Page 5 of Sacrifice

“I guess.”

Her mother eased the door closed with a click, and Eve sat up, sending her head into a spin. It felt like she’d been hit by a train. The muscles in her neck and back were rigid in some kind of spasm. This was like no hangover she’d ever had before—more like the result of ten rounds in the ring.

She stepped out onto the landing. Talking drifted up the stairs.

“Is there a problem, officers?” her mother asked in her telephone voice.

“Just a routine enquiry,” one of the men responded. His voice sounded familiar, but Eve couldn’t quite place it. She lumbered down the stairs, leaning heavily on the banister and shielding her eyes.

She squinted at the men in the doorway. They were in silhouette, sunlight glowing at their edges like a halo. The nearest was tall and as she got nearer could see he had disheveled hair and striking blue eyes, the kind that could look into your soul. He wore dark jeans and a leather jacket, not a uniform. He didn’t look much like a policeman to Eve.

Light flickered around the man and Eve recognized the signs of yet another approaching migraine attack. She cursed inwardly.

Awesome.

He watched her slow progress down the stairs, eyes narrowing as she approached, and Eve wished that he wouldn’t. She was way too hungover and fragile for close examination.

“You don’t look much like policemen,” she said defensively and folded her arms over her chest.

The man took out his warrant card. “Detective Inspector Michaels. This is Detective Constable Thorne.”

The other man stepped out from behind Michaels to flash his own card. He, too, was tall and disarmingly beautiful with perfectly smooth brown skin and the whitest teeth. Eve blinked at him.

“Morning, ma’am,” he said and bowed his head slightly. Light shimmered at the edges of Eve’s vision. The migraines could be quite trippy. She closed her eyes for a moment.

“Is there somewhere we could talk?” asked Michaels.

Eve threw a glance at her mother, and DC Thorne moved into the hallway. “How about a nice cup of tea, Mrs Areli?” he suggested and took her mother gently by the arm. “I’m quite partial to a chocolate digestive too, if you’ve got any?”

Eve’s mother beamed pathetically and gave Eve an apologetic shrug. She was a sucker for a charming man. They swept off together for the kitchen.

“The lounge then, I guess,” Eve said and led the way.

“There was an incident last night,” Michaels began, sitting on the sofa and taking out his notebook, “On Hammersmith Bridge. Can you tell me what you remember?”

Eve curled herself into the armchair and tucked her feet beneath herself. She rubbed her temples, trying to unravel the grey fog surrounding the memories of the night before.

“Hammersmith Bridge? Was I there?”

DI Michaels looked back at her blankly. Those eyes really were exceptionally blue. She closed her own and wracked her brain. She’d looked over the railing of that bridge more than once and romanticized about throwing herself in. Had she done that last night?

“I don’t remember.”

What had happened after work? She scoured her memory for a clue; then, it came to her in a flash.

“Drinks. Christmas drinks. I work in the gift shop at the British Museum. It was a work party at a pub near Earl’s Court.”

Jesus, I must have got totally wasted.

Eve scoured her brain for more information. “What happened at the bridge?” She couldn’t remember anything about it.

“Do you remember falling in?” The detective’s expression gave nothing away, but an unemotional certainty in his voice seemed to clear away the fog.

“Yes. No.” Eve’s hands came reflexively to her mouth. She’d been cold, desperately cold, and unable to breathe. Her heart rate stepped up as her brain floundered for the memory. “I fell in? Yes, I think that makes sense.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

Did she? “My clothes, they weighed me down.” She could remember the terrifying feeling of being trapped underwater. How had she escaped the river? Her head pounded with theblood her heart was pumping wildly around her body. “I think I lost consciousness.”

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