BooksBarbecue
Back The Last Guests
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’s watching a video. He’s clicking through… footage. Of me. I freeze. He’s watching me. He has the footage. I can’t breathe. This is the moment I’ve feared most. But then I realise it’s not the footage from the night with Daniel in Auckland, but the night at the lake house. I’m cuffed to the fire. Daniel is there on the couch. It’s… It’s the video. Could it be? My husband is on Peephole. What if he planted the camera? The room seems to twist around me and a small gasp escapes. It’s so tiny but he hears. His head jerks around, his eyes find mine. I jump back but he’s on me before I have a chance to run. Something Rata says comes to me. If it’s not feeling right, or you’re worried things are going south, get out and call me. His hand reaches for my throat, gripping the front of my gown. I’m trapped. He’s got a crazed look, his eyes all white.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ he yells.

The room seems to vibrate. My vision blurs. Panic courses through my veins and my phone slips out of my hand and crashes to the floor. My knee rises instinctively, it catches him and his grip loosens enough for me to tear away. Get out.

‘Lina,’ he calls after me. But I’m already running, out the door of the study. I sense him behind me, but I don’t look back. I throw the door closed, hear him tearing it open again. I rush down the stairs to the front door. If I make it out I can get away, I know I’m faster than him with his bad knee and I can run further. There’s no thinking, no room to stop or consider what I saw. I pull, turn and twist through the door then I’m out in the dark of night, my head swimming. I sprint, the cool air claws at the inside of my throat. My feet carry me away from the house. I don’t stop until I get to the corner, searching in the cones of light thrown from the streetlamps. My phone is back in the study. I could knock on doors until someone answers. No one has that video. It’s not online. The police can’t find it, can’t access the servers that host it. But he has it.

I hear a car in the distance and turn to see headlights. Turning back to the house, I can’t see Cain anywhere. The car slows as I step out into the road and hurl my arms around in the air. It’s a taxi. I look back again – I see Cain pass beneath a streetlight and his form is thrown into full colour. He’s coming now, chasing me.