Scared Yet?

By Jaye Ford

A thriller that "creeps into your bones".

She fought back. She won. Now the nightmare begins ...

A terrifying attack in a car park caps off a bad year for Liv Prescott but fighting back and speaking out about her frightening ordeal feels good, despite the bruises. Her courage is shaken, though, when menacing notes start to arrive.

Someone has decided she should be scared – and they know where she lives, where she works and what she does. How far will they go to prove their point? And who is it – the assailant who got away, the man who found her injured or someone who saw her story on the news? Or is the threat much someone closer to home?

When Liv's friends and young son are drawn into her stalker's focus with horrifying consequences, all she knows is that she must fight back or lose the people she loves the most.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jaye Ford
• Release date: Jul 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9780648753230

Jaye Ford

Jaye Ford is a bestselling Australian author of five chilling suspense novels. Her first thriller, Beyond Fear, won two Davitt Awards for Australian women crime writers (Best Debut and Readers’ Choice) and was the highest selling debut crime novel in Australia in 2011. When she needs a break from the dark stuff, she writes romantic comedy under the name Janette Paul. Her novels have been translated into numerous languages and recorded as audio books. Before writing fiction, she was a news and sport journalist, the first woman to host a live national sport show on Australian TV and ran her own public relations consultancy. She now writes fiction fulltime from her home in Newcastle, NSW, Australia where she loves to turn places she knows and loves into crime scenes. To sign up for Jaye's newsletter, visit her website at www.jayefordauthor.com Email Jaye at: [e-mail] Or connect on social media: www.facebook.com/JayeFordauthor instagram.com/jayeford50

Book preview

1

‘T alk to you tomorrow, honey. I love you.’

‘Love ya, Mum,’ Cameron said.

The ghost of a smile played on Liv’s lips as she dropped the phone into her handbag and listened to the crack of her high heels echo through the quiet car park. God, she missed him.

She stepped out from the lighting on the pedestrian ramp into the dimness of the third level and hesitated. This afternoon, the lot had been full but it was after seven-thirty now and all but deserted. Dark and ominous was the only way to describe it. Huge slabs of concrete on the floor and ceiling, massive shadowy columns, intermittent pools of dull light from the overhead fluorescents. Metal cages around the fixtures reminded her there were people who got cheap thrills smashing up places like this. She dug the bunch of keys from her jacket pocket, clutched the one for her car like a dagger and started across the tarmac.

Her car was on the far side, past five lanes of nose-to-nose allotments. She took a wide berth around a lone van in the second row, keeping a cautious eye on it as she passed.

You’re fine, Liv. Keep walking.

As the light grew dimmer and traffic noise from the street more distant, she picked up the pace, struggling for speed in her Italian snakeskin pumps. They were a leftover from when she had money to spend on frivolous footwear but with her straight skirt, they were hopeless for moving fast and her heels rang in sharp, staccato claps that ricocheted back at her. Somewhere on a lower level, a bang went off like a shot from a gun and she jumped, skittering awkwardly off an ankle, adrenaline tingling in her fingers.

Just a door closing, Liv. Calm down, get to the damn car and go . . . home.

Half-a-dozen echoing steps further into the murkiness and her feet slowed as the hairs on the back of her neck stood up.

Something had moved.

Over there, by the column near her car.

Her eyes searched the shadows. No. Just her imagination running wild. She glanced warily back at the ramp. It seemed ludicrously well lit now, making her feel as though she was marooned in blackness. An engine roared to life on a floor below. There were layers of concrete between it and her but it felt like it was going to burst through the floor and swallow her up.

She took off fast, moving in short, flat-footed steps, trying not to lose a shoe or twist an ankle. Aiming the key at her car, she heard the high-pitched beep, saw the tail-lights flash and silently cheered with relief. She felt ridiculous running like a crazy woman but her legs had a will of their own and her brain was already imagining her high-speed exit from the parking lot.

Her arm was out as she rounded the bumper, her fingers reaching for the doorhandle as she saw her reflection in the driver’s window – and a brief movement behind her.

Then a hand slammed over her mouth.

What came next happened too fast for thought. A strong arm thumped across her chest. Fingers gouged her upper arm, pinning it to her side. Knees dug into the back of her thighs. And she was hauled backwards, feet slipping and scrabbling in her heels.

She wanted to scream but her jaw couldn’t open under the pressure of the hand crushing her lips. Desperate, smothered, gasping sounds came from her throat. Fear shrieked inside her.

Then she heard him.

‘You’re mine, slut.’

It was spoken in her ear. Muffled, as though there was something over his mouth. Not angry. Not panicked. Just full of intent.

Cameron’s lovely, freckly, eight-year-old face flashed in her mind and something switched inside her.

She tightened her fingers, felt the long, slim shank of her ignition key protruding from the base of her clenched hand and drove down hard. Something soft and resistant took the impact. There was a grunt and a flinch. She did it again. Again and again until a knee moved from behind her thigh. Anchoring a foot beneath her, she thrust back with an elbow and as the body behind angled away, she twisted towards it, aiming high with her other fist. It found the sponginess of his throat and the hand fell from her mouth.

She wasn’t frightened now, wasn’t feeling anything. She just wanted to get out of his hold. She stabbed with the key, swung elbows and fists.

He didn’t let go but his grip loosened.

If she’d stopped to think, she might have shoved away from him and run for her life. But she didn’t think. Or run. Just rammed bunched knuckles into his gut. It was a good, solid punch with the hand holding the keys and it knocked him back a step.

A second chance to run – but now there was an angry, determined, red-hot burning behind her eyes. And, with a muscle memory she thought was long forgotten, she followed through with a left to his ribs. Air whooshed from his lungs. She kicked off the one shoe she was still wearing, lifted her hands in a boxer’s stance and when his head came up, she swung at his face with her right.

Sharp pain shot through her hand as he reeled away. She saw then he was covered in black. Black clothes, black gloves, black balaclava. This wasn’t a spur of the moment thing. He’d planned it. He’d dressed for it. He’d waited in the dark for her.

‘Bastard!’ She lunged at him.

He was prepared this time and came back with his own fist. It was more sound than pain when it hit, like a train crash in her head. She was hurled against the car. Then he was hitting her, slapping and grappling, crushing her against the chassis, tearing at her clothes. She couldn’t get a hand up to defend herself, even to cover her face. He was breathing hard inside his balaclava and the tang of his sweat filled her nostrils. She twisted her head, pulled air into her lungs and screamed.

She didn’t see the roof of the car before she hit it. Just felt the crack in her neck as her head slammed sideways, the cold, rigid metal on her face then . . .

2

Liv was on her side. Lying on something hard and cold. She smelled rubber and exhaust fumes. Her face hurt. And her hand. Someone said her name.

She opened an eye, focused through the veil of hair over her face, saw she was on concrete, looking at the underbelly of a car. It might have been hers. It was hard to tell from just wheels and an exhaust pipe.

A warm hand touched her arm and she jolted upright. Her vision was blurry, her head spun and the light was murky, but she could see the unmistakable shape of a man crouched next to her. Christ, he was huge.

The fight instinct flared again. She rolled onto her hip, lashed out with a knee, hit him in the ribs. As he tipped and righted himself, she scrabbled backwards, scraping her bare feet on the concrete, grazing her hands, retreating until a car tyre was jammed between her shoulderblades. She held out a hand like a stop sign. ‘Stay back.’

He held up both of his and spoke. She couldn’t make sense of the words, wondered if he was even speaking English. His dark hair was so short it was almost stubble and his eyes were like black holes in his face.

He was talking again. She forced herself to focus.

‘. . . Daniel Beck. I work in the office across the hall.’

Who? What? Her chest heaved. Her hand burned.

‘Livia?’ His shirt was pale blue and his tie was striped. Okay, he was wearing a tie.

She licked her lips. ‘Yeah.’

‘Are you injured?’

She didn’t know, she couldn’t tell. Her hand was still out, holding him back, but it was shaking now. She touched it to her bottom lip, felt something damp and sticky there. The other hand, the one in pain, was clenched around the wheel arch at her back and as she released it, a hot poker shot through the middle finger. She swung her eyes briefly to it then held it out to the huge man. ‘I broke my finger.’

It was misshapen and already swelling around the middle knuckle. He didn’t say anything, just produced a suit coat and laid it over her legs. Oh, jeez. Her skirt was ripped to the top of her thighs and her legs were bare and splayed. But at least she still had her knickers. The man in black hadn’t got that far.

‘I’ll call an ambulance,’ he said.

‘My finger snapped on his cheekbone.’

He pulled a phone from his shirt pocket, tapped the screen. ‘You were lucky. It could have been worse.’

‘It was a good right hook.’

He raised his eyes.

‘I punched him. Here, here and here.’ She used her other hand to point to her cheek, ribs and solar plexus. ‘When the cops pick the bastard up, they can identify him by the bruising.’ The tough-girl attitude felt good. Like something from her past. Didn’t sound anything like the storm of emotion going on inside her.

The guy looked a little surprised by it. His eyebrows lifted slightly and he said nothing for a good couple of seconds, only turned away to speak into his phone.

Liv pushed hair off her face and glanced around. She was dazed and confused but she could see she was still in the car park and it was her own car she was leaning against. The third floor looked just like it had when she’d walked across it – shadows and columns and eerie pools of light. How long had she been lying there? And where was the bastard in black?

‘I want to move you to somewhere more comfortable,’ he said. ‘Can you walk?’

He cupped a hand under her elbow and she snapped it away. Thirty seconds ago she thought he was going to kill her. She wasn’t ready to let him near, so she held onto the car and staggered to her feet. Upright, he was even more startling. Liv was tall and he had a head on her. He was broad, too, all shoulders and arms in his business shirt. She stayed close to the car, tugging at the hem of her skirt. The sleeve of her jacket was ripped and her blouse was torn down the front. She pulled at the ragged edges, trying to cover the lacy bra underneath. The big man draped his coat over her shoulders. She couldn’t remember his name now, just eyed him cautiously as she wrapped it across her chest.

He must have seen her wariness and kept a pace or so between them as she moved along the side of the car. At the rear corner, she noticed the debris on the ground – her purse and phone, sunglasses, her little portable charger, a lipstick. The keys. One of her snakeskin shoes was on top of her shoulderbag, the other was two parking spaces away. She remembered it then, the hand on her mouth, the thud on her chest and the memory knocked the breath from her. You’re mine, slut. She reached out to steady herself, gasped as her wounded finger made contact with the car.

‘Oh, God,’ she heard herself say, nothing tough at all in her voice now.

She put a hand to her mouth. Her stomach lurched but nothing came. She stood bent in the middle, trying to breathe, trying to stop the spinning in her head. He caught her around the waist as her knees folded. She grabbed for his shirt, felt solid muscle, a brick wall, underneath it. Then tears spilled over her lids. She’d been ready for them but not the raw cry that burst from her throat and the uncontrolled outpouring that accompanied it. Without meaning to, she clung to him, her legs loose, her uninjured hand pulling his shirt into a fist, her lungs gasping for air. And he let her, just stood there until she was done.

It didn’t take long. When her head cleared, the closeness of him unnerved her. She didn’t know him from Adam. Didn’t know who else was here.

‘Where is he?’ She pushed away.

‘Who?’

‘The man who hit me. The bastard in black. Is he gone?’

‘I think he ran when he heard me.’

She wiped her eyes and nose with the back of her good hand, looked around to confirm it.

‘Come over to the passenger door. You can sit in here.’ He opened it, watched patiently as she sat down gingerly and fingered a painful lump on the side of her face.

He wasn’t going to hurt her. She’d figured out that much. ‘What did you say your name was?’

There was a tiny lift to one side of his mouth before he spoke. ‘Daniel Beck. I work in the business across the hall from you. We’ve met a couple of times.’

Had they? She couldn’t remember. Then a thought jagged. Teagan giggling, something about him filling a suit like a leather jacket. Oh, Daniel Beck. ‘Right, right. Sorry.’

‘Can I call someone for you?’

Who, Liv?

‘A husband?’

‘No.’

‘A partner? Boyfriend?’

‘God, no.’

‘What about your business partner? Kelly, isn’t it? What’s her number?’

She saw Kelly in her mind, the face Liv had known since she was five years old – the green eyes and the contagious smile. Kelly and Jason deserved a break from her disastrous bloody life. She pulled in a breath. Come on, you can handle this. It’s a sore hand and a bump on the head. You don’t need to dump more late-night shit on them. She combed fingers through her matted hair, rolled her lips together like she was fixing her lipstick. ‘Yes, it’s Kelly. But you don’t need to call her. I’m okay. I just hurt my hand.’

As she said it, red and blue lights flashed across the car park from the street below.

3

Liv’s face ached in a continuous throbbing hum and her hand felt like a bowling ball with a heavy pulse. She was still sitting in the back seat of her car. The cop at the door was wearing a uniform but he looked like a sixteen-year-old. She glanced over her shoulder at the shadowy column on the other side of her car. ‘Can we do the rest of this somewhere else?’

‘It’s okay, Mrs Prescott. You’re safe here with us.’

Right, a kid with a pimple was keeping her safe.

She looked over his head for Daniel Beck. He was talking to the older cop, pointing at the ramp she’d taken earlier. He looked like he could pick the police kid up and toss him across the car park. That made her feel safe.

‘Is there anyone you know who might want to hurt you?’ the kid held a pen over a notepad as though he expected her to reel off a list of names.

‘What? No.’

‘Most assaults are committed by people known to the victim,’ he said as though he’d written an essay on the statistics. ‘Can you think of anyone in your life who might want to hurt you?’

She lifted her fingers to the growing lump high on her cheek. The man who attacked her had waited in the dark then slammed her face into the roof of a car. ‘I don’t know anyone who’d do anything like that.’

‘You said earlier you were separated from your husband.’

‘Yes.’

‘Has he ever been violent towards you?’

‘No.’ Angry wasn’t the same as violent.

‘Who initiated the separation?’

She turned her face away. It was none of his damn business. ‘Husbands and wives separate all the time. It doesn’t mean one of them is going to beat the shit out of the other.’

‘Unfortunately, Mrs Prescott, it can happen like that.’

She looked back at him, a sick feeling roiling in her stomach. ‘Jesus.’

A shadow filled the doorway. Daniel Beck.

‘I think she’s had enough,’ he said to the cop.

‘I’ve got a couple more questions.’

‘You can ask her later.’ It was a statement, not a suggestion, and Liv lifted her eyes to him in appreciation.

The kid nodded. ‘Someone will contact you tomorrow, Mrs Prescott.’

As he walked away, Daniel rested an arm on the roof of the car. ‘You okay?’

No, she wasn’t. Something deep inside her was shaking as though her vital organs were still quaking in fright and tears kept welling and spilling over her lashes. ‘I want to get out of here.’

He looked over at the officers, called, ‘ETA on the truck?’ After a muffled reply, he leaned back in. ‘The ambulance will be here any second.’

‘I don’t want to go to the hospital. I’ll just go home.’

Daniel paid no attention. The ambulance was already on the exit ramp and he left her to meet it, waiting as an officer stepped down then pointing to Liv before indicating with his own face and hand.

He clearly knew his way around police and medical help. What was the name of his business? She couldn’t remember, was just grateful he’d worked late tonight, even more grateful he was happy to manage proceedings. It gave her a chance to pull herself together. She guessed she’d need to seem better than she felt if she was going to avoid the hospital.

The ambulance officer checked her eyes, felt her scalp and caused excruciating pain when she examined Liv’s injured finger.

‘I’m not going to the hospital,’ Liv told her.

‘You’ve got a possible concussion and you need X-rays on your hand.’

Liv pushed herself to her feet. ‘No, look, I’m fine.’ Actually, she wasn’t too good. A whoosh of heat rushed to her face and she grabbed for the car door to steady herself.

The ambulance officer placed a hand under her elbow. ‘Listen, Livia. I’m going to stow my gear in the truck and while I’m doing it, I want you to think seriously about going to the hospital.’

The young cop walked around the car, picking up her belongings, putting them in a large, white garbage bag. Over by the ramp, a small group of people had gathered. Someone with a briefcase, a couple of slouching teenagers, a thickset man. Liv took deep breaths as Daniel made his way back to her.

‘So what’s the problem?’

‘No problem. I just want to go home.’

He nodded like she was floating an idea. ‘You were out cold when I found you. You should let a doctor look at you.’

Liv could see the swelling on her cheek in her peripheral vision now. He was right, she should see a doctor. It was the hospital that was the problem. She lifted her chin, looked him in the eye.

He ignored the stoicism. ‘Someone hurt you tonight, Livia. Don’t let them do more damage by not getting your injuries seen to. You need to hang tough a while longer. Can you do that?’

He sounded like her father. That was enough to change her mind. ‘Yes.’

‘Good answer. Can you walk?’

He hovered nearby as she made her way on wobbly legs to the ambulance. Her head felt as though it might fall off if she moved too fast but she climbed into the truck on her own, passed Daniel’s dark suit jacket out to him. He swapped it for his business card. She had nowhere to put it so she just held onto it with her good hand.

Liv was lucky, apparently. It was a quiet Monday night in Emergency and only a twenty-minute wait for a doctor.

She sat in a corridor, a blanket covering her torn clothes, flanked on either side by patients not sick or injured enough to be rushed straight in. The woman next to her held a pale, sleeping toddler in her arms. A man opposite had a bloody T-shirt pressed to his head. A clock on the wall above him said it was eight-fifty. Maybe it was too late to be working back. Maybe she’d get in and out before anyone noticed her name and made a phone call. She was doing okay.

You’ve been assaulted, Liv.

A doctor who looked young enough to partner the police kid at the school formal sent her for X-rays, which confirmed what Liv had already guessed: just bruising to the left side of her face, no concussion and a classic boxer’s injury to her right hand – a fracture in the second knuckle of the middle finger. Her broken digit was buddy-taped to the index finger, the arm secured in a sling and she was given a prescription for painkillers, directions to the pharmacy and left to find her own way.

She had a gown now to wrap across her exposed underwear and she walked unsteadily, blinkered by the swelling that had spread down the left side of her face, self-conscious in three-inch heels and a hospital robe. There was another wait at the pharmacy so she found a chair and thought about her dad.

She wanted to sit at his battered old kitchen table and listen to his worn-out voice for a while. But she couldn’t because he was already here, in another ward and in more pain than she was. Going to see him at night with her face mashed to a pulp wasn’t going to make him feel any better. Her eyes filled with tears again as she heard him in her head. Tough it out, luv. It was what he always said, it was all he knew. It’s what we’re built for, Liv. He’d done it all his life. She’d been doing it for a year.

Okay, Dad. She wiped the tears with the heel of her hand, saw the lift opposite open, her husband step out and thought, Why does it have to be so fucking tough?

Maybe it was Thomas’s familiar face after a horrible night but she was filled with a quick, warm pulse of relief. A moment later, the hurt and anger and humiliation she felt whenever she saw him now was back. She stood, tried to dig deep for some of her father’s fight as he strode across the space between them.

He looked like he’d lost some weight and the smattering of grey at his temples had disappeared. The twenty-six-year-old sharing his bed mustn’t have approved. Liv fingered the bruise on her face and felt old, ugly and adrift.

‘God, Liv, what happened?’ He made no attempt to touch her, just ducked his head to get a better to look at the damage. He was trying for concern, but it was stilted and awkward – same as he always was these days.

She averted the bruised side of her face. ‘Well, I almost made it without seeing you. How did you know I was here?’

‘Phil Dawson phoned. He was called into Emergency and saw your name. I came down as soon as I heard.’

And she should be grateful for that? ‘Phil Dawson isn’t my doctor. He shouldn’t have called.’

‘All right, you’ve made your point but he did ring and I’m here now. What happened?’

She wanted to tell him it was none of his business but didn’t have the energy to argue. ‘I was attacked in the car park at work.’

‘What, mugged?’

‘No. He didn’t take anything.’

‘Are you okay?’

She stared at him in disbelief. ‘How the hell do I look, Thomas?’

He pressed his lips together. ‘I mean the sling. Did you break your arm?’

‘I’ve got a broken finger and bruises and I just want to get out of here, so if you’ll excuse me . . .’ She picked up the garbage bag of her belongings.

‘Give me that. I’ll drive you home.’ He reached to take it.

‘No.’ She swung it away. She wasn’t going anywhere with him. She wasn’t getting in their old family car and she didn’t want to hear what he had to say about the townhouse she’d bought with her share of their life.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Liv.’

He made a more determined grab for the bag and she flinched at the sudden force, the police-kid’s voice echoing in her head. Has he ever been violent towards you?

‘Everything okay here?’

Liv turned, saw Daniel Beck at her elbow and took a step back. Next to Thomas’s tall, sophisticated facade, he looked like a heavyweight boxer poured into a business shirt. She eyed her husband’s hostile posture and took another step back from both of them.

‘Are you all right, Livia?’ Daniel asked.

She realised then what he must have seen – Liv bruised and bandaged and tussling with a man over a garbage bag, loudly enough to think they needed separating. She was too embarrassed to speak.

‘We’re fine, thank you,’ Thomas said.

‘Livia?’ Daniel’s voice was firm and pointed, the message clear. It wasn’t, ‘If you’re fine, I’ll go’, but, ‘I’m not leaving until you say so’. She had no idea what he was doing at the hospital but the unexpected show of support made her want to sit down on the floor and blubber into her hospital gown.

‘You know him?’ Thomas asked.

Daniel folded large arms across his chest. ‘I’m the guy who called police and ambulance for her. Who are you?’

‘I’m her husband.’

Oh, that was a goddamn joke. He’d done everything he could to shirk that role in the last year. ‘Not for much longer.’

Thomas made another move for the bag and hissed at her as he got close. ‘Do we have to do this here, for God’s sake?’

Daniel took a step towards him. ‘Livia’s been assaulted tonight. She doesn’t need anyone else in her face. Perhaps it was time you left.’

Liv raised her eyebrows in astonishment. It was a long time since anyone had come to her defence.

‘I’m taking her home,’ Thomas said.

‘No, you’re not,’ she told him.

‘Damn it, Livia, do you have to be so bloody stubborn? I’m not going to leave you here on your own.’ And yet he had no problem with it a year ago.

‘She’s not on her own,’ Daniel said. ‘My car is out front.’

‘You’re with this guy?’ Thomas looked incredulous.

There were a hundred answers to that remark but she was sick of arguing when she could be sitting down resting her head against the wall. What she wanted right now was to be held for a moment while she rounded up some inner strength. Thomas used to do that for her, then accused her of not needing him enough. He’d found what he wanted in someone else and now she didn’t give a shit what he thought. Daniel, she figured, was just giving her a way out. She smiled gratefully. ‘Thank you.’

‘Well, if you think that’s best, Livia.’ It was Thomas’s backup defence – if he didn’t approve, he treated her choice like stupidity.

‘I do, so why don’t you go spend some time with your son?’ Oh, Cameron. She pulled in a sharp breath. For the first time in his life, Liv was glad she wouldn’t be kissing her son goodnight, was just pleased she’d spoken to him as she’d left the office. He didn’t need to see what someone had done to his mother. Her hand shot out, grabbed Thomas’s forearm. ‘Don’t tell him. Not yet. I don’t want him to worry.’

‘I’ll do what I think is best,’ he said.

4

Liv cursed silently in his wake, her pulse pounding so hard she could feel it in the bruising on her face. As the lift doors closed on Thomas, Daniel took a couple of seconds to absorb her shoes, the gown, the sling.

‘You okay?’ he watched her eyes as he asked.

She glanced away, not wanting him to see what was behind them. Bitterness and fear on top of her anger – new emotions piled on old ones. ‘Can you quit asking me that? I’m mad and scared and hurting in more ways than it should be possible and I have no idea where that registers on the scale of okay. But I’m walking and talking and that’s going to have to be enough.’

Daniel didn’t flinch. ‘Sure.’

She tugged self-consciously at the gown, smoothed a hand over her hair, felt an overwhelming wave of exhaustion. ‘Oh shit. I need to sit down.’

She let Daniel slip the garbage bag from her hand as she stumbled to the nearest chair and squeezed her eyes shut. Don’t lose it now, Liv. Hold it together a bit longer. When she opened them again, Daniel had placed the bag at her feet and was beside her in the next seat, elbows on the knees of his black trousers as though he was simply marking time. What was he doing here?

‘I’m sorry you had to get involved in that.’

He turned his head, looked at her over his shoulder. ‘You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.’

‘Ten years wasted on him is plenty to be sorry for.’

Daniel sat back in his chair and she moved over a little to make room for the width of his shoulders. ‘Is he a doctor?’ he asked.

‘Financial director for the hospital. I figured someone would tell him I was here. Wouldn’t look good if his wife – even his almost ex-wife – was in Emergency and no one phoned. My bad luck he was still in his office.’ Although it’s what she’d expected. Monday was his favourite night to work back, that hadn’t changed with his new life.

‘Is he often aggressive towards you?’

Egotistical, arrogant, intolerant, yes, but not physical. ‘No. It’s not like that. It’s just . . .’ Was Daniel thinking domestic violence? ‘No, look, why are you here? Were you hurt?’

He said nothing for a moment, maybe deciding whether to press further. ‘You didn’t call anyone and your car’s still at the office. I thought you might need a ride somewhere.’

A sudden wariness made her lift fingers to her bloodied lip. Had he come all the way to the hospital to take her home? It was well beyond the call of duty for someone he’d only met in the corridor a few times. She leaned slowly away, the solid body that’d made her feel safe in the car park seemed intimidating now. She wasn’t about to get in a car with him – at night when no one else knew, when she could still feel the pressure of a gloved hand against her mouth.

‘I’m sorry. I know I said I’d take that lift but I was just saying that to get rid of Thomas. I have to wait for a script to be filled. I’ll be fine with a cab.’

‘Yeah, sorry.’ He ran a hand across the dark stubble of his hair. ‘It probably looks a bit strange, me turning up. But I wanted to make sure you got home all right.’ He glanced over at the elevator. ‘I can just keep you company until you’re ready to go, if you like.’ When she didn’t answer, he said, ‘Or I can go, if you’d prefer.’

She wasn’t in a hurry to be left alone and offering to sit and wait didn’t seem so suspicious. ‘No, company is good. Thanks.’

‘You should call someone, Livia. It’s your business if you want to handle this alone but someone should know. A friend or a family member, a neighbour even. Things like this can come back at you when you get home, upset you more than you think. I’m guessing you’re waiting on some strong drugs. You should tell someone who can check on you tomorrow.’

She remembered then – his office was two doors down from hers and the lettering on the door said something about security. ‘Are you an ex-cop?’

He raised an amused eyebrow. ‘No. Ex-Fire Rescue. We don’t chase bad guys, we just save people. Is there someone you can call before you go home?’

The townhouse wasn’t any kind of home. She wouldn’t take an overdose if she stayed there alone, if that’s what he was worried about, but he’d just reminded her that ‘home’ wasn’t going to make her feel any better. She found her phone in the garbage bag, held the smashed screen up for Daniel to see. It should have bothered her but it seemed the obvious outcome of the night. He handed her his mobile and moved away to give her some privacy.

Liv held back tears as Kelly gasped in shock. She didn’t ask what Liv wanted to do, just told her the sofa would be made up and a cup of tea waiting.

‘Kelly’s husband is coming to get me.’

‘Good,’ Daniel said.

At last the pharmacist called her name and she collected her drugs then hobbled beside him, clutching the gown to her chest as they passed through hushed corridors on the way to the entrance. She stopped inside the large, glass doors, eyed the dark driveway beyond the drop-off zone warily. ‘Let’s wait here.’

Ten minutes later, Jason pulled up out the front. Daniel stayed beside her as she went out to meet him.

‘Jesus, Liv,’ Jason said when he was close