Miss No One, Mark Ayre [romantic love story reading .TXT] 📗

you think you control me. Well, allow me to show you how wrong you are."

"Abbie, come now—"

"Stick your contract," she said. "I quit."

And she slammed the phone back into its cradle.

Ten

Abbie's hands were shaking. She was practising deep, slow breathing, but it was doing little to help. Without closing her eyes, all she could see was the tormented face of the dying Isabella.

Isabella.

Damn, she wished Ndidi hadn't told her the name.

Fifty-eight seconds after Abbie had slammed the phone into the cradle, cutting short her conversation with that arsehole, Ben, she collected it again. Her fingers went to the dial-pad. The tip of her index finger rested against the rubber button, emblazoned with the first number she would need to press to get Ben back.

She didn't want to say she hated Ben and the organisation he represented. Hate didn't go far enough. At that moment, Loathing didn't seem to come close, so maybe the right word didn't exist.

Abbie took her finger away. There was a tear in her eye. The picture of Isabella was blurring together with one of Bobby.

Two worlds colliding.

Abbie slammed down the phone.

Picked it up again, three seconds later. Her index finger rested once more on button one.

This was unfair. A churning in Abbie's stomach made her worry she might throw up on the phone before she found the strength to either put it down for good or admitted defeated and called back that bastard.

He had played it well. In Abbie's idle moments, when Bobby wasn't around, when she couldn't prevent her mind twisting in the direction of her employer, she had always known this was coming. She had known Ben wouldn't reveal his hand until he had Abbie backed into a corner or bent over a barrel.

He had been awaiting her call, even before he knew she was on another mission. Every time Abbie went to save a life, she ended several. Ben's team were used to swooping in and making the evidence disappear, ensuring Abbie was never cornered by the police and asked any tricky questions.

Ben was waiting for Abbie to kill someone. He would expect her to ring while still free. Before the police had any idea there was a murder victim to be found and, therefore, a murderer to be hunted. Ben could have made that situation work, but it wasn't ideal because Abbie could continue trying to save Isabella without him, risking arrest to get the job done.

When Abbie rang from a police station and told Ben her story, it must have felt like Christmas come early. With Abbie unable to continue her mission without Ben's help, he had more leverage than he would ever have imagined. Abbie needed Ben to bail her out. Possibly literally. Presumably grinning from ear to ear, he had happily spilt his ultimatum.

There was nothing to be done. When it came to it, the choice was simple.

Cut Bobby from her life, or allow Isabella to die.

When put like that, it was a no brainer. Nothing could come before the child. Abbie's happiness could not be elevated above a little girl's right to live.

There was no choice.

Abbie started typing the number.

She couldn't lie about her relationship. Ben would know. Abbie dreaded to think of what might happen if she tried to pull the wool over his eyes.

The phone began to ring.

Abbie didn't have anyone else. No one besides Ben could...

Once again, Abbie slammed the phone into the cradle.

This time, she kept her hand fixed to the handset. Her heart was pounding. A face flashed into her mind.

It wasn't Bobby's face, nor Isabella's.

The selfless move would be to pick up the phone and call Ben. Someone who had a track record in helping her. Someone with the infrastructure to ensure she saved Isabella's life.

Collecting the phone, Abbie typed in a number. The phone began to ring.

After fifteen seconds, someone answered.

"Hello?"

It was a woman. Abbie was only human, and humans were selfish. It was one of humanity's most prominent traits.

She was taking a significant risk, but she thought of Bobby's smile and couldn't stop herself.

"Hey, it's Abbie King," she said. "I'm probably way out of line, but... I really need your help."

The bored uniform led Abbie back to her cell. Closed her in. Abbie sat on the bed and tried to count the minutes as they slipped by.

By the time there was another knock on her cell door, and it began to open, Midday was only minutes away. The only bright side of the idle hours was that her ankle had recovered. Walking no longer caused her to wince.

Abbie had been obsessing over the Isabella situation, which had the positive side-effect of driving out thoughts of Ben and Bobby. But was otherwise a pain in the arse.

Thoughts of Isabella weren't new. Ropes of worry had coiled within Abbie's stomach since she'd woken from her dream at midnight, almost twelve hours previously. Her concern had ramped up when she'd learned the girl's name, seen a picture of her in normal circumstances, rather than pain and terror. The coils had become tangled. When Abbie had learned someone had kidnapped the child, the tangle had developed a knot, and the knot had been tightening ever since.

Every time Abbie closed her eyes, she saw snapshots from her dream: the girl's pained, terrified expression. Abbie's reaction was visceral. Some dark aspect of her subconscious whispered.

You've already failed. You let that girl die.

It wasn't true. Rising from the bed, Abbie had paced the small cell, circle after circle after circle. Like a madwoman or a genius, she had whispered to herself. The same words on repeat. A mantra.

"Isabella isn't dead."

Abbie wasn't one for false hope. She was a realist. Her assertion that Ndidi's daughter had yet to meet a grim end was not an empty one, invoked only to reduce Abbie's guilt in the short term. It was based on experience.

On over fifty occasions, Abbie had woken from a nightmare at midnight on the dot, the face of a stranger who would soon be