Sue Fortin - The Half Truth

SUE FORTIN

A division of HarperCollins Publishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Harper Impulse an imprint of

HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by Harper Impulse 2015

Copyright © Sue Fortin 2015

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Cover layout design © HarperColl‌insPublishers Ltd 2015

Cover design by Becky Glibbery

Sue Fortin asserts the moral right

to be identified as the author of this work.

A catalogue record for this book is

available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction.

The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are

the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to

actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is

entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International

and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

By payment of the required fees, you have been granted

the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access

and read the text of this e-book on screen.

No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,

downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or

stored in or introduced into any information storage and

retrieval system, in any form or by any means,

whether electronic or mechanical, now known or

hereinafter invented, without the express

written permission of HarperCollins.

Digital eFirst: Automatically produced by Atomik ePublisher from Easypress.

Ebook Edition © March 2015 ISBN: 9780007556595

Version 2017-10-05

Special dedication, thanks and love to my husband, Ged, for his constant encouragement and support, for believing I could finish writing this story when I doubted it myself and for tirelessly occupying our youngest so I could write. Much love to my older children Liam, Hayley & Ross for their moral support and independence and to Esther for patiently sharing mummy with the keyboard.

Many people have helped me to write The Half Truth but particular thanks to Julie Cohen and the day spent at her writing workshop. More gratitude to the HarperImpulse team for their invaluable input and support. To The Romaniacs for being the best cheerleaders. To my sister, Jacqueline, for telling me to write the Tina story and to Laura E. James who urged me to complete the Russian one, the end result of both being The Half Truth.

Finally, a big thank you to all my readers whose support makes writing so rewarding.

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

Dedication

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

About HarperImpulse

About the Author

Also by Sue Fortin …

About the Publisher

Tina spun around, her eyes scanning the play area and beyond. She turned to her left and then her right, the sensation of being watched searing through her like a hot poker. The park was busy, but no one seemed to be paying her any attention. She was simply another mum entertaining her child on a warm Sunday afternoon. She physically shrugged in a bid to relieve herself of the hunted feeling, her eyes now seeking out her five-year-old son, Dimitri.

‘Mummy!’ he called, appearing at the top of the climbing frame. Tina waved at him, smiling broadly, revelling in her son’s delight as he whizzed down the slide, landing with a bump in the sand at the end. He scampered up and darted back round to the steps.

Despite this momentary distraction, the feeling of being watched remained with her. She waited for Dimitri to complete a second descent.

‘Come on,’ she said, scooping him up as he landed with a dull thud on the ground again. ‘Time to go.’

As they left the play area, Tina took another glance around. Her heart gave a little skip and she drew breath. The figure of a man caught her attention, but before she could look more closely he had disappeared out of view behind the coffee stand.

She closed her eyes for a moment. It was no good. She had to stop this. She should be used to it by now. It wasn’t him. It couldn’t be Sasha. He wasn’t coming back. Ever. A slither of pain spiked at her heart, not as sharp as it once had been, but still strong enough to make her flinch mentally. Five years as a widow had dulled the intensity, or had she simply got used to living with it? She wasn’t sure and now wasn’t the time to analyse the notion further. It never was. Relegating the thought of her husband to the back of her mind, Tina took Dimitri’s hand and headed over towards the kiosk.

‘Do you want an ice-cream?’ She knew she really didn’t need to ask, but it was lovely to see the excited, gleeful expression on her son’s face at the prospect of the treat.

‘Ice-cream! Ice-cream!’ sang Dimitri as he danced along beside her.

Standing in the queue, Tina realised she was doing it again; checking for anyone who might be watching her. As she looked beyond the kiosk her heart threw in an extra beat. There, hurrying away in the distance, was the man who had caught her attention earlier. The logical side of her brain challenged what was rapidly becoming her irrational part. It couldn’t be Sasha. He was dead. Killed in a car accident. Her mind was playing cruel tricks on her. Was it any wonder, though, she thought as the figure continued its hurried departure? He looked the same height and build as Sasha, even had the same gait, his long stride covering the ground with ease.

The tugging of her arm caused her to look away as Dimitri pointed animatedly at the ice-cream he wanted.

‘This one, with sprinkles and chocolate sauce,’ he beamed, tapping the picture.

‘Okay, sprinkles and chocolate sauce it is,’ replied Tina, returning the smile.

When she looked back across the park, the man had gone. However, the sadness in her heart was not so eager to leave.

The call he had been waiting for came in. It lasted two seconds. The words ‘We’re on’ were the only ones necessary. DS John Nightingale dropped the phone back in its cradle, simultaneously standing up. Seven pairs of eyes focused on him.

‘Here we go, lads,’ he said, the calm air in his voice belying the adrenalin rush that kicked at his heart rate. ‘And lasses,’ he added noting the raised eyebrows of his female colleague, Jackie.

John hiked his gun harness onto his shoulders, clipping it in place. He gave the Glock 26 snuggled in the holster a reassuring pat. An action born of habit; a subconscious reassurance.

There was a scuffling of chairs and flurry of action as the specialist organised crime- fighting unit scrambled. Primed, eager and hyped for what could be a particularly nasty encounter with the gang of armed robbers they had been tracking for the past six months.

The black BMW and 4x4 Range Rover sped swiftly through the dusk of the London streets, leaving a deserted headquarters behind them. They wove their way through the rear lights of the bedraggled tail end of rush-hour traffic, homing in on their target with stealth- like silence. No roaring engines, no flashing blue lights, no sirens. Purely an assured confidence in their training, experience and trust of each other.