See Me Fall

SEE ME FALL SHE SWEARS SHE’S INNOCENT. BUT WILL ANYONE BELIEVE HER? SUSAN WILKINS CONTENTS Free Books Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56 Chapter 57 Chapter 58 Chapter 59 Chapter 60 Chapter 61 Chapter 62 Chapter 63 Chapter 64 Chapter 65 Chapter 66 Free Books Leave a review A message from Susan Books by Susan Books cont. Acknowledgements For Sue Kenyon, who makes it all possible. FREE BOOKS SIGN UP Sign up to my newsletter to receive your free, exclusive copies of The Shout, a DS Jo Boden story, plus The Right Side of the Line, a Detective Megan Thomas novella. 1 Tuesday, 7am Emma Harris opens her eyes slowly. A chilly dawn light is filtering through the blinds. She blinks. No! Too bright. Her head is pounding. Did she really drink that much? She turns her face into the pillow and something isn’t right. It’s squidgy with an alien smell. Where the hell is she? Not in her own bed. She forces her eyes fully open and looks around. In the half light, the room is grey. And big. Not the small compact bedroom in her flat. The bed is enormous too. The duvet is striped. She sits up in a panic. The room spins. Her head is stuffed with cotton wool. The hangover from hell. Where is she? How did she get here? In a strange bed and stark naked. Focus. Remember. Last night. What happened? It was a big anniversary party. The best gig her company has had for ages. She used a country house hotel near Cambridge. She’d done business with them before, so they gave her a good discount. A hundred and fifty guests for a sit-down dinner. A six-piece band. The clients were a couple in their fifties. They seemed very pleased. Told her so. Everyone was having a good time. It ended about midnight. The hotel staff were clearing up. They’d managed the whole gig just the two of them. Just her and Amber. She doesn’t drink when she’s working. Maybe one at the end of the evening to wind down. So what the hell happened next? And where’s Amber? She shoves back the duvet. It’s heavy and thick. Sliding her legs over the side of the bed, she sits up. That’s when the pain hits her, sharp and shooting, from her groin up through her belly. Her whole pelvis feels as if it’s been crushed. She reaches down and touches herself. Between her legs, there’s dried blood. You’ve been raped. But she can’t remember. She can’t remember any of it. She examines her body. In the half-light of the room, it’s not that clear, but she has bruises on both thighs. She touches herself gently with a shaking hand. Her clitoris, her vagina, everything is sore to the touch. She shudders with horror. Her brain is screaming. Who did this to me? Her eyes dart around the room and she listens. Is he still here? There’s the sound of traffic. A busy road? But inside it’s quiet. Eerily so. Where is he? In another room? Glancing around, she sees a chair. And draped over the back are her clothes. It looks as if someone has picked them up and dumped them there in a heap. Her bra is on top. Under the chair, her shoes have been placed neatly side by side, as if someone has tidied up. Her heart is pounding. This is his place. He must still be here. She jumps out of bed and grabs the bra. Get out! Get out now! Ignore the hurt. Panic is driving her. She puts on the bra; her hand shakes as she struggles to fasten it. She picks up her knickers and finds them ripped in half. Her dress, her beautiful green dress, is crumpled up. It’s simple and elegant, just below the knee. When she’s planning an event for clients, this is what they want to see. Professional but stylish. She’s shaking all over now, but manages to pull it on. She looks around. Tipped on its side in a corner, she sees her bag. She grabs it, shoves her torn knickers and tights in it, picks up her shoes and creeps towards the door. She must get out before he comes back. The door to the room is ajar. She listens intently for any sound. Running water? Footsteps? Is he in the shower? In the kitchen? The hall is wide and spacious. A wooden floor. The front door is a couple of metres to her left. No sign of him. She tip-toes towards the door, praying that she won’t need a key to open it. But it has a simple lock that you just turn. The blood pulses in her ears. She shoots one look back down the hall, opens the door, steps out and eases the door shut behind her. It closes with a small click. Where the hell am I? Some kind of apartment block? Upmarket. A carpeted corridor. And clean. The vague odour of chemical air freshener. She has no idea what floor she’s on, but there must be a lift somewhere. The doors are all identical. Heavy, gunmetal grey. The number etched on a neat plaque beside the bell. Should she ring one of the others? Ask for help? Get them to call the police? But they’ll know him. He’s