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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

Casey followed Miranda, all the same. Creeping up Tilney Cottage’s long potholed drive, and ducking behind the sprawling laurels. The black Porsche Cayenne stood in front of the house, sleek and menacing.

Casey held her breath as Miranda – shoulders square, moving purposefully – marched towards the house.

The man came to the door. Casey watched as Miranda absorbed his initial rage, and then addressed him fluently, assuredly.

Casey looked away as Miranda went for her phone. Scrolling through the photographs, one by one. Showing him. She knew what they would be. Clio. Trapped in the wreckage, broken, desperate.

And dying.

This is what we did to a kidnapper. Look. See.

She saw the man’s body language shift, his eyes go to the Porsche.

Your freedom for his, a cruel sort of trade.

But as Miranda stepped back, the man’s chin lifted. Faster than Casey could see, his hand whipped to his side.

And a gun, black and lethal, pointed straight at Miranda.

78

78

Miranda put her hands up. She was still talking smoothly, not giving away her fear. She was trying to convince him, Casey could see, her hands making hushing gestures even as she held them up.

But he was angry, blazingly furious. He stepped out of the house, the gun still pointed at Miranda as she backed away.

‘Shut the fuck up,’ he was shouting at Miranda. ‘Don’t you fucking move.’

Before she knew what she was doing, Casey was moving quietly across the drive.

Miranda’s eyes never flickered towards her, and in her hand Casey held Clio’s gun. She had grabbed it from the abandoned rucksack back at the airstrip, ramming it into her pocket almost without thinking.

On the Apollo, all those years ago, clowning around with the Marines. Paper humans, and bullets splashing into the sea.

The grip was smooth beneath her fingers, almost seductive, and now she was just a few feet away.

‘Get the fuck out of here,’ Casey said quietly.

He froze, then started to turn, but Casey snarled. ‘Don’t you fucking dare. I’ve got a gun, and I will fucking kill you.’

The man made to turn again, and Casey fired the gun, just the tiniest shift of her finger, almost nothing. The bullet grazed his shoulder, blasting through the yew hedge. The man winced, just slightly.

‘Next time,’ said Casey, ‘it’ll be your head.’

He stood there for a moment, the crows cawing into the sky, agitated by the gunshot.

‘Clio’s dead,’ said Casey. ‘It’s over, and I’m giving you a chance to get away.’

Another beat. And then – haltingly, sullenly – the man began to lower his hands.

‘Put down the gun,’ said Casey. ‘And walk towards the car, very slowly.’

Casey saw Miranda stand back as the man crouched down, placing the gun on the ground.

‘Don’t look at me,’ said Casey. ‘Get in that car and get the fuck out of here.’