Miss No One Mark Ayre (children's books read aloud TXT) 📖

car from a friend. In this car, Ana had collected Abbie from the T-Junction, and it was for this car the police were now searching. Before long, they would find it back in the Park and Ride lot outside of town. But there would be no sign of Abbie or Ana and no clue as to where they had gone next. From the car lot, now in another untraceable car, they had driven to Ana's hotel. No one had seen Abbie. Once Ana had collected a couple of bits from her room, the pair had walked a mile and a half to the home in which they now stood.

"There's not much information about you out in the world," Ana said. "But mum's found a little, learned a little from you, and guessed a fair bit more. She predicted that, before long, you would outgrow the people who paid you and would need new allies who did less to restrict your life. She was determined to be ready."

The electric kettle boiled. Taking it from its stand, Abbie poured water into her mug and stirred it with the first spoon. Placing the kettle back on the side, she gestured to Ana.

"What proportions we talking? I warn you now: if you have as much milk and sugar as your siblings, I'm not doing it. It repulses me."

This drew a smile.

"Alex and Tony take their coffee habits from their father,” said Ana. “Luckily my dad and our shared mother were more normal, and I take my coffee like them." She gestured to the second mug. "Dash of milk, please. One sugar."

Turning away, Abbie poured water into the second mug, replaced the kettle on its stand, and took the milk.

"Alex and Tony's father was a lawyer, right?" she said.

"He was."

"I'm sure he'd be proud that one of his wife's children was following in his footsteps. Even if you weren't his, and he never got to meet you."

Ana didn't comment. Abbie replaced the cap on the milk and dropped a spoon of sugar into the mug before stirring. When she was done, she returned the milk to the fridge and handed the whiter coffee to Ana.

"We need to stay alert," said Abbie. "But we have a little time. I'd like to hear how things are by the sea. Your mother, Ollie, Tony."

Ana looked a little awkward. For what she'd done to Jacob, it was clear she hated herself. Her stiff nod to Abbie's question came as she tried to hold her icy facade.

"I'm being nice to you," said Abbie, reading the lawyer's expression. "And we'll have a lovely chat. That doesn't I've forgiven what you did. Doesn't mean I ever can."

To this comment, Ana displayed not misery but relief, which Abbie understood. The lawyer didn't believe she deserved forgiveness, but nor did she want to be frozen out in the cold. Abbie's words suggested a decent compromise.

Before it could get too awkward, Abbie nodded to the kitchen door.

"Come on," she said. "Let's chat in the comfy seats."

It was early evening when headlights swept the curtains, and the homeowner pulled into the drive.

Abbie drained her coffee and rose from the comfortable armchair as Ana stood from the sofa. Rounding the coffee table, Abbie handed her now empty mug to the lawyer.

"You know what to do?" she asked.

Ana nodded.

"Nervous?"

A shake of the head. "I'll be fine. You sure you want me to leave, though?"

"I'll be fine, too," said Abbie. "Do your bit, get back to the hotel, and we'll meet as planned. Once my good friend and I have had a chat."

Outside, a car door slammed. They heard the blip of the car's central locking, then shoes crunching over gravel.

"Go on," said Abbie. "Let's do this."

With a nod, Ana put the mugs in her bag and walked through to the kitchen. She was slipping out the back as the front door opened, and the homeowner stepped into the short hall from which could be accessed the living room, the downstairs office, and the stairs.

The back door closed with an almost inaudible click. A second later, the homeowner was turning the living room handle and pushing open the door.

By this time, Abbie had resettled herself in the armchair. Having rested her gun on the arm of the chair (her spare was with Ana), she collected it as Ndidi stepped into the room, clasping it in one loose fist.

"Good evening.” She watched with muted satisfaction as the detective leapt with shock. "I hope you don't mind me making myself at home. The back door was unlocked. Sort of."

Gathering himself, reclaiming control of his galloping heart, Ndidi went for his phone. Unlocked the screen.

"What are you doing?" asked Abbie. Her voice was calm because she was calm. Ndidi would not bring the police here.

"You think what you did isn't out there? As if attacking me wasn't enough, now you've shot DCI Kilman. My colleagues are out in force. There are probably already some in the area ready to pop over and cart you away."

Abbie had her gun in front of her but wasn't pointing it at Ndidi. She guessed this was why he hadn't noticed the weapon, and that was okay. She didn't expect to need it.

Ndidi had found a number.

"I didn't shoot Kilman," said Abbie, "and you don't want to bring your fellow detectives here."

Ndidi's finger paused above what Abbie assumed was the call button. Luckily, his curiosity was piqued.

"Is that so?"

"It is," said Abbie. "Put down your phone, and we can discuss the situation. I think you'll be interested to hear what I have to say."

Ndidi smirked. "No chance. You can have your say in court. If you get that far."

"If you or your colleagues don’t murder me first, you mean? As a department, you do seem to be into some nefarious activities."

The phone was still in Ndidi's right hand. Now he took the index finger of his left away from the screen and jabbed it towards Abbie.

"Watch your accusation," he said. "I'm not the criminal here."

"You said I'd shot