Road Kill by Zoe Sharp Read Free Book Online

March was supposed to have been a new beginning for us, an easy couple of weeks in the sun where we could relax in each other’s company. But it hadn’t turned out that way.
     
    I’d spent four nightmare days on the run with my teenage charge, all the while believing Sean was dead. And then, when I’d found out he was still very much alive, I’d had to stand by and watch him commit what was little more than cold-blooded murder. I’d had to kill to survive, but not for personal gratification. And not for revenge either, however close I may have come to it.
     
    Sean had accused me of not having faith in him, but it had been five months since our return and I was still trying to find a way to bridge the gulf between us. He’d pulled away from me, or maybe it was me who’d pulled away from him. I hadn’t even felt able to ask him to come to me now, when I needed him. And – worse – he hadn’t offered.
     
    Then, from somewhere above me a small sound broke through the outer layers and crashed through my unconscious mind like a falling stone.
     
    I came bounding out of sleep much too fast, with my heart screaming. My eyes snapped open allowing the darkness and silence to pour in. For a long suspended second I struggled there, locked between dreams and reality. Then the sound that had woken me came again, and it was reality that elbowed its way to the fore.
     
    Someone was moving about downstairs. Why on earth the dogs weren’t kicking up an unholy stink I had no idea. I was a light enough sleeper to have heard the driveway alarm, too – if it had gone off – which meant no one had tripped it.
     
    For a moment my hopeful brain formed Jacob’s name and I got as far as opening my mouth to call out to him. Sense kicked in and I shut it again.
     
    My eyes were adjusting to the gloom all the time. I’d left the curtains open and the moon threw a trickle of thin silver-grey light into the room. I swung my legs out of bed and carefully picked up the old-fashioned alarm clock from the bedside table, squinting at the luminous figures. It was a little after two-thirty in the morning. I suppressed a groan as I groped for my shirt and jeans.
     
    My father had finally called just before midnight with the news that Clare was out of surgery and doing “as well as could be expected,” and I’d crawled into one of Jacob and Clare’s spare beds soon after.
     
    I’d used the time before he’d rung to hunt for any sign of Jacob’s Irish contacts, as Sean had suggested, feeling like a thief as I’d systematically gone through Jacob’s desk and papers. I’d bunged the resulting half-dozen-name list down the fax to Sean’s office number. Now it was up to him.
     
    Unless, of course, the stealthy intruder downstairs at this moment was indeed Jacob.
     
    I padded on silent bare feet across the polished floorboards and slowly pulled open the bedroom door, praying it wouldn’t creak. At the end of the landing I could see the faint glow of a light on somewhere below. As I tiptoed towards the stairs I reached out and picked up a copy of a bike magazine that was lying on a chest of drawers and took that with me.
     
    I descended with controlled haste, keeping to the outside of the treads. As I went I rolled the magazine up into a tight baton with its thick spine to the outside.
     
    In the hallway downstairs I halted, listening. Over to my left the grandfather clock against the kitchen wall ticked sonorously. Under the study door a thin band of light was showing and I could hear movement inside.
     
    Suddenly, the door opened and a man walked out so quickly we nearly collided. I don’t know who was more shocked by the abruptness of the encounter but he let out a surprised yelp and took an instinctive swipe at my head.
     
    I ducked under the clumsy blow and jabbed him in the Adam’s apple with the coiled end of the magazine. He staggered back, choking, hands up to his throat. I pivoted sideways and brought the rigid edge of