WILL TIME WAIT: Boxed set of 3 bestselling 'ticking clock' thrillers (23 page)

Laura
grunted.  “What’s put a smile on her sour face?  She’ll be after
something, yet again, the drunken fool.  Ever wondered why I keep the back
door locked?” 

Carol
shouted, “Cooey!” through the window and waved again. 

“Go
round the front,” Laura shouted to her.

Before
I could raise my arm to wave out of politeness, Carol lifted her top up to her
chin and flashed her bra.  I pressed my hand over my mouth, and laughed
into my palm.

“Oh,
shit,” Laura said, dragging a hand down her face in humiliation.  “How can
I be related to that?”

Carol
pointed to the side of the house, then disappeared from the window.

“Great,”
Laura muttered.  “Now the neighbours will get to see her underwear, too.”

I
tapped Lee’s arm.  “Time to go.”

Laura
stood and hugged me.  I knew she was trying to compose herself when I
heard her sniff back tears.  “Can my day get any worse?” 

I whispered
against her ear.  “If you can convince Mark that he doesn’t have a shot at
a relationship with you, perhaps he’ll back off.”

Laura
whispered, “Leave it to me.”  She pulled away then gave Lee an icy smile,
which annoyed me.

“I
really hope it’s not Mark,” I said, picking up my bag.  “He’s playing a
DVD of photos during his best man speech.”

“You
don’t think that’s how he plans to—” Laura paused, mouth gaping.

“I’m
not sure,” I said.  “It’s possible he could slip a photo of you and Daryl
in there.”

Lee
pointed a stabbing finger towards the lounge and spoke in a low, but venomous
tone.  “I can’t believe the son of a bitch who killed my brother could be
sitting in the next room.  I should go in there and beat the crap out of
him!”  He stormed towards the lounge door.

Nervous
as hell, I grabbed the back of his shirt and railroaded him down the
hall.  “We don’t know for certain that it is him.  Come on. 
Let’s get out of here.”

Laura
waved us off from the doorstep, although I think she was ensuring that Lee
left.  Her aunt came round from the side of the house.  Laura grabbed
her by the sleeve, yanked her inside and shut the front door. 

I
dashed to my car.

“Wait
up.”  Lee slipped his arm around my waist. 

My
heart caught.

He
hooked a finger in the loophole on my waistband and tugged me nearer until my
hips skimmed his thighs.  “I’m sorry for getting snappy with Laura. 
I know she’s important to you.”

“She
is.  Very.  She’s had a tough year.  She’s not normally such a
bitch, you know?”

Lee’s
lips looked on the verge of a smile or a laugh.

“I’m
serious,” I said.  I explained to Lee Laura’s mental state after losing
her parents, and that I didn’t think she could cope with another blow. 

“I
see.  So that’s why you won’t phone the police?”

“Losing
Paul would finally crush her.  I couldn’t live with myself if she did
something
stupid
.”

Lee
gasped.  “You mean... like...?”

I
nodded.

He
tightened his hold on my hips.  “Do you really think she would hurt
herself?”

I
stared down and shrugged.  “Let’s just say, I wouldn’t rule it out.”

Lee
tilted my chin up.  “It’s as though you carry a monstrous weight around
with you each day.  The same way that I feel, lately.  I realised
this yesterday.  It’s more than what’s going on now, isn’t it? 
Something to do with Laura and... perhaps the crash?”

I
nodded.  “Do you see my dilemma?”

“I
understand.”

“I
want
them to get married,” I said.  “Laura needs Paul in her life,
and he needs her.  They’re both lost souls who don’t have much in the way
of family.” 

Lee
stroked my face.  “I hope she knows what a loyal friend you are. 
I’ll try to cut her some slack.  But let’s face facts, I strongly believe
that someone killed Daryl and that the same person is after you.”

I
cast my eyes down, confused and unsure.  After all, my deadline had come
and gone and I was still breathing.  Lee, consumed by grief, could easily
have twisted the story in his mind without realising, like Laura had
said. 

“I’m
going to dig around my brother’s place again.  He had time to send me that
text before he died, so maybe he’s left another clue.”  Lee ground his
thighs against my hips.  “Can we meet up later?  Finish where we left
off?  Didn’t you ask earlier if you could stay at my place?”

“Hmmm...”

“I’ll
bring the chocolate cake.”

“Sounds
great.  Very tempting.”  I needed to come up with a way to satisfy
both Lee and Laura, but if I didn’t get some sleep, I knew I’d be a bundle of
brain cells that didn’t work.  “But, listening to you two has drained
me.  I just need to flop into bed and sleep.” 

Lee
cupped my face in his hands, dipped his head and kissed me, lingering longer
than a single kiss needed.  “Are you sure?  I can think of a great
way to take your mind off things.  And, it still involves flopping into
bed.”

I
shook my head.  “No.  I’m not sure.  Please go before I change
my mind.”

O
n entering my
home I received a text message:
‘Sent text asking for proof photos
exist.  Will try tell Mark I’m not into him.  Love Laura xx. 
P.S.  Got £20,000 under your mattress?’

I
harrumphed.  Yeah, sure.  Perhaps a few coins down the back of my
sofa. 

I
shoved some clothes into the washing machine.  Then, after a bath, I
flopped into bed. 

Thirty
minutes of tossing and turning later, my mouth felt dry.  I wrapped a
dressing gown around my body and padded barefoot down to the kitchen for a
drink of water, treading in the dark with care.  On raising the glass to
my lips, the letterbox clattered. 
Mail?  At this time of night?
 
I carried my drink into the hall to investigate the sound. 

Below
the front door, on the welcome mat, a shaft of moonlight shone on a white
envelope.  I picked it up.  No name, address or stamp.  I ripped
the top off with my teeth, tugged at the piece of paper inside and flipped it
over.  On the moonlit photo I thought I recognised Laura.  My glass
slipped through my fingers and shattered on the floor around my bare
feet.  Stretching an arm out, I located the light switch and flicked it.

I
bit into my bottom lip and stared for several long seconds at the all-telling
photo.  Although out of focus, it was unmistakably Laura and Daryl,
outside a white front door with a stained-glass red rose detail.  Their
faces were less than an inch apart at opposing angles.  Lips slightly
parted, suggesting a kiss. 

Goddamnit! 
Their private moment captured on film was being used against her. 

A
white light flashed into the hall from the street.  I slid the photo into
my dressing gown pocket, stuffed my feet into the nearest shoes - ridiculously
high stilettos - and fumbled with the key to unlock the front door.  I
stood on the path, which glowed orange from the street lamp, then stared left
and right along the dark road.  I searched for a figure, headlights,
movement, sounds, anything.  The absence of a moving vehicle suggested I
was too late to catch the messenger. 

Undeterred,
I dashed five steps into the middle of the dark road and looked again. 
“Who the hell are you?”  My heart thumped hard inside my chest with lost
hope while I stood alone in the black, foreboding stillness. 

My
slow reaction must have allowed whoever posted the envelope through my
letterbox sufficient time to disappear.  Cursing, I took another long look
to both ends of the street, and then began walking.  I peered into car
windows with feigned optimism that the blackmailer might be sitting in a
vehicle, waiting to drive off.  The first few cars sat empty.

As
I moved to the next car, an engine growled to life on the opposite side of the
street. 

I
spun towards the sound too fast and wobbled on my stiletto heel.  My foot
toppled sideways, and I fell to the hard, rough road on my hands and
knees.  I pushed myself up from the tarmac and heard an engine revving in
spurts.  Tyres screeched.  I raised my head.  Faster than a
heartbeat, two brilliant full-beam headlights shone in my face, blinding
me.  For a second, I froze, gobsmacked.  I crouched in the road near
the wheel of a parked car, squinted against the light, raising my hand against
the brilliant beam.  The vehicle sped closer and the roar of the engine intensified. 
Panic surged through me.  The headlamps filled my vision. 

The
car’s not stopping!

I
screamed and hurled myself sideways.  I banged a front bumper, and then
rolled between two parked cars and curled into a ball.  Death blasted past
me when a swift gust of cold air blew across my skin.  Only a lucky second
separated the vehicle from clipping me. 

Panting
like an overheated dog, I forced myself upright.  “Lunatic!”  I
stared down the end of the street, hoping to glimpse a number plate or make of
car.  The vehicle had disappeared.  I was in one piece, still
breathing, although shaken. 

I
darted back inside my house and locked the front door.  My stilettos
crunched broken glass in the hall.  I felt disappointed with myself for being
merely seconds late of discovering the blackmailer’s identity.  And angry
I’d been so stupid as to wander into the road and nearly get myself
killed.  The blackmailer had been right here at my door. 
Damn!
 
His hand had touched my letterbox.  If I had walked downstairs a few
minutes later, I could have seen his face.  But I’d blown it.

I
whipped the envelope out of my dressing gown pocket.  So someone did
indeed still have evidence, and I held it between my shaking fingers.  Hard
to believe such a flimsy item could be as valuable as gold to Laura.

But
why drop the photo on my doormat and risk exposure?  Why not give it to
Laura, text or email it? 

I
dashed down the hall, grabbed my phone and jabbed the call button.

“Laura,
the photo’s here.  Someone dropped it through my letterbox a few minutes
ago.”

“Oh,
Jesus!” she said, in a strangled tone.  “So they weren’t lying.  Did
you see who dropped it off?”

“I
tried.  But no.”  I paced circles in my dining room, staring at the
photo hoping something different would stand out.  “It’s definitely you
and Daryl, on a street outside a house.”

“Hmmm…
that’s not so bad.  Could be innocent, asking me for directions, finding
out the time.  At least we’re not naked.”

A
tickle in my throat came from nowhere and I coughed.  “Kissing. 
You’ve been kissing.  Daryl’s hand is squeezing your bum and your hand is
in his jean pocket.”

A
gasp came through the phone sounding louder than I thought one could.

“Laura?”

“No
way!” she said squawkily, as if something heavy squashed her dainty
frame.  “This is bad.  This is really bad.”

“Is
Mark still at your house?” I asked.

“No.”

“I’m
going to phone Lee.  I’ll let you know what he says.”

The
line went silent for some seconds.  “I’d rather you didn’t phone him.”

“Why?”

“Because
Paul’s been grilling me over the things Lee said to Mark earlier.  He’s
dropped me right in the dung.  If Lee can’t keep his mouth shut, I don’t
want him knowing any more.  In fact, I don’t want him involved, full
stop.”

“Well,
he is involved.  Full stop that!  Laura, I know I keep saying this,
but you need to give more thought to calling the police.  I won’t be able
to stall Lee once he finds evidence.  There must be a way of keeping Paul
out of it while getting the cops’ help.” 

“There
isn’t.  They’ll question everyone.”

I
raised my voice.  “I nearly got run over tonight!”

“No
way!  Oh, Chelsea.  Are you all right?”

“Fine. 
It was because of my own stupidity.  But still, this is already way out of
hand.  Bye.”

I
hung up, dialled Lee and while telling him about the photo, I rubbed my
shoulder.  It stung where I scraped it on the tarmac.  And my knee
felt bruised.  I let my dressing gown slip off my shoulder and noticed a
grazed patch of skin.

“I’m
on my way,” Lee said.  “Lock up and don’t go outside.”

During
my wait, I swept up the glass, dried the pool of water from the hallway,
cleaned the scrape on my shoulder and curled on the sofa.  The photo lay
face up on my desk. 

Fifteen
minutes later, Lee rapped on the front door.  “Hey, gorgeous!” he called
through the letterbox. 

We
kissed in the hall and then headed to the dining room, arm in arm. 

“It’s
on the desk.”

He
pinched the corner of the photo and held it under the glow of my table
lamp.  “Can’t see a fingerprint.  Unless this person’s stupid, they’d
have used gloves.”  He stared so intently that his eyes must have traced
every pixel. 

“It’s
a bit blurred.  I wouldn’t be surprised to see a quality control sticker
over the corner,” I muttered. 

Lee
beckoned me.  “It was taken from outside Daryl’s house.”  He pointed
at the top right corner.  “I think it was snapped from inside a car. 
See that dark curve?  That might be the edge of a windscreen.”

I
looked then backed up to the sofa. “Why drop it at my house instead of Laura’s,
and why didn’t they just text the photo?”

Lee
shrugged.  “Maybe they wanted her to have a physical reminder. 
Besides,
you
seem to be the go-between person.  They used good
quality photo paper and an inkjet printer at a guess.”

“How
can you tell?”

“I
work at a print shop, Chelsea.”  He rolled his eyes a half circle then
looked at the photo again.  “Yes.  Digital.  Not photographed on
the right setting though.”  Lee stepped nearer and sat at my side. 

I
stared at the photo on his lap.  Kind of creepy knowing the mystery
blackmailer had touched it themselves not so long ago. 

“Why
choose that particular photo?” I asked.

“Your
guess is as good as mine.  Although...” he broke off.

“What
is it?”

“I
suppose because they’re not
quite
kissing, we can clearly see it’s
them.  Perhaps other photos gave too much or too little away.  I
don’t know, Chelsea.  I’m just guessing.”

“It’s
a strange shape.”

“Yes. 
The edge has been trimmed away.  It’s almost a square.  I wonder what
they didn’t want us to see?”

“This
photo doesn’t help,” I complained.  “Laura will see this as a reason to
pay more money, rather than a reason not to.”

Lee’s
hand brushed my thigh as he stretched across, groped my bottom and kissed me on
the lips, re-enacting what the pose on the photo suggested.  “A kiss like
this doesn’t prove she had an affair.” 

“It
proves she... oh, my...  Proves she kissed someone passionately,” I
managed to say, while blood sped through my veins.  “Paul would know
that’s not her normal behaviour towards other men.”

Lee
curled his hand round my thigh over my dressing gown, then pointed at the photo
with his free hand.  “And see there, Chelsea?  It had rained. 
Look at the drops on the windscreen and look at what Laura’s holding.  An
umbrella.”

“How
does that help?  Rain isn’t a rarity.”

“Maybe
it’ll jog her memory about when it was taken.  She might remember seeing
someone, Mark, in the street.  You should ask her about it tomorrow. 
I need the original, but you could make a copy.”

“My
printer’s out of ink, remember?”

“Well,
describe it as best you can.  Or maybe I could email it.  I’ll scan
the photo into the computer at work.  We’ve got software that might
enhance the image.  I think it was taken from a couple of doors away,
opposite Daryl’s house.”

“But
what are you looking for?”  I searched his eyes.  “We now know they
didn’t lie about having evidence.” 

“A
touch of paint colour, a reflection in glass.  I might not find anything,
but it’s worth chancing.” 

A
moment later, he made a short humming sound, then popped the photo into his
jacket pocket.  With a warm spot on my thigh where his hand rested, and
knowing Lee brought logical thinking to the mix, I relaxed into my seat.

“There
was a large withdrawal from Daryl’s current account before he died,” Lee said, trashing
my respite.  “Unless some builders turn up at his house, he lent the money
to a friend, or a new car or something gets delivered, then, I guess he was
being blackmailed, too.  For having an affair with a patient.”

I
touched Lee’s cheek.  Although it wasn’t the right moment, I gifted him
with a smile.  “It must have been an awful time for Daryl.”

He
took my hand and kissed my fingertips.  “We still need some hold over
Mark, if it is him.  What’s his surname?”

“King. 
Mark King.  Why?  And what should I tell Laura?”

He
paused.  “Tell her to hold off paying the money and bluff about a
fingerprint.”

I
stood up, grabbed my mobile and sent Laura a text message:
‘Hold off paying
the cash.  Say there’s a fingerprint on the photo.’
 

Re-tying
the belt on my dressing gown, I walked into the adjoining kitchen and opened
the fridge.  “Drink?”

“Sure,”
he replied, from the sofa.

I
pulled two cans of lemonade from the rack and closed the fridge door. 
Startled to see Lee’s smiling face so close in the shadowy corner by the
fridge, I flinched, almost dropping the cans.  “Oh! You scared the crap
out of me,” I said, pressing the cold cans against my chest. 

“Sorry. 
Well, you have just had the blackmailer at your door.  You’re bound to be
on edge.”

He
took a can and we cracked open the ring pulls. 

“I
guess everything hangs on tomorrow.”  I swallowed a mouthful of lemonade,
wishing it were vodka.

“Sure
does.”  He made a popping sound with his lips.  “Ummm... I’ll make a
move.  I know you want some time alone.”