Page 7 of Cruel Hearts

“How do you explain this cash, Miss Hancock?” DCI Cromar flashed me a smile. “Proceeds from dealing cocaine?”

I clenched my teeth. “Money I’ve squirreled away in case of an emergency. I took it from my house in Richley in September.”

He opened a manilla folder. “From the house of Samuel Kettering, arrested for the cultivation of cannabis plants with the intent to supply.”

Rage surged through my veins. The bastard was about to say that this was Sammy’s drug money. Which it was. I’d had no part-time job and no other source of income except for Sammy, and now DCI Cromar would confiscate my money on the basis that it was the proceeds of crime. My hands curled into fists, and I longed to launch myself across the table and rake my nails over his smug face.

“You know we can’t return it unless you can prove the source of that money,” he said with a smirk.

“All my pay slips are in London,” I snapped.

DC McPhie pulled my money away, and DCI Cromar added, “We’ll release your cash when you’re ready to give us the information.”

Harsh, angry breaths heaved in and out of my lungs. I tried to slow my breathing, tried to act nonchalant, but it was impossible. The bastard had delivered a devastating threat. Spill my guts about Billy Hancock’s appearance in Glasgow or lose my only source of money.

My mouth opened and closed. If I told him the truth—that my stepfather had come to Scotland for revenge—he’d be in violation of his parole and get locked up for the rest of his sentence. And in a year’s time, I’d earn a bullet through the skull before he fed me to his dogs.

The edges of my vision turned red. This was Elizabeth’s fault. That wretched, deranged, petty-minded bitch. One day, if I ever got the chance, I would take everything she owned and see how she liked being impoverished.

“Since you have nothing on my client,” said the solicitor. “I insist you release her and remove her fingerprints from your database.”

“Fine,” said DCI Cromar with a sigh. “But we’ll be keeping our eye on you, Miss Hancock. You’ll be back here at the first sign of trouble.”

Mr. Burgh stood. “My granddaughter has clearly been the victim of a vicious prank. If you want to lash out at anyone, turn to the idiot who planted fake drugs in her room.” He placed a large hand on my shoulder. “Come along, Delilah.”

I couldn’t even smirk. Couldn’t even give the detectives a triumphant sneer. Because despite walking out without being charged, Elizabeth had won… for now.

And the fury burning in Mr. Burgh’s eyes told me I wasn’t completely out of trouble.

The three of us walked in silence through the dreary hallways, our footsteps thudding on the brown carpet tiles. DCI Cromar and DC McPhie lingered behind us like unwanted farts. We reached the door leading to the reception area of the police station, and the solicitor pressed the release button.

I was about to step into the public area when Mr. Burgh froze, a breath catching in the back of his throat. The old man looked like he had seen the ghost of Christmas past.

Chapter 4

The solicitor walked ahead into the spacious, white waiting room and turned around. “It was a pleasure meeting you both, Miss Hancock and Mr. Burgh.” She handed me a business card of heavy stock paper. “If you have any more problems, don’t hesitate to call Fraser and Finlay.”

“Thanks.” My gaze darted from the stunned old man to the people sitting around the rows of plastic chairs.

Kendrick and Orlando stood in the waiting room, both looking at me as though I was the answer to a puzzle.

A tight fist squeezed at my chest, and every memory of the day before flooded back. The escape through Glasgow on the back of a motorcycle, that epic kiss, and…

A lump formed in my throat.

That hadn’t even been Kendrick. The real Kendrick despised me and had allowed his brother to take up his identity to carry out the sickest, most convoluted revenge plan that didn’t even make sense.

Curling my lip, I turned my attention to the woman sitting about five seats away from the boys.

Mother perched at the edge of her plastic seat, clad in a burgundy, sheepskin coat. She had dyed her hair black, which brought out her pale complexion and the shadows under her eyes. Her hard glare fixed on Mr. Burgh as though she might be able to cleave him in half with her glower.

Fury seared through my heart, and I stormed across the room, my pulse pounding in my ears. I’d seen Mother hundreds of times in Richley High Street and had become accustomed to her pretending I was the dirt underneath her shoe. But I’d hoped she would have found blood thicker than cocaine. Or gin. Or whatever Billy Hancock supplied her with these days.

Stopping at Mother’s side, I hissed, “You knew they were coming for me and you couldn’t have sent me a warning?”

Her lips thinned, and a grimace crossed her delicate features. “Billy’s contact said you’d be in Glasgow. How was I supposed to know they’d be telling the truth?”

Mr. Burgh towered over us both. “What on earth is going on?”