The scars of you (The scars series Book 1) by Rachael Tonks

Author:Rachael Tonks [Tonks, Rachael]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-08-30T16:00:00+00:00

I look down at my watch and back at Carter. “He should be here by now,” I grumble, nervously looking at the door for the millionth time.

“He’ll be here,” he shrugs, swiveling his chair from side to side. “So, how’s things with Tara? How has she been?” I can tell he’s asking to distract me.

“Fine,” I mumble, checking my watch and the time on the wall clock. They say the same time, so why the fuck isn’t he here already. I push my chair back heavily and storm over to the drinks cabinet and pour myself a shot of bourbon. I throw back the liquid. The burning sensation hits the back of my throat and I close my eyes as I savor the numbness it leaves behind.

“Fine?” he asks with a tone of annoyance. “Just fine?” I can feel his gaze burning a hole in my back. I turn on the spot, resting my ass on the cabinet.

“Yeah, just fine,” I say with a shrug. “Obviously, a little shook up, but she’s coping with it really well. I think the company has helped.” I smirk at him, pressing my crossed arms against my chest.

“Must be that you’re a barrel of laughs, hey, man,” he teases and I can’t help but laugh a little.

“Must be,” I reply with a lift of my brow. The sudden sound of knocking on the door sets me on high alert.

“Come in,” Carter instructs. “And for the love of fucking Christ, sit down will you,” he whispers to me. I dart back to my seat, my eyes fixed firmly on the door as I watch Detective Hanson enter.

“About fucking time,” I grate out, my harsh gaze fixed on him.

“I’m so sorry. My last appointment ran over. I can only apologize,” he says, holding out his hand to me.

“Sit down,” I demand, “handshaking comes when I know you’ve been doing your job. You know, the one I’ve been paying you for,” I snap, but the asshole just nods and scuttles into the seat beside me.

“I, uh, I have to be honest and say I’m surprised,” he stutters, clearly nervous. “After years of searching, I didn’t think anything would ever turn up, but I’m happy to say that it has.” He gently bangs his hand on the table before reaching into his briefcase, pulls out a photograph and hands it to me. I take it from him and look at the old, dilapidated shed positioned in dense woodland.

“This is where Isabelle has been for the last six or so years,” he continues, handing me yet another photograph. “And this is her father.” I study the photo. They look just like the sort of photograph that police investigators would take at the scene of a crime. I examine the photo before passing it to Carter.

“So, what? He’s dead?” I ask as he passes me a whole file of photos.

“He is. Natural causes, so no cause for alarm there. But what is interesting is that we found where he’d been keeping her.

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