I Lie in Wait: A gripping new psychological crime thriller perfect for fans of Ruth Ware!

by Amanda Brittany

My head bounces painfully against the bark.

  My head swims.

  My vision blurs.

  A masked figure looks down at me, silently, a knife glinting in their hand.

  A crunch of footsteps in the snow close by gives me sudden hope.

  ‘Help me,’ I whimper, heart thudding against my ribcage. And as I shake with fear and cold, my vision dips out. Everything goes black.

  *

  When I come round my surroundings are a blur. Someone is crouching down in front of me, features distorted. My survival instincts kick in, and I fumble the knife from my pocket. If I want to live I have to do the impossible. With a deep breath I pull my arm back, and with a jerk I plunge the blade into their stomach. I heave, sick, bile rising in my throat.

  He cries in agony. A male. Yes, I’m sure it’s a man.

  But the forest spins as if I’m drunk, and within seconds everything goes black once more.

  Chapter 38

  Present Day

  Amelia

  My eyes are gritty and sore. My head and ears throb. My bones and teeth ache.

  I’m propped against a tree in the solid darkness, unable to see in front of me. Afraid to move in case the killer is still here.

  Did I really push the knife into his flesh? Or did I dream that?

  I listen. The wood is silent. No screams. No footsteps. No masked killer.

  The moon creeps out from behind a cloud, and I see my phone lying abandoned nearby. I reach for it, and close my gloved fingers around it. I flick on the torch.

  The moon and my torch give out enough light for me to see in front of me. There’s blood on the ground, but no sign of whoever attacked me – the person I stabbed.

  I look up Vine Hill; memories of Finn pushing me down it on the sled invading my head, as my eyes skitter across to the farmhouse. The downstairs windows glow orange, and I imagine Julia and Finn inside, unaware of Maddie’s death. But they know of the dangers. They know there’s a killer on the grounds of Drummondale House estate. They know to keep the doors locked.

  The moon disappears once more, and I move my torchlight towards Kyla’s bench, but before I can take it in, my phone dies. Now, apart from the faraway glow of the farmhouse, everything is black. I can’t see a thing.

  I pull myself up, and lean against the tree, squinting into the darkness. I have to move soon or I’ll die of exposure.

  There’s a rumble in the sky – a helicopter overhead, getting closer, beams of light searching the area, rotary blades stirring treetops. Snow falls to the ground in heavy clumps.

  But something else stirs in the cold air – closer, much closer – and my heart leaps as the beam from the helicopter highlights a figure sitting on Kyla’s bench. Whoever it is wears the mask of the young boy with the bright pink face and the too wide smile – the dead eyes.

  I’m shaking with cold and terror, when whoever is sitting there raises their arm and reaches out to me through the darkness. Their arm drops down; their head slumps to one side.

  Within seconds, adrenalin pumps through me. I’m running. Stumbling. Tripping. Falling. I scramble back to my feet, the bright lights of the helicopter guiding my way. My pulse thumps in my ears, as I head for the farmhouse. Finally, I glance behind me. But there’s nobody there. Nobody is chasing me.

  I’m almost at the farmhouse, and haven’t dared look back again for fear of slowing my pace. The helicopter, after appearing to land on higher ground, has gone, taken off towards the coast. I desperately hope it’s the police.

  When I finally reach the front door of the farmhouse, I bang my fists against it. ‘Help!’ I cry. ‘Help me! Julia! Finn! Let me in. Please!’

  I steel myself, and glance back once more, but there’s still nobody behind me, only a vast expanse of muffling snow, the perfect sheen ruined by my anxious footprints.

  It seems like an age before the door swings open. It’s Julia in her pyjamas, hugging the cat. She tilts her head. ‘Amelia. What is it? I was about to watch TV.’

  ‘Let me in,’ I cry, and she steps back startled. I storm into the house out of breath, and she closes the door. ‘Lock it,’ I yell. ‘Lock it for Christ’s sake!’

  She puts down the cat, and turns the key slowly. ‘What the devil’s the matter with you?’

  ‘Where’s Finn?’ I call after her as she heads away, my voice husky. ‘Where the hell is Finn?’

  ‘He’s not here, Amelia,’ she says over her shoulder. ‘He went out about an hour ago,’ she goes on, disappearing into the lounge, where I hear the TV blaring out. ‘What’s this about?’

  I stand in the dimly lit hallway, trying to catch my breath and make sense of everything, when I notice blood on my jacket, my gloves. It wasn’t a dream. I stabbed someone. A man.

  The masked killer is a man, and I stabbed him.

  Yes.

  Yes.

  And there are only three men here at Drummondale House.

  But it can’t be Thomas, or Dad – it can’t be my lovely dad, and anyway he’s hurt his leg.

  There’s only one person it can be, and I desperately pray I’m wrong.

  ‘You’re covered in blood,’ Julia says, as I step into the light of the lounge. ‘Oh God, are you hurt?’

  I shake my head. ‘No, but someone attacked me. There’s someone out there, Julia.’ I’m talking too fast. ‘And someone’s killed Maddie.’ Oh God, none of this feels real.

  ‘Maddie?’ She sits on the edge of the sofa, and points the remote at the TV. Turns it off. Looks back at me.

  ‘Thomas’s carer.’

  ‘The pretty American? Oh God, that’s awful.’

  ‘You don’t sound remotely shocked.’ I’m still out of breath, and press my bloodied glove against my chest.

  She narrows her eyes. ‘Of course I’m shocked, Amelia. I’m practising my calming techniques, is all. It won’t do any of us any good if we all act like crazy people.’

  ‘Like me, you mean?’

  ‘I never said that.’

  I bite down on my bottom lip hard, determined not to lose it with her. Knowing it won’t help. ‘Someone was sitting on the bench,’ I say, trying for calm. ‘Wearing a mask.’

  ‘Kyla’s bench?’

  ‘Yes.’

  She splashes red wine into a glass in front of her. ‘Who was it?’

  Finn. Finn. I think it was Finn. ‘Christ, Julia, I don’t know – but whoever it was is the killer.’

  ‘Do you know who Kyla was, Amelia?’ she says, taking a gulp of her wine, and I realise she’s trembling, nowhere near as calm as she pretends.

  ‘Christ sake, Julia, is that important right now?’ I say, heading for the window. I pull back the curtains to reveal snow stretching towards a copse.

  ‘She was Finn’s half-sister.’ A pause. ‘My half-sister.’

  ‘What?’ I turn. ‘I don’t understand.’

  The lights dip, and chills run down my back.

  ‘She died twenty-six years ago.’

  ‘Kyla?’

  She nods. ‘She was only fifteen, and her death had a dreadful effect on Ruth, left her mentally scarred – unstable. Poor Finn had a hard time of it as a kid.’ She takes a sip of her wine. ‘Ruth became possessive of him – scared she might lose him too.’ She pauses. ‘Of course this was before I was born, but I saw the outcome, what it did to poor Finn.’

  My eyes flash from Julia to the window and back to Julia. ‘But you said she was your half-sister too.’

  A bang on the French windows startles us, and Julia’s glass slips through her fingers and shatters on the floor.

  It’s Finn, his bloody palms pressed against the glass, his eyes wide.

  ‘Don’t let him in,’ I yell.

  ‘Don’t be silly, Amelia. It’s only Finn. We can’t leave him out there.’ She heads over to the French doors.

  But I see the mask sticking out of his pocket. ‘Wait. No!’ I cry.

  ‘But he’ll freeze to death out there,’ she says, ignoring my plea – unlocking the
door.

  Finn stares in, not moving, his pupils dilated in bloodshot eyes, his skin red raw from the cold.

  As he finally steps forward, teeth chattering, one hand on his stomach, his other loose by his side, my heart thuds, and I step backwards.

  ‘Julia,’ he says, his voice barely audible as he reaches out his hand towards her, in the same way the figure on the bench had – there’s no doubting he was sitting there earlier, wearing the mask.

  ‘Oh God, Finn.’ Julia steps forward, and I want to yell at her to be careful, that she has no idea what he’s done, but my throat swells. Words won’t form.

  Julia moves outside, almost toppling on the ice, and allows him to put his arm around her shoulders. She’s helping him into the house, when I see the blood on his clothes, the drops of blood on the snow, leading to the door.

  ‘What happened?’ she’s saying to him, as she guides him into the lounge. ‘You’re bleeding.’

  Should I run? Would I be safer out there?

  ‘Christ sake, Amelia,’ Julia cries, glaring at me. ‘Can I have a bit of help here?’

  I stare, as she hobbles onwards, almost collapsing under Finn’s weight.

  ‘Amelia, please!’ she yells.

  I catch up, and shudder as Finn drapes his free arm around my shoulders. We manage to get him to the sofa, where he flops down hard.

  ‘What happened to you?’ Julia asks him again, but his eyes have receded into his head. ‘Finn! Finn, can you hear me? Oh God, he’s been stabbed. Oh God!’ She grabs a throw from the back of the sofa, and presses it against his stomach, her hands shaking. ‘Who would do this?’

  My mind drifts again to the moment before I passed out. I’d rammed the knife into him, hadn’t I? Heard him cry out in pain. But I had to do it. He would have killed me if I hadn’t. Wouldn’t he? It was him or me, and it wasn’t going to be me.

  An urgent hammering on the front door brings me out of my thoughts, and I race towards it. I don’t care who it is. We’ve caught the killer. It will be help. I know it will.

  I throw the door open, and breathe a sigh of relief. It’s Detective Inspector Beynon. I remember her from when Lark vanished. ‘Thank God you’re here,’ I cry, beckoning her and DS McKay inside.

  DI Beynon looks exactly as she had a year ago, strength oozing from her five-foot frame. ‘Amelia,’ she says.

  She remembers me: The young woman with the red hair who traipsed the woods in tears on the Drummondale House estate a year ago, searching for her lost sister until her legs went from under her with exhaustion.

  I’d found an inner strength back then, and I thought I’d found it again as I’d set out earlier, but now I’m beaten once more – anxious, frightened.

  ‘What’s happened?’ she asks. ‘You’re covered in blood.’

  ‘Oh. Yes. It’s Finn’s blood.’ I’m aware my voice is shaky – that I’m avoiding eye contact. ‘We just helped him into the house. He’s been attacked.’ I’m lying. I hate lying.

  As Beynon turns to close the door, she looks into the distance, where two police cars are slowly moving across the snow. ‘Backup,’ she says, and smiles, before pulling the door ajar.

  I lead Beynon and McKay across the hall. ‘Finn killed Ruth and Maddie,’ I say, before heading into the lounge where Julia is kneeling in front of him.

  ‘He’s been stabbed. I think he’s dead,’ Julia cries, tears in her eyes.

  ‘An air ambulance will be here soon,’ Beynon says moving closer. She places her fingertips on his neck for several seconds. ‘There’s a pulse. Just keep pressure on that wound. Do we know who stabbed him?’ Her eyes flick over his body.

  Julia shakes her head.

  ‘Maybe someone who knew he was the killer,’ I say, looking at Beynon. ‘He’s got the weird mask, see.’ I point to his pocket.

  Beynon pulls it out with gloved hands. ‘That’s fucking freaky,’ she says, and I shudder at the sight of it. ‘It’s the same as the ones in the trees when Lark disappeared. Finn was about then too.’

  ‘But I’ve known Finn a long time,’ Julia says. ‘He’d never hurt anyone.’

  Four uniformed officers enter the room, and Beynon looks up. ‘It seems we may have our killer,’ she says. ‘We may even have our connection to Lark’s disappearance.’

  ‘No! Didn’t you hear me? Finn isn’t a killer,’ Julia says through tears. She’s holding his hand, squeezing. ‘He wouldn’t hurt anyone. You’ve got it wrong.’

  ‘We need to do a search of the property for the missing girl, Elise Green.’ Beynon looks around her, glancing out through the French doors. ‘Let’s get that summerhouse checked out too.’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘She’s not here,’ Julia says. ‘You’re wasting your time. You need to be out there finding out who did this to Finn.’

  I stare down at Finn, beating back tears. Was he a killer? Had he taken Lark too? I’m so close to sobbing right now.

  Finn groans, and Beynon looks up at McKay who is hovering close by. ‘Chase up the air ambulance,’ she says. ‘Before this man takes his last breath.’

  Chapter 39

  Present Day

  Present

  I barely know my own thoughts anymore. Can barely keep awake. I often cry like a small child. Bury my head in the pillow and sob.

  Some days I lie here and imagine my mother by my side. She tells me to be strong. Brave. Take the pain, like she did.

  Now those tears roll down my face, but Misty is still here. He knows I’m in pain. Scared my life will soon be over. I take long deep breaths, and look through the window. It’s getting dark, but nobody is coming to save me. Not tonight. Not ever.

  I sob so loud that Misty jumps from the bed, gives me a daggering look before licking his fur.

  ‘Help!’ I cry out. ‘Somebody. Please, help me.’

  Chapter 40

  A Year Ago

  Detective Inspector Kate Beynon

  The steep hill towards Drummondale House felt never-ending.

  ‘Christ, it’s like travelling up a rollercoaster,’ DI Kate Beynon said, pressing down on the throttle. They were at least ten miles from civilisation, and God knows how far from the nearest McDonald’s.

  ‘I hate rollercoasters,’ DS Gavin McKay said from the passenger seat. ‘Never liked bumper cars much either. It’s the sparks – they smell like singed flesh. And don’t get me started on the ghost train.’

  Kate laughed, but it was forced. Lark Taylor – just seventeen – was missing. Taken? This was a case she needed to solve. Quick!

  Kate eased her foot off the accelerator as she drove through open, wrought-iron gates.

  ‘This whole place is fucking freaky,’ she said as they passed the ruined part of Drummondale House, before veering off towards the car park. ‘Why would anyone want to holiday here? Give me Benidorm any day of the week.’

  She came to a stop, and pulled on the handbrake. ‘Looks like they’re waiting for us, Gav.’ The brightness of the sun silhouetted the group of ten, all statue-still on the grass – some sitting, some standing.

  Gavin nodded, opened the car door, and dragged his six-foot, heavily built self out of the car and onto the cobbles, where he stretched his arms into the air.

  Kate took a deep breath. She’d wasted no time after getting the call from Robert Taylor. A wee lass disappearing in the middle of the night, possibly with a man in his mid-thirties, had to be investigated. Totally out of character, her father had said on the phone. I’ve never trusted Jackson Cromwell.

  Kate took another deep breath – her daughter had just turned seventeen. Thought she was so grown-up, yet …

  She climbed from the car. At five foot, and tiny-framed, she’d often been told she looked younger than her forty-eight years. But she was strong. With cropped black hair, Doc Martens, and a fierce Glaswegian accent, she knew she could take on anyone.

  They crossed the car park, cobbles crunching under their feet, and onto the grass.

  ‘I’m Detecti
ve Inspector Kate Beynon,’ she said on reaching the gathered group, brandishing her badge, before shoving it back into her jacket pocket. ‘And this is Detective Sergeant Gavin McKay.’

  Gavin’s silver-threaded ponytail and bushy grey beard gave him an ageing rock-star look. He was older than Kate – late fifties – and her opposite in many ways, with his gentle persona and kindly face.

  ‘Which of you is Robert Taylor?’ Kate said, scanning their bewildered faces.

  ‘Me.’ A tall man in a long black coat raised his hand.

  ‘You called in?’

  He nodded. ‘Lark, my daughter – she’s missing.’ He blinked. Anxious? ‘Jackson took her.’

  ‘We don’t know that, Robert.’ A woman with a pale-blue scarf around her head and wearing a parka, despite the warm day, met Kate’s eye. ‘I’m Lark’s mother. Caroline Taylor.’ Her voice cracked. ‘My partner, Jackson Cromwell, is missing too, but I’m not convinced it’s connected.’

  ‘OK,’ Kate said. ‘So, I understand from your call that Jackson’s car was driven away in the middle of the night. Is it possible they would they have gone away together?’ She had to ask the question.

  ‘Never,’ Caroline said without hesitation. ‘I just said, it’s not connected.’

  ‘And one of you heard a scream?’ Kate’s eyes cruised the worried faces.

  ‘Me.’ A pretty redhead, who looked as though she hadn’t slept in a month, raised her hand. ‘Though I can’t be sure. It could have been an animal … I don’t know … but with her disappearance I assume it was …’

  Kate narrowed her eyes. ‘We can’t assume anything … and you are?’

  ‘Amelia Taylor. Lark’s sister.’

  ‘Well, if one of you could give DS McKay here the registration number and make of Jackson’s car, we can then check CCTV and get the number plate out to traffic police.’

  A car drove onto the cobbles, and came to a stop. Kate turned to see a young woman climb from the driver’s side of a yellow sports car.

  ‘Who’s that?’ Kate asked.

  ‘Julia Collis,’ a scruffy young man with an attractive face said, rising from where he’d been sitting on the grass fiddling with a blade of grass. ‘Julia!’ he called to her, raising his hand. ‘She’s Michael Collis’s daughter. He owns Drummondale estate.’