Page 73 of Corpse Roads

“Sally Moore.” I cast her a frown. “Long time no see.”

“You’re a hard man to find.”

“So I’ve been told. I have nothing further to add. Refer your questions to my PR agent, Lucas. I pay him enough for it.”

“I don’t want to speak to your spin doctor.”

“Then feel free to sit here in silence. See if I care.”

Reaching into her designer handbag, she slides a stack of photographs out and tosses them on the coffee table. The unspoken threat hangs in the air.

I clock the long-range shots of the hospital we’re sat in, our tinted SUV coming and going. In one of the pictures, Harlow can be seen climbing out of the car, Enzo’s arm wrapped around her waist.

“She’s been here for a while,” Sally reveals with a grin. “I’m looking forward to getting her statement when she comes out.”

Snatching up the photographs, I tuck them into my suit jacket. “This really is scraping the barrel now. Are you that desperate for viewers? Is the network threatening to axe your shit gossip show?”

“I’m doing just fine,” she defends hotly.

“Then get out of my face before I file an injunction and have you suspended. You’re not getting a statement, and this is a gross invasion of my client’s privacy.”

She places her phone to her ear and pouts her lips at me. “Bring the cameras up, Jerry. We’ve got a live interview with Sabre’s bossman. Yeah, that’s right. I want them all.”

Silently cursing, I stand and loom over her. I have enough connections in London to ensure she’ll never work again, no matter how many favours it fucking costs me.

But right now, my priority is keeping Harlow as far away from this nightmare as possible. I’m not sacrificing her to the heartless media just to get them off our backs.

“Don’t test me. We’ve played this game before.”

“People just want the truth.” Her shark-like smile makes my skin crawl. “This is the age of information. You can’t keep any secrets.”

Spitting with fury, I grab the phone from her hand before she can stop me. Sally shouts as I crush the device beneath my shoe, stamping it into useless shards for good measure.

“Hey! You can’t do that!”

I kick it back towards her. “Fucking bill me.”

She’s still swearing up a storm as I stride away, taking the corridor to where Harlow is having her weekly therapy session. Barging in without knocking, I slam the door behind me to block anyone from seeing in.

The ward matron shouldn’t let the vultures get past, but we still need to get the hell out of here. Someone’s ass is going to be fired for not spotting the cameras hiding outside the hospital.

“Hunter?” Richards protests from his seat by the window. “This is a private session. You can’t just walk in whenever you feel like it.”

Harlow is huddled in a high-backed armchair, her trembling knees pulled up to her chest. She looks so fucking good, her bright, furtive eyes framed by curling hair that she hasn’t cut yet.

I really need to get Enzo to buy her some warmer clothing; the low-cut tank top she’s wearing with grey sweats and an oversized cardigan won’t hold up against the cold weather coming.

“I understand, doc. Unfortunately, we have a situation outside. I need to get Harlow out of here.”

Richards tucks his glasses into the collar of his pinstriped shirt. “It’s always a damn situation with you people.”

“You can continue this at another time. I apologise for the interruption.”

He stands and gestures for Harlow to do the same. She’s unsteady on her feet, struggling to straighten with her tightly wrapped ribs. I offer her a helping hand, which she eyes mistrustfully.

“Sorry, Harlow. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Nodding, she purses her lips and takes my hand. Her limbs are still quaking with fear. Whatever they were discussing, it’s left her feeling vulnerable and exposed.

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