Contents (71)
- THE
- DAUGHTER
- MICHELLE FRANCES
- PROLOGUE
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- FORTY
- FORTY-ONE
- FORTY-TWO
- FORTY-THREE
- FORTY-FOUR
- FORTY-FIVE
- FORTY-SIX
- FORTY-SEVEN
- FORTY-EIGHT
- FORTY-NINE
- FIFTY
- FIFTY-ONE
- FIFTY-TWO
- FIFTY-THREE
- FIFTY-FOUR
- FIFTY-FIVE
- FIFTY-SIX
- FIFTY-SEVEN
- FIFTY-EIGHT
- FIFTY-NINE
- SIXTY
- SIXTY-ONE
- SIXTY-TWO
- SIXTY-THREE
- SIXTY-FOUR
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
- ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
Becky stopped chewing. ‘Please God, tell me you haven’t been tackling shoplifters?’
‘Well, security weren’t doing anything about it.’
‘He might have had a weapon! A gun!’
‘Don’t be daft. It’s B&Q.’
‘It’s south London,’ said Becky sternly.
‘I was fine. Anyway, he got a cracked fibula – that was the ladder that fell on him, not me – the store got its drill back and I got a bonus. Fifty quid,’ she added drily.
‘Are you short?’ said Becky, a small, worried frown appearing. ‘Because I am going to pay you back. Every penny.’
‘And I’ve told you, you don’t have to. It wasn’t like I did much—’
‘You did everything,’ insisted Becky, not for the first time.
Not enough, thought Kate, but kept it to herself. Her eye caught the clock on the wall. ‘Hadn’t you better go?’
Becky looked up. ‘Yikes, I’m going to be late.’ She grabbed her bike helmet and backpack from the hall and threw open the front door, stopping just briefly to fling her arms around her mum. Kate pulled her cardigan tight over her faded T-shirt and jeans and watched as the side-alley door clanged and Becky wheeled out her bike. She covered her shoulder-length auburn hair with her helmet, threw one leg over the crossbar and started to pedal, the wheels making tracks in the frost.
‘I’m doing chips!’ called Kate, as usual her heart swelling as she watched her daughter cycle off.
Becky lifted a hand without looking back. ‘Great! See you at seven!’
‘Love you!’
‘Love you too! And not just because of the chips!’
TWO
Becky flew down the steep hill, bracing herself against the February cold that made her eyes water. It was a big day today. And not just because she was meeting her mum’s boyfriend. She smiled as she recalled the sensational news of the morning – fillet steak! Never in her entire life had Becky known her mum to buy fillet steak. But Tim seemed to have won her over. Ever since he’d come on the scene, her mum had blossomed.
Becky wondered what she’d make of him – what they’d make of each other. She felt a wave of protectiveness wash over her and smiled to herself. He’d better be good, or he’d have her to deal with.
She slowed the bike and swung into the road leading to the station. As she dismounted, her thoughts turned to the other big event of the day.
Her interview. She was up for the position of reporter – at the most highly regarded free-thinking newspaper in the country. An opportunity people would cut off their right arm for. It was a big step up from her trainee post – and a permanent role. She wanted the job so much she got a physical ache in her chest every time she thought about it, which was almost constantly.
Becky had something planned to convince her boss she was the right candidate: an investigative story that she’d sourced herself, something she was doing on the quiet. Her pulse quickened as she thought of her story. It was explosive – well, it would be when she got her hard-fought-for last piece of evidence tomorrow.