Dont get burnt, p.1
Don’t Get Burnt, page 1
Don’t Get Burnt
DI Olivia Austin - Book Nineteen
Nic Roberts
Copyright © 2023 by Nic Roberts
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‘Don’t Get Burnt’
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All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Names characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Some may be used for parody purposes.
Any resemblance to events, locales, business establishments, or actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Contents
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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
Epilogue
Book Twenty
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Prologue
It was the smell of petrol that woke him up, stinging his nostrils and causing him to gag as the thickness collected in the back of his throat.
He coughed and choked, trying to get a sense of his bearings despite the irreverent throbbing in his head from where he’d been hit.
I feel like it’s been caved in, he thought, trying to lift his hand to feel for a wound, but it was only then that his senses started to trickle back in.
A chair. He realised he was sitting in one with something firm keeping him upright.
And restrained.
He kicked against whatever it was, enough to figure out that both his hands and feet were bound to the wooden legs. He desperately tried to pull them loose, swallowing back the mounting panic that was rising.
Don’t lose your head. Keep calm.
He struggled again, wincing in pain as whatever it was rubbed into his wrists and refused to yield. Rope?
No. Whatever it was, was thinner. And sharper.
He moved his head to get a closer look. Damnit. Barbed wire, wrapped tightly around the arms of the chair, pinning the flesh on his wrists. He pulled again, the desperation building inside him. But the only thing he achieved was drawing more blood, and with it, a fresh stab of pain.
He pulled again with all his might, thrashing in the chair and grunting in pain, desperate to get out despite the thin, jagged metal tearing at him.
When it was clear he wasn’t getting loose, he stopped resisting and slumped into the chair, exhausted by the effort.
The only way I’m getting out of here is if somebody lets me out.
Which brought him to the next question. What the fuck was he doing there? And who had taken him?
So many questions. But it was hard to think through the throbbing pain in his head.
Slowly, his eyes adjusted to the surrounding darkness just enough to make out that he was sitting in what appeared to be a storage room where the sound of a dripping pipe echoed off the damp walls. From the little that he could see, it looked as though the place had been long since abandoned.
Which means that no one will come here looking for me.
He tried hard to think who could have done this to him. Surely this is a practical joke. His mind was racing, lining up all the suspects in his head.
It surprised him how many people might have potentially been responsible, giving him a brief pause on the kind of life he’d led.
But who would hate me enough to do this?
He was about to find out.
The sound of a metallic door creaking open from behind startled him, and he tried to twist his neck to get a look at his abductor.
“Who… who are you?” he commanded, his voice dry from the metallic tinge of blood. “Why are you doing this?”
His abductor remained silent, refusing to speak with words. Instead, the response came in the form of liquid.
Poured all over his body, as he strained helplessly to get away.
The smell was unmistakable. Petrol?
“What the fuck you doing dosing me in that, for?” he cried out, his skin stinging slightly from contact with the fluid.
Instead answering, his abductor moved into sight for the first time, allowing the shadows of his face to be seen.
Recognition set in swiftly.
“Oh Jesus, no!” he heard himself croak in horror as his eyes widened and the sight before him awakened some primal feeling deep inside.
Just as the abductor pulled out a lighter.
“Please, no. No!”
He shook his head vehemently, knowing what came next, but his pleas fell on deaf ears.
With a flick of a wrist, the flame fell onto him, and instantly he was alight.
At first, the shock masked the pain. There was an inability to connect with what was really happening, and then all at once, every part of him scorched, every nerve ending on fire.
He screamed in agony, watching as his clothes disintegrated in the heat and the red skin beneath peeled away, exposing his angry flesh.
The high-pitched scream that had burst up and out from his chest turned into deep, guttural growls. No longer able to control what came out of his mouth, he prayed that someone would at least hear his desperate cry.
But no one was coming, and the last thing he ever saw was his abductor watching him from a safe distance, the fire reflected in their eyes as they watched him burn, followed by a final wish that it would all be over soon.
1
Nine days earlier…
“I’m his wife.”
There was nothing wrong with Detective Olivia Austin’s hearing. In fact, in that very moment, she wished she’d somehow misheard the woman who stood in front of her, dark hair tumbling down and over the shoulders of her overcoat.
But as much as she replayed them in her head, the words refused to nestle there. Because there was no way she could bring herself to acknowledge what was being forced upon her.
Dean has a wife? An actual-fucking-wife!
“Liv, who is it?”
Damnit! He was awake, and by the sounds of it, so was Briggs. She could hear his feet padding along the hall behind her.
Olivia closed the door slightly to stop the excited dog from bounding out of the house, but Gabriella was determined to get a glimpse at her supposed husband and was trying to lean into the doorway.
“I’m sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong address,” Liv offered firmly whilst keeping her tone light, even though she was erupting inside.
The woman in front of her was having none of it. Apparently, she was used to getting what she wanted in life, and today would be no different.
“No,” Gabriella said smugly, holding up a piece of folded paper. “This is definitely Detective Inspector Deangelo Lawrence’s address.”
“Will you stop calling him that?” Liv snapped, surprising Gabriella and herself with the sudden sharpness in her tone, half hoping this was still a practical joke.
But in the background, she heard the sound of Dean yawning.
“Liv?”
His voice carried down the hall as he approached.
Gabriella heard it too and suddenly became aware that she was about to come face to face with him. All manner of her previous confidence evaporated instantly. She must have been aware of his presence because she immediately backed away, saying hurriedly, “I… I just wanted to make sure I had the… the right address,” and she stumbled as she backed away.
And then she bottled it, not quite jogging, but certainly in a hurry to get away as she kept her head low and disappeared down the street.
“Hey! Wait!” Olivia called out, halfway down the path after her before Dean opened the front door fully. “Wait! Come…”
He pushed past her, standing by the gate, his eyes watching their visitor departing into the night. But as he watched her go, Liv watched him. She watched the way his body tensed when he recognised who it was.
He knows her so well he can tell it’s her in the dark from behind.
She bent down to hold Briggs back, guiding him back in as Dean retreated back to the house. He gave one last look down the street, brows furrowed.
Olivia waited for him to close the door and lock it before she pounced on him with questions. Starting slow and easing him into it was what she should have done, but when it came to her relationships, she’d never been the rational one.
“You know who that was, don’t you?” she asked, finally letting go of Briggs. He hovered around the both of them, aware something was brewing.
“I…” Dean’s first instinct was to deny it, but she caught his face starting to break out in a sweat, the rapid breath…
&nb sp; He definitely knows her…
“I’ll help you out,” she said, arms folded. “She said she was your wife. That your name was Deangelo.”
He tensed when she said it, his jaw tightening as though just hearing it was a major trigger.
“Well?” she pressed, attempting to tone down the shrill quality to her voice. “I think I deserve an explanation…”
Olivia knew she probably sounded a little irrational. Yes, they were seeing each other and had been for a short while, but they’d decided not to label things or put pressure on what they were, so grilling him as though he owed her anything had the potential to push him away. She couldn’t help it though. She was invested in him, invested in them being something, and she liked him more than she dared believe.
This revelation had the potential to derail everything.
Knowing there was no way he could lie his way out of it, Dean took a deep breath and ran his hands over his face.
“I… It’s complicated…” he attempted to explain.
“‘Complicated’ isn’t going to be your get-out-of-jail-free card here,” Olivia scolded. “Try again.”
She watched him pace the kitchen, a dozen words on the tip of his tongue but none of them coming out.
“Talk to me,” she pressed. “Your wife…”
“She’s not my wife!” he snapped, turning to face her, his anger fading the minute he realised how out of turn he’d spoken. “Sorry. I’m just… sorry.”
An uneasiness settled in the kitchen between them, the weight of the situation creating an atmosphere that she could barely breathe in.
How had they only moments before been cuddled up in a post-Christmas bliss, only to now be unable to communicate properly.
Bloody Gabriella.
“If she’s not your wife, then why would she say that?” Olivia asked, trying to keep her voice from sounding accusatory. She wanted to trust him completely, but after all the recent revelations about Rhys, she was finding it hard to believe that the good guys really were… good. Or that there were any good guys left at all.
Dean shook his head slowly, his thick dark curls falling forwards as he looked down to avoid making eye contact with her.
“Is Deangelo your real name?” she continued. “What is this?” She gestured between them. “Am I just passing the time? An escape from your everyday life? Your family?”
He looked hurt by her accusation.
“Everything we have is real,” he answered, making a step towards her, but she backed away. “Liv, don’t…”
“I can’t sit here and just pretend this never happened,” she whispered, as though Briggs was too delicate to hear what she was saying. “We can’t just play happy families with this hanging over our heads. It’s chaotic!”
Dean scoffed.
“Oh? You want to know what chaotic is? We’ve spent a chunk of the last year running around after your brother, the fucking Flock, and your dead boyfriend” he snapped, instantly regretting the words as soon as they’d left his mouth, but it was too late.
Olivia felt the words like a flying kick to the stomach, so much so that her hand automatically flew to her stomach.
“Liv, I didn’t mean…”
She put her other hand up to stop him.
“You meant exactly what you said,” she replied searching around the countertops for her keys. “I think I should go.”
Dean pushed the curls back from his forehead.
“It’s Christmas Day,” he said. “And you’ve been drinking. Stay. Please. I shouldn’t have said that. I’m sorry. I’m just on edge. Her turning up has just…”
“Her being your wife?” Olivia cut in.
“Her being the woman I tried to leave behind in my fucking past with the rest of that trauma!” He raised his voice with each word said. “I’m not ready to deal with it yet, and I don’t want to talk about it. Not tonight. Not on our first Christmas together. Liv, wait, where are you going?”
He followed her into the lounge and watched as she gathered a few belongings into her bag.
“I can’t go through this again,” she said, looking up at him. “Having the rug pulled from beneath my feet. Finding out that everything I ever believed was a lie…”
She stopped herself, realising that she was opening up too much of her vulnerabilities to a man she realised she didn’t really know.
“I haven’t lied to you…” he started. “It’s all real. Me. Us. What we’ve been doing… The rest of it is in the past, and I’m not going to let that ruin what we have. Give me a chance to sort things out and then I’ll explain everything. Just don’t leave. Not when it’s so late.”
She eyed the two bottles of wine they’d polished off after dinner and knew there was no way she’d be able to drive home. And there was no one else she could call upon who would be sober enough to pick her up.
Spending the night with Dean appeared to be the most realistic option, but she could barely bring herself to look at him.
Not when the pool of disappointment in her stomach deepened by the second.
He hesitated before he crossed the room and pulled her up against him, resting his chin on the top of her head. To her own surprise, she didn’t resist, but it took her a full moment before she lifted her hands and wrapped them around his torso, the feeling of comfort and familiarity enveloping her. Despite their late-night visitor, this was what she wanted. What she needed.
“We’re going to get through this, Olivia,” he whispered, his grip tightening on her, but deep in the depths of her overworking mind, she knew that depending on what the revelations were, she wasn’t so sure if they could.
2
Olivia was grateful to get back to work and throw herself into a case—any case. Anything to distract her from their Christmas Day curveball.
Even though he’d been adamant that Gabriella wasn’t his wife and that there was more to the story, it didn’t stop the fear that grew in the back of her mind.
The uneasiness that told her everyone she loved eventually hurt her.
She’d left Dean’s house as soon as she was fully legal to drive on Boxing Day, heavy hearted at the look on his face as he stood at the door and watched her go. But she needed time to process the information apart from him.
It wasn’t over between them—the make-up sex that night had proven that—but her defence mechanisms were well and truly up. Squeezing the brakes just a little was the only way of protecting herself from being fucked over again.
That was why her casual relationship with Andrew had been so… needed and refreshing. No strings attached, stress-relieving sex. No potential to get herself hurt in the process.
Thankfully, the station was relatively quiet when she got in, and she made a beeline for her office and closed the door, hoping to have at least an hour to herself going through emails and catching up with her cases before the rest of her colleagues arrived.
“Everything all right?”
She’d been so focused that she hadn’t heard someone come in.
DC Tim Harris stood in the doorway, a hesitant smile on his face. He was the last person she expected to find there.
“Yes, all good, thanks,” she said slowly, putting down the papers in her hand. Had Dean sent his sergeant over to dig for details? “Why? Anything I can help you with?”
Tim took another step into the room.
“No, ma’am,” he answered, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb. “It’s just you’re usually first to grab a coffee and then sit in the other office. Sorry if that’s a bit forward of—”
“No! Not at all! Thanks for asking.” Her heart warmed at the fact that he’d gone out of his way to check on her, and she felt bad for her initial sting of annoyance at being interrupted. “Just a lot to catch up on.”
