Stalked By Shadows Read Free Page A

recent phenomenon. She glanced down at the white-gold ring on her finger. It had been there for six months now. Was the novelty wearing off already? Before they married, Lucy had been convinced that Will would quickly get bored with her and find someone else more glamorous. But not now - would he? What was happening to her? The last couple of weeks she had begun to doubt everything, even her own sanity.
    Lying back on the bed, she recommenced her auditory vigil. Finally, as the sky was beginning to lighten, she heard the whirring thrum of the milkman’s float and the clink of milk bottles and only then did she feel safe enough to allow herself to drop off to sleep.

CHAPTER TWO
     
     
     
     
    Mariner couldn’t remember how he’d got into this mess, but he knew for sure that he had to get out. Running across a muddy field in the half light, the gunman was gaining on him, but his feet kept sinking into the soft and boggy ground, hampering his progress, and in his panic to get away he slipped, stumbled and fell. When he tried to get up again his foot was stuck, sucked under by thick mud. His pursuer was getting closer. With a gargantuan effort Mariner yanked his foot free. There was a loud squeal followed by a thump, and he woke up to morning brightness in an unfamiliar room and an oversized tabby blinking accusingly at him from the floor, its back aggressively arched. There was a gurgling from behind him, like water going down a plughole and Mariner turned to see the gentle rise and fall of a lumpy outline beneath the duvet, blonde bob fanned out on the pillow. Stephanie; was that her name? Christ, he couldn’t even be sure of that.
    He looked at his watch, the only thing he was still wearing; nearly quarter to eight. Simultaneously he remembered where he was, on the wrong side of the city, in yesterday’s clothes with no shaving kit, and a nine o’clock appointment at Lloyd House. Scrambling out of bed, Mariner gathered his clothes and pulled them on. Stephanie didn’t even stir. Should he be a gent and make her a drink before he left? He decided not. She was dead to the world, so it would be a waste of time he didn’t have. He ripped a page out of his pocketbook and began scribbling an apologetic note. He paused, pen poised; leave a number, or don’t leave a number? Only a split second to choose the latter, he left the note by the bed and hurried down the stairs and into his car, no doubt breaking all the codes of etiquette as he went.
    As Mariner nosed his car into the traffic oozing on to the Aston Expressway towards Birmingham city centre, the usual creeping sense of shame came over him. Although it wasn’t exactly the first time, this wasn’t something he made a habit of, and now the guilt kicked in; guilt for taking what was on offer without making much effort with the pleasantries, guilt for sneaking out afterwards without even saying goodbye or thanks, and for feeling relieved to do it, so avoiding the usual pointless small talk. He couldn’t imagine that he and Stephanie would have had anything much to discuss over the Fair Trade. Their only genuine shared interest twelve hours ago had been the mutual, and on Mariner’s part fairly urgent, desire to get laid.
    After a day-long meeting in the north of the city, she’d waited on him in the pub restaurant where he’d had dinner, and her easy smile had been an antidote to the tedium of the day. He must have been giving off signals because she’d flirted outrageously with him and he’d played along, not sure how far it would go, until she’d told him she finished at half-ten, if he could wait that long. Knowing that Millie was staying with Kat overnight,
    Mariner had, for once, been tempted and had waited, nursing a coke in the bar. She was all over him in the car, before suggesting they go back to her place. On the three-mile drive her hand stayed in his lap, and she’d taken him straight up to the bedroom of her neat semi. Once there she’d slowed