Contents
About the Book
About the Author
Also by Simon Kernick
Title Page
Dedication
Part One
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
Part Two
17
18
19
20
21
22
Part Three
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
Part Four
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
Epilogue: Four months later
Copyright
About the Book
We have your daughter. We know your secrets. We can see you.
The new high-octane thriller from Sunday Times bestselling author Simon Kernick
You have it all. Success, a beautiful home, a happy family.
Until, in a heartbeat, it’s gone.
We’ve kidnapped your daughter, and we know everything about you. Including the dark secrets from your past you thought were forgotten.
We tell you not to contact the police – and that we’ll know if you do. Because we can see you.
And now you know this is no ordinary abduction. It’s worse. Within hours you’re on the run, with only one thought in your head:
That you will stop at nothing to get your daughter back.
Even murder…
About the Author
Simon Kernick is one of Britain’s most exciting thriller writers. He arrived on the crime writing scene with his highly acclaimed debut novel The Business of Dying, the story of a corrupt cop moonlighting as a hitman. Simon’s big breakthrough came with his novel Relentless which was the biggest selling thriller of 2007. His most recent crime thrillers include Siege, Ultimatum, Stay Alive and The Final Minute. He is also the author of the bestselling three-part serial thrillers Dead Man’s Gift and One By One.
Simon talks both on and off the record to members of the Counter Terrorism Command and the Serious and Organised Crime Agency, so he gets to hear first hand what actually happens in the dark and murky underbelly of UK crime.
Also by Simon Kernick
The Business of Dying
The Murder Exchange
The Crime Trade
A Good Day to Die
Relentless
Severed
Deadline
Target
The Last 10 Seconds
The Payback
Siege
Ultimatum
Wrong Time, Wrong Place
Stay Alive
The Final Minute
The Witness
The Bone Field
The Hanged Man
Dead Man’s Gift and Other Stories
For my girls, as always.
Part One
1
Wednesday night
Four days ago
Even the most perfect life can shatter in seconds, and Brook Connor’s nightmare began approximately two minutes after she walked through her front door. For some reason she’d had an ominous feeling in her gut on the drive home, which was an unusual occurrence for her. As a child she’d been plagued by bad dreams – often recurring ones – and had grown up with a deep, irrational sense of doom that could manifest itself in periods of anxiety, especially when things were going well for her. Brook had learned, through long practice, to control those bleak, self-destructive thoughts, so she was surprised by the way this one had sneaked up on her.
It had been a long day. A round of newspaper and radio interviews in San Francisco to promote her second book, Release Your Inner Warrior, had taken up the morning. These had been followed by two ninety-minute back-to-back private client visits at her office in Santa Cruz, both of which had been utterly exhausting. The first client was a twenty-seven-year-old dot-commer who had designed an app that had made him a multimillionaire overnight, but who’d developed a crippling addiction to internet porn, which made it impossible for him to develop normal relationships with women. Unfortunately there was no shortage of cases like his and, as far as Brook was concerned, he was part of a ticking time-bomb that was going to have huge ramifications over the next ten years.
The second client was an equally wealthy married housewife from San José who had completely the opposite problem. She couldn’t stop developing relationships with the opposite sex and was having numerous encounters with men she met through various hook-up apps, even though she’d been happily married for more than twenty years to a man she claimed to love more than any other.
Brook considered herself a life-coach, not a sex therapist, and indeed both her books were guides to helping people create better lives for themselves by learning to deal with the stresses of the modern world. But it seemed that a lot of people’s life goals revolved around sorting out issues with their love lives. Take sex out of the equation and she’d probably be broke.
It was just short of nine o’clock when she closed the front door behind her, already frowning at the heavy silence inside, and called out to no one in particular that she was home. Seven p.m. was Paige’s bedtime. That was when her bedside light went off, after the two stories she was read every night (usually by Brook), so she’d be long asleep by now.
However, there was almost always some noise in the house at this time in the evening. Even if Logan wasn’t home – and it didn’t sound like he was – Rosa’s Honda was in the driveway, so she should be around somewhere. She always kept the TV on in the kitchen, where she liked to sit in the evenings after she’d fixed dinner, trawling through Facebook so that she could find out what all her friends and relatives were up to, back home. And Rosa, who was what might best be described as a larger-than-life woman, was incapable of being quiet when she moved about. She banged; she crashed; she grunted with exertion; she cursed in Spanish. Logan, Brook knew, would have preferred someone prettier, because that was what he was like; but Paige loved Rosa, and so did Brook, who found her a warm, comforting and lively presence within the family – and that was why she picked up on her absence now.
‘I’m home, guys,’ she called out again, throwing down her purse and kicking off her heels. All the lights were on and it had only been dark for half an hour, so there had to be people here somewhere. Brook checked her cellphone. No missed calls, so there was no emergency she should know about. Maybe Rosa had broken her usual habit and fallen asleep, or taken an early night.
Brook hurried up the stairs, forcing a smile as she pushed away the ominous feeling and looking forward to the prospect of seeing her daughter. Paige always looked so angelic when she was asleep, surrounded by her teddy bears, her breathing so soft it was almost inaudible. Sometimes Brook would kneel down beside her bed and watch her for minutes at a time, relishing their closeness.
As quietly as possible, she pushed open
Paige’s bedroom door and peered inside, knowing she shouldn’t wake her daughter, but secretly hoping that she’d stir.
The bed was unmade and had been slept in.
It was also empty.
Brook’s heart lurched and she suddenly felt nauseous. What was going on?
She raced back down the stairs and headed straight into Rosa’s bedroom, not even bothering to knock as she called out Rosa’s name and switched on the light.
But Rosa wasn’t there, either. Unlike Paige’s bed, Rosa’s was made and hadn’t been slept in. Everything else in the room was scrupulously neat, as always. Rosa had worked for them for two years and never once had she not been here when she was meant to be. And she was definitely meant to be here tonight to look after Paige, because she’d known Brook’s last appointment didn’t finish until seven and that she was going to be late.
Brook checked her cell again, just in case somehow she’d missed a call. But she hadn’t. No one had phoned.
She immediately phoned her husband, opening Rosa’s wardrobe as Logan’s cell rang and rang incessantly. Rosa’s clothes were all there, so it was clear she hadn’t decided to quit, out of the blue. But then of course she wouldn’t do that. She was well paid and well-treated. She was part of the family. She was happy here. And, most importantly of all, her car was still in the driveway. There was no way she or Paige had gone anywhere on foot. They were three miles from the centre of Carmel, on an unlit road with no sidewalk.
Logan’s cell went to message. ‘Call me as soon as you get this,’ Brook said, striding back through the house. ‘It’s urgent. Paige and Rosa aren’t here, and I don’t know what’s happened to them.’
Brook ended the call and focused on her breathing to calm herself down. There was almost certainly a logical reason why they weren’t here. She just hadn’t thought of it yet. She called Rosa’s cell and almost immediately heard it ringing. For a second she couldn’t pinpoint its location, then she realized it was coming from the living room.
Frowning, she strode inside and saw it vibrating on the coffee table. It was an old iPhone 5, and Rosa never went anywhere without it.
Except, it seemed, tonight.
Brook ended the call and paced the house, cell in hand, waiting for Logan to call her back, frustrated because right now she had no idea what was going on, and there was nothing she could do about it. She was a woman used to being in control. She’d worked for herself for most of the last fifteen years; had built up everything she had, through her own efforts; and when she saw an obstacle, she found a way around it. That was why she was successful and why people read her books. It was her unique selling point.
Her throat felt dry and she went into the kitchen to get a glass of water.
And that was when she saw it. A cellphone on the kitchen island with a charger attached, sitting on a folded sheet of A4 paper. The cell, a cheap Nokia handset that she didn’t recognize, looked brand new. She put it to one side, unfolded the sheet of paper and, as she started reading, felt her whole body tighten.
The words, in a large, bold typeface, were cold and unrelenting:
We have your daughter. She is unharmed. If you want her back alive, you will do exactly as we say. If you call the police, you will never see her again. We can see you and we will know. We will call you with instructions on the phone next to this note. Keep it with you at all times. Now look in the cutlery drawer. We have left you a gift to show you we are serious.
Remember. We can see you.
Brook put down the note, her breathing much faster now. It felt like some kind of sick joke. And yet she knew straight away it was far more serious than that. She looked down at the cutlery drawer, put her hand on it, but held back from pulling it open. Somehow, while the drawer stayed shut, reality was kept at bay.
She hesitated a long time, wishing that Logan would just call her back and tell her everything was okay.
But he didn’t. She was on her own. And finally … finally curiosity got the better of her and she placed her fingers around the handle and slowly pulled.
Sitting in the knife tray was a tiny cardboard box decorated in a flower pattern, with a red ribbon wrapped around it.
Brook felt a deep sense of dread as she looked at the box, her curiosity fighting with a desire to run right out of the room. She knew she ought to put on a pair of gloves before she opened it, in case whoever had put it there had left fingerprints behind, but instead she steeled herself and, in one quick movement, picked up the box, pulled open the ribbon and lifted the lid.
It was then she realized that, without a doubt, this nightmare was real.
2
The police interview room
Now
Detective Tyrone Giant went to stroke his beard, remembered as he touched the bare skin that he’d shaved it off this morning for the first time in five years and then, feeling somewhat naked, stopped outside the interview-room door, his A4-sized notebook under one arm.
Twelve-thirty a.m. on a Monday morning was a hell of a bad time to be starting an interview, but there was a lot riding on this. The Chief, the local mayor, the media – they all wanted Brook Connor’s head. And even more than that, they were desperate to hear the story of how she’d ended up as a fugitive on the run, wanted for mass murder. It had only been four hours since her arrest, but no one – least of all Giant – wanted to give her the breathing space to come up with a story to explain her actions over the past four days. He wanted to catch her out, get a confession and wrap up this whole thing.
It had been Giant and his partner, Detective Jenna King, who’d made the arrest, which was why they’d been given responsibility for conducting the interview. Giant was the more senior of the two, being five years older and with seven years more experience as a detective, but he knew that Jenna was the more respected amongst their colleagues. She’d been at the department for eight years, he’d only joined it nine months ago. And Jenna was very much one of the boys. Everyone liked her. She backchatted. She didn’t take shit. And she was heavily decorated, having single-handedly shot dead two suspects in a firefight. There was no way Giant could compete with any of that. He was the first to admit that he was the more traditional kind of detective. The one who went out of his way to avoid violence and who, if he was honest, was dead scared of it.
But now he had a chance to change things. To become respected by everyone. It was something he badly wanted.
He turned to Jenna, still touching the bare skin of his chin. ‘You ready?’
‘I can’t get used to you without a beard,’ she said. ‘You look younger.’
‘And that’s a good thing, right?’
She smiled, and Giant felt a frisson of excitement, as he always did whenever she smiled. ‘Yeah, but the beard gave you a certain gravitas. Useful in an interview like this. Come on, let’s get it over with. I’m pooped already.’
Giant opened the door and moved aside to let her in first, trying to work out whether Jenna preferred him with a beard or without, before going inside and taking his seat.
He cleared his throat and looked across the table at the two women sitting opposite him. Brook Connor looked tired but defiant – the kind of suspect who wasn’t going to roll over and confess everything – which Giant knew didn’t bode well. Her right cheek was swollen and an unpleasant yellowing bruise ran down to her jawline, making it look like she’d been punched hard in the face, which only added to her defiant appearance. Even now, though, rundown and devoid of make-up, with her hair short, badly cut and unkempt, she still looked pretty, and Giant could see why she’d done so well with her books and her cable-TV show. She had presence.
The woman next to her had presence, too, but in a very different way. Brook Connor’s lawyer, Angie Southby, was small and whip-thin, possibly late forties, although it was hard to tell with all the work she’d had done, with very thick, jet-black hair pulled back into a tight bun, a tan so dark it had to be fake and a face that radiated a volatile mix of anger, disdain and
haughtiness. Giant didn’t know her – apparently she had a criminal-law practice in San Francisco – but she had a reputation as something of a ball-breaker, and she was expensive, too, which always spelled trouble. She’d do everything she could to get her client out of here, but unless she was a miracle-worker, that wasn’t going to be happening any time soon.
Jenna spoke first – her voice calm, almost regretful in its tone. ‘You’re in a lot of trouble, Brook. I hope your lawyer’s told you to cooperate with us.’
‘My client intends to prove her innocence,’ said Southby firmly.
Jenna raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? Well, she’s got a lot of proving do. But all we want to hear tonight is the truth.’
‘And my client will give you that. But then I want her released and out of here tonight. She’s been through a very traumatic experience.’
Giant took a deep breath and spoke for the first time. ‘You must have some explanation, Brook,’ he said, making a play of consulting his notes, before looking her right in the eye. ‘Because, you see, what we’ve got here – on top of everything else from the past four days – are three dead bodies, a missing child and one suspect. And that suspect’s you. So my first question is this: if you’re as innocent as your lawyer here claims, then what the hell happened?’
Brook met his gaze, and when she spoke, it was with the languid British accent that had become her trademark. ‘It’s a long story.’
Giant leaned forward in his seat. ‘You’d better start telling it, then.’
3
Wednesday night
Four days ago
Brook was pacing the hallway in her bare feet, unwilling to sit down or even stop moving, when her husband walked in the front door, dressed in a check shirt, jeans and boots, as if advertising the fact that he rarely, if ever, worked.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ she demanded.
Logan shut the door behind him and glared at her. ‘Having a drink with a couple of the boys. You got a problem with that?’
He’d had more than a couple of drinks. She could tell. He was doing it more and more these days. She wasn’t sure if it was a reaction to their failing relationship, or whether their relationship was failing as a consequence of it. Either way, she was pretty certain he didn’t love her any more, and the love that she’d had for him had faded almost to nothing, too. It was something that had been weighing on her mind for the past few months, but right now, with Paige missing, their marital problems had been rendered utterly meaningless.
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