Miss No One by Mark Ayre (interesting books to read TXT) 📕

It wasn't that she believed after a couple of shots she'd be less effective. Not really, though this was undoubtedly true. It was that, in a situation like this, though she'd always been a casual drinker, she feared that once she'd started, she would be unable to stop.

Leaving the wine glass by the sink, Abbie pushed the tumblers together and lifted them with the fingers of her left hand. With her right, she collected the pint glass and returned to the living room.

Since she'd left, Christine had sent the email from Ana's phone, then disappeared to the bedroom. She returned as Abbie did, carrying an iPad Pro. A better implement on which to read what Ana had sent. Retaking her seat, Christine unlocked the device and located the email. Downloaded the file.

In one corner of the room, Abbie noticed a fold-up chair. Passing Ana both tumblers, she nodded to the free half of the sofa.

"Go on, take the load off."

Abbie grabbed the fold-up chair from the corner and placed it opposite the sofa, partially obscuring the TV, which was off. Ana was handing one of the vodka measures to Christine, who was already perusing the Becker file. She muttered thanks, then went on reading for a little while in silence. Retrieving their phones, Abbie and Ana opened the same file and started reading as well.

Something was nagging at Abbie. Or maybe it was lots of somethings her mind was trying to roll into one for ease. She had always known Orion would only return for a job worthy of the Becker name. Robbing a mob-run casino, evading the police, and kidnapping and killing a child certainly seemed, on the face of it, to fit the bill.

But Orion had been gone for months.

Was it enough?

Christine dropped her iPad into her lap and, with a huff, tore Abbie from her thoughts.

"This is too much," she said, putting her head in her hands then pulling it out again. "It's too much, too soon."

Abbie and Ana remained quiet, resisting the urge to glance at each other. They allowed Christine to take a deep breath, to look at the ceiling, to compose herself.

"I did my training," she said after a spell. "All I ever wanted was to be a cop and to make a difference. So I worked hard, and I was great. Got on the fast track to becoming a detective and passed with flying colours. And when I was done, when I was out of uniform and into my suit, I was so excited to get started. I knew I was young, which would make it harder, and I knew I was a woman, which would also make it harder, but that was okay. I was ready to work. I had the support network, see? They always talk, during training, about how important that is—the support network. Well, I had my family a couple of streets away and, just as I was passing my detective exams, my boyfriend asked me to move in. Without a second thought, I said yes, and I knew before long, engagement would follow. Then marriage, then kids. It was going to be hard, sure. But it was going to be perfect."

Christine stopped. Wiped her eyes and stalled her tears by downing her vodka. She grimaced. Shook her head like a dog coming out of a pond as though she could shake away the droplets of tipsiness.

Abbie remembered what she had noted earlier about the young detective. The pints in the pub. She wondered how many glasses of wine Christine had consumed before her guests arrived. The vodka bottle had been unopened, but the gin was half gone. The whiskey three quarters. Was the vodka a long time unopened, or was it a fresh bottle, its predecessor recently polished off?

"I need another," said Christine, rising. Abbie stood at the same time. Something told her she should stop the young detective. But a little girl's life was on the line. Now was not the time to be talking to Christine about the dark path she was on.

Instead of trying to delay Christine, Abbie said, "Allow me. Same again?"

Christine nodded. Handed over the glass. "Please."

Abbie went to the kitchen, retrieved the vodka. This time, she poured a little over a single measure. If Christine noticed when Abbie returned, the detective chose not to mention it. She was partway through her story. Something was heavy on her chest. She was ready to pull it off.

"I'd been out of uniform a week when my direct superior called me in," said Christine. "He sits me down and introduces me to another man, even higher up the food chain in a completely different department. I'm ready for my career in Vice to begin, and here's the head of one of the biggest anti-corruption teams in the country, claiming to need my help. Both he and my boss make sure to tell me I must feel free to say no if this isn't something I want while making it abundantly clear I have no choice. They want to send me a hundred miles from my family and the love of my life, and I want nothing more than to tell them, no. I'm happy where I am. We're in that room less than ten minutes, and by the time I leave, I've agreed to go undercover, to leave everything I know behind to take on one of the most hated jobs in police work. You already worked out what that was."

Christine swigged down the second vodka and stared into the tumbler. Abbie expected her to ask for another, but she managed to hold off. At least for the moment.

"I don't know why I'm telling you this."

This time Abbie did glance at Ana. On the lawyer's face, she saw pity, but Ariana could never understand what Christine was going through. No chance.

Taking a swig of water and placing it at her side, Abbie leaned forward