rearing up in the air and the man was waving to a woman and a young girl standing in front of a storybook house. The girl had brown curls and pink dungarees. She was holding hands with a woman in a green dress with long brown hair. Everyone was smiling, even the horse. The figures were labelled ‘Daddy’, ‘Mummy’, ‘Me’.
‘Nice hat.’
Kate handed the drawing back. The paper was so fragile she was afraid it might tear.
Families were fragile, too. She’d known that since she was a kid but she was sorry that Miller shared her heartache.
She wondered how he could bear it – to have had his family taken from him in such harrowing circumstances. She remembered the story being in the papers at the time. His wife and daughter had been shot dead and their home set on fire. There was speculation that the Lane family were involved, but no arrests had followed.
Until now, she’d assumed it was a tragedy that had hardened and transformed Miller, setting him on a mission to save people like her. But perhaps that interpretation was too simplistic. Maybe everything he was doing was just a distraction from his anguish. Perhaps he hadn’t healed at all.
Was it harder to have a family that you loved and cherished torn away from you, or, like her, to have never known your real family at all?
‘I’ve carried this drawing with me ever since the day Mel gave it to me. Thirteen years ago.’ Miller gave her a sideways look. ‘If I ask you a question, will you answer me truthfully?’
‘Depends on the question.’
‘Tell me what you think – did she draw me riding away or coming home?’
Kate gazed down at the drawing, the paper shaking almost imperceptibly in Miller’s hands. She had a sense of the weight of emotion that lay behind his asking and the responsibility her answer bore.
‘You don’t know? What did she say when she gave it to you?’
‘She didn’t. I was working so hard back then that I was afraid to ask.’
‘Coming home,’ Kate said, with confidence.
‘What makes you say that?’
‘She was your little girl. Why would she draw you going away?’
Miller tilted the sketch, as if considering it from a new angle. He hummed to himself, unconvinced. Then he shifted around on the sofa and removed his wallet from his jeans and tucked the drawing carefully away.
‘Do you miss being Nick Adams?’
‘Every day. I miss everything about the life I had back then. But that’s gone now. Lane took it all from me.’
‘And am I to be your revenge?’
‘No. You were a pattern repeating itself. I wanted to break the pattern. That’s all.’
She plucked at the cushion. She wasn’t sure she could believe him. He’d told her that he’d lost his wife and daughter to Connor Lane and now here she was, a weapon in his possession. He’d want more than simply to protect her, wouldn’t he? He’d want to hurt Lane, too.
‘Listen, you haven’t told me how much this is going to cost. I’m guessing your services aren’t cheap. And Hanson has access to my bank accounts. He’ll have seen—’
‘He has seen. We all have. But that’s not why we’re helping you, Kate.’
She was silent for a moment, turning over his words, sifting through them for a deeper meaning.
‘So how does it work? You can’t possibly do all this for free.’
‘We have a benefactor.’
‘Really? Who? Are they part of the programme?’
‘No.’
‘Then why the interest?’
‘Reasons. This is day one for you, Kate. Trust me, you’ll learn more when it’s safe.’
He yawned and stretched, reaching above his head towards the switch on the lamp.
‘What do you say we turn this light off and sit here pretending either one of us might sleep?’
Darkness.
Miller rearranged himself against the cushions and Kate heard the clump of his shoes being propped on the low coffee table.
She sat quietly beside him, tensed, unmoving, thinking of things lost and never found, waiting for morning to come.
Chapter Twelve
DS Jennifer
‘Nice hat.’
Kate handed the drawing back. The paper was so fragile she was afraid it might tear.
Families were fragile, too. She’d known that since she was a kid but she was sorry that Miller shared her heartache.
She wondered how he could bear it – to have had his family taken from him in such harrowing circumstances. She remembered the story being in the papers at the time. His wife and daughter had been shot dead and their home set on fire. There was speculation that the Lane family were involved, but no arrests had followed.
Until now, she’d assumed it was a tragedy that had hardened and transformed Miller, setting him on a mission to save people like her. But perhaps that interpretation was too simplistic. Maybe everything he was doing was just a distraction from his anguish. Perhaps he hadn’t healed at all.
Was it harder to have a family that you loved and cherished torn away from you, or, like her, to have never known your real family at all?
‘I’ve carried this drawing with me ever since the day Mel gave it to me. Thirteen years ago.’ Miller gave her a sideways look. ‘If I ask you a question, will you answer me truthfully?’
‘Depends on the question.’
‘Tell me what you think – did she draw me riding away or coming home?’
Kate gazed down at the drawing, the paper shaking almost imperceptibly in Miller’s hands. She had a sense of the weight of emotion that lay behind his asking and the responsibility her answer bore.
‘You don’t know? What did she say when she gave it to you?’
‘She didn’t. I was working so hard back then that I was afraid to ask.’
‘Coming home,’ Kate said, with confidence.
‘What makes you say that?’
‘She was your little girl. Why would she draw you going away?’
Miller tilted the sketch, as if considering it from a new angle. He hummed to himself, unconvinced. Then he shifted around on the sofa and removed his wallet from his jeans and tucked the drawing carefully away.
‘Do you miss being Nick Adams?’
‘Every day. I miss everything about the life I had back then. But that’s gone now. Lane took it all from me.’
‘And am I to be your revenge?’
‘No. You were a pattern repeating itself. I wanted to break the pattern. That’s all.’
She plucked at the cushion. She wasn’t sure she could believe him. He’d told her that he’d lost his wife and daughter to Connor Lane and now here she was, a weapon in his possession. He’d want more than simply to protect her, wouldn’t he? He’d want to hurt Lane, too.
‘Listen, you haven’t told me how much this is going to cost. I’m guessing your services aren’t cheap. And Hanson has access to my bank accounts. He’ll have seen—’
‘He has seen. We all have. But that’s not why we’re helping you, Kate.’
She was silent for a moment, turning over his words, sifting through them for a deeper meaning.
‘So how does it work? You can’t possibly do all this for free.’
‘We have a benefactor.’
‘Really? Who? Are they part of the programme?’
‘No.’
‘Then why the interest?’
‘Reasons. This is day one for you, Kate. Trust me, you’ll learn more when it’s safe.’
He yawned and stretched, reaching above his head towards the switch on the lamp.
‘What do you say we turn this light off and sit here pretending either one of us might sleep?’
Darkness.
Miller rearranged himself against the cushions and Kate heard the clump of his shoes being propped on the low coffee table.
She sat quietly beside him, tensed, unmoving, thinking of things lost and never found, waiting for morning to come.
Chapter Twelve
DS Jennifer
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