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Back The Last Guests Save as PDF
Chapters (54)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. Epigraph
  4. PROLOGUE
  5. PART ONE
  6. ONE
  7. TWO
  8. THREE
  9. FOUR
  10. DEADLY SAS RAID IN AFGHANISTAN UNDER SCRUTINY
  11. FIVE
  12. SIX
  13. SEVEN
  14. EIGHT
  15. NINE
  16. TEN
  17. ELEVEN
  18. TWELVE
  19. THIRTEEN
  20. FOURTEEN
  21. FIFTEEN
  22. SIXTEEN
  23. SEVENTEEN
  24. EIGHTEEN
  25. NINETEEN
  26. TWENTY
  27. PART TWO
  28. TWENTY-ONE
  29. TWENTY-TWO
  30. TWENTY-THREE
  31. TWENTY-FOUR
  32. TWENTY-FIVE
  33. TWENTY-SIX
  34. TWENTY-SEVEN
  35. TWENTY-EIGHT
  36. TWENTY-NINE
  37. DANIEL MOORE: ‘A SINGLE BLOKE, HAPPY-GO-LUCKY, A BIT OF A DUNCE BUT WITH A GOOD HEART,’ BEST FRIEND SAYS.
  38. THIRTY
  39. THIRTY-ONE
  40. THIRTY-TWO
  41. THIRTY-THREE
  42. THIRTY-FOUR
  43. THIRTY-FIVE
  44. BREAKING: POLICE CONFIRM DANIEL MOORE ACTED ALONE
  45. THIRTY-SIX
  46. THIRTY-SEVEN
  47. THIRTY-EIGHT
  48. THIRTY-NINE
  49. SECOND ARREST MADE IN WESTAY HIDDEN CAMERAS CASE
  50. EPILOGUE
  51. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  52. Discover More
  53. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  54. Also by J. P. Pomare

He steps back, his hands gripping my forearms, and stares at me like a man peering into a chest of gold. ‘You’re serious?’

I begin nodding and by the time his smile breaks I feel tears. Exhausted, happy tears. He seems to have forgotten about the money. He jerks me towards him so hard my face knocks his chest.

‘After everything. Finally something to celebrate. It’s beautiful, Lina. A baby. Our baby.’

TWENTY-THREE

HAND IN HAND, we are leaving the maternity ward of the hospital after a positive scan, seeing our baby’s little heart frantically beating away. Cain is effervescent, and that wry smile is unshakeable. It reaches his eyes and stays there. The money and the baby.

We eat lunch at a nice, modern cafe to celebrate. He has black coffee and I have a chai latte, while we watch the people moving about the CBD. We eat avocado on toast and reflect on the good news: a healthy foetus.

We’ve been talking about the baby news all morning and when Cain finally changes the subject it’s to explain his betting scheme to me. But I’m not listening, my attention is focused instead on a narrow man with a plaited ponytail, all in black. He brings a camera up to his eye.

I don’t point him out at first, self-consciously bringing my hand up to my face, scratching my temple.

‘Sorry, I know it’s boring,’ Cain says. ‘It’s just I want you to realise it’s legitimate. Everyone thinks betting is gambling, but it’s not always the case.’

‘It’s not that, Cain.’ I glance up again. He’s still there, the photographer. ‘I think we were just papped.’