Extract from the book that everyone’s talking about and its released 31.01.17. http://amzn.to/2jCavKS
Detective Inspector Denis Hamilton is haunted when the suspicious death of a teenage girl triggers suppressed memories. With a stalker targeting vulnerable women in Central London, and his team rapidly diminishing, Hamilton must conquer his emotions before another family is destroyed.
In a sleepy town in Hertfordshire, Katy has worked hard to rebuild her life after leaving behind everything she knew. But when her past catches up with her, and her young son’s life is threatened, Katy must admit her true identity if she has any hope of surviving.
The creaky floorboards, at the entrance of her bedroom door, yanked her from sleep. If it wasn’t such a regular occurrence, she’d have been annoyed by the rude awakening. Gone were the days of sleeping soundly; now she could hear a quiet sneeze from down the hallway, even with the doors closed. She supressed a small, internal grudge and forced her eyes open. “Mummy, can I sleep in your bed tonight?” her son stuttered, more like a drunken person than a toddler. She peered over his shoulder at the digital clock. The red, square numbers glared eleven fortyfive p.m. – too early to give in to him, especially at his first attempt to crawl into her bed. “No, sweetie. Come on, let’s get you back to your room.” As much as she wanted to cuddle her five-year-old son, to pull him into bed with her and encourage some semblance of a good night’s sleep, she knew it couldn’t happen. Robotically, and in the vain hope of banishing the habit, she climbed out of bed, took his hand in hers and they stumbled together into the darkness. Their eyes half-open, they tread down the hall to the little boy’s bedroom. Thinking back to her childless nights when she would have stayed up until the early hours reading, or binge-watching an episode on Netflix, she groaned at the carefree time she had so readily taken for granted. “But there’s someone in my room, Mummy,” he said, and stopped outside his bedroom door. “I heard something.” “It’s just you and me, kiddo. You know that,” she soothed, ruffling his soft hair. Gently, she edged him into the room. “Don’t be scared of the dark. It’s lovely sleepy time.” “But why can’t I have my night light on?” he moaned. “I told you earlier, the bulb popped. I’ll buy another one tomorrow. Now shh, into bed, sweetie, and no more talking.” She narrowed her eyes against the gloom, watching her son’s shadowy figure finally hop back into his bed. Kneeling down beside him, she hummed a lullaby and stroked his soft cheek. The sound of his deep breathing quickly filled the room, and her own tiredness hit home like a hammer. Gingerly, she tiptoed out of his room, avoiding the creaks like a trained ninja.
Quietly pulling the bedroom door shut, she turned around and collided with a stocky, dark figure. A balaclava covered his face. She opened her mouth, but only a small squeak escaped. Her thumping heart urged her to move, to shout for help, to attack him, to do something. She considered scrambling back into her son’s room and closing the door before the intruder made an advance. But stunned, she stood frozen in the dark hallway. The stranger moved his head slowly from side to side; black eyes stared back at her from the two small holes in the thick material. Her stomach clenched at the sound of his leather jacket crunching. Raising a gloved hand, he placed his index finger against his unseen lips. Thinking only of her son, she attempted to nod and pledge her silence, but her head barely moved. He snatched her arm, dragged her back to the main bedroom and slammed the door behind them. In a blind panic, she scanned the room looking for something to grab, anything to use as a weapon, but could see nothing except her own tears. Fear gripped her again as the intruder spun her around, forcing their bodies within inches of each other. He panted loudly. His nicotine breath seeped through the balaclava and snaked up her nostrils. He pushed her back onto the bed and took a knife from his back pocket. She closed her eyes to the sounds of a clink from the blade being lowered to the bedside table and a zip unfastening. He tugged her pyjama bottoms until her legs were fully exposed. She covered her face, grinding her palms into the sockets of her eyes. The bed dipped as he climbed on, and she felt his hot, wet penis glide intrusively along her naked thigh. She whimpered. But he continued to bring himself further up on top of her until his leathered fingers wrapped persuasively around her neck. Just do what he wants, and then he’ll leave. The mantra repeated over and over again in her mind. Just do what he wants, and then he’ll leave; then my child will be safe…