Louise Voss & Mark Edwards 3-Book Thriller Collection: Catch Your Death, All Fall Down, Killing Cupid

Sampson ended the call.

Good little Amelia. He was half-tempted to go and find a pink teddy bear to take to her as a reward for being so helpful. He wouldn’t, of course. But he would be visiting her house soon.

Like any good fisherman knows, if you want to catch that big fish, you need the right bait.

Chapter 30 (#ulink_99ef2cb5-6f19-54fb-87d2-5dbb3e328735)

‘They’ve got rooms here, upstairs,’ said Paul, returning from the bar and waving a key on a large plastic fob, trying unsuccessfully to keep a smile off his face at the thought of an available double bed so close above their heads to where they were sitting.

‘Oh. Good!’ Kate said brightly. Paul couldn’t tell if she was excited or petrified.

‘Shall we?’ Paul held out his arm for her.

‘Let’s,’ she agreed. ‘But I need to get my bag out of the boot first. Can you give me the car keys?’

Paul felt the blood drain from his face, and Kate frowned. ‘What’s the matter – you haven’t lost them, have you?’

‘Er . . . no, I don’t think so,’ he stuttered, making a big show of patting down his jeans pockets. ‘No . . . here they are. I tell you what, could you get us a couple of drinks to take upstairs? I’ll get your bag for you. Meet you back here in a minute – I’ll have a large brandy, if that’s OK.’

He was gone before Kate had a chance to object; bolting out into the car park. He had to lean against the back wall of the pub for a moment, breathing heavily at the thought of Kate discovering the shotgun, so soon after she’d decided to trust him after all.

He retrieved Kate’s overnight bag, and then did some discreet rearranging of the boot’s contents, so that the shotgun was now hidden underneath a plastic groundsheet he kept in there, pushed right to the back, and covered up by a pair of wellington boots and a tennis racket in its case. It wasn’t ideal to have it so inaccessible, he thought – but he couldn’t take the risk that she might discover it, and panic completely.

‘Thank you,’ Kate said when he got back. She handed him a glass of amber liquid. ‘I’m not sure whether you were being super-chivalrous by getting my bag for me, or super-unchivalrous, by making me buy the drinks!’

He managed a smile. ‘Oh, chivalrous, definitely. You never know who might be hanging around pub car parks at night.’

‘No,’ Kate said, serious again. ‘I guess you don’t.’

They both paused, thinking of the terrifying events of the day. ‘Come on, Paul, let’s go and lock ourselves out of harm’s way for the night, shall we?’

‘I can’t think of anything I’d rather do,’ Paul said fervently.

Their room was cramped and smelled slightly of stale cigarettes, but it seemed clean enough. It was dominated by a large bed with a white candlewick bedspread, crammed around which were a small wardrobe, a wall-mounted television, and two bedside tables. The sound of the jukebox floated up through the floor. Kate switched on the light long enough to put their drinks down and their bags on the carpet, and then switched it straight off again, so the only light came through a gap in the curtains from a streetlight outside.

‘Come here,’ Paul said, more bravely than he felt, taking Kate into his arms as soon as he had locked the door behind them. They kissed, and immediately toppled on to the bed.

‘Ah, that’s better,’ Paul murmured, as they allowed their clothed bodies to fit together from top to toe. He rolled on top of her, breaking away from their kiss to lean across her, take a swig of the brandy on the bedside table, and offer her the glass too. When he kissed her again, he tasted the sweet fire of the alcohol on both their tongues. He thought he had never wanted anybody quite as much.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked, a few moments later, when Kate still hadn’t said anything. She was kissing him back with what he thought was enthusiasm, but it was dark in the room, and he suddenly worried that perhaps he’d moved too fast for her.

To his relief, she laughed. ‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘I’m absolutely fine. Let’s have a shower. All that fear got me quite sweaty.’

‘Great idea.’

She pushed him off her, and rolled herself off the bed and into the bathroom. A moment later he heard the sound of water splattering into the bath tub, and the ripping sound of a shower curtain being pulled along a rail. He wondered if she meant for him to come in with her, or if she wanted them to shower separately. It would be awful if he barged in there unwelcome. He dithered, stalling for time by taking off his shoes, socks, and belt, and then she reappeared. In the dim light he saw that she was stripping off her top, and then her bra. Her breasts were beautiful, and he groaned with lust.

‘Can I come into the shower with you?’ he asked, grabbing her again, unable to stop himself cupping her breasts and rubbing his face in them.

‘Of course,’ she said, giggling. ‘I need someone to wash my back for me, and you’ll have to do.’

‘Oh, you’ve definitely picked the right man for the job,’ he murmured, helping her out of her jeans and underwear until she stood before him naked. ‘Washing backs is my speciality and your body is gorgeous.’

‘Well, thank you. Come on then, get your kit off so I can see yours too.’

Paul liked this assertive, overtly sexy version of Kate. He felt he was getting a glimpse of a side of her that she’d kept hidden from him until now, and it was a huge turn-on. He slipped his hand up the inside of her thigh, and stroked her between her legs. She moaned, and then giggled again.

‘Stop it, otherwise we’ll never make it into the shower.’

Two minutes later they were both jostling for position, under a frankly very feeble stream of water. In order to even get both their bodies wet enough to wash, a great deal of touching was required.

‘Budge up, my back’s getting cold,’ Paul pretended to grumble, pushing himself up against her.

‘I’ll warm you up,’ she said seductively, hauling him to her by clasping his buttocks, and then putting one of her feet up on the side of the bath, so it just seemed completely natural for Paul to slide himself inside of her. They both gasped with pleasure, which soon changed to shock, as the shower suddenly turned icy. Paul leaned forward and turned off the taps, without breaking his stride.

‘Oh god, this is wonderful,’ Kate said, as his thrusts increased in urgency. Paul was alarmed to see tears rolling down her cheeks, although she hadn’t made a sound.

‘Kate, what’s wrong? Am I hurting you?

She sniffed and laughed and slapped him on the arm. ‘Don’t flatter yourself ! No, you aren’t hurting me. It’s just so . . . lovely. It’s been so long since I . . . I never thought . . .’ She dissolved into sobs. Paul pulled out of her.

‘Come on,’ he said, gently putting a towel around her shaking shoulders. ‘Let’s go and get into bed. It’ll be more comfortable.’

He led her out of the bathroom, and the cool air hit their damp skins, making them shiver. The sheets were even colder, but as Paul started to make love to her again, they forgot about everything except the sensations going on between them. Even the terrors of Sampson shooting Mrs Bainbridge, and then trying to kill them – it all receded, temporarily, and Kate and Paul gratefully embraced the reprieve.

Chapter 31 (#ulink_653b8487-c2eb-5569-8c07-42f169a68208)

Kate slipped out of bed into a patch of sunlight. Blue sky was visible through a gap in the curtains, a gentle draft buffing away the scent of last night. Paul was still sleeping, his broad naked shoulder visible above the quilt. She reached down to stroke his face but, not wanting to wake him, thought better of it, and padded to the bathroom instead.

After dressing, she scooped up Paul’s keys from the corner table and crept out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.

The brightness of the morning hurt her eyes, but it felt like a kiss on her skin. She stretched; yawning, smiling. She felt fifteen years younger, a girl of twenty, a girl in love, just waking up to the beauty of the world. All the aches in her body were pleasant ones. His touch reverberated on her lips, her belly and thighs. She was sore between her legs – the kind of soreness that can only be soothed by more sex. She stood still, the pub behind her, and drew in a deep breath

When had she last felt this way? Oh, she knew very well: that summer sixteen years ago with Stephen. It had never been the same with Vernon. Their relationship was more like a science project; no, a business transaction. Each had something the other wanted. She was lonely, her soul bruised by what had happened in England, and she didn’t want intensity, just companionship. Someone to talk to, to go out with. Someone to make her feel safe at night when she woke up shivering, fleeing the fires that roared through her dreams. Vernon wanted somebody to help his career, and Kate, the beautiful and friendly English scientist so respected around the university, was perfect. She was sure he had loved her too, for a time, especially when she became pregnant with the son he so wanted. But Vernon had never taken her breath away. He had never made her feel like running naked down the street, singing.

She headed towards Paul’s car, jangling the keys and humming an old song that she hadn’t heard for years. What was it? Some song that she and Stephen had danced to in his flat. The Cure, that was it. It was called ‘Just Like Heaven’, and the lyrics came back to her: a song about a girl who loved a boy too much; a boy who lost the girl because he couldn’t give her everything she wanted. She had deliberately avoided music from that period for years, because she hadn’t been able to bear the reminder of what she had lost. Now, though, the tune made her feel happy again, and it was all because of last night. When she pressed her body against Paul’s she didn’t feel his brother. When she closed her eyes, she hadn’t seen Stephen. It had all been brand new. She had been afraid that making love with Paul would be like making love to a ghost. In fact, it had been more like an exorcism.

Besides, she thought with a little smile, ghosts aren’t warm. Ghosts don’t leave you feeling tender and sated. Ghosts don’t have eyes and hands that pin you to the bed. Ghosts don’t make you climax like the world is folding in on itself.

Unlocking the car door, she leaned over to the back seat and picked up the envelope that Mrs Bainbridge had given her.

Kate used to think that Stephen had been stolen from her by fate, by God or destiny or bad luck. Now, she was sure the thieves had human hands. Sampson, of course. He must have had something to do with it. But who else? And why? She carried the envelope back to the room hoping its contents held some answers; at the same time dreading what she might find.

Paul was sitting up in bed when she got back.

‘Were you dreaming about being dragged through a hedge backwards?’ she laughed, going over and smoothing down his hair and kissing his stubbly face.

‘Eh? I thought you’d done a runner.’