Approaching on foot across the fields, Luke paused opposite the pub. It was obviously under demolition. He noted the shuttered windows, the door to the main entrance hanging off its hinges. The stone walls at the front of the building were crumbling, the thatched roof caving in. The place looked as if it hadn’t seen a soul for years. But for his instinct screaming at him that his daughter was near, he might have doubted anyone was here.
He swept his gaze over the building again. Claire had rung him. She’d told Myers he was searching the streets for Ella in the hope that she’d wandered out. She’d bought him some time. Luke was now debating the wisdom of coming here, though. Wouldn’t the police be better equipped to deal with the situation if Anna was inside with his daughter?
Imagining that scene, armed marksmen all over the place, he shuddered inwardly. Anna had no problem harming herself. Luke doubted she would have reservations about harming anyone else if she thought she was cornered. His hand going involuntarily to his cheek, anger burned steadily inside him.
Slipping further into the foliage at the perimeter of the field, he made his way along until he felt it was safe to cross the road unnoticed. If she was inside and she was keeping a lookout, he guessed – hoped – it would be from the front of the building.
Minutes later, he was in the grounds at the back of the pub, scanning the shutters on the doors and windows as he approached. Only one window wasn’t boarded up, and that was on the first floor. His heart sank. Shit! There had to be another way. He couldn’t just walk in through the front door. Squeezing behind old beer crates stacked behind the pub, he cursed silently again as he crunched broken glass underfoot, and then stopped and listened. Not a sound. Growing desperate, he glanced around – and his gaze snagged on the doors to the beer cellar. They were probably locked, but there was a chance they might not be.
He moved carefully across to them. Bingo. The doors were wooden, rotting, the long hinges flapping. It didn’t take him long to prise one loose and slide down the barrel skids to the floor. He stayed crouched for a second and tried to orientate himself. The place stank of stale beer and mould. There had clearly been no one down here in ages. Apart from the rats. His stomach recoiled, a cold chill running through him as something bulbous, trailing a scaly tail behind it, scurried over the hand he’d placed flat on the floor. Shit!
Snatching his hand away, he pulled himself to his feet and squinted through the dark to the thin shaft of light filtering under what he assumed was the door up to the pub. Praying that it was open, that there were no surprises on the other side of it, he headed towards it. Once up the steps, he pressed down on the handle and breathed a considerable sigh of relief when the door gave. His heart thudding erratically against his chest, he waited a second, and then eased it further open and stepped cautiously out.
The bar area was dark behind the shuttered windows, the same stale beer smell hanging in the air. The furniture, dark oak in keeping with the antiquated feel of the place, still stood where he imagined it had been when the final last orders were called. There were no signs of life other than another scuffling rat and the spiders that had taken up residence in the absence of humans. Venturing into the corridor, he was about to check out the lounge bar and the living quarters when he heard the floor creaking overhead. He froze, his heart skidding into his throat. He heard it again. There was something up there. He had no idea whether it was animal or human. Whatever it was, it was heavier than a bird or a rat – and it was moving.
His gaze snapped to the stairs at the end of the corridor. Every sinew in his body tensing, he moved silently towards them, his heart rate slowing to a dull thud in his chest as he grabbed hold of the handrail. He’d never thought there would come a day when he would be terrified of a slimly built woman, but he was; terrified for his child. Bracing himself, he mounted the stairs, checking ahead of him as he went.
Once on the landing, he pressed the flat of one hand against the first door he reached, pushing down the handle with the other, and eased it open to find a small bedroom, empty apart from an old bed frame and a stained mattress.
He went to the next room along. Seeing that was also empty, he moved silently to a third room, located at the back of the pub over the living quarters, he guessed. His mouth parched, his hand visibly shaking, he reached for the door handle, prayed hard and eased it down. A movement from inside made him shove the door open. When he did, his heart careered to a stop in his chest.
Anna was standing on the opposite side of the room. A section of floorboards running around the edge of the room supported her. Above her, the roof was open to the elements. Between her and Luke there was a direct drop to the rubble-strewn floor of the room below. His blood froze as she adjusted her footing, causing more debris to fall and crash into the twisted beams and broken brickwork beneath them – just as surely as his child’s small body would if she dropped her. Noting the hatred in her eyes as she glared at him, he didn’t dare look away; other than to glance at his daughter, who appeared to be sleeping in her arms. Not through this she wasn’t. Not unless she was drugged. Luke felt something splinter inside him.
‘Anna,’ he said hoarsely.
‘Sophie!’ she spat. ‘Fuck off, Luke.’
Luke didn’t react. Didn’t move, even to wipe away the bead of perspiration rolling down his cheek. ‘Let her go, Sophie,’ he said, his voice calm, terror tightening his stomach.
‘Try to get anywhere near me and I will.’ Her gaze slid meaningfully downwards.
Panic climbed Luke’s throat. ‘She’s four years old. Just an innocent child,’ he tried. ‘She’s done nothing—’
‘Precisely!’ Sophie shrieked over him. ‘Do you think she deserves any of this?’
Luke’s gut turned over. He had no idea what she was talking about. Holding his breath, he watched helplessly as she heaved Ella higher in her arms. She hadn’t stirred. Hadn’t so much as twitched. Was she even breathing? His own breath hitched in his chest.
‘To have a lying, abusive bastard as a grandfather?’ Sophie went on nonsensically, her face contorted with rage, her tone full of acid venom. ‘And as a father, a man who was prepared to sacrifice his daughter by cheating on his wife?’
Luke quietly assessed her. He’d got that right, if nothing else. The woman was a complete fantasist. ‘But I didn’t cheat on my wife, did I?’ he pointed out.
Confusion played across her face for a second. Then, ‘It was only a matter of time,’ she said, smiling contemptuously. ‘You know it, Luke. Claire knows it, too, but she’s just too needy to tell you to piss off. As for her,’ she nodded down at Ella, ‘she’s better off dead. I mean, what kind of a future would she have with you as a father and a self-centred bitch for a mother, too busy bleating on about her problems to care properly for—’
‘It’s over!’ Luke shouted. He was a breath away from telling her about Bernard, but stopped. There was a possibility she might have had nothing to do with it and didn’t know he was dead. If so, that information could tip her over the edge. ‘It’s over, Sophie,’ he repeated quietly. ‘Whatever Bernard did, it’s in the past. Claire had nothing to do with it. No more than you did. You must realise that. Please, don’t do this.’
Her dark eyes hardened, but she didn’t flinch.
Luke’s gaze darted to the side of the room and back to her. The boards looked intact enough round the edge. What would she do if he tried to get to her? ‘Sophie, whatever you think of me, please don’t take it out on—’
‘You’re pathetic,’ she sneered over him. ‘Poor hard-done-by little man, whose wifey was too busy trying to look after his child and her demented father to find time to pander to him. Do you honestly think I would have wanted a selfish bastard like you anywhere near me if I hadn’t wanted to get to Claire?’
His mind on how to reach his child, Luke couldn’t think how to answer. She’d used him, that was clear. To what end? She must know they would have reported Ella missing, that the police would be looking for her. Did she think she could just walk away from this? His stomach clenched painfully as he realised that she was probably so out of touch with reality she wasn’t even considering the consequences. ‘What do you want, Sophie?’ he asked her.
‘To even the score,’ she said matter-of-factly.
Sweat wetted Luke’s shirt, ran in rivulets down his back, as he noticed her hoisting Ella up again. She was growing heavy. Too heavy.
Fear lodged itself like a shard of glass in his windpipe. ‘Why?’ he asked frantically. ‘What did Claire ever do to you? What did—’
‘Exist!’ she yelled. ‘My mother died in absolute terror because of your wife’s parents! I had no one! Nothing! While poor sorry-for-herself little Claire had everything! Everything I should have—’ She stopped, her eyes growing wide with alarm at the sound of a door banging downstairs.
‘Who’s with you?’ she hissed. Her gaze shooting past him, she gathered Ella tighter to her, and then, glancing down, shuffled sideways towards the unboarded window.
Jesus Christ. What was she going to do? Luke’s heart froze, and then slammed against his chest as her foot slipped, causing more debris to rain down on the rubble below.
Fuck! Instinctively, he moved. His focus on his baby, panic driving him, he stepped onto the jagged boarding to the side of him. He’d managed two precarious steps when the rotten wood snapped beneath him.