Total pages in book: 235
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 227851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1139(@200wpm)___ 911(@250wpm)___ 760(@300wpm)
“Twelve Lansdowne Crescent.”
“I’m on it. You shouldn’t have gone there. Where’s Ava?”
“At home with John.”
“Listen, try to relax, okay? I’m sure there’s nothing in it, but it’s wise to check it out. Are you comfortable with me coming to your home to take these statements?”
“Yeah, sure. We’re in the penthouse at the new Lusso building on Katherine Docks.”
“I’ll call you when I’m on my way.”
I hang up and repeat his words over and over. It’s nothing. It’s been over sixteen years. Why would she decide to haunt me now? I’m so strung, I jump when another call comes in. “John?” I say, tense.
“The concierge has mentioned someone loitering around outside so I’m going down to check it out.”
“A woman?” I ask instinctively, my heart missing a few too many beats.
“No, a guy. By the bins.”
I sigh, loosening up. “It’s probably the homeless dude,” I say. “I took his trolly out a few weeks back. He sneaks in when the gates are open and rootles through the bins.”
“I’ll go check,” he says. “Ava’s upstairs. I locked the door.”
“Is she okay?”
“Worried.”
I hear the front door close down the line. “I’m five minutes away.” I hang up and focus on the road, trying to make some sense out of all this. But I can’t. I don’t know whether it’s because I simply don’t have the capacity or if it simply can’t make sense.
Three more calls come in before I make it to Lusso—Sam, Drew, and Kate. I don’t answer, my energy levels zapped. And now I have to explain to Ava why I was trying to break down her client’s door. I park up and scan the car park for the homeless guy, but don’t see any sign of him. I bet John saw him off. Probably with a few quid in his pocket.
I walk into the lobby, scanning the desk area for Clive or the new concierge. There’s no one. I glance down at my watch, walking on, the sound of my shoes hitting the marble echoing around the lobby.
As I approach the lift, I lift a hand, ready to hit the call button.
Stop dead in my tracks when I see John.
Unconscious on the floor.
“No,” I whisper, immobilized for a few precious seconds, my eyes nailed to his big body lying on the marble, half concealed behind the concierge’s desk. What the fuck is happening? “John?” My legs come to life, and I run to him, checking him over, my hands all over his big body. “John, can you hear me?”
He stirs, grumbles, his eyes opening and closing, hissing in pain. I see the blood around his head.
“Fuck,” I hiss. “John, what happened?”
His hand pats around on the floor, feeling, until he finds my forearm and squeezes. “Go,” he wheezes, finding my eyes. “Go.”
I withdraw, every inch of me turning cold.
“Go!” he coughs.
I look up above the elevator. It’s at the penthouse. “Oh my God,” I breathe, standing and sinking my fist into the doors. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I turn and run to the stairwell door, smashing in the code and yanking it open. I fly up the stairs like a tornado, adrenaline and fear fueling me.
Terrified.
I push through the last door and emerge into the foyer outside the penthouse, stalking toward the front door. I don’t feel for my keys, my head telling me to get the fuck in there fast. So I shoulder barge it, and the second I right my bent body, I see Ava, folded over, holding her tummy.
And I know.
I. Just. Fucking. Know.
“No,” I whisper, catching sight of someone disappearing into the kitchen. Fuck, no! There are clatters and bangs, but . . . Ava. What the hell has she done to her?
Ava’s eyes meet mine. Tears are streaming, yet her sobs are quiet. My God, I’ll fucking kill her. Rage breaks through my terror, so fast and fierce, I start to quake where I stand, consumed by it. It goes against everything inside me, but I leave Ava where she is and go to the kitchen. The minute I see her, nausea rises.
My blood turns to ice.
She’s not really changed that much. There’s still crazy in her eyes.
A knife in her hand.
A sick smirk curving her lips.
“Here we are, me and you, as it should be,” she whispers, out of breath, as I move around the island, making sure I keep something between us. I don’t correct her. I realize I have to choose my words carefully. Be cautious, wise. Try not to poke her. I’ve seen many versions of Lauren. This one in front of me? It’s the worst. The most dangerous and damaging.
I stare at her, trying to catch my breath. “Put the knife down, Lauren,” I say calmly, silently willing Ava to stay away. Hoping she’s been sensible and got her and our babies the fuck out of here and called the police.