“I’m sorry, Kayla,” Iris said, walking toward her. Her voice softened. “But I know you. I know you couldn’t live with yourself if you kept that secret. It would rot inside you, like it has your father.”
“Living with the secret, with the lies . . . that’s better than not living at all. Even I know that,” Kayla said, with a lot more assurance than she truly felt.
Iris wavered. Kayla saw it. And as she wavered, something flashed in the corner of Kayla’s eyes. Lights.
Both women turned to look out of the window. It was evening now, and the sky alight with blue and red flashing lights. Police cars. Coming up the driveway.
“How? I . . . how?” Iris stuttered, staring at Mark accusingly.
He looked as confused and terrified as she did.
Footsteps pounded down the hallway.
Chapter 39
August 2, England
THE POLICE STATION in north Northumberland was worlds away from the one in Phuket where Kayla had fallen apart less than two months ago.
It was clean, clinical, devoid of personality. The floors were covered in plain linoleum, the walls painted an unassuming shade of builder’s white. The officers were professional, formal, and most sympathetic toward Kayla. That was the key difference: Kayla was no longer being treated as a suspect. Everyone was finally behaving like she was a victim, which, in more ways than one, she was.
She hadn’t yet had time to process how the police knew what was happening at Berry Hill. It wasn’t high on the list of agonizing facts to work through.
Like the fact that Gabe had known. He knew everything.
Her stomach cramped painfully.
Had he ever tried to tell her? Protect her from this dark, dark secret?
The night in Dad’s study. When he sat there, paralyzed, and I asked if I could help. And he said no. He told me to leave.
He had never tried to protect her.
A tall, lanky junior officer with a weak chin and pale face peppered with angry pink pimples approached Kayla. She was in a small room off to the side of the interrogation room where Iris was being held. This room too was strangely empty. There was a handful of the kind of fabric-covered metal seats you’d find in a village hall, a small plastic table holding a coffee machine and a rather pathetic-looking potted plant, and the lingering smell of new paint that stung her nostrils. A geriatric TV set bolted to the top corner of the white walls blinked and flickered on mute.
The young man looked uncomfortable. Kayla assumed he was new to the job, though even the most experienced officer was bound to find this tangled web of interfamily homicide deeply disturbing. “Miss Finch, hi. My name is Paul Mecklenburgh. How are you doing?”
“Oh, you know. I just found out that my nan killed my brother and my dad facilitated the whole thing. Oh, and they’re behind several domestic terrorist attacks over the last few months. So I’m doing good, thanks.”
Paul didn’t seem to register the thick sarcasm. “Well, I’m glad to hear that. Can I get you anything? A tea or coffee?”
What is this? A hairdressing salon? “N-No, thank you. I’m fine.”
“All right, well let me know if that changes. We might be here awhile—we’ll need to take your statement, but I’m not sure when that’ll be. You have reliable evidence to support you, though, in the form of the CCTV recordings, so it shouldn’t be too much trouble.”
The CCTV recordings. Of course. “Okay, thanks.” Paul turned to leave the room, but before he approached the door, Kayla blurted out, “Actually, there is one thing.”
“Yes, Miss Finch?”
“Can I go and talk to my nan?” Kayla swallowed. “I know that’s not really standard procedure. I just . . . I really want to ask her a few things. Now that she isn’t threatening to kill me, and all.”
Paul looked uncertain. “Well . . .”
“Please?” Kayla adopted a voice as weak and watery as the tea in Thailand, playing up the poor victim act.
Paul chewed his lip. “Let me see what I can do.”
IRIS FINCH LOOKED older than she ever had. Her shoulders slumped and her skin had developed an ashen tinge.
Kayla had expected to walk into the room, sit down in front of her grandmother and ask her, matter-of-factly, everything she wanted to know. How she’d fooled them all for so long, was she ever really the kindhearted woman Kayla had grown up to know, whether she regretted any of it. Whether justice and shame was a powerful enough threat that she’d consider permanently silencing her own granddaughter.
Instead, Kayla sat down in the hard plastic chair, took one look at the broken woman in front of her, and burst into tears. And not calm, elegant drops rolling down her cheeks. Her gasps and gulps were frantic, uncontrollable. A horrendous six months finally surfacing.
“Kayla . . .” Iris said, her chin wobbling.
“How could you do this? What kind of person does it take to murder anyone, let alone a blood relative? An innocent blood relative? Sweet, lovely Gabe . . . you slit his wrists, for fuck’s sake! How could you do that? How could you see the pain in his eyes, the fear, and keep slicing through his skin, his veins? You’re a monster—”
“Kayla—”
“No! Don’t you dare speak to me. You killed my brother, you killed the man I loved, and you were about to kill me too—”
“What did you—?”
“How could you do that? I genuinely can’t wrap my head around it, how anyone could be so evil—”
“KAYLA!” The sharp tone of Iris’s voice stopped Kayla in mid-rant.
“What? What could you possibly have to say to me? Other than an apology that will never make any of this okay?”
Iris frowned. “Did you say the man you fell in love with?”
“Yes. Sam. The man you sent to spy on me, the man I accidentally fell in love with, and the man you killed as a result. Ring any bells?”
Iris shook her head slowly. “No. Not really. The person I sent to spy on you, to join the Escaping Grey group . . . she was a girl.”
Not for the first time that day, Kayla’s heart stopped. “A girl?”
“Yes. Ai Ling something.”
Chapter 40
August 2, England
KAYLA’S HEART WAS RACING.
Bling was the traitor? Not Sam? What does this mean?
She was back in the small room with the plant and the coffee machine, fumbling with a sachet of mocha.
But Bling is still alive—she texted me back a few weeks ago. Did they kill the wrong person?
She stirred in a packet of sugar, then another, and took a massive gulp. It was so bitter it made her cringe, and it burned her taste buds and the back of her throat, but she didn’t feel it.
So where is Bling now?
Kayla sat down, her legs not strong enough to bear her weight, and turned the volume up on the TV. She found a rolling news station and, sure enough, there was a breaking news story flashing across the screen: SURVEILLANCE MOGUL GREYFINCH INTERNATIONAL IMPLICATED IN TERRORIST ATTACKS.
A statement had already been released.
How is this happening? How is this real?
Kayla’s erratic thoughts were interrupted by a tap on the door.
Sadie. A very red-faced Sadie.
The detective looked breathless as she rushed over to her. “Kayla! How are you?” She didn’t wait for a response. “I came as soon as I heard. Well, that’s not strictly true . . . I got locked in my boss’s office—my own fault, I was snooping around looking for information about this case, actually—and as I was sorting through old footage from Berry Hill, I noticed the live feed in the corner of the screen. I knew something wasn’t right as soon as I saw it.”
“My dad’s study?” Kayla guessed.
“Your dad’s study. It looked off. It was a strange setup—
you sitting in the chair like you were trapped, your dad pacing the floor like a madman. The look of terror and disgust on your face. So . . . I enabled sound. I listened in. And the first thing I heard you say was, ‘What did you do, Dad?’ And by the fear in your voice, I knew something was wrong. I listened for another thirty seconds and sent the police cars before he even finished answering.”
Kayla sat in stunned silence. Sadie had been spying on them, but it had saved her life. How was she supposed to feel?
Sadie cleared her throat. “When your nan walked in and started with all that talk about the family name and the greater good . . . I thought I’d been too late. I didn’t think . . . I didn’t think they’d get there in time.” Her voice caught on her words. She stared into her cupped hands. “Anyway, I think they’ll let me off with snooping around in my boss’s office, considering what’s just come to light. Another thing I should tell you . . . My boss was complicit. He knew about the whole thing. Mason Shepherd. He erased all the footage from Berry Hill that night—the footage that would have shown Iris walking into Gabe’s bedroom around the time he lost his life. That’s why he was so off with you, and why he wanted me to bury the Sam case as soon as possible. So I wouldn’t go rooting around in this mess. So I wouldn’t figure out it was all connected. So I wouldn’t implicate him in the process. As it turns out, your nan did all the implicating we need to prosecute.”
The revelation should have shocked Kayla, but it slotted into the betrayal perfectly. Besides, she was all out of shock for one night. She felt drained now that the initial adrenaline had worn off. Barely whispering, she said, “Did you hear the truth about the spy in Thailand?”
Sadie sighed and closed her eyes, taking a seat next to Kayla on the rigid chairs. “Yes, I did. I’m so sorry, Kayla. I know how much he meant to you—”
“It wasn’t him,” Kayla interrupted. “It wasn’t Sam. It was Bling.”
Sadie’s eyes shot open. “What? How do you—”
“My nan just told me. It wasn’t Sam.” The words felt good. Tears prickled at her eyes, but she wiped them away on the back of her sleeve. “It wasn’t Sam.”
“Wow. That, erm . . . that still raises a lot of questions.” Sadie’s writing hand twitched. Kayla could tell she was dying to take notes. So where is Sam? Is he dead? Where is Bling? Why? How? Who? “How are you feeling about it all?”
Kayla didn’t know where to start. The questions were racing through her tired head too. “I, erm . . . I’m okay. As okay as I can be, I guess.” One of the questions burned hotter than the others. “Where have you been?”
“I just told you, I was stuck in the off—”
“No,” Kayla interrupted, trying to keep the resentment from her voice. “I mean these last few weeks. Why have you been ignoring me?”
Sadie shuffled uncomfortably. “Time to face the music. I didn’t want to have to tell you this, Kayla . . . but after our last meeting I was . . . followed. Attacked. Threatened.”
Oh God. Will the hideous truths never stop flowing? “What! By who? Why?”
“I can’t be sure who, but I assume they were working for someone at Greyfinch. Or Shepherd. Maybe even your grandmother. They got a bit friendly with a knife and told me to stop looking into Sam’s case, or they’d pay me another . . . visit. So I did stop, with the exception of a few conversations with Dr. Myers, who was worried about you.” Sadie couldn’t meet Kayla’s eyes. “I must admit, I was too. But still, I stayed away. Until tonight, when you called. I listened to your voice mail. Then I started digging again.”
“Jesus Christ, Sadie. I’m sorry you had to go through that.” Kayla suddenly remembered something: the sounds of a struggle, pounding footsteps, and a white van flying past the car park. “Shit. I—I think I heard you being abducted. Oh my God, I should have come after you, I should have—”
Kayla was cut short by her phone vibrating in her pocket. As she fished it out, she thought it’d be her mum—she must have heard the news.
But it wasn’t Martha. It was an unknown number.
Kayla answered. “Hello?”
A hoarse voice replied. It was a gentle voice. One she thought she’d never hear again.
“Kayla? It’s me. It’s Sam.”
Chapter 41
August 3, England
IT WAS FOUR o’clock in the morning, and Kayla was sitting on a creaking swing in a spookily dark play park opposite the police station where a large proportion of her family were under arrest. She should have been terrified, but she’d never felt safer in her life.
Because Sam was on the swing next to her.
The tension crackled between them like electricity. Kayla wanted nothing more than to kiss him, to confess her love for him once again, to allow the day’s ridiculous events melt away and feel his body became one with hers. To tell him that her bubbling happiness that he was alive was more powerful than the devastation of her family’s betrayal.
But she couldn’t. Not yet. Not until she understood.
“I don’t know where to start,” said Sam. He’d come to meet her as soon as he saw the story on the news. He’d been doubtful that he would be able to make it to Northumberland from London before dawn on the creaky night bus, but Kayla told him to get a taxi. It had cost three hundred quid, but she didn’t think her dad would have much use for his credit card in prison.
Sam looked different. The last time Kayla had seen him, his face was contorted in anger and fear. That had since evaporated, but there was a tiredness, a world-weariness, left in its place. One thing hadn’t changed, though: the delicious tingling that pulsed through her body whenever she was within ten feet of him.
“Um, how about you tell me where the hell you’ve been for the last six weeks?”
“You’re not going to believe me.” Sam laughed. Kayla shivered—she still couldn’t believe she was hearing that laugh for real, instead of the simulated version that haunted her daydreams.
“Trust me. Nothing can shock me after my nan pointed a metaphorical gun at my head.”
“Fair point. Okay . . . well, you know when we visited the Daen Maha Mongkol Meditation Center, and there were all those residents who lived there all year round?” Kayla nodded. “Well, I thought, ‘What better place to hide than a place where there was no TV, no news, no social media?’ And I was right. Nobody questioned my presence—they had no idea I had been reported missing. As far as they knew, I was just some handsome stranger who’d grown tired of Western civilization and wanted to join them on their journey of meditation and discovery.”
“You joined the Meditation Center?” Kayla couldn’t help but laugh. Sam was one of the least spiritual people she knew.
“I’ll have you know that I became a very valuable member of their community, actually. And I don’t appreciate your tone,” he chuckled, slapping her upper arm playfully. Kayla winced It didn’t hurt—it was a reflex from the adrenaline-fueled evening she’d just endured. Sam looked instantly panicked. “Shit Kayla, I’m so sorry. Did that hurt? God, I’m so—”
“No it’s fine, honestly. Just a reflex.” And it’s overwhelming to have you touch me again.
“Are you sure?” He got up off his swing and stood in front of hers. He wrapped arms around her back, hugging her face into his abdomen and kissing her head. Her chest ached. “I really am sorry, Kayla. For everything you’ve been through. For everything I put you through.”
“It’s okay. Well, it’s not.” Kayla leaned back, and Sam took her hands in his.
He sat down cross-legged on the tarmac in front her. “I know it’s not. But I didn’t have a choice, I hope you know that. I would never leave you out of choice.”
“I’m getting tired of hearing about people having no choice, but to hurt me.” Kayla smiled sadly. “Can you please just start from the beginning? Why have you lived in a meditation center for the last
six weeks?”
“Okay . . .” Sam paused, as if gearing himself up to share a painful truth. “Remember when I slept with Bling?”
“Well, yeah. It’s fairly imprinted on my memory.” But I forgive you. I forgive you everything.
“I’m sorry, Kayla. Again. Well, a few days before that, she and I were at a cash point getting some money on a night out. I happened to look at her balance—come on, we all do it, it’s human nature—and it was a lot. I mean a lot. Not just an I-have-rich-parents-and-daddy-spoils-me amount. We’re talking six figures. I thought it was strange, but didn’t mention it to her, of course. In fact, I forgot about it until that morning I woke up in bed next to her. Her phone rang, and honestly, I’ve never seen anyone leap out of their skin quite like that. She sprinted out into the corridor to answer it, and came back looking really flustered. I thought that was odd too, especially when I asked her if she was okay and she snapped and ran away to the toilet. But she left her phone on the pillow.
“So when an e-mail came through and flashed on the iPhone screen, and I saw it was from a woman called Iris Finch, naturally I freaked out a little bit. I’d heard you talking about your nan, and wondered why the hell she’d be e-mailing Bling. So I read the e-mail. I’m not proud of it, and I wish I hadn’t, but I did.”
“What did it say?”
“Something along the lines of Bling’s payment being stopped if she didn’t stop messing around. I flicked back through the earlier conversations they’d had, and I swear to God, I was nearly sick. Bling had been sending your nan reports on your activity, mainly to the tune of you not seeming suspicious, the secret still was safe, that kind of thing. The reports had become more infrequent as time passed, which I assume was why your nan was getting pissed off. I didn’t know what the hell it all meant, but Bling came back from the toilet, so I couldn’t do any more snooping.”
Kayla blew air out from between her lips. “Wow. Where is Bling now? I thought Greyfinch ordered the spy to be eliminated. That’s what I thought had happened to you. Why I thought you were almost certainly dead.”
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