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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

Dominic Burton-Smith opened the door of the beautiful Georgian house. ‘Can I help you?’

‘Could I come in?’ Miranda arched her eyebrows.

‘This isn’t actually our house,’ he said. ‘We’re just staying here for a few nights. City break.’

Dominic was good-looking, with dark brown hair, boyishly ruffled. He was wearing an old blue shirt and frayed jeans. His grey cardigan – chunky knit – was just right for a weekend away. He pushed his hair back as he looked at Miranda, all easy charm.

‘I know,’ Miranda was abrupt. ‘But I was hoping to speak to you and Mrs Burton-Smith.’

He was confused, opened the door wider. ‘I’m sorry, have we met?’

‘No.’ Miranda took a step forward.

She was past him before he realised, stepping into the hall. Casey was left on the doorstep, while Dominic gave her a rueful half-shrug. ‘I suppose . . .’

‘Who is it, Dom?’ Emily was on the stairs, pretty in her flowing silk dress. ‘Oh.’ She stopped as she saw Miranda. ‘Don’t I know you from somewhere . . .’

‘We met at the clinic on Harley Street,’ said Miranda. ‘Dr Greystone’s.’

‘Of course,’ said Emily, puzzled. ‘How odd to see you here.’

‘Your surrogate in Bangladesh,’ Miranda said bluntly. ‘We have a very strong reason to believe that the woman carrying your child is a Rohingya refugee, trafficked out of the camps in Bangladesh.’

Miranda stopped. Dominic took three quick paces towards his wife as she wavered on the stairs. Emily’s jaw had dropped open.

‘That’s impossible,’ said Emily. ‘Who are you?’

‘My name is Miranda Darcey. I’m a journalist at the Post.’

‘You can’t come in here,’ said Dominic. ‘You can’t just burst in like this—’

‘She’s a refugee girl,’ Miranda said again, speaking straight to Emily. ‘A child who escaped all sorts of hell in Myanmar. She has been snatched out of the one place where she should be safe, and now she is being exploited by Dr Greystone, and his clients.’

‘That can’t be right,’ Emily voice went higher. ‘Dr Greystone said . . .’

‘We are sorry to be intruding like this,’ said Casey. ‘Really sorry.’

‘That’s not much help, is it?’ Emily snapped at her. It was only when she took a step forward and almost missed her footing that Casey saw how much she was shaking.

‘Did you ask him’ – Miranda turned to look straight at Dominic – ‘who the surrogate is?’

‘Dr Greystone is a highly respected professional,’ said Dominic. ‘He assured us that everything is being managed impeccably in Bangladesh.’

‘But you didn’t ask for details?’ Miranda pushed him.

‘We wanted to know about the woman.’ The words burst out of Emily. ‘We did ask Dr Greystone who the surrogate would be. He just said that the girl didn’t speak English, and that it would be impossible for us to speak to her. There wasn’t much else we could do, after that.’