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

In fact, I’m actually a crap lawyer; it was the sheer will to prove you wrong that got me through.”

This drew a smile, but only for a moment. It was gone two pm on day one of the two-day window to save Isabella. Time was running short, and Abbie felt woefully behind the curve in terms of piecing together what was going on, where the child might be, and how Abbie could save her.

Luckily, despite what Abbie claimed, Ana had been brilliant in the police interview. Her evident capability allowed Abbie to stop worrying about whether she would be released and to focus on DCI Kilman’s line of questioning.

Most of it was as Abbie had expected. The spectre of Hammond had hung over the conversation. Kilman had alluded to his deceased colleague several times as he harangued Abbie about her alleged altercation with Ndidi and Gary; the convenience of her arriving in town—without a good explanation for why she was here—hours before Ndidi’s daughter was kidnapped, her au pair murdered.

More interesting was what Kilman failed to ask. The interview started after midday, yet there had been no mention of Davesh. There was no chance the bodies had yet to be found as the dealership had opened hours ago, and Abbie struggled to believe the police would not have connected the crime to Abbie. After all, Kilman’s main argument for Abbie’s involvement in Isabella’s kidnapping was that she happened to arrive in town hours before, even though she had been locked up when the actual event took place.

Something was missing. Abbie could not help but wonder if Christine had something to do with the absence of what seemed to be a relevant line of questioning. Why had the young Detective snuck into the dealership anyway? Having learned Christine's profession, Abbie found the events of the previous night all the more suspicious.

Because of the setting, because it might implicate her unnecessarily, Abbie asked no questions. She listened and watched as Ariana dismantled DCI Kilman’s arguments and secured Abbie's release under caution. After all, there was no evidence Abbie had anything to do with Isabella and the au pair; turning up in a new town without explanation was not a crime. Possibly, Kilman had the assault, but the evidence was sketchy. Inconsistent statements by police officers who couldn’t have been close enough to see clearly what was happening and a teenager with drugs in his system did not necessarily help the case. Their most powerful witness, Ndidi, hadn't provided a statement at all. Though he had found the time for a suspicious off-the-record interview with Abbie before learning about Isabella’s kidnap.

“Don’t go far,” Kilman had said as Abbie left the station. “I’m sure we’ll be speaking again soon.”

The pseudo threat didn’t frighten Abbie. By that point, her mind was focused on finding Isabella. Nothing else.

“You did good,” she told Ana as they made their way down the stone steps.

“Glad I could help,” said Ana. “And I want to apologise again for trying to kill you. It wasn’t on.”

“That’s one way of putting it, but I don’t care about me. People are forever trying to end my life. You get used to it.”

“Well, Jacob, too,” Ana said. A little awkwardly. “If I could apologise to him—“

“Nothing can make up for what you did,” Abbie cut in. “I stopped you from forcing a seventeen-year-old into performing sexual acts on your boyfriend, but in my book, that brings you no closer to absolution. Intent is what matters, and you’ll never scrub your slate clean following intentions like those."

Guilt and regret still plagued Ana’s eyes, but she stayed strong in the face of Abbie’s words. Her lip didn’t tremble, and she didn’t break eye contact.

“I know,” she said. “I’ll shoulder my guilt for the rest of my life. The weight might break my back, but I deserve that. I’ll fight to stay standing in my suffering, and I’ll work to be, you know, less of an arsehole.”

“Good luck,” said Abbie, moderating the sarcasm that crept into her tone. “And thank you for getting me out of there.”

As far as Abbie was concerned, this marked the end of their brief reunion, but as she turned away, Ana cleared her throat and spoke.

“I know I failed to kill you, but I can kick arse.”

Abbie’s brow creased, and she turned slowly back to Ana.

“I don’t know what that statement's trying to achieve. Could be a threat, could be a boast… you’ll have to help me out.”

“I’m saying I can be your homes.”

For Abbie, this went no way towards shedding light on Ana’s previous comments and, in fact, further confused matters.

“Is that slang? Like homies?”

“No, listen, I may be a bad person, but I’m not evil. Some bastards have kidnapped a little girl, and even I can see that’s not right.”

“Well noticed, you’re a moral beacon. What’s your point?”

“I want to help rescue her.”

At this, Abbie almost laughed. She shook her head.

"No chance."

"You can use me."

"Undoubtedly," said Abbie. "Sociopathic tendencies aside, you're obviously capable, intelligent, and you’d go to certain extreme lengths that can be useful when facing the kind of people who would murder a young woman and kidnap a child."

"Well then," said Ana, “let me be the Holmes to your Watson."

It clicked. Ana had meant Holmes, as in Sherlock, rather than homes, as in a collection of houses. As Abbie was marvelling at the mistake, the station's front doors opened, and Christine Lakes appeared.

"Firstly," said Abbie to Ana, "it's the other way around. You'd be the Watson to my Holmes. Secondly, it's not about your suitability. I don't want you around. I don't care if I could use you. It isn't going to happen because after what you did, I can barely stand to look at you. So go home. I have a child to locate.”

Turning away from her impromptu lawyer, Abbie tracked Christine’s progress down the station’s stone steps.

“And I think I know exactly where to start my search.”

Twelve

Abbie tracked Christine’s progress to the bottom of the