Page 90

I have to bite my lip to suppress a smile.

Yep, that’s Abby’s mother, alright.I’d know that tone anywhere.

The woman walks down the stairs, straight past her gun-wielding husband, and clicks her fingers at the dogs, who immediately slink behind her, looking ashamed. “I’m Susan Chalmers.” She’s as pale as her husband, and I can see the strain in her face, but she still manages something close to a smile. “And this is my husband, Pete. We’ve had more than a few curious journalists around recently, so you’ll have to excuse the welcome. Pete,” she says, without turning around. “Call Jamie and tell him you’re busy for the morning. You two,” she says, nodding at Luke and me, “park that vehicle under the tree, or it will boil. Then come inside. I’ll put some coffee on.”

We leaveour boots at the door and follow Pete’s very stiff back into a cool timber-floored kitchen. We take seats around a solid, worn wooden table as Susan prepares a tray.

An actual tray.With homemade fruitcake, a French coffee press, and nice china cups. Looking surreptitiously around at the deep porcelain sink, herbs hanging from the roof, and painted wooden cabinets, I feel as though I’ve stepped back in time.

“Abby’s boyfriend, you said.” His wife might be making an effort, but Pete’s grim expression hasn’t changed a bit.

A cup clatters onto the counter, and Luke and I both turn, startled. Susan has her back to us, and her hands are white-knuckled as she grips the counter. When she turns very slowly to face us, the knife she used to cut the cake is in her hand, and her face is even more dangerous than her husband’s.

“Her boyfriend,” she says flatly, her eyes boring into mine. “As in her boyfriend,Nicholas?”

Who the fuck is Nicholas?

“I don’t know any Nicholas, ma’am.” I stay very still. “My name is Dimitry Stevanovsky, as I told your husband. And this is my friend, Luke Macarthur.”

“Jesus, Suze. Put the knife down.” Pete folds his arms, still glaring at me. “And drop the bloodysirandma’am,for Chrissakes. Stevanovsky.” His eyes narrow. “Russian?”

I nod. “My parents were Russian, yes. I live in Spain now. That’s where I met Abby.”

Pete and his wife exchange a look. To my relief, she puts the knife down.

“What about you?” Pete turns his frown to Luke. “How are you involved in this?”

“I’m ex-military.” Luke looks as relaxed as if he were catching up with an old friend. “Dimitry’s a mate. I knew he was worried about Abby, so when I saw an article in the paper about her, I sent it to him. He was on a plane the same day, got here a couple of days ago.”

“A couple of days?” Pete’s eyebrows shoot up. “And you’ve already somehow managed to findthat?”He nods at the friendship bracelet sitting on the table between us.

“I’m ex-military, like I said.” Luke smiles easily. “And my deadbeat father used to be a Bandero. I tracked down one of his old mates.”

“Give me his name.” Pete growls the order like a man used to having them obeyed.

“Can’t do that,” Luke says calmly. “But it wouldn’t help anyway. He told us what he knew, which was that Abby was being held in Bingillia, an abandoned mining camp. She was definitely there, but she’s also definitely gone now. We’re hoping you can help us work out where she might be.”

Susan sits down heavily opposite her husband. When she pours coffee, her hands are still shaking.

“Who is Nicholas?” I ask her, ignoring Luke’s warning look.

She frowns at me. “You don’t know about him?”

Feeling distinctly wrong-footed, I shake my head. “No.”

“Well, then.” Susan has made herself tea, which she now stirs primly with a worn silver spoon. “If Abby didn’t want to tell you about him, I’m not sure it’s my place to.”

I bite back a hard retort. “I’m just trying to find her, Mrs. Chalmers. If there’s anything that might help us do that, then it would be good to know it now.”

She looks at her husband, who gives her a slight nod. “I don’t know much,” she says rather defensively. “Just that when Abby left Australia, she went to Thailand, where she met a boy called Nicholas. She said they were together for two years.”

Well, that’s the Thailand connection, I guess. Unfortunately, that isn’t the part my brain fixates on.

Two years?

My hands clench under the table.

Two years of Abby’s life, and she never bothered to even mention thismudak’sname?