Hide Me. Ava McCarthy

Hide Me - Ava  McCarthy


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      Ava McCarthy

      Hide Me

logo

      Dedication

      To my children, Mark and Megan, who are the reason for everything

      Contents

       Cover

       Title Page

      Dedication

      Prologue

      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

      Acknowledgements

      About the Author

      By the Same Author

      Copyright

       About the Publisher

      Prologue

      Harry pitched head-first over the cliff.

      For an instant, she floated. Gunfire ripped the air behind her. Below her, hulking waves exploded, hungry, ready to swallow. Then the cliff rushed skywards and the ocean slammed into her face.

      Don’t scream, don’t scream!

      Water plunged into her sinuses, packed into her ears. She clamped her mouth shut, choking back the scrap of air she had left in her lungs. Then the current sucked her down into a deep, black tornado.

      Her brain clamoured. Growling water thrummed in her ears, funnelling her down.

      Don’t breathe, don’t breathe!

      The rip tide snatched her. Hurled her in circles. It pitched her upside down and tore at her limbs till her lungs felt ready to burst.

      She forced her eyes open. Saw an arrow of white tunnelling past her face. A silent jet-trail.

      A bullet?

      Jesus! He was going to kill her.

      Harry’s diaphragm heaved, fighting for the chance to breathe. Panic screeched through her, and she thrashed her legs, bucked her body. Then the ocean whirled her into another violent twister.

      Suffocation crushed her chest. She had to open her mouth, had to inhale!

      Don’t breathe!

      Her brain lurched, and she felt her eyes roll. Hunter’s face floated before her. Maybe she’d see his body. Was he down here with her somewhere? Had Franco had him killed too?

      No more oxygen. Just vapours to fuel her brain.

      The undertow grabbed her and whiplashed her into a spiral. She tumbled. Drifted.

      Her mother’s face. Always so relieved by Harry’s absences. What would she think when Harry was dead?

      Now you don’t have to talk to me, Mom.

      Harry glided. Floated in freefall. She felt light. Euphoric, almost. And the reflex to breathe became slowly irresistible.

      She couldn’t help it. She opened her mouth. Inhaled.

      Cold seawater sluiced down deep into her lungs.

      Chapter 1

      Twelve days earlier

      Cheating the casinos was a dangerous game. A game that could get you killed, if the stakes were high enough.

      Harry eyed the roulette wheel, and edged alongside the other punters. Spying on the cheaters out in the open was risky, but she had to get close. She had to know how Franco Chavez was doing it.

      ‘Coloque sus apuestas.’ Place your bets.

      The ivory ball swirled. The fat guy in front of Harry clacked his chips, like a set of castanets, and she stepped around his bulk to get a better view. A tangle of arms reached across the table, and she scanned the faces, wishing she knew what to look for.

      She flexed her shoulders and felt them crunch. She’d been in the Gran Casino de San Sebastián for hours, patrolling the high-limit rooms till her feet ached. At this point, she wasn’t sure which bothered her more: the nagging sense that she was wasting her client’s money, or her growing unease that Chavez knew she was watching.

      Harry frowned, and drifted away from the table. It didn’t help that no one knew what bloody Chavez looked like.

      She slipped into the poker parlour. Roped off from the main floor, it was quieter here. No roulette-rattles, no social chit-chat. Just the tense snick-snick of cards against the baize. She wandered between the tables.

      ‘Watch their hands,’ her father had said. ‘That’s where the cheating begins.’

      Harry started with the dealers. Given enough practice, a crooked dealer could stack the deck, cull cards, fake a riffle, deal seconds, peek at the top, and all with a deftness that was near-impossible to spot. Harry knew because she could do it herself.

      ‘A good false shuffle is like a monkey tapping away at a typewriter,’ her father used to say. ‘There’s a whole lot of activity, but no end result.’

      Harry scoured the dealers’ hands for telltale signs, but saw nothing out of place.

      She paused to watch the players at one of the busier tables. Four men and a blonde, none of them speaking. The only sound was the chinkle and clatter of chips. Harry sifted through the


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