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Back The Dead Line
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. By the Same Author
  3. Dedication Page
  4. 1
  5. 2
  6. 3
  7. 4
  8. 5
  9. 6
  10. 7
  11. 8
  12. 9
  13. 10
  14. 11
  15. 12
  16. 13
  17. 14
  18. 15
  19. 16
  20. 17
  21. 18
  22. 19
  23. 20
  24. 21
  25. 22
  26. 23
  27. 24
  28. 25
  29. 26
  30. 27
  31. 28
  32. 29
  33. 30
  34. 31
  35. 32
  36. 33
  37. 34
  38. 35
  39. 36
  40. 37
  41. 38
  42. 39
  43. 40
  44. 41
  45. 42
  46. 43
  47. 44
  48. 45
  49. 46
  50. 47
  51. 48
  52. 49
  53. 50
  54. 51
  55. 52
  56. 53
  57. 54
  58. 55
  59. 56
  60. 57
  61. 58
  62. 59
  63. 60
  64. 61
  65. 62
  66. 63
  67. 64
  68. 65
  69. 66
  70. 67
  71. 68
  72. 69
  73. 70
  74. 71
  75. 72
  76. 73
  77. 74
  78. 75
  79. 76
  80. 77
  81. 78
  82. 79
  83. 80
  84. 81
  85. Acknowledgements
  86. Also Available by Holly Watt
  87. The Hunt and the Kill

‘It wasn’t blackmail,’ Casey said.

‘Maybe.’

‘So why did you do it all, Clio?’ Casey tried.

‘You really are,’ Clio sighed, ‘most inconvenient.’

Casey turned back towards Clio. The gun was a jolt in this flawless room, sharp-cut black and ugly. Shadows flickered across Clio’s face.

‘I’ll make you an offer,’ Clio said into the silence.

‘I’m not interested. When did you guess?’ Casey asked, not wanting to know the answer. ‘About me, back in Hampstead.’

‘You walked past the house twice,’ Clio said. ‘I thought I would see what you wanted.’

And then you led me right to him, thought Casey. Abandoned your husband without a backwards glance. A pawn sacrifice, all ready.

‘What do you want?’ said Casey.

‘I want to make you an offer,’ Clio said. ‘To forget all about me.’

Casey’s head jolted up. ‘But you can’t. There’s nothing I want from you. There’s nothing you can give me.’

‘Are you sure?’ Clio stretched, cat-like. ‘How about, say, this house? And a few million pounds? Everyone wants something.’

‘No,’ said Casey, and it was easy. ‘You can’t escape this, Clio. Even if you kill me, they’ll know what you did. And they will get you in the end.’

Casey thought about Miranda, hiding outside, flat to the ground in the dark.

‘You’ll never see your children again either,’ Casey went on, the oldest of threats, although she didn’t know if it would work.

‘My children left the country hours ago.’ The ice was back in Clio’s voice. Then she lightened again: ‘You must have expected that, Casey. And you won’t be able to stop me, if I decide to leave.’

A runway carved out of the forest, thought Casey. So close to the south coast of England. Clio had her escape route planned all along.

Clio was gazing up at the chandelier. ‘But you make deals, Casey. Or so I gather.’

Casey was watching Clio’s face, and knew she had expected the first offer to be rejected. There was a bottle of champagne beside Clio, cork popped, half a glass poured. Casey wondered if Clio had opened it as she waited for the enemy at the gate.

‘Sometimes,’ said Casey. ‘Not now. Not for something like this.’

‘Always, I think. Because even in that grim old house in Guildford, the Burton-Smiths still thought they would get their baby back, nice and safe. Go and live a happy little life in their pretty Surrey house. They really believed it, you know. They trusted you, Casey.’

Casey stared at Clio, across the beautiful room. Clio waited.

‘I believe that you’re a brutal sort of pragmatist, Casey.’

‘The Burton-Smiths are sources,’ Casey said automatically. ‘And the Post always protect its sources.’

‘That is a fig leaf,’ Clio mocked her. ‘And you know it.’

‘We have to protect our sources.’ Robotic.