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Calderbook CB453. A chase thriller that evolves into a horrific, erotic, suspense-filled tale with deep psychological undertones. 248 pages.
stood watching her as she made a fresh pot of coffee. She said matter-of-factly, ‘Have you caught a cold?’ ‘No, it was the dust.’ ‘Sit down. It’s all right, they won’t be back.’ She put the coffee and two clean mugs on the table. ‘That was a bit of bad luck. Apparently the trusty, rusty Datsun is still rotting at the side of the road. The police came across it this morning and traced the registration to me.’ ‘That was all it was?’ I said. ‘They were concerned in case something might have
simple, relying on the steepness of the moorland roads. While they were gone he would loosen the brake linkage on her car and drain off all the fluid. He admitted that he knew nothing about cars or mechanical gadgets in general, but he was prepared to study the manual and familiarise himself with what had to be done while the car was in the garage at home. An hour’s concentration, a little patience, he was capable of that. Would they stay in his (the lover’s) car for sex or drive off to a pub to
entrance hall. Chaddie, the doorkeeper, halted the invasion, stemming it with two thin raised palms as if holding back a dam-burst. ‘You’re blocking the doorway. Please move aside. Fire regulations stipulate we must allow free access at all times. Thank you. Thank-yewww-very-much.’ His gaze swept over me without recognition. The mob fell back and became a polite English crowd, muttering and indignant, protesting by the rules. The revolution wasn’t about to start in Brickton; or anywhere else,
it. Call the police.’ Her face clouded over. ‘What secrets are you talking about?’ ‘I assumed you’d know but now I don’t think you do,’ I said, trying to sound calm and reasonable. ‘You just spend the money and have a good time, don’t you?’ I could never have imagined that Benson’s daughter, of all people, would be my rescuer. Yet she was, it seemed, quite genuinely, the innocent bystander, the one person that Benson feared might learn the truth and who couldn’t be silenced by threats. It was
him quiet. I don’t care how you do it.’ A hand waved us down and the car rolled to a stop in front of the barrier. A policeman in a cape and chequered cap stepped forward. Susan operated the electric window. Gaz’s arm was like a sandbag across my shoulders. But they couldn’t shut my mouth, not without at least a struggle. I waited for the policeman to approach, getting ready to yell, scream, anything, and then I heard a soft metallic chink, and Wayne was holding my hand in his bandaged hand and