And what a setting it was, the house at the leafy summit of Notting Hill, across the street from the faded elegance of St. John’s Church. Once Dawn had loved this Victorian house with its pale yellow stucco, its superbly proportioned rooms and beautiful appointments, and for a moment she mourned the passing of such an innocent pleasure.
Tonight the windows were dark as she turned into the drive, the blank panes mirroring her car lights. She had managed to beat Karl home, then; she would have a few minutes’ respite. Turning off the engine, she reached for her parcels, then paused, squeezing her eyes shut. Damn Karl! Damn Alex! In spite of them, she would find a way to deal with this, to keep the child she wanted more than she had ever wanted anything.
She slid out of the car, keys in one hand, bags in the other, ducking away from the wet fingers of the hedge that lined the drive.
A sound stopped her. The cat, she thought, relaxing, then remembered she’d left Tommy in the house, despite Karl’s strictures to the contrary. Tommy had been ill and she hadn’t wanted to leave him out unsupervised, in case he got into a scrap with another cat.
There it was again. A rustle, a breath, something out of place in the damp stillness. Panic gripped her, squeezing her heart, paralyzing her where she stood.
Forcing herself to think, she clasped her keys more tightly in her hand. The house just across the drive suddenly seemed an impossible distance. If she could only reach the safety of the door, she could lock herself in, ring for help. She held her breath and slid a foot forward—
The arms came round her from behind, a gloved hand pressing hard against her mouth. Too late, she struggled, tugging futilely at the arm pinning her chest, stomping down on an instep. Too late, she prayed for the flicker of Karl’s headlamps turning into the drive.
Her attacker’s breath sobbed raggedly in her ear; his grip tightened. The carrier bags fell unnoticed from her numb fingers. Then the pressure on her chest vanished, and in that instant’s relief, pain seared her throat.
She felt a fiery cold, then the swift and enveloping darkness folded round her like a cloak. In the last dim flicker of consciousness, she thought she heard him whisper, “I’m sorry, so sorry.”
Table of Contents
Cover
Other Books by This Author
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Contents
Map
Part IChapter OneChapter TwoChapter ThreeChapter FourChapter FiveChapter SixChapter Seven
Part IIChapter EightChapter NineChapter TenChapter ElevenChapter TwelveChapter ThirteenChapter FourteenChapter FifteenChapter SixteenChapter SeventeenChapter EighteenChapter NineteenChapter TwentyChapter Twenty-one
About the Author
Preview of And Justice There is None
