Page 132 of Five for Silver

“Same time next week?” Keeley asked.

Chad nodded. He jangled Merc’s chain, and herushed to heel.

“Take care of yourself,” Keeley said.

He smiled weakly. “I’m trying.”

When he passed through reception, all eyessnapped to him. Pam shot him a smile, but it soon fell when someonetutted loudly. She ducked behind her reception desk, and tappedaway on her laptop as he went by.

As soon as Chad was through the door heexhaled the breath he’d been holding. The cool air brushed aroundhis neck and he shivered. Merc whined up at him.

“I’m okay,” he said, but even to his ownears his voice was hollow. “Shall we go home?”

Merc wagged his tail.

Chad took a step off the curb, only tofreeze at the truck racing towards him. Its brakes squealed,drawing more eyes. A red-faced Andrew jumped out. He rushed atChad, gripped him by the biceps and flung him at the wall.

Chad’s teeth clicked together. His bicepsburned where Andrew still had hold of him, digging his fingers inuntil Chad was certain his skin would bruise.

“My mom’s dead because of you!”

Chad didn’t argue against Andrew’s wrath. Hedidn’t try and reason with him either.

“She wanted your help finding her sister,but she didn’t want to involve you. She told me you’d already beenthrough so much. She tried to protect you and you … you betrayedher.”

Chad’s gaze snapped to Andrew’s. Furyreddened the white of Andrew’s eyes.

“She told me what you did. She told me howyou suspected her. It hurt her. You broke her.”

Andrew eased Chad away from the wall just sohe could shove him at it again. The back of Chad’s head crackedagainst the brickwork. Merc growled.

“Shit!”

Chad glanced to the doorway he’d comethrough to find Pam, biting her lip.

“I’ll call the police—”

“There’s no point.” Chad said.

“Admit it.” Andrew said. “Admit it was yourfault.”

Chad swallowed, about to do just that, but acroaked voice cut in, and loosened Andrew’s hold on Chad’sarms.

“It wasn’t Detective Fuller’s fault.”

Chad looked past Andrew to the red truck.The driver’s door had been left open by Andrew when he flew acrossthe carpark to confront Chad, but now when he looked, the backpassenger door was open, too.

Michael Hastings sat on the seat, gaze gluedto his grandson.

“It is!” Andrew sneered, bumping his nose toChad’s as he got in his face. “It was his fault. You shot my motherat point blank range.”

“The gun went off as he tried to disarmher,” Michael argued.

“I don’t believe it—”

“The fault lies with Vincent Whitehall. It’salways been him.” Michael said. “He killed Harriet. He tortured mywife—your grandmother—for years and once she was dead, he startedon Lucy. He messed with her head and she snapped. We all have abreaking point.”

“Chad helped her get to it.”

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