Page 1

Katie

Don’t you just love waking up in the morning?

Feeling all warm, cosy, and relaxed. Stretching out my arms, I feel the broad shoulders of my boyfriend, Jax.

Slowly opening my eyes, I’m greeted by the morning sun peeking in around the blinds.

I’m at Jax’s place; it’s where I spend most of my nights now.

Jax begins to wake up too; he turns and pulls me into him.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

Smiling, I snuggle into his arms. I love waking up like this.

Jax smells amazing. I’ve no idea what aftershave he uses, but he still smells of it in the morning, along with his sexy manly scent.

Running my hand over his head and down the back of his neck, I enjoy the feeling of his short hair against my palm.

His dark green eyes are now wide open, watching me with that intense stare the way he does just before he is about to devour me.

With tattoos from his neck down to his wrists, he can be quite scary looking if you don’t know him.

But I know him—every delicious bit of him.

Climbing on top of him for a better view, I trace the tattoos across his chest. His nipples harden while a groan escapes his throat. I bend to kiss his eager, strong lips, but just as I reach them…

BOOM! A loud bang echoes through the building.

Jax instantly throws me off him. I fly across the room with such force, my body collides with the radiator. My head hits the hard metal corner, and I feel my skin split on impact.

“Ouch!” Looking up, I see Jax in his boxers, pointing a gun at the closed bedroom door. A gun? Where the hell did he get a gun from? Jax doesn’t own a gun. Does he?

“Police, stand back!” a stern voice orders through the door.

The bedroom door breaks off its hinges and falls to the floor at Jax’s feet.

“Drop your weapon!” Three large police officers wearing full riot gear aim their huge terrifying-looking guns at Jax.

Jax drops his gun and puts his hands in the air.

Two more officers in normal uniforms enter the bedroom.

They read him his rights, put him in handcuffs, and escort him out of the room.

I can’t believe the scene in front of me.

Just five minutes ago, I was happy, content, and safe—or so I thought.

“Jax, what’s going on?” I demand.

But Jax doesn’t say a word. He exits the bedroom without even a glance towards me.

“Katie?”

My name makes me jump. I hadn’t noticed the police lady standing beside me.

“You need to come with me. You have one minute to get dressed; then we will go to the station.” She hands me my dressing gown and points to the bathroom.

After grabbing some clothes off the chair, I enter the bathroom and lock the door behind me.

Staring at my reflection, I shake my head in disbelief.

This must be some kind of mistaken identity.

When the police read Jax his rights, they said something about theft and murder.

There’s no way Jax would have done anything like that.

Splashing my face with some water, I put on a brave face.

I quickly brush my teeth and I’m good to go.

The policewoman bangs on the door. “Katie, we need to leave!”

I put my gym pants on and pull my hoodie over my head. “Ouch.” I had forgotten about the bang on my head. The bathroom lock turns, and the door opens. She’s obviously had enough of waiting for me and unlocked the door from her side.

“What’s taking so long?” Noticing the blood on my hands, as I have just touched my head, she comes in to inspect it. “It’s not too bad. Come on; we’ve got a nurse at the station who will sort that out.”

Down at the police station, after the nurse has cleaned and glued my head, I’m taken to an interview room.

“Can you state your full name, please?” the interviewer asks.

“Katie Harris,” I reply nervously.

“Can you tell me how you know Mr. Jaxon Adams?”

“He’s my boyfriend.”

“How long have you been in a relationship with Mr. Adams?”

“About six months.” I try to remain calm.

“Are you aware of what Mr. Adams does for a living?” He leans back in his chair, tapping his pen against his lips.

“Yes, he is a lorry driver.”

“And what makes you think that is his occupation?” There's a sarcastic tone to his voice.

“He told me.”

“Do you know the name of the company he works for?”

“Umm, no, I don’t.”

“No? Why not?”

“I never asked.”

“You never asked." The interviewer has a smirk on his face as he writes my answers on his notepad. "Have you ever been to his workplace or seen him driving a truck?”

“No, I haven’t. But it's not like he would drive his truck home and park it on the drive, is it?” I am getting annoyed by his attitude.

“The house you were in this morning—who does that belong to?”

“Jax.”

“Are you aware how much the houses in that area of London are worth, Miss Harris?”

What type of questions are these? I don't see how this is relevant.

“I’m not sure.”

“In excess of two million pounds.”

“Wow.”

“Wow, indeed. And you think a lorry driver owns a house of that value?”

“I’m sorry, I am not sure what you are implying here?”

The interviewer leans forward in his chair, placing his arms on the table and twiddling his pen in his fingers. This is so surreal. My heart is racing. I feel like I need to be careful about what I say. I feel guilty, even though I have done nothing wrong.

“Where were you on Saturday the 23rd of December, between the hours of 12:00 and 3:00 p.m.?”

“I was working at Bella Hairdressing. In The King Hotel.”

“The King Hotel? You answered that quickly and specifically, considering it was over four months ago, Miss Harris.”

“Yes, well, I’m a hairdresser, and the Saturday before Christmas is the year’s busiest day in my industry.

That week before Christmas, I spend my days in the salon and any rest time in my accommodation, which is also in the King Hotel.

I am sure the whole building has CCTV, so you will be able to confirm that. ”

After what seemed like hours of more questions, they finally let me go. I haven’t seen Jax, and nobody will tell me what is going on.

When I get back to Jax’s house I break down.

I can't believe the mess the police have left it in. They have taken everything out of every drawer and every cupboard. The house is ultra-modern and minimalistic, but it still looks like a bomb has gone off. Collapsing on the sofa, I let myself cry until all my tears have dried up. Frustration fills me. I need to speak to Jax. This is a massive misunderstanding. Jax cannot be responsible for what the police are saying. He can’t be.

After I am all cried out, I put the house back together.

Well, as best I can, we’ve only been together for six months.

He gave me a key about a month ago; having spent most nights here, I have a bit of an idea of where things go.

As I wander about the house, putting things back where I think they belong, I look at all his possessions.

It never crossed my mind before, but everything in this house is worth a fortune, from the smart appliances in the kitchen to the paintings on the wall.

I’ve just googled one artist, and his work sells for hundreds of thousands apiece.

Then there's Jax’s office, which had three computers in it.

Well, at least I think it was three. I’ve only ever been in there once; he keeps it locked “just in case,” he says.

Just in case of what? I do not know. What does a lorry driver need an office for, anyway?

How has he afforded all this? He hasn’t really spoken much of his family.

Maybe they are wealthy and buy him things?

Goodness knows. I just wish I could speak to him. I miss him; I’m so worried about him.

It’s well into the early hours when I’m finished tidying up, so I get in Jax’s bed. The tears flow as I breathein his scent off his pillow.

My alarm goes off at 7:00 a.m. I smile as my eyes open, thinking it’s all a dream—until I reach over to Jax’s side of the bed to find it empty and cold.

I use the shower, get dressed, lock up, and go to my apartment to change and get ready for work. I still haven’t heard from Jax. I ring the police station, but they don’t tell me anything I don’t already know.

At work, my brave poker face seems to have everyone fooled other than my manager, Bella, but she is one of my best friends.

As soon as she asks me what’s wrong, I burst into tears.

I don’t tell her the whole truth, as I’m not sure what is true and what isn’t right now; not being able to face any lectures, I say, “Jax left me yesterday morning and hasn’t spoken to me since.

” It’s not a lie. I’m just leaving out a lot of detail.

“Oh no, Katie. Come here.” Bella gives me a hug, and I cry it out. She asks if I want to take some time off, but I don’t. Being here helps to take my mind off things.

The next couple of days are a blur. I am sick with worry, but I put on a happy face while my mind works in overdrive.

When I finish work on Friday, I realise I haven’t collected my post from my mailbox in a while. All the apartments have their own mailboxes at the hotel reception. When I get down there, I find it much fuller than usual, even for a few days' worth of post.

As I look through the pile, I realise they are birthday cards.

Oh my goodness, tomorrow is my birthday.

My thirtieth birthday. With everything that has been going on, it completely slipped my mind.

Not feeling like opening them now, I leave them in my apartment and go to Jax’s house.

I let myself in, looking for any signs of life or that Jax may have been home.

But no. I’m not sure why I’m disappointed.

I didn’t expect to find him here. I’m sure he will ring me the moment he gets released.

I put on Jax’s favourite hoodie, grab my comfort teddy, Snuggly, out of my bag and get into his bed.