat, but I think he meant to leave him there. Revenge on his ex-missus after finding out the kid wasn’t his.’

Amy could picture the scene; she had visited similar in the past. Domestics could be the most harrowing jobs of all.

‘Anyway, it was a rough evening,’ Bicks continued to a captive audience. ‘The tide was raging, and the sea was like ice. The coastguards were called, and Donovan sped straight down. Next thing, he’s in the water, tugging on the car door. Carla was with him, nearly drowned in the process. He pulled both of them back to shore.’

‘Did the little boy survive?’ Susi’s anxiety was streaked across her face.

Bicks stared at her for a second before clearing his throat. ‘Only just,’ he replied, returning his gaze to his plate. ‘He had hypothermia and a belly full of seawater. If Donovan hadn’t got him out in time, he wouldn’t have made it. By the time the coastguards came, the car was submerged.’

‘How did you get both of them out?’ Amy said, as Donovan shifted in his chair.

‘Basic policing.’ Donovan shrugged, exchanging a furtive glance with Bicks.

‘I don’t know how you do it.’ Susi glanced around the room. ‘Any of you. I’d fall apart.’

Bicks reached over and squeezed his wife’s hand, his expression brightening. ‘Susi’s a fashion designer. She’s launching her own line next year. She designed the jumpsuit she’s wearing. She’s got a huge following on Instagram.’

‘Fashion for the vertically challenged.’ She flashed a smile, back in her comfort zone. ‘You should check it out.’ She turned to Amy. ‘Some of our lines would look great on you.’

‘Sounds . . . nice.’ Amy forced a smile. Her wardrobe consisted of sharp black suits and starched white shirts that were tailored to fit. On her days off, jeans and sweatshirts sufficed. She couldn’t see herself in any of the creations Susi would conjure up.

As their plates were cleared, Amy slipped her hand beneath the table and gave Donovan’s knee a squeeze. ‘You OK?’ she said quietly, as Bicks and Susi left the room to get dessert.

‘Sure,’ he said, briefly patting her hand. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’ But his smile couldn’t disguise the haunted look behind his eyes.

CHAPTER TWENTY

MO

Yawning, Mo took a seat on her therapist’s couch. A fan whirred in the corner of the room, but it was still too warm for her. ‘I might just fall asleep today.’ She crossed her legs, making herself comfortable. ‘I was out last night. Didn’t get to bed until three or four.’

‘Where did you go?’ Her therapist palmed her pen and notebook before sitting down.

Mo’s eyebrow arched. What the bloody hell did it have to do with her? Ms Harkness was here to talk about her past, to find out what made her tick. But she knew she would get nowhere by being snarky, and she had brought it up, after all. ‘I was walking the streets. It helps me think.’ Sometimes Mo felt like an alley cat when she was out alone at night. There was nothing to be afraid of, despite what people around her said. She could take care of herself.

Ms Harkness turned a page on her notepad and rested it on her crossed knee. She was wearing glasses today, and the maroon frames matched her designer shoes. ‘Are you finding it easier to think since starting therapy?’ she said, catching Mo’s eye.

Mo had always been an observer. She didn’t like getting caught staring. She scratched her cheek, buying herself time to come up with a suitable response. ‘I suppose so.’ She wasn’t sure if ‘easier’ was the right word. But it did feel like there was an opening up inside her, a prising of a door that had been firmly shut. It wasn’t even that she needed to feel better. She just wanted to understand. Were her actions really that bad, given what had been done to her? Why was it OK to kill in self-defence but not any other time? Was she really abnormal? Questions crowded her mind and quickened her breath. Was there something wrong with her brain? All she wanted was to understand. ‘Put me under,’ she said when she could stand it no more. ‘I want to go back.’

‘Very well,’ Ms Harkness said. ‘As long as you’re getting value from it. Remember, this is a safe space. You can come out of it any time you wish.’

In a matter of minutes, Mo was there, in the time when it all began. But the school corridors held no fear for her any more. She knew that Lizzie had been warned off the second her old adversary passed her in the hall. There were no jibes, no name-calling, no high-pitched outburst of laughter. Mo waited for the barrage of insults, but none came. As Lizzie edged along the wall, Mo felt her confidence grow. ‘All right?’ she said, giving her a stink eye.

‘Stay away from me!’ Lizzie clutched her schoolbooks to her skinny frame, tripping over herself to get away.

Mo grinned. This was more like it.

‘You’re smiling.’ The therapist’s words sliced into Mo’s thoughts. ‘What’s making you happy?’

‘Lizzie’s scared of me, and it feels good,’ Mo said, revelling in the short burst of satisfaction. She basked in the sense of power, knowing someone had cared enough to stick up for her. But her internal alarm bells told her there would be a price to pay. And it