The gearbox was disintegrating with each passing mile and at every roundabout, intersection or congested stretch of road, progress proved ever trickier to navigate. Worried he would stall the car approaching a line of stationary cars, he took a left turn into a quieter side street. The change in pace caused the car to lurch forward as he endeavoured to generate the revs needed to keep going. Another vehicle making the turn behind him, apparently frustrated at his lack of progress, pulled out to overtake. Accelerating past on his right, Caslin raised an apologetic hand towards the driver. Realising he was never going to make it back to Fulford Road, he slipped the car into neutral and coasted to a standstill. The car that had overtaken pulled into the kerbside, a little way further down the road. Caslin looked to Hunter.
“I’m sorry. It looks like we’re walking from here.”
Hunter grinned back at him, “At least if we walk, we’ll make it.”
Caslin grinned, “Aye. Fair poin-” The force of the impact, to the rear snapped his head backwards. The seatbelt tensioners locked in and the wind rushed from his lungs. Time passed slowly. The shot of pain racing up his neck, coupled with the confusion sent his mind blank. Attempting to get his bearings, he could tell the car had lurched forwards, partially mounting the kerb but was once again, stationary. Turning to Hunter, who appeared visibly dazed, he asked, “You okay?”
Her head lolled slightly. Raising it, she was about to respond but instead pointed forwards with a weak gesture, unable to get enough words out.
“There…”
Caslin looked forward just in time to see the car that had overtaken them, coming back, at speed. Transfixed on the white glow emitted from the reversing lights, all he managed was to shout, “Brace-” as the car slammed into the front of his. The airbags deployed, the sensation of hitting them over in an instant. Blinking to clear his vision, he struggled, what with a mist of white powder and the assault on his senses. There was a dull noise, a constant, in the background. In reality, it was the horn, sounding as a result of the collision and apparently set to continue doing so. Movement outside drew his attention. Still in shock, it was a moment before he realised the men, clambering out of the car in front, were wearing ski-masks. Hunter responded first, scrabbling for the radio that had bounced into the well, at her feet. Bringing it up, she depressed the call button.
“Control-” her call for help was cut short as the passenger window shattered in upon her. Assailants from the car behind had reached them first, setting about the windows with baseball bats. Hunter shrieked and involuntarily crouched, towards the centre of the car. Caslin did likewise as his window exploded inwards, cradling his head with his arms in an effort to protect it from the glass raining down upon them. The others joined in and the windscreen was swiftly battered into submission. The corresponding sounds from the attack sent waves of terror through the occupants, who felt utterly powerless. Hunter dropped the radio in favour of self-protection but as quickly as it had begun, the attack was over.
Tentatively, Caslin lowered his forearm and took a look out of the smashed window, to his right. Their assailants were already some distance away and covering the ground with speed. Taking a deep breath, he looked through the smashed rear window, at which point believed they were now safe. Glancing over, he put a comforting hand onto Hunter’s forearm, although he noted his was shaking almost uncontrollably.
“It’s alright, they’re gone,” he said, his voice wavering. She dropped her arms from their defensive stance and looked around, peering through the strands of hair that covered her face. Chunks of glass dropped from her hair as she sat upright.
“For fuck’s sake,” she whispered under her breath. Caslin pulled the handle and pushed the door open, remnants of the window fell about his hand and he recoiled. Pushing aside the deflated airbag, he got out onto unsteady feet. The car horn sounded louder now, as if the volume was increasing along with the realisation of what had occurred. Stepping away, he looked back at the car. It was a mess. The vehicle that had shunted them from the rear, an SUV, was wedged into the crumple zone. At the front, the car that’d slammed into them had embedded itself into the bonnet. It was no wonder the horn had a mind of its own, sounding the death throes of his car. Hunter also got out, assessing the scene from the other side of the car. Raising her voice to be heard above the din and glancing around, she called out.
“What the bloody hell was all that about?”
Caslin took a deep breath, before turning to face her, “Someone was sending me a message.”
“Who?” Hunter queried. “And why?”
Caslin looked away, mulling it over. Karl or Danika? He didn’t know which. Both would have due cause to take issue with him. Whatever deal either may have made with the intelligence services, he clearly wasn’t part of the package. Apparently, nothing was off limits to these people. The message was straightforward, as would be his response. If he were to interfere with them further, they’d left him in no doubt they’d be willing to put him down. Caslin recognised there and then, at some point in the future, their paths were going to cross. On that day, he would have a choice to make and it would be a simple one. Whether it would be a lawful one, remained to be seen. In the meantime, a momentary wave of gratitude washed over him, bringing out a smile.
“What exactly about this, do you find so funny?” Hunter questioned.
Caslin looked back towards her, indicating the car with a casual flick of his hand, “In a strange sort of way, they’ve done me a favour.”
“How do you figure that?” she asked, puzzled.
“My insurance. I’m fully comprehensive.”
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The Dogs in the Street - Preview
Dark Yorkshire - Book 3
Chapter 1
The thundering sound of the water filling the bathtub was barely audible over the shrieks of excitement emanating from the children. Nicola smiled at the irony. It would take nigh on thirty minutes to coax them away from the TV or their tablets and get them upstairs but once there, less than three, before impatience set in at the wait to get in the water. A frustrated voice cut through as the children’s mother filled their cups with squash. Chris was suffering. She felt his pain.
Leaving the kitchen, fingers looped through the handles of both cups, allowing her a free hand, she flicked off the light and nudged the dog out from under her feet. Passing through the dining room, scooping up Ethan’s reading book on the way, she made it to the bottom of the stairs before the chime of the doorbell brought her to a halt with one foot on the first tread. The sound of splashing and laughter came from upstairs and the initial intent to ignore the caller, was cast aside. Gently placing the cups on the adjacent window sill, alongside The Lion’s Paw, Nicola stepped over to the front door.
It was still light, mid-evening and a caller wasn’t unheard of, although unannounced was somewhat unusual. The suited figure, viewed through the obscured glass, waited patiently, hands clasped before him. Nicola unlatched the door and swung it open. Greeted with a smile, the caller addressed her.
“Mrs Fairchild?” he asked, she nodded. “Please accept my apologies for calling at this time but I have a letter for your husband. Is he home?” He indicated a manila envelope, clutched in his left hand.
“Yes, he is,” she glanced over her shoulder, up the stai
rs, considering whether to call out. Realising the kids would be unattended, she thought better of it. “Bear with me a moment, I’ll just have to swap with him. He’s upstairs, bathing the children.”
“Certainly. I don’t mind waiting.”
Pushing the door to but not closed, Nicola retreated. Leaving the bedtime offerings on the window sill, she trotted upstairs and eased the bathroom door open. Met with a barrage of joy from within, she broke into a smile as first Ethan, and then Molly, flicked bubbles at their unsuspecting father who chided them with fake fury. Leaning on the door and raising her voice to be heard, she got her husband’s attention. “Chris, there’s someone to see you.” He looked up at her, from his kneeling position.
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know. Someone from work, I think.”
“Okay. Take over here, would you?” Turning sideways, allowing him to pass, Nicola knelt alongside the bathtub as the door closed behind him. Molly threw her mother a cheeky glance before ducking her hands beneath the waves, created by a plunging Ethan, at the other end.
“Don’t even think about it, young lady,” she said firmly, albeit with a smile. Muffled voices came to ear, from downstairs but try as she might, the subject matter was unintelligible. Not that she was bothered. Ethan yelled as Molly launched a boat full of water in his direction, catching him off guard. “Behave, both of you,” she stated calmly, hoping to draw a line under the impending retaliation from the eldest.
“I didn’t do anything!” Ethan protested.
“You did!” Molly screamed back.
“Both of you, enough, please,” their mother stated evenly. The conversation downstairs had ceased. Chris would be coming back up and she could take him up on that offering of twenty minutes of peace, a well-earned break on a day like today. He had promised her at least that, after arriving home later than expected, from the office. Time passed but the door remained closed and with each minute, Nicola felt her patience ebb away. Whatever it was could wait until later, if not tomorrow, surely? Throughout the course of their nine-years of marriage, she had been conditioned to understand how the markets worked. Chris could, and notoriously did, work on well into the night but not today. He’d promised.
“I want daddy to wash my hair,” Molly whined. “You get water in my eyes.”
“Yeah, me too,” Ethan stated.
“Me three,” she replied. “I’ll duck out and see where your Father’s got to. Play nicely for a second.”
Leaving the bathroom door open, Nicola stepped out. Not wanting to interrupt his conversation, if the visitor was still present, she listened. Not hearing anything but feeling a breeze blow across her, from the open front-door, she moved across the landing to the top of the stairs.
“Chris,” she called out. No reply. “For Pete’s sake,” she muttered under her breath. Calling out over her shoulder as she descended, addressing the children, “Popping downstairs, kids. Look after each other, for a minute.”
“Okay!” came a double shout from the bathroom. Reaching the first turn on the staircase, she stopped. The front door rocked back and forth ever so gently. Chris sat on the floor, back against the wall, open-mouthed, staring straight ahead. He looked serene. All that was out of place were the two black marks on the front of his white shirt and another on his forehead, above the bridge of his nose. The sound of increasing rainfall, striking the mosaic tiles of the porch outside was accompanied by a drop in temperature, carried indoors on the breeze.
“Chris?” Nicola asked quietly, in a questioning tone. One of hope rather than expectation. The sounds of squabbling came from above and behind her, the children battling over something or other but the argument was lost to her. The spray of crimson on the wall above her husband, now beginning to run as the force of gravity exerted itself, had her transfixed. “Chris,” she said once more. This time, to herself.
Available from;
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UK - www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07BZW4KXY
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Also in the Dark Yorkshire series;
Divided House
(DARK YORKSHIRE – BOOK 1)
Terrifying, dark and complex. Divided House introduces us to DI Nathaniel Caslin, a man navigating both personal and professional nightmares against a backdrop of conspiracy, torture and murder.
USA - www.amazon.com/dp/B07BHR8VXQ
UK - www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07BHR8VXQ
The Dogs in the Street
(DARK YORKSHIRE – BOOK 3)
Haunting, fast-paced and intense. Ghosts from the past return to bring murder to the historic City of York, drawing Caslin into a world of Intelligence Agency secrets amid those seeking redemption.
USA - www.amazon.com/dp/B07BZW4KXY
UK - www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B07BZW4KXY
www.jmdalgliesh.com
First published by Hamilton Press in 2018
Copyright © J M Dalgliesh, 2018
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the publisher. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.
Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a purely fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Blacklight (Dark Yorkshire Book 2) Page 32