No Place Like Home. Maxine MorreyЧитать онлайн книгу.

       Chapter 1

      Ellie’s back went rigid as the door slammed. Quickly pulling the bedroom door closed, she turned as a bunch of keys were thrown down on the hall table.

      ‘You’re home early.’

      ‘Problem with that?’ Carl sneered in a voice thick with sarcasm and alcohol. Ellie swallowed and tried to push back the panic she felt rising within her.

      ‘I just lost a bloody contract I’ve spent the last six months fighting for to some hot shot who just happens—’ he made inverted commas in the air with his fingers ‘—to be the son of the boss’ golf partner!’ He poured himself a triple whisky and threw it back, grimacing as the liquid seared its way down.

      ‘Shit!’ Carl spun and slammed the glass against the far wall. Ellie jumped and he turned his eyes on her. The fear he saw there seemed to only infuriate him more.

      ‘S’pose you think I had it coming?’

      Ellie shook her head and backed away. His eyes had turned almost black with fury.

      ‘No! Of course not. I know you worked hard on it!’ Ignoring her protest, he grabbed her arm. Ellie winced.

      ‘Don’t think I’m good enough to get the contract? Think the little shit probably deserves it?’

      ‘No!’ she said, trying to pull away. ‘You know I don’t think that!’

      ‘Don’t bloody lie to me!’

      The slap split her lip and sent her tumbling backwards into the drinks cabinet, smashing glasses and sending bottles crashing to the floor. Ellie stared at the mess in shock.

      ‘You clumsy cow,’ Carl ground out as he began to advance again.

      Her head snapped up and she stared at him for a moment. His face was red and contorted in fury, with no sign of the anger abating. It had been the same last night when she’d begged him to stop. But he hadn’t. That was why she was finally leaving – something she knew she should have done a long time ago. But he wasn’t supposed to have been home for hours yet. Carl raised his fist. Scrambling to her feet, Ellie screamed, half running, half stumbling into the hall. Behind her, the fist connected with the doorframe.

      ‘Shit! You little bitch!’

      Her hand was on the latch of the front door. A gap to escape opened but Carl was too fast.

      ‘I don’t think so,’ he sneered, slamming the door with such force that one of the stained-glass panels within it shattered. The momentary distraction enabled Ellie to push away but Carl caught her hair, balling it in his fist. Her hands went to his as she screamed again in pain and fear, begging him to stop.

      The next punch sent her reeling into the hall table. She tried to steady herself unsuccessfully as the table tipped, its contents spilling onto the floor.

      ‘Now look what you’ve done.’ The voice, thick with alcohol and hatred, was close again as Ellie tried to get up. There was a crack as his handmade, Italian leather shoe connected with her ribs.

      ‘Get up!’ Carl screamed at her as she lay sobbing on the floor. She didn’t move. Couldn’t move. ‘I said, get up!’ he shouted, hauling her up viciously. Ellie saw the punch too late as his fist slammed into the side of her face and sent her back hard against the wall. She tried to find the strength to keep upright. Keep off the floor. But she couldn’t. The pain of the attack, on top of last night was too much. As much as she wanted to fight, she had nothing left. Her legs gave way and she slid down into a ball as her focus blurred and the tears soaked her cheeks. All she wanted was to sleep. Through the fog she could hear voices. Someone was calling her name.

      ‘And stop fucking crying!’ Carl loomed in again.

      *

      Ellie tried to open her eyes. Someone was holding her hand. She looked up and made an effort to focus on the face looking down into hers.

      ‘Hello,’ the policeman said.

      She tried to sit up but he put a hand gently against her shoulder.

      ‘You just lie still, sweetheart. The ambulance will be here in a minute.’

      ‘I don’t need an ambulance,’ Ellie croaked out, but she didn’t move. The policeman smiled at her. He had a nice smile. Kind.

      At the moment the smile was hiding the fact that he wanted to tell the young woman next to him that she didn’t have to take this. Blokes like that bastard they’d just hauled away to the station didn’t deserve to walk the earth. The neighbour who’d called them had been almost hysterical, swearing that the man was going to beat his girlfriend to death this time. She could see it all, she’d said, through a broken pane in the front door.

      Luckily, they’d been close to the apartment block when the call came across. The caller’s urgency had ensured they’d hurried their pace which was just as well. Forcing the door, they’d managed to pull the man off just in time. He’d been aiming a blow to the young woman’s head that may well have ended the dispute once and for all.

      The police sergeant glanced around at the disarray of what was obviously a lovely flat. Modern and spacious, it was in a nice area in London’s Canary Wharf, with stunning views of the city from the large, floor to ceiling windows. Judging by its location, and the items in it, the occupants were doing pretty well for themselves. His eyes fell on a picture that had fallen from the hall table. The glass in the frame had smashed and as he picked it up, shards tinkled onto the polished wooden floor.

      She was almost unrecognisable. The photograph showed a laughing, carefree woman with bright green eyes and long, red hair being whipped by the wind. He looked back down. The hair was much shorter now, though still fiery red, the fragile beauty masked beneath layers of bruising and blood.

      ‘Wonder if this was what started it, Sarge.’ The other policeman had been surveying the apartment as they waited for the ambulance. His partner craned his neck round to look through into the bedroom where the other officer was standing. Two suitcases were packed and the room had been cleared of any female touches.

      ‘Seems like she wised up.’

      Turning back to the semi-conscious figure on the floor, his colleague moved a strand of hair, sticky with blood, from across her eye. ‘Yeah. Just not soon enough,’ he replied sadly as a wailing siren began to close in.

      *

      Ellie blearily opened her eyes. Rather she opened one. The other remained swollen and shut.

      ‘Zak?’ she squeaked out. Her throat was sore and tasted funny. Like blood.

      Across the room, a mop of floppy blonde hair in a chair started out of a doze. Zak scooted the chair up to the bed and took her small hands in his.

      ‘Ellie! How are you feeling?’

      Ellie raised her one working eyebrow.

      ‘Sorry! God! Stupid question.’