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Chapters (134)
  1. Cover
  2. ALSO BY J.S. MONROE
  3. Title Page
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. Epigraph
  7. Contents
  8. One week earlier
  9. 1
  10. Friday
  11. 2
  12. Saturday
  13. 3
  14. 4
  15. 5
  16. 6
  17. 7
  18. 8
  19. 9
  20. 10
  21. 11
  22. 12
  23. 13
  24. 14
  25. 15
  26. 16
  27. 17
  28. 18
  29. 19
  30. 20
  31. 21
  32. Sunday
  33. 22
  34. 23
  35. 24
  36. 25
  37. 26
  38. 27
  39. 28
  40. 29
  41. 30
  42. 31
  43. 32
  44. 33
  45. 34
  46. 35
  47. 36
  48. 37
  49. 38
  50. 39
  51. 40
  52. 41
  53. 42
  54. 43
  55. 44
  56. 45
  57. 46
  58. 47
  59. 48
  60. 49
  61. Monday
  62. 50
  63. 51
  64. 52
  65. 53
  66. 54
  67. 55
  68. 56
  69. 57
  70. 58
  71. 59
  72. 60
  73. 61
  74. 62
  75. 63
  76. 64
  77. 65
  78. 66
  79. 67
  80. 68
  81. 69
  82. 70
  83. 71
  84. 72
  85. 73
  86. 74
  87. 75
  88. 76
  89. 77
  90. Tuesday
  91. 78
  92. 79
  93. 80
  94. 81
  95. 82
  96. 83
  97. 84
  98. 85
  99. 86
  100. 87
  101. 88
  102. 89
  103. 90
  104. 91
  105. 92
  106. 93
  107. 94
  108. 95
  109. 96
  110. 97
  111. 98
  112. 99
  113. 100
  114. 101
  115. 102
  116. 103
  117. 104
  118. 105
  119. 106
  120. 107
  121. 108
  122. 109
  123. 110
  124. 111
  125. One week later
  126. 112
  127. 113
  128. 114
  129. 115
  130. One month later
  131. 116
  132. Acknowledgements
  133. About the author
  134. An Invitation from the Publisher

The lock clicks and the door is open before she hears the first shout behind her from Putin. The woman will do her best to stop him; Kate prays that her selflessness won’t be the death of her. Kate doesn’t care about the pain that’s about to rip through her own body. The urge to escape is overwhelming, visceral.

Fresh air, blue sky. The sea stretching out before her. Kate runs as she’s never run before, ignoring the pain in her swollen ribs, forcing her legs to go faster, focusing on the sea. The sea that extends all the way to Cornwall, to where she and Jake used to camp in the drizzle, water dripping through the flysheet, their Morris Minor failing to start, just enough money for a pint in the pub across the soggy cornfield, Jake stopping to pick her stitchwort and bluebells, her cursing him, loving him.

Her chest is heaving with the effort now, and she feels nauseous, faint, but she’s got nothing to lose. It was Jake out there on the cliffs, she’s sure of it. His profile is hard to mistake. It’s why she recognised him in the CCTV footage. He looked surprised when the woman kissed him, she’ll give him that. Shocked, even, by what he was doing. It had to happen, though. She and Jake were going nowhere, not communicating, too poor and too tired and too stuck in a rut, clinging to the wreckage of their waterborne life together, taking each other down to the cold lonely depths of a world where they’d forgotten how to love. Then along came Rob. And now Jake’s come looking for her.

She keeps running, forcing her bruised body forward until there’s nothing solid beneath her feet any more. She doesn’t stop. The sea is waiting for her far below, waiting to engulf her in its salty embrace, and she is a child again, jumping from the harbour wall. For a split second she thinks about arcing her body into a swallow dive, but she’s never jumped from this height before. She’s going to die. The cliffs are too tall. Better a quick death now than a slow, wide-eyed one back there. She tries to force her hands down to her sides, keep her feet pointed as she plummets. A pencil jump, like the one that impressed the Cornish boys in Mousehole. But then the shock hits, hot fiery pain like she’s never felt before, twisting and folding her screaming body until it’s snuffed out by the smack of watery darkness.

110

Jake