Detective Inspector Matthew Adams is slowly picking up the pieces from a case that nearly cost him the lives of his entire family and his own sanity too. On the surface, he seems to be moving on, but he drinks to forget – and when he closes his eyes, the nightmares still come.
But the past is the past – or is it? Because the evil Patrick Sullivan might be out of the picture, but there’s somebody who is just as intent on making Matthew’s life hell, and they’re doing it in the cruelest way possible.
When Matthew finds himself accused of a horrific and violent crime, will his family stand by him? And will he even be around to help when his new enemy goes after them as well?
Excerpt – Sins of the Father
‘Charge me, or get out of my way,’ Matthew grated, his jaw tightening.
Searching his eyes, a degree of compassion in his own, Davies shook his head sadly. ‘Sit down, Matthew,’ he said, turning away, ostensibly to pick up his papers. ‘We’ve got every available body on it. There’s nothing you can do. Certainly nothing I can condone. Just sit down and try to stay calm.’
Calm? Matthew stared incredulously after him, as Davies headed for the door. ‘I do not want to bloody well sit down!’ he shouted, his anger mounting dangerously inside him.
Steve was in front of him then, obviously also thinking it was perfectly reasonable to be requested to stay calm while who knew what might be happening to his family. ‘Better do as he says, Matt,’ he advised him sympathetically. Then turned to Anderson, who seemed oblivious or couldn’t-care-less as he sat, still picking at his thumbnail. ‘Can’t you get his bloody asthma meds?’ Steve asked him. ‘Instead of sitting there like a spare dick at a wedding?’
Matthew watched, utterly disbelieving, as Anderson got to his feet with absolutely no sense of urgency, as Davies left the room, now wittering into his phone about motorway surveillance, as if that could do any good. Had he even despatched anyone to bring Hayes in yet? Was he doing anything?
Clearly, he wasn’t. Matthew’s heart sank to a whole new level. Which meant that his staying here was not an option. He needed to get to Hayes. Find out what he knew. He needed to do it now. A distinct wheeze rattling his chest, Matthew turned to Steve. ‘Move, Steve,’ he asked him, eyeing him levelly.
‘Look, Matt, we’ll find them,’ Steve tried. ‘We’ve got eyes on the motorways. We—’
‘She’s not on the fucking motorways!’ Matthew yelled, his rage spilling over. ‘For Christ’s sake, Steve, we can’t even contact them by phone!’ Oh, for … This was useless. ‘I need to go,’ he said, pushing past him.
‘Uh, uh.’ Anderson, who’d paused at the door to watch proceedings, no doubt for kicks, stepped back into the room. ‘You need to stay rational, mate,’ he said, approaching Matthew. ‘You know the score. You can sit and wait here, or you can have a nice comfy cell. Either way, you’re going nowhere.’
With which, he took hold of Matthew’s arm and attempted to manhandle him towards the seat. That did it. Blind anger and impotent frustration driving him, Matthew shoved the man back hard.
Caught off guard, Anderson stumbled, crashing heavily backwards into the wall behind him. ‘You prat,’ he growled, shaking his head and heaving himself upright.
Matthew clenched his fist at his side, itching to punch the bastard’s lights out as Anderson advanced on him. ‘Don’t,’ he warned him.
‘And who’s going to stop me? You?’ Obviously hearing the now almost debilitating rattle in Matthew’s chest, Anderson mocked contemptuously. ‘Finally lost it, haven’t we, Adams, hey? Only a matter of time, wasn’t it?’
‘Oi, pack it in!’ Steve stepped between them. ‘Grow up, mate, will you?’ he said, eyeballing Anderson angrily, and then turning to assist Matthew, whose laboured breaths were fast turning to audible gasps.
‘He’s a bloody liability,’ Anderson muttered, leaning past Steve to shove Matthew hard in the shoulder.
‘Leave it out!’ Steve yelled, locking his arms about Matthew, forcing him bodily away from Anderson, as he attempted to retaliate.
‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. You almost got killed because of him, Ingram!’ Anderson blustered behind him. ‘Have you forgot, or what? The man thinks he’s a law unto himself. He’s a complete nutter, trying to convince everyone there’s a freaking ghost fitting him up. He’s off the bloody wall! Ought to have been kicked off the force ages—’
‘Just back off!’ Steve shouted, now physically trying to support Matthew, who was groping for the wall behind him. ‘Can’t you see the man’s in trouble?’
‘Oh, he’s definitely that,’ Anderson sneered, wiping an arm across his mouth, as Matthew slithered to his haunches. ‘In it up to his neck. And he thinks he can just stroll out of here? What’s he going to do then? Some bleeding Bruce Willis he is, ain’t he? Ask me, the bloke’s a complete waste of—’
‘Have we finished?’ DCI Davies asked behind him.
Paling, Anderson shot around to face him. ‘He was trying to leave, sir,’ he imparted quickly. ‘I had to use force to try to restrain—’
‘Out!’ Davies ordered him.
Anderson hesitated for a second, then, noting the livid look in Davies’ eye, stepped past him and walked apprehensively towards the door.
‘Bloody idiot,’ Davies threw after him. ‘Here,’ he said, removing the cap and handing Steve the inhaler.
‘About time,’ Steve muttered, crouching to offer it to Matthew. ‘Here you go. Two sharp puffs and all that crap, and then do us a favour, mate, and breathe, will you?’
Feeling the Ventolin hit the back of his throat, Matthew sucked the life-giving medication into his lungs.
‘Better?’ Steve asked him worriedly, after a second.
Waiting for the rasp in his chest to abate, Matthew nodded, then, taking another shot, he waited again while his breathing slowed, becoming deeper, slower, normal. ‘Thanks,’ he managed hoarsely, glancing gratefully at Steve.
‘No problem, mate. Need you fit and well to help me with that barn conversion I’m doing, don’t I?’
Meet the Author :
Sheryl Browne brings you edgy, sexy contemporary fiction and psychological thrillers.
A member of the Crime Writers’ Association, Romantic Novelists’ Association and awarded a Red Ribbon by The Wishing Shelf Book Awards, Sheryl has several books published and two short stories in Birmingham City University anthologies, where she completed her MA in Creative Writing.
Recommended to the publisher by the WH Smith Travel fiction buyer, Sheryl’s contemporary fiction comes to you from multi-award winning Choc Lit.
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