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CHAPTER NINETEEN

ROMAN

I need to hit something. I’m so fucking mad. That son of a bitch knows who I am. He knows I’m no fucking reverend, and he knows why I’m here.

When I read the message outside the hospital, I had every intention of going in there to throttle the bastard and finish the job. But once I go in there, he made damn sure I wouldn’t hurt him.

No, instead he put Sydney’s safety all on me. Let’s not forget the little sweetener of him knowing the person responsible for his attack and, apparently, the murder of my sister. So, if I want to find them, I’d need to make sure he and Sydney both stayed alive.

I shouldn’t give a fuck about Sydney or him taking their next breath, but a part of me—one I’m not happy with right now—is keeping me from saying fuck it and doing what we came here for.

And here I am, sitting outside the hospital and fighting myself with doing just that. Amos gave me a name, but as I stare at the Google search results for John Smith, I can’t help but laugh. It’s not his real name, which Kincaid refused to give to me, and before I could force the matter, the nurse came in when his machine started beeping and threw me out.

The fact Kincaid knows this person has me wondering if they are working together. Or were at some point. There has to be another way to find this fucker, a connection between Kincaid and the victims we can follow.

My phone rings, flashing Sydney’s name across the screen. I let it go to voicemail. I can’t talk to her right now. Not after the way I fucking badgered her earlier. I let my emotions get the better of me, but between Kincaid’s attack, not finding anything in his house, then his revelations, I was ready to blow at anyone.

When a voicemail message pops up on my phone, I hit play.

“Ro, where the fuck are you? We’ve got a big problem.” Blake’s panicked voice fills the car, then before the call ends, I hear Sydney coughing in the background.

“Fucking hell! What the fuck is going on now?” I mutter, starting the engine and driving away from the hospital. I hit redial and try to call Sydney back, but no one answers, and I put my foot down. Thankfully her house isn’t too far from the hospital.

Pulling up to the house, I see the burnt orange colour of flames licking up the front door and the glass is broken. Smoke billows out from inside the house, and there’s no way for me to get inside from the front.

Jesus fucking Christ!

Jumping from the car, I duck down the narrow alley at the side of Syd’s house, which leads to the back gardens of the houses either side, and as I draw closer, I can hear the blaring of her fire alarm. At the end of the alley, it splits to the left and right. Bending, I pull a small blade from a sheath beneath my trouser leg, then use the fence for cover as I peer round the corner in the direction of Sydney’s back gate. It’s pitch black, and the single streetlamp down this part of the alley is out, making it impossible to see even my hand in front of my face.

With no other option, I edge along the fence until I find the back gate, only it’s already open. Pushing on it gently, the old, rickety wooden frame creaks as it swings inward, revealing the empty back garden.

I’ve no idea if they are still inside. Sirens echo in the distance, growing louder as they draw closer. Slipping through the gap, I walk the edges of the garden, using the shadows to hide me. If nothings else, it makes it clear how unprotected Sydney is in this place.

Her back door is accessed via the utility room to the side of the house. As I sidestep along the wall, keeping tight to the house, light fills the space, spilling from the back door, which is obviously open. Maybe they got out. But where the fuck did they go?

My patience at an all-time low, I move again. But I’m halted a second later when the brick beside my head splinters, dust and grit fly around me, getting in my eyes and blurring my vision. Stepping back, from what I assume is the line of sight of whoever the cunt is taking pot shots at me, I rub my eyes, swiping my face down the sleeve of my coat.

“Blake! Sydney! You there?” I call out, needing to know they are safe.

“Find the fucker, Ro. The fucking house is going up in flames,” Blake yells back, although the sound is dulled slightly.

With no weapon, other than a piddly fucking blade, which ain’t going to do shit long range, and not enough time to go back round the front and find this guy, I take a few steps back towards the garden and hope like hell this is going to work.

Finding my phone, I switch the torch on low and scan it round the garden. As the leg of a garden table comes into view of the dim torch light, I head to it and hope the shooter can’t see me from his position—wherever that is. I’m guessing, without looking over the fence, either in next door or on the flat roof of their extension. I tuck my phone and blade away and pick the square table up. It’s a rusty metal thing that’s seen better days, but it should do what I need it to.

This time when I reach the path to the back door, I switch sides, and slide along the fence until I’m standing in front of the open back door. Smoke is slowly filling the room, but I can just make out two shadows hunched together.

Raising the table over my head, I take a step forward. When nothing happens, I take another and another. Reaching the back doorstep, there’s a ping of metal on metal. Happy to see the table isn’t as flimsy as I thought, I hurry the rest of the way and cross the threshold.

“Blake, Sydney!” I hiss, placing the table down as they step through the smoky air in front of me.

“Took your fucking time, man. What the fuck are you doing with the…oh, I see. Good move.”

My eyes scan him from head to toe, noting the dark wet patch on his shoulder, which is growing every second. Then I scan Sydney, who looks unhurt.

“We need to get out of here before the cops arrive,” I say, noting Sydney’s frown. I’m guessing she’s wondering why the fuck we’re avoiding the cops. Setting that aside to explain later, I continue, “Once you get to the fence, you need to stay tight to it. He can’t get a shot that way. Sydney, I’ll take you first and come back for Blake.”

“No, take Blake. He’s injured.” She pushes him forward a little and steps in behind him.

“Not happening. Now let’s go,” I demand, raising the table over my head and turning to face the back door. “Hold on to my waist, and we’ll take small steps, starting with the left leg, okay?”

I can hear Blake whispering to her that he’ll be right behind her, then I feel her hands at my waist, fisting my coat. Turning my head, I say, “Closer, Sydney.” She moves closer while sending daggers my way. “Good. You ready?” She nods, and I start walking slowly.

When the first bullet hits the top of the table, Sydney let’s out a squeal and pushes me forward so that we crash into the fence opposite. After that, I get Blake across quickly and we get the fuck out just before the fire brigade arrive.

Sydney is quiet in the back of the car as I drive toward our place. And while I’ve no doubt she’s in shock and has a million questions, which she’s cautious about asking given our last conversation, I’m more concerned about getting Blake’s gunshot checked.

As I turn off and head out of London, I feel Blake look over at me. “Where are you going?”

“Where do you think?”

He looks over his shoulder to Sydney, then lowering his voice, he says, “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“You got a better one? Besides, things have changed.”

Vance is at the gate house when we pull up thirty minutes later, and I roll down the window as we stop beside him.

“Wasn’t expecting you to be back so soon. The old guy d?—”

“Just open the gate. Blake’s been shot,” I say, cutting him off. Probably should have messaged ahead so he didn’t open his big fucking mouth. Hopefully, Sydney is still too shocked to have caught on.

“Oh fuck!” Vance says, stepping back inside to open the gates.

I hear a gasp from behind as I drive through the gates and down the smooth tarmac driveway.

“What is this place?” Sydney asks, and Blake twists in his seat to answer.

“Welcome to Stonebridge Manor,” he drawls, pride ringing in his tone. “This is Ro’s home.”

I look in the rearview mirror to see a wide-eyed Sydney scanning the grounds, taking in the high walls and huge manor house up ahead.

Any hope of keeping Sydney in the dark about who I really am, who my family are, and why I was posing as a reverend at her father’s church is about to be shot to shit.

It feels good to be home, but it’s not the homecoming I envisioned when Blake I set out to catch Annabel’s killer. Not only have we not done that, but we’re bringing the daughter of the man we suspect into my home.

“Our home,” I correct him as I keep my focus on parking the car.

“Hold on…this is…you…” Sydney stammers as Blake and I get out, neither of us waiting for her.

A car door slams behind us as we reach the front steps, then heavy footsteps crunch across the gravel.

“Wait…I don’t understand.”

“You will, but after I fix Blake’s gunshot wound up. Come on,” I say, heading up the steps and in through the front door as it opens for us.