“They’re Charlie’s. She makes her own clothes.”

For the next few minutes, they fell into an awkward silence as Colleen cut his sleeve away, peeling the fabric back from his tacky skin. Next, she wet one of the cloths and used it to wipe the blood away. As she did so, he watched the soft curve of her pale neck as a thin blush of pink moved up it.

“There, it’s not so bad, actually. Bit ragged, but …” She opened a small, brown bottle and the stink of antiseptic flooded the small space. She wrinkled her nose. “Ugh. Hold still.”

She swiped a cloth over the wound, and it burned fiercely for a few seconds, but Michael barely noticed. In here, with Colleen, all of his misery and fright had fled. In here, he was strong again. The knowledge that he could, if he wanted, take the scissors from her and cut her—that he could place his hands around her slim neck and push the life out of her—was comforting. It also increased his feelings of protectiveness for her. She was the one good thing. She was his alone.

“Colleen.” She looked up at him, and he saw that the blush had turned her cheeks quite pink. He knew then that she felt it, too. “What would I do without you?”

CHAPTER

33

“I NEED TO GET out of here for a bit. Do you want to come with me?”

Nikki clearly hadn’t been home long as her shopping was still on the kitchen counter and she had kicked her tights off in the hallway, replacing them with a pair of fluffy pink slippers that looked especially quirky with her sober navy blue shirt.

“Where were you thinking of going?” She shifted the shopping out of the way and began filling the kettle. “Cup of tea?”

“Got anything stronger?”

Nikki looked pointedly at her watch, but nevertheless went to the fridge instead and liberated a half full bottle of white wine.

“Hev, you look like you’ve been up all night. What’s going on?”

Heather shook her head and accepted the glass of wine, taking three deliciously cold gulps before answering.

“I’ve had enough of that house, Nikki. It’s, uh, it’s sending me round the bend. I was thinking of driving up to Lancashire, going to this Fiddler’s Mill place, having a look around. Why not? Call it a tribute to my mum, call it closure, whatever.”

Nikki joined her at the kitchen counter, a glass in her hand.

“And what about your visits with Michael Reave?”

“They’re over. After the article, I, …”

“Hmm. You haven’t heard from the detective, then?” Nikki’s face was carefully blank. She knew all about Heather’s night with Ben Parker, thanks to a hushed chat before her mother’s funeral, and so, inevitably, Heather had texted her the ignominious details of the end of the whole thing, too.

“I think, I can safely assume I’ve lost my chance there, in more ways than one.” Heather forced herself to smile, hoping to cover up exactly how painful those words were. “A trip to the countryside is what I need now. It won’t be completely terrible, I promise. The big old building is a spa now, and there’s a nice cottage where we can stay, in the grounds. Fresh air, long walks, and I could do with some company. Stuck inside that house by myself, it’s not healthy.” She thought of the petals on the stairs, the heart on the terracotta pot. “Diane might have fucked me over with the Red Wolf story, but that doesn’t mean I can’t eventually write my own version of it. And this would be great background—absorb the atmosphere of the place. And maybe get a massage at the spa, I don’t know.”