by Gemma Rogers
The click-clack of heels echoed from the corridor and I shuffled in my seat, putting the bra back in my bag. I’d arrived early, to get the best spot, at the front, where the show was good.
She arrived soon after, an extra button of her white blouse undone. Too low to really be appropriate. When she turned to the side, I glimpsed her flesh coloured bra, the smooth mound filling the cup. It made me hard instantly and I had to sit forward to hide the bulge. She knew what she was doing. They all did. It would be the mental snapshot I’d use later, when I was alone.
‘Hello Nicholas. You’re keen today,’ she said, awarding me a flash of perfectly straight white teeth and tucking her dark hair behind her ear. She glided to her desk, reaching into her satchel and pulling out her notepad and books. I spied the rock on her finger, she was someone else’s, not that it mattered.
‘Hello Miss Evans, how was your weekend?’
Acknowledgments
Firstly, thank you to my mum, who read Reckless, chapter by chapter, as I wrote it back in 2016. The first novel I’d finished. An amazing achievement that you encouraged. I’ll forever be grateful for your support.
Thanks to my reader Denise Miller, for always being honest and willing to lend your time. You’re stuck being my guinea pig forever now!
A massive thank you to my fabulous editor Caroline Ridding, part of the wonderful team at Boldwood Books who are so supportive and nurturing. The final product is very much a team effort and I couldn’t do it without all of you. Jade Craddock, you’ve been amazing at turning this beast of a manuscript into something more refined! Thank you so much.
To the many ladies who helped with different research aspects of the book. Philippa East and Lisa Sell particularly. I really appreciate you giving me an insight on anxiety and the teaching profession.
I would like to thank Becky Poulsum for raising money for the charity, Cancer Research UK, by arranging the auction of a character’s name in the book. Stella Crowley, I very much hope you enjoy Reckless.
Lastly, thank you to Dean, Bethany and Lucy for putting up with me.
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You can buy Stalker, another gritty thriller by Gemma Rogers, by clicking on the image below. Or read on for an exclusive extract…
Chapter One
Saturday 27 January 2018
I’ve never been in trouble before. Not the sort of trouble that brought me here. Freshly painted, stark white walls surround me; their toxic scent lingers in the air. A fluorescent glow from strip lights so dazzling they must be there to desensitise the occupants. Everything is white or chrome, like I’m on the set of a futuristic movie. I swing my legs, which dangle over the edge of the bed, not quite reaching the floor. I do this for a minute to keep warm. Despite the blanket around my shoulders, I can’t help but shiver. It’s late and they didn’t bring my jacket. I guess it’s been taken away as evidence.
The woman in front of me is standing too close, hot breath on my arm. It makes me squirm and I fight the urge to yank my hand away from her grip. She’s holding it like I’m a china doll, fragile and easily broken. I dislike the invasion of my personal space. It’s something I’ve learnt to tolerate over the years. I was never a big fan of being touched, shrinking away if someone brushed past me or stood too close on public transport. I’m not a hugger either – no one was in the house where I grew up. After tonight, I can’t imagine I’ll let anyone touch me again.
Her name is Doctor Joyce Hargreaves, she told me as we entered the victim examination room. Her job, she said, was to collect evidence from me, which is why she was wearing a paper suit, so there wouldn’t be any cross-contamination. She hasn’t picked up on my anxiety, the tremor in my fingers; she’s too busy. Brows furrowed, eyes focused as she peels the plastic bag away from my bloodied hand to collect scrapings from my skin and beneath my fingernails. The tool she uses makes me nervous.
‘Is that a scalpel?’ my voice barely a whisper.
‘No, it’s a scraper. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt. This is just so I can make sure we collect any skin cells that may be buried underneath the tips of your nails. I’m afraid I’ll have to give them a trim in a minute too.’ She wields the scraper with care and it’s true, it doesn’t hurt. Physically I’m okay, except my throat is on fire and the ringing in my ears is deafening, timed perfectly with the throbbing of my face. I have a feeling I might feel worse once the adrenaline leaves my system.
When she finishes with my hands, she pulls the fallen blanket back over my shoulders and offers a kind smile as she pushes her glasses up her nose. I can see strands of greying hair trying to escape by her ear, exposed beneath the coverall hat. She wears no jewellery and her face is free of make-up. Was she on duty or has she been called out of her bed to attend to me? Would we recognise each other in different circumstances? Probably not, I must be one of many people that pass through this room every day.
Joyce delicately inserts each of the specimens into small tubes before labelling them to be sent for analysis. I don’t know why? I’ve told them what happened. Soon she’ll want to examine me thoroughly. Internally. Until there are no more swabs left to be taken.
She glances at me, knowing what is coming, what she must ask me to do. Her eyes are full of pity. I must look a mess. Dried blood on my face and chest is beginning to flake away, like charred skin falling into my lap. My cheek is puffy and the vision poor on my left side. I wish I could stop shivering. They said it’s shock and provided me with a mug of hot, sweet tea after the ambulance checked me over. They wanted to make sure the blood I am doused in isn’t mine. It isn’t.
Stalker is available to buy now, click below:
About the Author
Gemma Rogers was inspired to write gritty thrillers by a traumatic event in her own life nearly twenty years ago. Stalker was her debut novel and marked the beginning of a new writing career. Gemma lives in West Sussex with her husband, two daughters and bulldog Buster.
Visit Gemma’s website: www.gemmarogersauthor.co.uk
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About Boldwood Books
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First published in Great Britain in 2020 by Boldwood Books Ltd.
Copyright © Gemma Rogers, 2020
Cover Design: www.judgebymycovers.com
Cover Photography: Shutterstock
The moral right of Gemma Rogers to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This book is a work of fiction and, except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Every effort has been made to obtain the necessary permissions with reference to copyright material, both illustrative and quoted. We apologise for any omissions in this respect and will be pleased to make the appropriate acknowledgements in any future edition.
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Paperback ISBN 978-1-83889-016-2
Large Print ISBN 978-1-83889-736-9
Ebook ISBN 978-1-83889-018-6
Kindle ISBN
978-1-83889-017-9
Audio CD ISBN 978-1-83889-014-8
MP3 CD ISBN 978-1-83889-733-8
Digital audio download ISBN 978-1-83889-015-5
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