Time To Play by KA Richardson (best book club books of all time TXT) 📗

He’d let his guard down, and now he was paying for it.

He grabbed her hand and did the only thing he could to control her; he twisted it hard, the movement and the pain knocking Nita to her knees with a loud cry.

She whimpered as she looked up at him, apologising and pleading with her eyes, but it was too late. His eyes flashed with anger, and he couldn’t stop himself if he tried. His fist slammed into her face, again and again, bringing blood forth and breaking teeth. His feet kicked her in the stomach and ribs, harder and harder until he was so exhausted, he could barely lift his arms any longer. She’d slipped into unconsciousness somewhere along the line and didn’t struggle as he pulled her limp body up and practically threw her back inside the metal box that had become her home.

Locking the padlock, he left the room, and realised he was devoid of any feeling now. There was no guilt, no anger, just a massive expanse of darkness.

Dive Team HQ, South Shields – 12 November

‘For Christ’s sake, I’ve had enough of this. My chicken and rice was taken the other day, and now someone’s troughed my bloody sarnie!’ Sharpie’s voice echoed round the canteen as Marlo exchanged looks with Mac and Connor.

‘You’re not the only one. We’ve all had stuff taken, and the tuck shop’s been coming up short. Do you think it’s Bravo Team being dicks? It’s ridiculous like. It’s a police station, not a flipping school playground.’ Marlo’s questions had the others nodding their heads in agreement.

She watched as Sharpie’s gaze hardened. ‘I have no idea, but I’m damn well gunna find out. I’ll not have this childish behaviour. I’m going out to grab some breakfast and run a couple of errands. If anything comes in buzz me on my mobile.’

As he left, Connor asked, ‘Do you think it is Bravo Team?’

‘Dunno, but something’s not right. Don’t think I’ve ever seen Sharpie that pissed off. Am sure there’s an old line that says never come between a man and his food!’

The team chuckled, then sobered, lost in their own thoughts, at least until Marlo’s radio burst to life a few minutes later.

‘Five two four zero, Buchannan. Go ahead, LV.’

‘Marlo, I’ve tried contacting Sergeant Sharp but can’t raise him on his radio. Can you have a look at an incoming job, please? It’s a bloke who was seen to go underwater near a buoy just off the coast of Seaham. Apparently, the old boy has swum in the ocean three times a week for the last fifty years. Coastguard is asking if you can assist? They’ve got a ship in distress down Blackhall way so can’t dispatch a full crew.’

‘Yeah, no problem, LV. I’ll try Sharpie on his mobile. What’s the log number?’

‘It’s 132 of today. Thanks, Marlo.’

Marlo sighed and pulled her mobile out from her pocket. ‘So much for a leisurely morning for once,’ she muttered as Connor and Mac made their way out of the break room and down to the equipment room.

Off the Coast of Seaham, County Durham – 12 November

Marlo pulled the mask in place over her face and stood to allow Doc to check her connections. She felt the cool oxygen brush over her face and spoke to test the radio inside the mask.

‘Testing, Buck to RIB, over.’

‘Picking you up loud and clear, Buck. Dive safe, don’t let Davy Jones catch you.’ Sharpie’s dive message was always the same no matter who was getting wet. It had become a kind of safety mantra for the team.

Connor was fully suited and ready to go next to her, though he’d been in a foul mood all morning, snappy and frowning constantly. She’d try to catch him after shift and ask if everything was OK.

One thing she was sure of though, was that the weather wasn’t helping his mood any. The wind was bitterly cold, biting into any exposed flesh with its icy tendrils. Dark clouds floated ominously above the RIB, and the smell of rain overwhelmed the normal scent of salt. The North Sea was always chilly to swim in. The temperature warmed slightly in summer, but it was cold enough from September onwards to give even the hardiest folk cause to consider before dipping their toes in.

Obviously, the bloke that had gone swimming was made of tough stuff.

Marlo made sure the Kevlar gloves were snug over her hands, then sat down on the edge of the RIB. Letting her body fall backwards, she landed in the water with barely a splash.

Sharpie had already assessed the tidal flow and given her an initial search grid of approximately twenty metres around the area of the buoy where the male had last been seen. It sounded like a small area, but twenty metres on a day like this would take some time. Virtually all searches conducted by the dive team were done in near-zero visibility, and today’s was no different. UK diving was definitely not the same as diving abroad where the waters were crystal clear. Marlo couldn’t even see her hand in front of her face.

She kicked her feet, pushing herself forward as she blindly felt around for anything that resembled a human body. She monitored her direction, swimming in a circular pattern, and did her best to ignore the piercing cold seeping through to the bones of her fingers. The drysuit kept her body temperature at a decent level, but the Kevlar gloves were awful and provided no protection at all.

‘They really need to invent fur-lined Kevlar,’ she muttered.

‘That’s next on my patent list,’ responded Sharpie. ‘How’s it going down there?’

‘Crap visibility and freezing temperatures, my favourite kind of diving,’ said Marlo. ‘Has the sonar picked anything up?’

‘Couple of forms, but nothing big enough as