The Hero (Sons of Texas #1)

I don’t have time to ask why, before the stretcher is slid into the back of the ambulance. I close my eyes and the ambulance doors are slammed closed and we begin our journey to Brighton hospital. I’m slightly comforted by the thought that Pippa has taken Chloe. I don’t know what this means about our relationship, but at least I know Chloe will be looked after well. I think of Daisy’s accident. Pippa thought her daughter would be looked after well too. She thought I was caring for her. How could I be so stupid as to forget to pick the girls up? She’s right. I am responsible for what happened, just like I’m responsible for what has happened now.

My head continues to throb and I feel the pull of fatigue. I think of Hannah and try to ask once again what’s happened to her, but I’m met with the usual side-step of an answer.

We hit a pothole in the road and the jolt makes me cry out in pain. My left arm is killing me. I can hear myself groaning.

‘Where’s the pain coming from, Clare?’ asks the paramedic, who is sitting in the back of the ambulance with me. ‘Is it your arm?’

I give a grunt. ‘Okay, what I’m going to do, Clare, is give you some more painkiller. Some more morphine. Are you okay with that?’

I give another grunt. Her voice is drifting away from me and I don’t think I can fight this tiredness any longer. I just want to go to sleep. And then I think of Hannah. I’m awake again.

‘Hannah, where’s Hannah? Where’s my daughter?’ I become more and more agitated with every word and every second that passes. I try to move, but I can’t. The paramedic tells me to stay calm. Calm! How the hell can I stay calm when I don’t know what has happened to my daughter? I scream her name as I’m swamped by dark thoughts and images of her lying motionless on the gravel driveway. And then the blackness comes and takes me away.





Chapter 24


I think the medical staff must have given me a sedative. When I wake, it’s dark outside and the room is lit by a small amber glow of a night light. There is the stillness of night in the air. The atmosphere you only get in the dead of the night, when most people are asleep. This time there are no footsteps making their way up and down the corridor, no doors swishing open, no muted bump as the doors close against the architrave and no indistinct conversations.

I sense I’m not alone, though, and turn my head to the right. Luke is sitting in the high-backed hospital chair. He has a blanket pulled up around his shoulders, tucked under his chin, and his head has lolled forwards onto his chest.

Such conflicting emotions rush over me. I want to reach out and have him hold me, but at the same time I want to slap his stubbly face and ask him why he doesn’t believe me.

Luke stirs and his eyes open. He sits upright when our gazes meet. ‘Clare, hiya, Babe.’ He frees his arm from the constraints of the blanket and reaches out to me, squeezing my hand. ‘It’s the middle of the night. Try to go back to sleep. You need to rest.’

‘Hannah. How is Hannah?’ I don’t care about myself and what my body needs. My mind needs to know if my daughter is okay.

‘She’s fine. She’s on the paediatric ward,’ he says.

‘The ward?’ He definitely said ward and not ICU.

‘She has a few cuts and bruises and she banged her head. They’re just keeping her in overnight for observation,’ he continues. ‘She’s absolutely fine besides that.’

‘Nothing broken? No life-threatening injuries?’

‘No. None of those. As I say, a few bumps and bruises.’

‘Oh, thank God for that.’ A sob of relief fills my throat. I swallow, but can’t contain it. I let it out and allow myself the indulgence of tears. ‘I thought I’d killed her. No one would tell me anything. And then the police wanting to speak to me …’ The snot and tears have merged into one and Luke takes a wad of tissues from the battered box on the bedside cabinet, pushing some into my hand and wiping my face with the others.

‘Routine questions,’ he says. And then he looks at me as if he’s deciding whether to tell me something. I recognise that look.

‘What?’

‘Alice isn’t so good,’ he says, he dips his gaze for a moment. ‘She’s in ICU. Punctured lung. Several broken bones and a serious head injury. Your mum is with her.’

‘Shit.’ I’m ashamed by my first thought, that I might not be able to question her about what happened in America, but then I remind myself of what I found out and the shame lifts.

‘She’s not Alice,’ I say. Luke frowns and looks confused. ‘That’s not my sister in ICU.’

‘What are you talking about?’

‘That woman who’s been pretending to be Alice is actually Alice’s friend, Martha Munroe.’

‘Honestly, Clare, you must have taken a bigger bang to the head than I thought.’

‘I know it sounds bizarre, but I’m nearly one hundred per cent certain.’ He gives me an old-fashioned look that clearly says he doubts it very much. ‘Where’s my bag?’

Luke shrugs. ‘I don’t know. Still in the car, I expect.’

‘Bring it. I need my bag. When you go home later, bring the bag back. It’s important. Really important. I can show you what I’ve found. Then you’ll have to believe me.’

‘Listen, Leonard said to tell you not to answer any police questions,’ says Luke, clearly trying to change the subject. ‘I think he wants to speak to you first. What happened? Why were you driving like a lunatic? Didn’t you see them?’

I let out an incredulous huff. ‘Of course I didn’t see them. Not at first. What a stupid question.’

‘Why so fast?’

‘I was scared.’

‘Of?’