Inescapable Fate: Hanleigh's London (The Fate Series Book 1)

by Hanleigh Bradley

  Mark nods.

  “I remember the first time. We were all kids. Well, not quite. She was nine. I was a teenager. I remember Nick and her were friends. I always found it strange that Nicholas let her follow him around, but he said she was actually pretty cool.”

  I’m irritated that he isn’t getting to the point.

  What the hell happened to Georgia Kentley when she was nine?

  “Anyway, one day we were all walking home from school when this van pulled up in front of us. They didn’t say anything; they grabbed her. Nick, he tried his best to pull her away but he couldn’t. He just wasn’t strong enough. They were gone before we knew what to do. She’s the reason I became a police officer and the reason my brother became a lawyer. I’d lock them up and he’d ensure they’d stay locked up.”

  He lets out a huff of humourless laughter.

  “It turned out that the perp was an ex-con, recently out on probation. DCS Kentley had been his arresting officer. It was revenge.” John’s words are coated with anger. “We couldn’t catch them. We had no idea where they were. No clues at all. There was no ransom. They just wanted him to suffer.”

  “Then seven six hours later, at a point where we were past panicking, we were terrified and beginning to fear the worst, a nine-year-old girl, covered in blood – not her own – hands herself into the police in Guildford… she hands herself in for murder.”

  John’s eyes are brimmed with tears.

  I’m shocked.

  He can’t seriously be telling me that DS Kentley killed her kidnapper at the age of nine.

  “He’d had a knife and foolishly didn’t think to tie her up. So, when he feel asleep instead of watching her, she stole his knife and took it to his neck.”

  “The poor girl was in shock… I’ve never seen anything like it. She wasn’t massively hurt; a few cuts and bruises, nothing much, definitely less than we expected but psychologically… She didn’t talk then either. Just told us that she was fine. That she hadn’t wanted to kill him, but she didn’t think she had another choice. It was him or her. She was the bravest kid I’ve ever known, and I’ve met a few in this job.”

  They are quiet for a few minutes and I try to process everything John has just told us.

  I wonder if that is why she became a police officer. I can’t help but think I may have misjudged her.

  “Point is,” John is talking again, “she might go through shit… her and Darren might be over… but that girl, she can take it. She’s fucking strong.”

  John doesn’t usually swear. The word sounds weird coming from his mouth.

  I nod.

  “I’m going to head home,” I say.

  I want to ask questions, but I can’t decide what I would ask first so instead I concede that the questions will wait for another day.

  I stop at her door when I reach our floor of the apartment complex. I can hear voices inside.

  “Chinese or Indian?” a man’s voice is asking.

  “Don’t mind,” I hear her say. “You choose.”

  “Oh George!” he chastises her. “Get your head out of your arse and pick what you want to eat.”

  “I’d rather have Thai.”

  “There’s my girl.” He laughs. “One Red Thai Curry coming right up.”

  I decide I’ve heard enough. I’m glad she’s not alone. That conversation at the pub was intense.

  “NICK!” she screams, almost causing me to barge her door down. “SPIDER!” That one word is enough to deflate my concern and have me walking across the hall to my own front door.

  I don’t run into her in the hall the next morning. I can’t tell if I’m relieved, disappointed or what. The only thing I do know is that I’m definitely not disinterested.

  She’s already hard at work when I arrive.

  “Briefing in ten minutes,” I tell them all.

  Alvin smirks at me.

  “I’ll get the coffee, DCI.”

  “Great. Thanks.”

  I nod quickly his way, but my eyes don’t leave Kentley. No matter how hard I try, I just don’t get her. I can’t understand her. She’s clumsy as hell, that’s pretty much the only thing I know for sure.

  Oh and if she cares even a little bit about you, she’ll ignore her pain completely to be there for you. I recall how she was with Thomas, a boy she barely knows.

  I make my way towards her cubicle.

  “What are you working on?”

  I’ve surprised her; she jumps out of her seat causing a smirk to land on my face.

  “The suspect, Sir… I think I’ve found a connection between him and the victim. They went to school together.”

  I look at her screen and sure enough, they were in the same class at school. I consider praising her. I should but I don’t.

  Instead, I begin the briefing, arranging for Jackson and Milton to re-interview Miss Lolt’s parents with this new information while Kentley and I go to speak to their old teachers.

  I drive us to the school. She’s quiet. It’s not as awkward as our previous silences but I still find myself wanting to break it. Although for different reasons. This time, it’s because I want to know her better… I think.

  “Well done, Kentley.” I give her the praise she deserved earlier.

  “It’s nothing, Sir.”

  I nod my head.

  “It may mean a lot to Miss Lolt. After we’ve been to the school, we’ll head to the hospital and ask if she remembers him.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she replies.

  “You don’t have to call me Sir all the time. I can’t get used to it. Even John keeps calling me Sir.”

  I’m telling her more than I want to.

  “If you like, DCI,” she replies.

  I notice how her lip turns up into the beginnings of a smirk as she exchanges one respectful title for another.

  “How’s your arm?” I ask in a gentler tone than I intend.

  “I’ve had worse.”

  I feel almost like she’s brushing my concern away and I find myself getting irritated.

  “You say that a lot,” I mutter.

  “It’s because it’s true.”

  “Tell me what’s worse.”

  “No, Sir.”

  Her eyes are focused straight ahead.

  “Tell me.”

  “Is that an order, Sir?” Her tone tells me where I can shove my order.

  Damn it.

  “No. Just a request… but what if it was?”

  “I’d disobey it, Sir.”

  “Thought as much.”

  “Sorry, Sir.”

  “Don’t apologise. I get it. Some things are hard to talk about… and then others are near enough impossible.”

  Her eyes dart to me.

  I can’t look at her because I’m driving but I know that if I did I’d see at least some of the pain she hides inside her soul, written across her face. She’s very good at hiding it. I’d never have known it was there, if it wasn’t for the pub yesterday. But now that I do, it’s as obvious to me as a glaring light in a dark room.

  I can’t believe I missed it.

  “You’re probably the first person who hasn’t tried to force me to talk,” she says quietly.

  “What use would it do?” I ask her.

  “None.”

  “Exactly. Anyway, I have no right to know all your business. Your colleagues already shared more than you’d want them to, last night at the pub.”

  Her eyes widen in fear.

  “What did they say?” She sounds timid in a way that she has no business being.

  “They were talking about what happened when you were a kid.”

  “Oh,” her shoulders slump to my surprise, “I thought…”

  “You thought they shared something worse?”

  I’m surprised that she believes that anything can be worse than what she experienced when she was nine.

  She nods her head instead of responding and turns to look out the window.

  “Did they tell you I killed h
im?” she asks so quietly I almost miss it.

  “Yes,” I don’t lie, “but from what I hear it was self-defence and it save your life. I’m glad you did.”

  Her face turns quicker than I’d have thought possible.

  We’re sat at the traffic lights, staring at each other. There are tears in her eyes. I put my hand into my pocket and pull out a handkerchief.

  “Here.”

  “Thanks, Sir.”

  “I told you not to keep calling me Sir…”

  “But…”

  I cut across her, the same way she did me.

  “No buts. When we’re in the car and alone, I think you can call me Trent.”

  I’m tempted to tell her to call me Walker but that would be a step further than even I’m willing to go. She intrigues me. She irritates me. Infuriates me even. But she definitely intrigues me.

  “Okay, Trent.”

  She makes quick work of interviewing the teachers. She’s got good people skills. It’s only me that she seems to annoy, funnily enough.

  She wanders off a couple of times and both times I find myself chastising her more than I would any other officer.

  “It’s dangerous. Tell me when you’re going somewhere.”

  “Yes, Sir,” she replies.

  “In fact, just stay by my side. That will be better.”

  “We’re in a school, Sir. What’s the worst that can happen?”

  She’s got me there.

  I have no idea why I’m so concerned with her safety. Perhaps it’s because she’s the clumsiest person I’ve ever met or because she seems to have suffered more than she should have. I don’t know what it is. All I know is that I want to protect her.

  “Just do as you’re told, Detective Sergeant.”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  She nods her head and I think she might be laughing at me. Her eyes seem to dance with mirth. Damn Bint.

  “Just get in the car, Kentley.”

  She nods her head and opens the passenger door. She’s first one to break the silence this time.

  “Sir…”

  “Trent…” I admonish her.

  “Trent,” she concedes, “if what his teachers are saying is correct then Miss Lolt should remember him.”

  “She should do, yes.” I frown. “I’m surprised he didn’t get sent to juvie. He sounds seriously fucked up.”

  His teachers had told us story after story of how he had tried to hurt the other students. In the end, they had had to expel him and he never finished high school. He’d tried to assault Miss Lolt during their year ten, but she’d been saved by another student.

  The rest of the day passes unpleasantly.

  We visit Miss Lolt in the hospital. The picture of our suspect mixed with the single utterance of his name has her recoiling with fear. Once we’re finished with her, Kentley has managed to calm the victim’s frazzled nerves and she’s settled into a restless sleep.

  We briefly remind the officers on guard not to let the suspect into the ward and we check in with Miss Lolt’s doctor.

  When we’re finished, another day has gone and I’m beginning to feel a little dejected. We still haven’t caught him and even though the team are working hard, it feels like we’re making really slow progress.

  We’re in the car and I’m about to indicate to go in the direction of the Yard when I realise I have no reason to go back tonight.

  It’s already after five.

  “Do you need to go back to the Yard?” I ask her. “I can give you a lift home instead if you like. I don’t need to go back.”

  I see the uncertainty that passes through her eyes before she agrees.

  “Thanks, Trent.”

  “You’re welcome.” I want to keep the conversation going, although, I’m not sure why. “Got plans for New Year?”

  “No. Not really. I’m not really a big fan of New Year.”

  “Really?” I’m surprised. I thought everyone loved New Year.

  “Shit always go down at New Year.”

  I chuckle because she’s right. All the crazies come out at New Year.

  “Trent, if we’re right and his motive is directly related to Miss Lolt… I think he’s going to try and go after her again.”

  I nod my agreement.

  “We probably should increase security at the hospital,” I affirm.

  “Yeah… although… you might think I’m crazy but I have an idea.”

  “Go on.”

  “I think we should remove the security.”

  “What?” She’s right. I definitely think she’s crazy.

  “Instead, we put two plain clothed officers in as patients in her room with her. It’s a four-bed ward. That way we can watch without the perp knowing and hopefully catch him trying to…”

  She’s right. Her idea is crazy. Complete bonkers. And I love it. She’s a genius.

  “Well, you already have an injury…” I tell her with a smirk.

  “But he might have seen me when we were at the hospital. If this was a targeted assault like we suspect, then he’ll be watching her closely.”

  “Let’s go to the supermarket.”

  “What?”

  She’s completely lost for what I mean.

  “We’ll get some hair dye. I’ve always wanted to know what I look like blonde. And I’m pretty sure you’ll suit it too.” With that, all the pieces of our plan are falling into place in my mind. “Can that doctor… what’s her name?”

  “Dr Hewitt?”

  “Sure… tell her to make the arrangements. Oh, and we’re going to need to make it look real. We’ll need an ambulance.”

  “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” she teases me and I find the change in her tone refreshing.

  “Yeah; you can’t say you’re not.”

  She grins at me.

  “It is pretty cool We need to look realistic. Like we’re actually seriously injured.”

  “You can punch me if you like, Kentley.” I wink at her.

  “No, thank you, Sir.”

  I chuckle quietly. I fucking love going under cover.

  Chapter Nine – Georgia

  That boyish grin is back. We’re in my bathroom – which is beyond weird but whatever – applying hair dye.

  It’s weird enough having him in my flat but it’s another thing altogether being together in this cramped, little room with barely an inch or two between us.

  His head is covered already, and he is currently applying the dye to my hair, his hands combing it through. We’re creating our aliases as we go.

  We’re married – fake rings and all – and we’re going to have a fake car crash.

  This whole thing might have been my stupid idea, but I really hadn’t thought he’d go for it. I’d thought he’d laugh right in my face.

  I mean I would have laughed in my face.

  Instead, here he is, applying hair dye to my scalp as if he’s done it a million times before. He’s far too comfortable invading my personal space and I don’t like it.

  Although I may have to get used to it if we’re going to be acting the part of a married couple.

  DCI Trent doesn’t seem too bothered by the idea. He says he’s still going to call me a Bint. The only difference will be that I will be His Bint.

  Bloody bastard.

  He keeps telling me off for calling him DCI. As if it will make any difference if I call him Trent now – when in a few short hours, I will have to call him by the name we just made up for him. He hates it. He says there isn’t a name on the planet that suits him as well as Walker Trent.

  For the next twenty-four hours at least though, he will be Max Thornhill and I will be his extremely unluck wife Madison.

  If he insists on calling me a Bint, I’m going to have to come up with an equally offensive term of endearment for him. The ideas that are rushing through my head are everything rom sinisterly cruel to downright evil but none of them seem to fit.

  Instead, I’m left with Max.

  Damn it. />
  It’s not as if Bint is particularly imaginative.

  Coming up with a nickname for him should be easy. But it’s not. Nowhere near.

  He dries my hair for me after I wash the dye out and I’m surprised by the gentleness that he shows me. Who knew that Walker Trent was actually a human being underneath his misogynistic exterior?

  When my hair is dry, he demands that I make him a cup of coffee in that arrogant way that is pure arsehole.

  I bite my tongue, refusing to let him see how much he infuriates me.

  The doorbell rings and he leaves me in the kitchen making coffee.

  Who the fuck does he think he is? He’s answering my door now?

  He’s not actually my husband!

  He leads Ben into the room.

  “Making coffee?” Ben Alvin asks with a cheeky wink. “Blonde looks good on you.”

  “Thanks, man,” I reply before turning back to the coffee. I have a coffee machine that does everything for me because I can’t make coffee for shit.

  “I got you guys a load of fake blood. We’re going to make you look like something out of a horror movie.”

  Trent laughs.

  “I’ll settle for close to death… instead of the walking dead, thanks.”

  An hour later, I’m looking less like myself and more like someone who’s been in a terrible car crash. I’m disappointed that they got blood on my cast. I’d wanted it to stay clean – spotless.

  I’m not sure why it matters so much to me.

  Trent notices me looking at the cast and grimaces.

  “Sorry.”

  I’m surprised by his apology.

  “It’s okay,” I tell him. “I was a bit of an idiot to think I could keep it clean for six weeks anyway.”

  He doesn’t say what I imagine is on the tip of his tongue, that I am indeed completely idiotic. Instead, he ruffles my hair and grins down at me.

  “We’re going to have so much fun, little Bint.”

  Just like that the emotions that had briefly surfaced are replaced by irritation and utter loathing.

  Misogynistic Pig!

  “Stop calling me that,” I tell him, my face scrunched up in distaste.

  “Time to go,” Alvin says.

  He’s been looking out the window at the street below for a while. Behind him, I can see the reflection of flashing lights on the glass. Our ambulance is here.