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Chapters (64)
  1. THE MISSING WIFE
  2. PRAISE FOR SAM CARRINGTON
  3. Dedication
  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. THE EPILOGUE
  58. ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
  59. Prologue
  60. Chapter One
  61. Chapter Two
  62. About the Author
  63. By the same author
  64. About the Publisher

Knowing that my books are getting into the hands of readers is the best feeling and I feel proud and privileged to be able to write stories for a living. I want to thank every reader who has picked up one of my books, read them, reviewed them, and spread the word. I have had some wonderful messages – I do love hearing from readers! This is for you all – I very much hope you enjoy The Missing Wife.

Turn the page to read an exclusive extract of Sam Carrington’s next chilling thriller …

Prologue

1989

‘Go on, Bella – do it now!’ the girl hissed. She slapped both hands over her mouth to prevent her near-hysterical laughter carrying across the man’s garden and alerting him to their presence.

Bella whipped her head around to look at her friend, her golden hair sweeping across her back like a closing curtain. ‘I don’t want to.’ Her voice was a broken whisper as tears threatened.

‘Don’t be a baby all your life. It’s just a silly game. He can’t even see you, I promise.’ She dared to edge out slightly from her hiding place behind the metal dustbin at the front of the garden, out of direct eye-line of the kitchen window.

The one he was at.

The man, his upper body filling the window frame, stared out – his eyes like black slits, lost beneath bushy eyebrows.

She shrank down lower still. She didn’t want to be the one caught out. She’d done her dare yesterday and succeeded. It was Bella’s turn now.

‘This is a stupid game,’ Bella said, moving forwards, her shoulders slumped, until she reached the bungalow. She pushed herself flat against the wall and the hard-stippled surface dug into the backs of her bare legs. She stood stock-still – only her eyes moved as she sought out her friend. She glared at her, silently begging to be let off the dare.

‘Creepy Cawley, Creepy Cawley’, the other girl chanted, her tone hushed but loud enough to send chills down Bella’s spine. Her legs began to shake, her fear visible. She wished she’d worn her corduroy trousers now, not the stupid cotton shorts again. It’s just a game, no need to be scared. But, despite trying to calm herself, her mum’s words of warning rang in her ears: you must never go near Mr Cawley. Ever. Do you understand? She’d said the police had been called lots of times because of kids trespassing on his property, annoying him. Terrorising him. Those were the words her mum had used. Bella closed her eyes tight, remembering how her mum had put one hand on her hip, holding the finger of her other hand out, wagging it like a metronome as she spoke in a stern voice: ‘It’s important you listen, Bella. To every word I say.’

Her mum said that one day someone would get hurt.