No Going BackA gritty and gripping page-turning crime thriller
Casey Kelleher
Books by Casey Kelleher
The Lucy Murphy Series
No Escape
No Fear
No Going Back
The Byrne Family Trilogy
The Betrayed
The Broken
The Forgotten
Other books by Casey Kelleher
Mine
The Taken
The Promise
Rotten to the Core
Rise and Fall
Heartless
Bad Blood
AVAILABLE IN AUDIO
The Taken (Available in the UK and the US)
The Promise (Available in the UK and the US)
The Betrayed (Available in the UK and the US)
The Broken (Available in the UK and the US)
No Escape (Available in the UK and the US)
No Fear (Available in the UK and the US)
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
The Betrayed
Hear More from Casey
Books by Casey Kelleher
A Letter from Casey
No Escape
No Fear
The Broken
The Forgotten
The Promise
Mine
The Taken
Acknowledgements
*
For Joy
My favourite mother-in-law
X
Prologue
Her eyes gradually adjust to the pitch-black darkness of Richmond Park as she shines her phone torch down on to the footpath, focusing on where she is walking, instantly regretting taking the shortcut through the park now that she’s alone.
It’s too quiet, and she feels vulnerable now that no one else is around. It’s just her, here in the dead of night. She turns constantly as she walks, scanning the pathway behind her to check that she is actually alone, convinced she keeps hearing small sounds behind her. No one is there.
Even so, she walks faster, eager to reach the park’s exit at the other side. Looking up ahead of her, she can see the familiar, faint red-lighted towers of London, looming just off in the distance, peeping through the mass of woodland that stands between them. Yet somehow, in the midst of these trees, the City of London seems worlds away.
A noise, then, behind her again. She turns once more, but this time, before she has the chance to convince herself that she’s just being paranoid, that she’s being stupid, there’s a figure right there, pressing up against her. Grabbing her tightly, a gloved hand concealing her mouth to stop the scream that she tries to force out, as she realises the danger that she’s in.
Her attacker is strong. They force her down on the ground, and she struggles under their weight, fruitlessly trying to fend them off. Her attacker fights back, harder and stronger, in a bid to overpower her. She kicks out and the shunt of her foot catches her assailant off-guard, making them double over in pain and giving her a few seconds to scramble back up.
Which is no easy feat, with the roundness of her bump and the extra weight of her baby that she is carrying.
She stares through the darkness, working out the quickest escape route – through the woods ahead of her, or back the way she came, down the pathway to the park’s entrance? She has a few seconds but she knows it’s futile. Whichever way she chooses, she won’t get away. She won’t be able to outrun her attacker. So, she does the only thing she can do and screams out – a blood-curdling screech for help that echoes across the park, magnified by the silence. All the while praying that someone will hear her cries or that, at least, her attacker will retreat.
But her hopes are short-lived: she catches the sliver of light gleaming from the serrated edge of the knife’s blade as it strikes her. It all happens so quickly, so unexpectedly, that she doesn’t even register the cut at first. That her stomach has been slashed in a single movement, from just above her navel, down to the bottom of her belly. She feels winded, as if she’s been punched, and instinctively she moves her hand to her stomach, pressing against the fabric of her woollen jumper, protective of her unborn child beneath it.
She feels the warm liquid spilling out of her before she sees it. In shock, she brings her hand back up and strains to see the blood that covers her palm. Her blood. So much blood. Pumping out of her.
‘Help me!’ She manages to scream as loud as she can, hysterical, before the dizziness overcomes her and she falls to the ground.
Her attacker retreats now, alarmed, either by her continuing screams or the sight of the growing pool of blood, turning on their heel and making a run for it and leaving her splayed out on the cold, damp footpath, cradling her stomach underneath the blanket of darkness that stretches out over Richmond Park.
She stares up at the night sky, focusing on the cluster of stars above her. And bleeds out.
1
Staring at the television screen as his horse galloped towards the finishing line, as if it had a rocket shoved up its arse, Ashley Cooke couldn’t believe his luck. The tip he’d had on Dark Horse was proving to be a winner. As soon as Ashley had heard its name, he’d known it was a sign and meant for him, because he’d always liked to think of himself as exactly that: a dark horse. Underestimated and undervalued by most of those around him. Still, he’d been told by very reliable sources that Dark Horse was set to win hands down. Which was why he’d borrowed the obscene amount of money that he had from the Boland brothers. Because there was no way he could lose.
Rubbing his hands with glee, Ashley downed his pint in anticipation of the celebration that was soon to come. He was still embracing the immediate effects of the line of coke he’d snorted in the men’s toilets, just moments before, as the gear surged around his blood, keeping him fired up – alert and full of energy. He was on top of the
