Page 122 of The Black Trilogy

Nick called at five. “We’re leaving for the drop point.”

Luke had three tracking devices sewn into his clothes and another two in the bag with the ransom. We’d given him an earpiece to keep in contact with the team, and he took his phone as backup. The kidnapper’s message had told him to go to a shopping centre in Sydenham, South London and await further instructions.

Half an hour later, my phone rang as I paced the control room.

“Nate, tell me you’ve got good news.”

“Three possibilities for the woman. I’m looking for pictures of the sons.”

It wasn’t long before he started firing emails at me. The first photo was a bust—the guy was too chubby, grinning into the camera with a big dimple in his chin. Nothing like Luke, and another fifteen minutes wasted.

But we struck gold with son number two.

“That’s him,” I told Nate. “Simon Howard.”

I scanned through the background information as Nate plucked it out of cyberspace. Simon had been born to Fiona Howard just eight days before Luke came into the world.

Which made a certain amount of sense.

“First born son,” Nate muttered.

“No wonder he’s got a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas.”

Simon’s life had not been one of privilege. He’d grown up in a ground-floor maisonette not too far from JJ’s, an area I knew all too well and not one conducive to an idyllic childhood. In his teens, he’d attended the local state school, where he’d passed his exams despite a poor attendance record, excelling in computer studies and electronics before going on to study computer science at university. Had he been aware of his father’s identity at that point? Was he trying to emulate him? Or seek his approval? If that had been his plan, it hadn’t worked, because Luke still ended up as the golden boy. That must have stung.

“Address, Nate?”

“Flat 403, Shelton House, which looks like a block of flats in Bromley. On a side road just off the high street.”

Nate pulled up the satellite photo onto the screen. Simon lived in the middle of a heavily built-up estate, his block one of four that surrounded a patch of scrubby grass. What were there plenty of in that area? Pedestrians. And what was missing? Car parking spaces. Flat 403 would be on the fourth floor—how would Howard have got Tia up there? Wheeled her through the streets in a shopping trolley then shoved her into the lift?

“No good. Try the mother?”

It was six thirty by the time Nate came back with the news that Fiona Howard had lived in a small, detached house in a quiet cul-de-sac in Lewisham.

“I can’t find a record of it being sold since her death.”

I couldn’t help smiling. “Fifty bucks says that’s where Tia is.”

“No way I’m taking that bet.”

My team was already packed and ready to go, so within two minutes, we were in the back of a specially modified van, ready for our eight-mile trip from the office to Lewisham.

As we sped through darkened streets, a surge of adrenaline rushed through me. I’d tried to convince myself I could live a normal life, but the truth was, I’d felt dead inside. Now I was ready to face the darkness again.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends. Once more.

Because this was who I was.

CHAPTER 35

LUKE SAT BESIDE Nick in a nondescript black SUV as they drove to the specified location. He rarely visited this part of London, and right now, he never wanted to set foot in the city again. If—when—he got Tia back, they could move somewhere far away from this life and its many complications. Their mother, Ash, a criminal who’d turned their lives upside down. Luke should have been on holiday in the Bahamas right now, sipping a beer with Ash lying next to him in a bikini, and the injustice of it all brought a pulse of anger that overrode his fear for a second.

But only for a second.

The bag containing the ransom jiggled up and down on his lap as he bounced his feet, trying to dissipate some of his nervous energy. A million pounds was a lifetime’s work for most people, yet it all fitted in one small holdall.

Where had the cash even come from? Luke still didn’t know, but Nick assured him it was genuine. At least Luke hadn’t had to try and withdraw it from the bank. The manager had been as suspicious as anything about his tale of buying a second-hand Ferrari last time, and Luke doubted the man would have fallen for it if he showed up at the branch claiming he wanted to buy a Bugatti Veyron as well.

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