In the aftermath of the Kovalenko empire falling, Singh found herself on the outside. Rumours were rife that she’d helped a known vigilante disappear and her loyalty to the badge was thrown into doubt.
How could they focus on Sam when he’d just saved those girls from a fate worse than death?
As the investigation began on her own conduct, she’d formed a bond with another ostracised detective, DI Pearce. A man who she’d warmed to and thought of as a friend. As her investigations in Sam Pope’s past intensified, Pearce had begged her to be careful.
She knew she should have listened.
In hindsight, she should have sat quietly for a few weeks, been an obedient little lap dog and soon all would have been forgiven. Her career may have stalled but another opportunity would have come her way.
But she’d kept digging.
Redacted file after redacted file had turned up nothing on Sam’s military past until an errant scribbling on one sheet of paper would paint a target on her back.
Project Hailstorm.
Singh took a bottle of water from her bereft fridge and unscrewed the cap, taking a calming sip as she remembered the midnight visit of General Ervin Wallace. Singh had prided herself on fearing no one. She’d burst into dangerous situations with a calm and authoritative manner, taken out armed criminals, and faced death.
But the menace the man had exuded had been palpable.
His large bulk, piercing stare, and dominating nature had told her from the moment he’d entered her flat that she’d rattled the wrong cage. His thinly veiled threat had been obvious. Whatever connection the man had to Sam, it was a dangerous one and despite Pearce’s protests and every warning triggering in her head, she had to know.
She had to know exactly which side of the blurred line her loyalties lied.
It had cost her everything.
Pearce had betrayed her, going above her head to Ashton who had promptly suspended her. A known associate of Sam, Paul Etheridge, had been brutally tortured in his own home.
And her own safety had been put in jeopardy.
Her flat had been ransacked and ever since then, she knew she was being followed.
Whatever reach Wallace had, it was vast. Singh knew she was under the microscope and her extended absence was most likely a request of his.
Whatever she’d found, the man wanted it to stay hidden.
Every rational thought in her mind told her to step away, that the rabbit hole she’d been tumbling down would only get deeper.
It had almost certainly cost her career.
Her friendship with Pearce was dead.
And now her mental health was suffering.
Despite all that she’d lost, she knew she couldn’t step away. Not when she’d seen what Sam was willing to sacrifice for the good of the innocent. From what she’d pieced together, General Wallace was hiding behind his iron fist, abusing his power, and influencing an institution created for the safety of the public.
If she couldn’t bring him down through the legal channels that he controlled, then she would do it on her own.
As she thought about the repercussions of what she was putting into action, she could feel her hand shaking, the bottle of water sloshing wildly and spilling.
After this evening, there would be no going back.
Singh hopped into the shower, the warm water crashing against her toned body and immediately relieving the tension that had a stranglehold of her muscles. She stood for a few moments, allowing the water to engulf her entire body, the sound of the water hitting the tiles drowning out the worries that were dominating her mind.
After a few more minutes, she turned the water off and wrapped a towel around her body and headed for her bedroom. It had been a while since she’d shared her bed with anyone. With her unsociable hours and relentless drive, a steady boyfriend had never been a priority. To her parents’ dismay, she had little interest in the family life. While her sister had provided them with the grandchildren they craved, they’d never understood her refusal to follow suit.
They had respected her career, but since the turn of the year, while she was being ushered towards the door, she could see feel the disappointment in their voices when they spoke.
Amara Singh had failed.
Half an hour later and Singh was walking towards the front door of her flat, her small heels clicking across the wood flooring. She had on fitted jeans and a nice, black button up top, wrapped in a leather jacket. Her hair was straight and the minimal make-up she’d applied would certainly turn heads. She was as attractive as she was tough but she hated the idea of being thought of as a pretty face,
But she needed to blend in tonight.
To disappear.
As she opened the door, she could still see the markings of where Wallace’s men had broken into her flat, reinforcing her need to fade into the London night life.
They would be watching.
They were always watching.
With a deep breath she stepped out of her flat and made her way through the block, stepping out into a surprisingly mild spring evening. Adjusting her bag over her shoulder, she scanned the street, noticing the black SUV parked a few cars further down.
Inside, a man sat, dressed in black, his attention drawn to her.
For a professional, he was pretty sloppy, and Singh walked briskly towards Canon’s Park Station, the streets of North London filled with traffic. Her tail tried to follow, but with the rush hour traffic proving too impatient to let him pull out, she glanced over her shoulder to see him exit the car and begin to follow her by foot, his hands stuffed in his black bomber jacket.
She picked up the pace.
As she rounded the corner, she saw the entrance to the station and clambered the few steps and disappeared into the station.
She only had a few seconds.
Quickly, she pulled a red scarf from her bag and wrapped it over her head. Singh then slid
