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Back The Dead Line Save as PDF
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

I’m sorry. I really am. It was never meant to be . . .

You blackmailed us … It was blackmail.

I know.

I know. The words were spikes in Casey’s mind.

I know. I know. I know.

Trapped in the pixels, by her own truth. In her own words. Casey’s palms were wet, and she felt the shiver in her spine. It was as if there were hundreds of eyes in the room all at once.

Blackmail. Up to fourteen years in prison. Fourteen.

‘I thought I’d send this to Jessica Miller at the Argus.’ Clio turned back to the screen. ‘Or just publish it on the internet.’

No escape. Followed everywhere, for ever.

Casey felt herself begin to shake.

‘You say it yourself, Casey.’

‘It’s edited,’ Casey managed.

‘Only slightly,’ Clio shrugged. ‘Not enough to help you.’

‘You can’t.’

‘I can.’

Casey felt the futility of it all sweeping over her like a wave. Nowhere to hide. Scrabbling against the sides, no foothold, no hope. This is how it must feel. The runaway train, unstoppable. The blaze of the searchlight, blinding.

For a split second, she thought of Emily, going to the bathroom to splash water on her face. She’d got the shot by then, could relax very slightly. Still wired up like a suicide bomber, but she had done it. Casey wondered if Emily had felt that moment of quiet triumph. Got it. Got you.

I liked you; I thought you liked me.

Emily, in her black top, carefully buttoned to the neck. One button, just a tiny bit different. Turning to face Casey, just as the camera required. Probably another camera in that leather bag, so casual on the bed. Another in the open wardrobe. As many angles as possible, every time, just in case. Emily must have sent the footage as soon as Casey walked out of the hotel. Almost impressive, that speed, that ruthlessness.

‘I think we’ve reached a stalemate,’ Clio said calmly. ‘Walk away, Casey.’

Casey was staring at the screen, back to Dominic and Emily frozen in their kitchen prison.

‘No,’ she said very quietly.

‘They say you should fight fire with fire,’ said Clio. ‘But I think I prefer mirrors. And you don’t like this one.’

Mirrors reflect the soul, she’d read once.

No. They only reflect the mask.

‘You’ve ruined my husband,’ Clio went on, ‘but no one wins if you don’t drop this right now.’

‘No,’ Casey said again. She thought of all those approaches, time and time again. The straw hat ripped away, the half-smile frozen.

Clio stood up from her armchair, impatient, the gun slotting smoothly into position.

‘You’re running out of time, Casey,’ said Clio, almost sympathetic. ‘You’re out of cards to play.’

‘No,’ said Casey. She stared up at Clio, and into the black heart of the gun. And as she looked up, Tawton Court plunged into darkness.

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