The One You Fear E-Book

Paul Pilkington

• Herausgeber: Fast Paced Fiction
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Serie: Emma Holden Suspense Mystery Trilogy
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 311

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2021

Beschreibung

Get set for the gripping second instalment in the bestselling Emma Holden suspense mystery trilogy...

It's not over…
Emma Holden and her friends are trying to move on from the sinister events surrounding her fiancé Dan’s disappearance.
But a shocking revelation drags them back into the nightmare and forces them to question everything they once believed to be true.
More secrets will be revealed.
More lies will be told.
And more lives are under threat.

Long-buried family secrets, sinister motives and fractured friendships await in this addictive, page-turning trilogy from best-selling author Paul Pilkington. Perfect for fans of fast-paced, twisting and turning mystery fiction with an emotional heart, from authors such as LJ Ross, CL Taylor, TM Logan, Lisa Jewell and Harlan Coben.

Leseprobe

The One You Fear

Emma Holden Trilogy Book 2

Paul Pilkington

First published 2012

This edition published 2022

Copyright © 2012 2022 by Paul Pilkington

Published by Fast Paced Fiction

ISBN: 978-1-915367-01-3

All rights reserved

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This novel is written in British (UK) English. British English words, spelling (favourite, colour, etc.) and grammar are used throughout.

Cover design by Jeanine Henning.

For my family and loyal readers

Also by Paul Pilkington

Detective Paul Cullen Mysteries:

Long Gone

Fallen Angel

Dead Ahead

Deep Sleeper (preorder)

Emma Holden Trilogy:

The One You Love

The One You Fear

The One You Trust

Standalone Mystery Thrillers:

Someone to Save You

I Heard You

For Your Own Protection

Contents

Prologue

Part I

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Part II

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Part III

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Part IV

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Prologue

Margaret Myers held the remote control tightly in her hand and pointed it towards the sleeping television. She pressed the stand-by button and the box sprang to life, illuminating the otherwise dark lounge. She watched, transfixed and scared, as the images played out in front of her. A policewoman, arms and legs pounding, was running down a rain-sodden street, giving chase to a man. She looked just like that girl – the one who had ruined it all with her wicked ways. The programme frightened Margaret. Programmes like that gave you funny ideas.

Two weeks ago the television had spoken to her.

It had told her that she should end it all.

Margaret Myers changed channel, her hand shaking like a jackhammer. The lottery draw – this was better. She didn’t like the police programmes, didn’t like them at all.

She remembered the times when the whole family would sit down in front of the television on a Saturday night and watch the quiz shows, their dinners on their laps – herself, her husband, Peter, and her dear Stephen. Back then everything was good.

But that was then, and this was now.

A man and woman had visited and told her that Peter had been arrested. He’d done something wrong. She couldn’t remember what. They’d wanted her to come with them, to spend some time resting in that awful place they had taken her to a few weeks ago.

She hadn’t been fooled by their weasel words and plastic smiles. This time she wasn’t going anywhere. They thought she was stupid, or crazy, or both. But she knew what they were up to. They had taken her son and her husband, but they wouldn’t take her.

The draw was starting. She leaned forward in anticipation as the arms in the selecting machine kicked up the balls, before sucking one up through the plastic tube and spitting it out down the chute.

And the first ball is . . . number twelve.

She caught her breath. Number twelve. Stephen had been born on the twelfth of December.

Again a ball was sucked up the tube.

And the second ball is . . . number twelve.

She blinked, shaking her head. It was a mistake. Someone had placed a duplicate ball in the machine. Why hadn’t people noticed?

And the third ball is . . . number twelve.

‘No, no, no, it’s not right, it can’t be.’

She jabbed at the controller, blackening the screen and sending the room back into darkness. For a few seconds she just sat there in the pitch black, breathing heavily, her hands curled into tight fists.

And then a noise – was it someone at the door?

At first she didn’t move, but just sat there in the darkness. Would somebody be calling at such a late hour? Maybe it had been her imagination.

But there was a definite knock this time.

Margaret Myers rose from the sofa and moved into the corridor, edging slowly towards the front door.

‘Hello. Who’s there?’ There was no answer. She grasped the door handle – but then she stopped herself. Maybe they had returned for her, to take her away to their place, evicting her for ever from the family home.

They thought they were so clever.

‘Go away – I’m not coming with you. Leave me alone.’

Something was pushed through the letterbox. It fell onto the carpet, and she bent to pick it up.

It couldn’t be—?

She cradled the object in her hand, tears swelling in her eyes. ‘It can’t be.’

Then she grabbed the door and pulled it open.

‘It’s you,’ she said, breaking into a broad smile. ‘It’s really you.’ She threw her arms around him. ‘They said you were dead, but I always knew you’d come back to me.’

Part I

1

Emma Holden woke in a sweat, her face damp against the pillow. At first she didn’t know where she was; then she remembered. She was in a luxury holiday apartment a few miles outside the small Cornish seaside town of St Ives, down in the far south-west of England. Dan had surprised her with the news that they were going away for a few days, from Friday until Tuesday. They’d both needed to get away from London for a while, just four weeks after the terrible events of Dan’s kidnap at the hands of Peter Myers.

Unable to help herself, Emma allowed her mind to once more go over the recent, terrible events: back to the man who had been hell-bent on revenge for the death of his son, Stephen, who had stalked Emma years previously.

‘Are you awake, Dan?’

There was no reply. She reached across the double bed but her fiancé wasn’t there – the covers had been pulled back and, raising her head off the pillow, she saw that the bedroom door was ajar. She sat up and only then remembered the nightmare. It had been the same dream again, the third time in two weeks. Again it was her wedding. She and Dan were standing in front of the altar, filled with excitement and love. Dan looked so handsome, in a dark blue suit with white shirt and pastel pink tie, his short, dark hair brushed down neatly. He smiled and squeezed her hand. For a split second Emma turned away, and when she looked back, it was Stephen Myers standing before her, his cat green eyes dancing with delight and his expression keen. His gaunt face was acne-scared and badly shaven, his side-parted brown hair slick with grease. He looked older, but still had the same vacant stare and delusional smile. Then the priest announced, ‘You may now kiss the bride,’ and he lunged at her, thrusting his mouth towards hers as she tried to fight him off.

Each time she had woken at that moment, cold with shock.

She lay in bed now, trying to rationalise the dream. Peter and Stephen Myers had featured strongly in the real-life nightmare that had begun four weeks ago, over that August bank holiday weekend. It was little wonder they were still present in her subconscious.

She still remembered with shocking clarity the call that had heralded the start of it all: her brother, Will, had reported that Dan was missing. He hadn’t turned up for his own stag party, and couldn’t be reached on his mobile. Rushing back to their flat, they’d found Dan gone, and his brother, Richard, almost beaten to death. The next week had been hell – not only had she been faced with the possibility that her fiancé had attacked his own brother and run out on her, but she was also being stalked.

Stephen Myers had been her immediate suspect – he had called himself her number one fan during her days on the soap Up My Street. But then Emma had discovered that he had died four years’ previously, murdered by Stuart Harris, Emma’s ex-fiancé.

And therein lay the explanation for Dan’s disappearance.

It was because, years later, when Peter Myers had found out the truth about his son’s death, he had taken his revenge on Emma and her family by kidnapping Dan. Thankfully they had rescued Dan in time, and Richard was recovering well.

And, given that Emma had only just been told the dark secret of Stephen’s murder – it had been hidden from her not only by Stuart and Will, but also by her father, Edward – was it any wonder that she was having nightmares?

She got out of bed, went into the hallway and through into the main kitchen and living room. It was certainly an amazing apartment. The kitchen was full of top spec appliances, all of which were new – washing machine, dishwasher, oven and espresso maker – which, by the smell of it, had just been used.

Bright, early morning October sunlight was streaming through the patio doors at the far end. Dan was sitting outside on the small decking area, staring out to sea and over towards the town of St Ives to the west. On the table in front of him was the freshly made coffee.

Dan didn’t seem to notice Emma’s approach – he was still staring into the distance as she reached him.

‘Morning,’ she said, taking the seat next to him, glad that there were two cups of coffee on the table.

Dan smiled at her. ‘I woke up early and thought I’d try out the machine.’ He gestured towards the cups.

‘I’m impressed,’ Emma said.

‘You haven’t tasted it yet.’

‘Well, it looks great.’

‘I’ve got to admit, it was my second attempt. The first time I burned it. It was revolting so it went straight down the sink.’

‘Then top marks for perseverance,’ Emma quipped, taking a sip. ‘Lovely.’

‘It’s such an amazing view,’ Dan said, as they both looked out across the sea. A small fishing vessel was making its way from St Ives towards open water. It looked so fragile, bobbing up and down on the waves like a toy. Even though it was a spectacularly sunny morning with a flawless blue sky, there was a keen wind whipping up the water into white tips.

Emma stole a glance at Dan; his short, dark brown hair was messy from sleep in the way that she always found so endearing. He still didn’t look himself. He had been injured physically during his time in captivity, but nothing too serious – mainly bruising, which had now healed. But, mentally – well, Emma wasn’t sure. He hadn’t opened up yet about what had happened during those days at the hands of Peter Myers. And although she was desperate to understand, so she could help, Emma didn’t want to press him. He needed to be ready to talk.

‘I’m worried about you,’ she said, realising she hadn’t intended to vocalise those thoughts.

Dan smiled sadly, as if he knew what she was talking about. ‘I’m okay, Em. It’s just going to take time to get over it all.’

Emma nodded. They were all finding it difficult. ‘I think Lizzy is finding things tough.’

‘Well, she was kidnapped by that man, too.’ Emma’s best friend, Lizzy, had been snatched off the street by Peter Myers, and taken to the same house where Dan was being held. Thankfully, they’d both been rescued unharmed – physically, if not mentally.

‘You know,’ Emma said, ‘if you want to talk about it, if you think it would help, I’m always here for you.’

‘I know.’ Dan took her hand. ‘Come here.’

Emma snuggled into his side as he placed a comforting arm around her. She closed her eyes, enjoying the brightness of the sun and the warmth of his body. ‘I was so scared. I thought I might never see you again.’

Dan held her tighter. ‘It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.’

Emma breathed him in, deeply. She loved him so much. She couldn’t believe she’d ever loved Stuart Harris. Not only had he killed a man and dragged her brother into it, but he had used Dan’s disappearance to appear in her life again, and try and win her back by recommending she be cast in a major film. She shivered as she thought of all the strings that had been pulled and tweaked without her knowing it; strings that had had her dancing unknowingly, uncomprehendingly, to someone else’s menacing tune.

He woke early, showered then dressed, ready to go down for breakfast. He had slept well. The guest house was a bit tired around the edges, and in need of a lick of paint, but the bed was comfy and he had been tired from his journey. It had been a long drive.

He admired himself in the full-length mirror, flattening down his hair and straightening his brown jacket. He nodded.

No wonder Emma had looked so horrified.

It hadn’t really been part of the plan, but he hadn’t been able to resist seeing if she would recognise him. Just that split second was all it had taken for her to register who she was looking at. And, in an instant, he was gone.

Just like the ghost that he was.

He made his way downstairs, past the faded, framed photographs of Cornish seaside scenes that hung on the wall, and entered the small breakfast area. A young waitress, laying a table, noted his arrival and smiled warmly. He reciprocated.

‘Morning, sir,’ she said. She sounded Polish, maybe. ‘Please, do take a seat. I’ll be with you in a minute.’

He nodded and looked around. In the corner an elderly woman was eating alone. Perfect. ‘May I join you?’ he asked, interrupting her as she buttered some toast.

She looked surprised at first, possibly shocked. There was a free table to her left, where he could have sat in peace.

‘I can sit over there,’ he said, ‘if you’d prefer.’

‘Oh, no, no,’ she said, her English reserve melting away. ‘Please do take a seat. It will be nice to have some company. My husband, he’s still in bed asleep, but I’ve always been an early riser and I couldn’t wait for him.’ She smiled. ‘I was too hungry.’

He slipped into the chair and ordered from the menu.

‘Have you been here before?’ he asked.

She looked up from her toast. ‘Many times. We love Carbis Bay. St Ives is fantastic, but we prefer here – so much quieter, don’t you think? – and the beach is amazing. How about you?’

‘First time,’ he said. ‘I’m looking forward to exploring the place.’

‘Are you here by yourself?’

‘Yes and no. I’ve got friends staying nearby. But I’m on my own in this place.’

‘Well, I’ve got no doubt you’ll have a wonderful time,’ she said. ‘There’s so much to do. Both for the older generation like me and also for you younger folk. And the scenery, well, it’s spectacular.’

‘I’ve got my camera,’ he said. ‘I love to take photos.’

‘My husband, too,’ the woman said. ‘He loves his camera. Always snapping away at the sights.’

‘I photograph people mostly,’ he explained. ‘Celebrities. I also collect autographs.’ He reached down into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a red notebook. Handing it across the table, he watched as the lady leafed through it.

She seemed impressed. ‘You’ve got . . . a lot of autographs there.’ She passed it back to him. ‘So, have you and your friends got any plans?’

‘Not really. Actually, they don’t know I’m here yet.’

She seemed confused. ‘Oh, right, you’re going to surprise them?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘It will be a big surprise. We haven’t seen each other for a long time.’

‘Sounds exciting.’

‘I hope so.’

They went back to eating. He shovelled in his cooked breakfast. It was tasty and satisfying – just what he needed to set himself up for the day ahead.

When he had finished, he positioned his knife and fork in a cross shape across the empty plate. He thought it was a nice touch, and saw with satisfaction that the woman had noticed.

‘You must know this area well,’ he said, dabbing the side of his mouth with a napkin.

The lady looked away from his plate. ‘Oh, yes, I do.’

‘Is there a flower shop nearby?’

‘Yes, there is. Bella’s Bouquets. Just up on the main road. There’s a parade of shops, and it’s there. We’ve used them many times – I like to get flowers for the room. They’re very good.’

‘Perfect.’

‘They’re for your friends?’

He nodded. ‘It’s all part of the surprise.’

‘Wonderful!’ She smiled. ‘I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to see you . . .?’ She laughed. ‘I didn’t ask you your name. My name’s Ginny.’

‘Of course, sorry, I totally forgot. Pleased to meet you, Ginny. My name’s Stephen.’

2

Miranda was making breakfast when she heard Edward’s raised voice echoing across the house from the study upstairs. She sighed – it wasn’t as she’d imagined it would be with Edward, when she had first moved in with him. Still, for better, for worse, she thought, drily.

She tried to ignore it, concentrating on preparing the croissants and pain au chocolats. But, after a couple of minutes, she moved out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

By the time she had reached the closed study door, he had quietened down. She knocked. It was the only room in the house, apart from the bathroom, of course, in which she felt such formality was needed. Edward’s study was his bolthole, and Miranda knew he didn’t welcome intrusions, least of all unannounced ones.

‘Come in.’

He was sitting at his desk, clutching his mobile phone tightly. Miranda tried a smile, but he didn’t return it. She couldn’t remember the last time he had been happy. ‘Are you okay?’

Edward nodded, although he looked anything but.

She moved towards him and cupped a hand around his shoulder. ‘Were you shouting on the phone?’

‘A little,’ he said, looking down to his right.

‘With a client?’

Edward snorted. ‘An ex-client.’

‘Oh.’

He looked up. ‘“Oh” indeed.’

‘That’s the—’

‘Third client to leave me in two weeks,’ he finished, placing the mobile phone down on the desk. ‘That was Clive Monroe. Fifteen years I’ve been doing his books.’

‘I’m so sorry, Edward. What did he say?’

‘Oh, same old story – really sorry, but times are hard, gone with an accountancy firm that was offering an introductory deal.’

‘Maybe that’s the truth.’

Edward shook his head and smiled ruefully. ‘People don’t want to be associated professionally with someone who has been charged with illegally possessing a gun and inflicting grievous bodily harm.’

‘It could be a coincidence.’

He snorted bitterly. ‘Miranda, I know you’re trying to make me feel better, but it really is so bloody obvious, isn’t it?’

She didn’t know what to say to that. He was right; it was obvious. Since the news had come out that Edward had been charged with shooting Peter Myers during an ill-thought out attempt to rescue Dan – his appearance in court had been lengthily reported in the Daily Post – he had been fighting a constant battle to hold on to his clients. Many had wobbled and only a few had been convinced to stay – For now, thought Miranda grimly – and the danger was clear. His accountancy business relied on his character as much as, if not more, than his accounting skills. What had happened had blown a bullet-shaped hole in how people viewed him.

‘I’m worried about you, Edward.’

He stood up, impatiently shrugging off her hold, and paced to the window. ‘You should be worried about yourself.’

‘What do you mean?’

He turned around. ‘You should be worried about how you and the baby are going to survive when I’m either in prison, bankrupt, or both.’

‘Edward, don’t! It won’t come to that.’

‘Won’t it? I could go to jail for what I did. They nearly charged me with attempted murder, for God’s sake!’

‘But they didn’t. They knew there were mitigating circumstances,’ Miranda protested. ‘The solicitor said so, didn’t he? You were under extreme stress. You weren’t thinking straight. Anyone can see that it was totally out of character.’

‘I am guilty, though. I pleaded guilty, stood up there in front of the magistrate and all those other people and admitted it. So I’ll be punished by the court, just like I’m being punished by my clients.’

‘But the mitigating circumstances – they’ll take those into account.’

‘Maybe. Or maybe they’ll decide to make an example of me.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘You don’t know!’ Edward shouted, then checked himself quickly as Miranda shrank back, seeming almost physically wounded by his actions. ‘I’m sorry, Miranda, really sorry. I didn’t mean to shout, it’s just . . .’

‘It’s just that you’re shutting me out, as usual,’ Miranda spat, suddenly angry. ‘You’re trying to deal with this on your own, and cutting me off. You lock yourself away for hours at a time in this room, you don’t talk to me about things when you do come out, and the only things I get to know are snippets I overhear from your shouting matches with clients. Well, Edward, I’m sick of it! You might behave as if no one else in the world but you is affected by this situation, but you’re not on your own.’

‘I know, I know,’ Edward acknowledged, holding his hands up in conciliation. ‘I just . . . I didn’t want to worry you, not in your condition.’

Miranda was still fuming. ‘I’m pregnant, Edward, not ill. I don’t need protecting – even if that were possible, which it isn’t. Do you really think you can stop me from worrying, from thinking about what could happen, about what all this might mean for our family?’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Do you think I can’t see how much this is affecting you? I mean, look at you. I’m sorry to say this, but you look, well, terrible. You’re unshaven half the time, you don’t wash. It’s clear that something is very wrong.’

Edward closed his eyes and grimaced as if in pain. ‘You’d have been much better off not meeting me. You could have met someone your own age, had a family with them, and lived a good life.’

Miranda shook her head disbelievingly. ‘You selfish, selfish man! Do you know what you’re saying? You’re saying I’d be better off if this never happened. That this never happened.’ She gestured at her swollen abdomen.

‘I . . . I didn’t mean it like that!’ Edward backtracked. ‘Miranda, I’m sorry.’

But she was past hearing apologies. ‘Is this just about the court case, or is it about the baby, too?’

Edward looked shocked. ‘I . . . I don’t understand.’

‘Well, you weren’t that overjoyed at the news,’ Miranda found herself saying. ‘Oh, you said you were happy, but did you look it? I’m not so sure.’

He took a step towards her, arms outstretched. ‘Of course I’m happy, Miranda. It was a shock at first, yes, but I am happy. Once I got used to the idea of being a father again, it felt good.’

Suddenly, Miranda felt the fight leave her as quickly as it had arrived. She shook her head, regretting what she had said, even though she’d meant it. ‘Well, Edward,’ she said softly, ‘you have to show that you’re happy, not just say it.’

‘I know, I know.’ He pulled her towards him and kissed her hair. ‘I’m really sorry for everything. I promise I’ll try to make things better, for all of us. I truly promise that. Whatever happens, I’ll do what it takes.’

She lay on the bed with her eyes closed, still in her pyjamas, thinking about Stuart. She could see his face, hear his voice. How many times had she turned to him for comfort and support? But now he was gone. What do I have left?

She pulled herself upright and moved over to her dressing table. The jiffy bag was on top, bulging with the volume of material inside.

It had arrived in the post, two days after he had killed himself. She had recognised the handwriting straight away.

And she still couldn’t bear to open it. Maybe it was the fear of the unknown, scared of what the package from beyond the grave might contain. Will there be a suicide note? She wasn’t sure that she wanted to read something like that, even though it might offer an explanation.

She picked up the package. It was a good weight. Whatever can be inside?

A good weight. She had overheard that comment at Stuart’s funeral, muttered by one of the coffin bearers – Alistair, Stuart’s cousin. He hadn’t realised that she was standing behind her, and had blushed terribly and apologised. She thought more about the funeral. All those people offering their condolences, all with the one overriding thought: It’s so sad. I can’t believe he’s gone.

But those same people, who had been so solemn in the church, had soon recovered their joie de vivre at the wake afterwards. She’d watched with growing bitterness as they’d laughed and joked in their small cliques, stuffing themselves with the free food and drink.

Only one person had offered her the support she had needed.

She gazed down again at the package. It was time to open it.

She tore across the top of the seal and shook out the contents of the package onto the surface of the dressing table. There were no letters, no suicide note, and no goodbye message. Just lots of photographs.

Tears fell as she looked through them. They were from across his life, from young child to recent times.

One image caught her attention.

She lifted it up and gazed at the happy couple.

How did things turn out so badly?

She reached for her mobile phone and dialled the number.

‘Hi. It’s me . . . Yes, I’m okay, I guess. I was wondering, do you fancy meeting up later? It would be great to see you . . . Fantastic, two o’clock, then. Shall I come over to yours? . . . Great.’

She felt better for a few minutes at the thought of the meet-up, but the injection of positivity was only temporary, and soon she was again wallowing in grief, looking through the photos that Stuart had posted to her.

Why did he send me these?

She pondered on that for some time. And then she spotted what Stuart had done to one of the photographs.

The face of his companion had been scribbled out vigorously using black biro, but she knew who it was. It was then the realisation hit her. ‘Of course.’ She walked to the window and looked out across the rooftops. ‘I won’t let you down, Stuart.’

3

Dan and Emma stayed on the balcony, unspeaking, for a bit longer, enjoying being close to one another. It was so lovely. There hadn’t been much physical contact in the past month, and Emma had really missed it. She knew that it wasn’t that they didn’t want things to happen, but somehow it just didn’t seem the right time. She wasn’t worried – the lack of sex wasn’t surprising, after all they had gone through, and it was early days. Things would get back to how they were soon, and there was no point rushing things and risking upset.

Emma did wonder whether the holiday away was Dan’s attempt to reignite that aspect of their relationship. And if it was, then she would really welcome it.

‘How did you sleep?’ Dan asked finally. ‘You were tossing and turning quite a bit at one point.’

Emma raised her head from his chest. ‘Is that what woke you up?’

‘No. I’d been awake for a while already. I was thinking about something.’

She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. ‘Want to share?’

Dan hesitated for a second or two. ‘I was thinking about Peter Myers.’

She sat upright in surprise. ‘Really? What about him?’

Another hesitation. ‘I was wondering how he is – what he’s doing.’

His admission came as a shock. They’d hardly spoken the man’s name since being reunited. ‘You’re concerned about him?’

‘Maybe,’ Dan replied. ‘I don’t know. I know what he did was terrible, but at the heart of it, he’s a victim, too.’

‘Because of what happened to Stephen?’

Dan nodded, taking a sip of coffee. ‘Who knows how you’d react if you found out that your son or daughter had been murdered? Maybe you’d want to take revenge, too. Maybe the anger would twist your morals, lead you to doing something you wouldn’t normally contemplate.’

‘I can see that,’ she replied, a little doubtfully.

‘I know it sounds crazy, empathising with him, but I can see how he might have got to where he is now.’ Dan shrugged.

‘I don’t think it sounds crazy.’

‘He’ll go to prison for many years.’

Peter Myers had been charged with a raft of offences, including kidnapping and grievous bodily harm. He’d pleaded guilty to all charges, and had been remanded in custody, pending sentencing. There was little doubt that he would spend a long time behind bars for what he’d done; the sentence would have been longer if Richard hadn’t survived – a series of blows to the head had left him fighting for his life. But he had come out of his coma, thankfully, without any long-term damage, and was now up in Edinburgh, staying with friends and continuing his recovery and recuperation.

‘You do think Peter Myers deserves to be punished though, don’t you?’ Emma said.

‘Oh, yes, of course I do. He deserves to go to jail for what he did – there’s no doubt about that. It’s just that, well . . . it’s complicated.’

Emma breathed an inward sigh of relief. Although she could certainly see where Dan was coming from, it was still uncomfortable hearing him say supportive things about Peter Myers. It reminded her of that so-called Stockholm syndrome, where captives began to empathise with – and even support – their captors.

‘Anyway, you didn’t answer my original question,’ Dan added. ‘About how you slept. I’m worried about you, too, you know.’

‘I had another nightmare,’ Emma revealed.

Dan looked concerned. ‘About Stephen Myers?’

Emma nodded. ‘It was the same dream, the wedding.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Dan said.

‘Why are you apologising? It’s not your fault.’

‘Maybe it is.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, it was my idea to postpone the wedding. Maybe that’s why you keep dreaming about it.’

‘It was for the best,’ Emma replied. ‘We agreed.’

Three days after being freed from Peter Myer’s lair, they had been at home watching television when Emma had broached the subject of when they should get married. Dan’s thought that it would be best to wait had taken her by surprise.

They had missed the original date, of course, but Emma had expected that they would marry as soon as practicably possible. She had been prepared to strip back the wedding to the bare bones to get it sorted more quickly, and had told him so. But he had said he didn’t want to rush it, and that if they did, she might regret it later.

‘I know, but I wonder whether I pushed you into it,’ Dan said. ‘Maybe we should have just gone ahead and got married as soon as we could.’

Emma shook her head. ‘No. It was the right thing to do. Yes, of course I want to be married to you, right now. That’s how it was supposed to be. But you were right. It would have been no good to get married when there are still all these things going on – Richard is still recuperating, Dad is worried sick about the court case, and the rest of us . . . you, me, Will and Lizzy – we’re all still coming to terms with what happened. That’s not a good time to get married, is it?’

‘No, it isn’t,’ Dan agreed.

Emma was particularly concerned about her father, Edward. He’d been charged with illegal possession of a firearm and grievous bodily harm with intent, following his shooting of Peter Myers in his attempt to rescue Dan. The authorities had considered charging him with attempted murder, because of the use of the gun, but had decided on the lesser charge. Thank God he only wounded him. But Edward had, nevertheless, responded very badly to the charges.

Dan continued. ‘But I am worried about you, Em. These dreams about Stephen Myers, I don’t like them at all. It’s like he’s back, stalking you.’

‘He’s dead,’ Emma stated. ‘It’s my imagination, that’s all.’

‘Like yesterday at the motorway services in Exeter?’

Emma nodded, reluctantly. En route to Cornwall, they had stopped at the Moto Motorway Services in Exeter, just off the M5, to buy some lunch and stretch their legs. The place had been packed with families heading for Cornwall during the school half-term holidays. The mild, sunny October weather, with temperatures into the early seventies predicted for the week ahead, had no doubt attracted more people to journey down. The car park had been filled with all manner of vehicles, loaded with surfboards, walking gear and camping equipment.

It was as she had exited the toilets that Emma had seen the man. He was standing with his back to her, on the other side of the atrium, near the slot machines. And then he had turned one hundred and eighty degrees, and appeared to look straight at her.

She had caught her breath at the sight of his face.

It was Stephen Myers.

Except it wasn’t. Because Stephen Myers was dead.

Instinctively she had looked away, unable to face that ghoul from the past. When she turned back, he had gone.

‘It did shake me up,’ Emma said now.

Of course, she knew that it had just been her mind playing tricks on her. The person had looked like Stephen Myers, or how she remembered him. But it felt as if, for that moment, he had been there, living and breathing.

Not dead, but alive.

‘I can imagine,’ Dan replied. ‘I’m glad you told me about it. You need to feel that you can tell me what’s happening, as that’s how we’re going to get through this.’

Emma nodded, slowly. In fact, she had considered not telling him, but Dan had spotted straight away that something was wrong. And he was right. Because it hadn’t been the first time she’d thought she’d seen Stephen Myers. A week earlier, while out shopping with Lizzy on Oxford Street, a man had brushed past her in John Lewis. She’d caught only the briefest of glimpses of his face but, as at the services, her initial reaction had been that it was him. But of course it couldn’t have been.

She exhaled. ‘I’m starting to think I’m going mad.’

‘It’s just a natural reaction to an amazingly stressful situation,’ Dan said. ‘You’re not crazy.’

‘Hopefully not. I think it’s just all been getting too much. That’s why this holiday was such a great idea – it gives us a chance to really get away from everything and clear our heads.’

‘Definitely,’ Dan agreed. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t talk about any of this while we’re here. Just pretend that it never happened, and enjoy the next few days.’

Emma smiled. ‘As man and wife?’

He grinned. ‘Why not? Mr and Mrs Carlton, on their honeymoon.’

‘Sounds like a fantastic idea.’

‘That’s because it is,’ Dan said, smiling.

‘So, what’s the plan for today, Mr Carlton?’

‘Well, Mrs Carlton. Shall we go over there?’ he said, pointing towards St Ives. It was still bathed in sunshine. ‘The weather’s perfect. And I’ve heard there are some seriously good places to eat, drink and shop.’

‘Sounds great,’ Emma said, planting a kiss on his cheek.

Dan sat back in his chair and finished his coffee, which by now was cold. Emma had gone to shower, and he’d promised to prepare breakfast. But he felt paralysed, unable to banish the worries from his mind. Looking out over the sparkling seascape, he searched for some release.

He should tell her.

He wanted to tell her.

To admit to her what he feared the most.

4