Lost Souls by Jenny O'Brien (android e book reader txt) 📕

lying? She made a mental note to pick up on the idea of a liar in their midst later.

Gaby had also caught up with Malachy and Jax when she’d been waiting for the CSIs to arrive at Barbara Matthews’ house. Both of them had offered to work through the night and she’d had a difficult job persuading them otherwise. But she needed them at the station tomorrow and, as hard as it was for them to accept, there was already a full complement of officers and civilian volunteers scouring the area as part of the search and rescue team. A couple of extras wouldn’t make much difference.

She gathered up her bags and slipped out of the car, checking that she’d locked it. While Rhos-on-Sea was a haven with little or no crime to speak of, she always made sure she took the same precautions as she did when she’d lived in a city. The unexpected lay around every corner, something she’d learnt the hard way.

Standing on her doorstep, one hand on the door handle, the other clutching her keys, she barely registered that her grip was fist tight, the metal from both pressing deep into her palms. What was the etiquette for arriving at home with your would-be/maybe boyfriend waiting inside, especially when you were two hours late for the date? Just like Gaby didn’t know how to be anything other than a copper, she now questioned her ability to live through the next five minutes without making a complete prat of herself. Clueless and nervous married with near mental and physical exhaustion were unhappy bedfellows in any relationship. Her hand shook as she tried to insert the key into the lock only to have the door wrenched out from her grasp.

There was no hello. No gushing welcome. There was more – so much more: kindness and consideration blended with a little extra sprinkling of something in his twinkling gaze that caused her cheeks to flood with colour.

‘You look shattered.’ He took her bags off her and, stepping back, waited for her to precede him while he shut the door. ‘Why don’t you go upstairs and sort yourself out. I’ll pour you a glass of wine, or a cup of tea if you’d rather? Conor can take it up to you.’

If she’d been someone who cried easily he’d have had tears with his welcome. She felt an ache at the back of her throat as she slipped off her shoes and padded across to the lounge. The smell of something delicious was coming from the kitchen, drawing her in like a homing signal and reminding her that she still hadn’t eaten. Conor was sitting at the table, a bag propped beside his chair, an open laptop in front of him, a scowl she recognised marring his features. She’d seen the same expression all too often on his father’s face.

‘Tea would be lovely but there’s no point in disturbing him.’ She turned and almost slammed into Rusty, who must have been standing right behind her.

‘I think he’d like the disturbance,’ he said, putting his hands on her shoulders to prevent her crashing into him. The intensity of his stare made her blush deepen. ‘Apparently he’s losing. I haven’t quite figured out at what yet.’

‘Even so.’ She stepped out of his arms, aware that his son had lifted his head to watch the interplay between them, his scowl still in evidence. Developing a new relationship that included an eleven-year-old wasn’t what she would have chosen but, on the flip side, there was no way she was prepared to leave him out. Rusty had never made any pretence of the amount of baggage he was juggling but dropping off Conor like an item of lost property wasn’t her style. They weren’t a family, nowhere near but, by Conor’s demeanour, he’d realised that the possibility might be on the horizon sometime in the future.

‘Poor lad,’ she finally said, referring to far more than the problems he was having with his game. ‘He’s probably starving,’ she added, one hand circling the banister. ‘Thank you for all of this by the way. It’s not what I’d been planning but …’

‘But work took precedence. I know what it’s like. If it’s any consolation, I’m only pleased that you didn’t have anything for me.’

‘No. Well. Never say never.’ Her smile was only a memory. ‘There’s no news about the—’

‘And no news is good news, or did your parents not tell you that?’

‘They’re Italian so no. We were brought up on a completely different collection of sayings.’

‘You can tell me all about it later. Tea in fifteen minutes or I won’t be responsible for how it tastes.’

‘If the aroma coming from the kitchen is any indication, I’m not going to need even half that time.’

Gaby had always been a take it or leave it type and, despite a wardrobe full to overflowing with all sorts, she opted for comfy leggings after her quick shower, albeit in a flattering black, and a well-washed T-shirt in electric-blue – a shade someone had once told her suited her Italian colouring. She hadn’t bothered to wash her hair. Instead she’d pulled it out of its braid, massaged her scalp briefly and piled it on top of her head, simply because it was too hot to leave it flowing down her back. If he didn’t like her the way she was that was too bad. There were good days, bad days and then there were impossible ones like today. A missing girl. That spooky find at the crematorium. The missing OAP. Conor’s expression …

‘Ah good.’ Rusty came out of the kitchen, a tea towel flung over one shoulder and a glass of wine in each hand. ‘Here.’ He passed her a glass and proceeded to toast her. ‘Cheers, Gabriella. Here’s to not poisoning you as the pathologist is officially off-duty until tomorrow, 9 a.m.’

‘Ha, how did you manage that?’ She placed her empty mug on the counter and took a long sip from her