Trust No One. Alex Walters
3e124a-1941-50ef-8e5a-6f21513de617">
Trust No One
Alex Walters
AVON
A division of HarperCollinsPublisher
1 London Bridge Street
London SE1 9GF
First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2011
Copyright © Michael Walters 2011
Michael Walters 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 nonexclusive, nontransferable 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.
Source ISBN: 9781847562852
Ebook edition © AUGUST 2011 ISBN: 9781847562982
Version: 2016-02-17
Of course, this has to be dedicated to Christine, with thanks for everything. And to James, Adam and Jonny for their continuing love and support.
I’d also like to thank all those, necessarily nameless, who gave me advice and information about various aspects of undercover work. And thanks to Sammia Rafique, my excellent editor at Avon, and to Peter Buckman, as always a wonderful agent and an astute critic.
This has to be for Christine, of course. For everything.
Au revoir, love, wherever you are.
Contents
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Prologue
Part One - Summer: Preparation
Chapter 1
Part Two - Winter: Operational
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
Part Three - Winter: Outside
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
An Interview with Alex Walters
About the Author
About the Publisher
The last time she saw Jake, Marie found herself awake, sometime after midnight, staring into the darkness. She told herself it was because they’d eaten late, because she’d drunk too much wine. Because tonight, after their conversation in the restaurant, after what had been said and not said, their lovemaking had left her restless rather than relaxed. All that was true, but she couldn’t fool herself that it was the whole story.
She rolled over in the bed. Jake was asleep, on his back, snoring softly. She was tempted to wake him, caress him, hope that more sex would calm her tense nerves. The logic of the addict. A second impulse, maybe more rational, was simply to slip away, now, in the small hours. Put an end to all this before it was too late.
Jake deserved better. This was her mess, not his. Whatever she did, she had to do right by Jake. She’d sit down and talk to him properly. Tell him what she could. Not the whole truth. Probably not much of the truth. But something. Enough. Enough so he’d understand. One day soon.
She pushed back the duvet and sat up, for a moment enjoying the small-hours chill of the bedroom on her naked body. Beside her, Jake stirred, rolled over, but didn’t wake. She eased herself out of bed and reached for the old dressing gown that Jake had loaned her. It was too small to have been Jake’s, and she assumed that it had belonged to some past girlfriend. Fair enough. Jake’s business.
Moving quietly across the room, she paused to gather up her handbag and the clothes she’d left neatly piled on the chair by the door. There was no point in staying in bed. She’d only toss and turn till she woke Jake, and despite her earlier impulse, that wasn’t really what she wanted. She’d do what she often ended up doing these days, here and in her own flat. She’d make herself a hot drink, read a mindless magazine or watch some content-free television, or just sit out on Jake’s balcony, listening to the distant ripple of the water and the sounds of the night. Calm herself to the point where she could sleep again.
And if that failed, she told herself, she’d wake Jake and give sex another shot after all.
With a kettle boiling in the kitchen, she dressed quickly, more conscious of the cold now. They’d had a quiet evening – a few drinks in the pub, an Italian, a bottle of wine between them – and her outfit was practical rather than decorative. Jeans, a sweater, smart boots.
She’d never doubted that she’d stay over again tonight. It had been inevitable long before she’d knocked back her first large red. But, as usual, she’d brought no change of clothes, reasoning that she’d have time in the morning to get