Only Daughter: A gripping thriller of deadly deceit. Anna Snoekstra

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      When he sat next to her, she could feel the radiating heat of his body. They made smutty jokes as they watched the others play; she lit up when she managed to make him laugh. He told her secrets. She listened. She wished he would kiss her. He didn’t. But he took her hand once and squeezed it, his eyes staring at her intensely. He didn’t have to say anything; she could guess what he was thinking. She was too young. When they were working late one night he’d told her that a friend of his had a rule. You could date someone half your age, plus seven years. Any younger than that was wrong.

      “So, when do you turn seventeen?” he’d said, like it was a joke. It had been three months away then. Only one now. She would just have to be patient.

      Bec’s foundation was starting to melt off. She pushed herself to walk a little faster. McDonald’s had air conditioning. Not that it helped much in the drive-through. Fingers crossed she was just at the main counter today. Then she felt it again, that prickling feeling. She turned. There was no one behind her. The street was strangely empty. Everyone was locked away in air conditioning. She quickened her pace, the back of her neck still prickling.

      When she got off the bus after work the sky was black. The air was still heavy and hot. Her suburb was always silent when she came home late. When she walked around Lizzie’s street at night, it felt like it breathed—lights on, windows open, people laughing, music playing. There was the welcome smell of hot dinners wafting out of the screen doors.

      In Bec’s suburb, everyone shut their curtains tight, so you could just see the blue glow of televisions around the edges.

      She couldn’t wait to get home, to open her front door to a cool house. Her family sitting in front of the television, laughing along to some dumb sitcom. To feel the relief of being comfortable, included and safe. Of being home.

      At least, she wished that’s what it would be like. But that was someone else’s family. Not hers.

      Her limbs were starting to ache as she walked up the hill to her street. It had been a long shift. Ellen was angry with her; she’d been ten minutes late after all. When she’d seen her reflection in the stainless steel, she saw her running makeup and frizzy hair. There was nothing she could do about it either. Sitting in the drive-through window, she could feel her forearms starting to burn; she hadn’t even put sunscreen on.

      That doomsday feeling started to creep up on her. That feeling when she was so tired that everything started to feel wrong. She tried not to think about Luke. If she did, she would start to pick it apart; to worry. To realize he didn’t like her at all, that she was being an idiot and everyone was laughing at her.

      She approached her house slowly. It was dark. Every window pitch-black.

3

      2014

      A tube of white light surfaces in the thick black. I close my eyes again. It’s too bright. My throat is dry and my head throbs. Groaning, I rub my eyes. Something catches on my cheek. Blinking the blurriness away, I look at my wrist. Around it loops a plastic hospital band, with the words Winter, Rebecca in bold type. Looking around groggily, I see the officer from last night asleep in a chair at the foot of the bed.

      Oh, God. This is going to be so much more difficult than I’d thought.

      Standing in that dark toilet block, the cold and fear and exhaustion had seemed like the bigger of two evils. But now, waking up in this hospital bed with a sleeping detective blocking the door, I realize that maybe I’d made a mistake. I’d been so stupid to think that I could just start a brand-new life, that it would be that easy.

      The room is quiet. There is only the sound of the cop’s sleeping breath and the muff led chatter from a few rooms away. There’s a window to my right. Maybe I could make it.

      As quietly as I can, I push myself up to sitting. My arm is bandaged and stinks of antiseptic, but it barely hurts. Must be because of whatever is in the drip attached to my hand. Looking down, I see that I’m wearing nothing but a thin hospital gown and underwear. Someone undressed me. For a moment I could laugh—how many times have I woken up in a strange bed out of my clothes?

      The detective snorts a loud snore, waking himself up.

      “Bec,” he says, rubbing his eyes and smiling.

      I stare at him. No way I’m getting out that door now.

      “Do you remember me from last night? Vincent Andopolis.” He looks at me carefully. This is happening too fast. I have no idea how to answer him.

      “Everything’s a bit fuzzy.” My voice is still thick with sleep and painkillers. Best to keep it simple while I try to figure out what the hell I’m going to do.

      I do remember him. He’s the missing persons detective who’d called my two chauffeur cops “morons.” I hadn’t been able to make out much of him last night; he looks different in the cold, sterile hospital lights. His grey eyes and wide shoulders hint at the attractive man he must have once been, but his gut pushes tightly against his shirt and his hair is more salt than pepper.

      “Have you been here all night?” I ask.

      “Couldn’t have you disappearing again. Your mom is ready to sue us as it is,” he says with a lopsided grin. “How is it feeling?” He motions to my arm.

      “It’s fine,” I say, although it’s throbbing painfully, then notice a small pile of things on the chair next to his. He follows my gaze.

      “Your parents are talking to my partner.” He clears his throat. “There are a few things we still need to do before you can be reunited.”

      There is a pair of pyjama pants, a T-shirt and some underwear all neatly folded on the chair, with a hairbrush on top.

      “They’ve already been in here?” Surely not.

      “They couldn’t really believe it until they saw you.”

      My mind reels. They’ve been in here. They watched me sleep. Yet they still believe I’m their daughter. I guess the bruise on my face worked on them, too. The biggest hurdle was already over and I wasn’t even conscious for it. I can’t help but smile. Andopolis beams back at me.

      “I have to be honest, Bec. I couldn’t be happier to see you. It’s like a miracle.”

      A miracle. What a dope. How could this guy be a missing persons detective? The panic I felt a few seconds ago flushes out of me. Perhaps it won’t be so hard to go through with this.

      “It is a miracle,” I say, flashing him my best shit-eating grin.

      He says nothing, just gazes at me. I guess he thinks we’re sharing a moment.

      “When can I get out of here?” I ask.

      “Probably by the end of the day. We’ve just got a few things to get through and then you’ll be all set.”

      “Like what?”

      “Well, I’ve got a few more urgent questions for you. Then there are some tests to run, just to make sure you’re well.”

      I try СКАЧАТЬ