BURY ME DEEP an utterly gripping crime thriller with an epic twist (Detective Rozlyn Priest Book 1) JANE ADAMS (fox in socks read aloud TXT) 📖

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They had waited until dark so that the security camera at the gate would be of minimal use and as it would be less likely that Mark Richards’ security people would be in place. Two ARVs parked in the lane on either side of the gates. Their occupants, armed and clad in full safety gear, waited with their vehicles. Rozlyn figured there had to be some additional security system, either by the wall or the chantry ruins. She had done something to trigger a security alert last time and she didn’t think it was simply the light from her torch. That knowledge in hand, it had been decided that all units would use the main drive.

Rozlyn watched as a 4x4 was hitched to the gate. It drove slowly forward. The gate creaked and protested, then gave way with a sharp crack that echoed through the stillness like a rifle shot.

“If that didn’t wake the buggers I don’t know what will,” Brook observed. “All right, let’s move.”

Sandwiched between two armed-response vehicles, Rozlyn — in the passenger seat of Brooks car, flak jacket digging into her thighs — felt dislocated, as though this was something happening to another version of herself. The threads were being pulled tighter, drawing Mark Richards further into the web and, she had no doubt, it would eventually entangle Donovan Baker.

“Quite a place he’s got,” Brook commented as they crunched onto the gravel in front of the house and the colonnaded façade came into view. Lights blazed in the downstairs widows and in one upper room. Did Mark Richards never leave his study, Rozlyn wondered?

“You reckon we’ll find anything? Chances are they’ll have dumped the gun and you know his solicitor will be there as fast as Richards can make the call. He’ll probably be back home and snug in his bed by morning.”

Brook shrugged. “But it’ll scare the shit out of him,” he opined. “And scared men turn into stupid men.” He opened his door and got out. Rozlyn followed. “And knowing Mr Donovan Baker is out there somewhere and looking for revenge on the man that brought his little scams to public notice will mean however soft his bed, he won't sleep easy in it.”

Rozlyn frowned. “But Mark Richards hasn’t told us anything yet, never mind dumped Donovan in it.”

Brook shrugged. “Funny how those bloody journalists get the wrong end of the stick, isn’t it?” he said. “Even if our friend Donovan doesn’t see tomorrow’s papers, you can bet your bottom dollar Mark Richards will and he’ll find out a lot of things about himself he didn’t know.”

He glanced around. The armed officers were in place. The double doors opened with a bang as they made use of a ram in place of a front door key. From inside shouts could be heard. “Armed police. Flat on the floor.”

A shadow moved against the lighted window of Mark Richard’s room.

CHAPTER 42

Another cold dawn. Frost lay upon the grass and the snow glittered beneath it. Treven recalled that other dawn when he stood and gazed upon the be-webbed jewelled grass as the early dew turned it to a maze of silvered threads.

The web guided them all, wove their lives into a single cloth and there was no escaping it.

Hugh came alone. Breath fogging in the cold air, his horse snorting at the chill and skittering impatiently at the slow pace its master had set.

With an effort of will, Treven greeted him with a smile.

“Stay mounted,” he said. “I have something to show you and we would be better riding.”

“It takes effort, Treven. I hope you do not plan for a long journey.” He spoke lightly, but his face was pale and his eyes creased with pain.

“A scant mile,” Treven told him. “Back to the crossroads, no further.”

“A spear?” Hugh looked curiously. Treven had blackened the heirloom with soot. A casual glance would not reveal its true identity.

“Osric warned me there are boar sighted near the crossroads. They are hungry. It seemed best to be careful, especially as you are not yet fit for battle, even against a wild pig.”

Hugh laughed. “Give me time,” he said. “I will find a way.”

“Given time, I’ve no doubt of that.”

They spoke little and when they did it was of plans for improving the land, reinforcing the banks close to the ford, and the rebuilding of the hall. When Treven drew off the main path and led Hugh to the sacred grove, he was curious and a little disparaging.

“I confess I am of a mind with Kendryk on this,” Hugh said. “Such places hold such fascination for you that it cannot be counted healthy. Given my way, I would raze this place and use the timber for building. The trees are wide and strong. Any woodworker would give them a welcome.”

Treven shook his head. He dismounted at the entrance to the grove and helped Hugh to do the same and led him to its very heart.

“I came here hoping for a vision,” he said. “Asking for guidance. The snow fell and I could barely see across the circle, so dense was the fall.”

“And did you get your vision in the dancing snow?” Hugh mocked gently.

“I received my answer,” Treven told him. Softly, he hefted the spear in his hand, finding the point of balance. “Run, Hugh,” he said. “Escape the circle and you will go free.”

For a stupid moment Hugh stood and stared. He smiled. “You would never . . .” then he looked at Treven’s face and the smile faded. “Is this your definition of an honourable act?” he asked harshly.

“When you left the girl to die, you denied yourself all claim on honour,” Treven told him coldly. “Now run. Break the circle and I will let you go.”

Hugh backed away from him. His