No Turning Back: The can’t-put-it-down thriller of the year. Tracy Buchanan

Chapter Twelve

      

       Chapter Thirteen

      

       Chapter Fourteen

      

       Chapter Fifteen

      

       Chapter Sixteen

      

       Chapter Seventeen

      

       Chapter Eighteen

      

       Chapter Nineteen

       Chapter Twenty

       Chapter Twenty-One

       Chapter Twenty-Two

       Chapter Twenty-Three

       Chapter Twenty-Four

       Epilogue

       Read on for an exclusive extract of THE LOST SISTER

       Acknowledgements

       Keep Reading …

      About the Author

      By the Same Author:

       About the Publisher

       Prologue

       The First One

       I shift my legs so I can peer up at the light. It sends shivers of pain along the tendons in my neck, down my calves and along my shoulder. But it’s worth it, a brief respite from the darkness.

       The light is like nectar: soft yellow, swirling with dust particles. I open my mouth, imagine drinking it, almost feel it slipping down my parched throat and filling me with a luminosity that might heal my bruises.

       There’s a faint glow of light and a shadow moves above. I think about the moment I crossed paths with him.

       Oh God, is this really happening? I shake my head to somehow control my thoughts and my cheek scrapes against the brick, skin tearing, pain burning.

       The sound of my voice echoes up the narrow space, bouncing off the walls then back again, seeming to wrap tight around me, stifling me.

       Then there. The shadow again. A slight pause.

       He’s standing above, his dark form blocking some of the glow.

       My heart pounds, a bird trying to flutter its way out of a cage. I’m breathing fast and heavy, my bare shoulders scraping the brick with each movement.

       But I keep looking up, not caring about the pain. He hunches down, his pale fingers curling around the wooden slats above me. I hear his breath, deep and low.

       My own breath quickens in response, rasping, heart flapping flapping flapping.

       Then he lies on his belly to look through the slats. I crunch against the wall, curl myself inwards, my fringe falling over my forehead.

       One eye, blue and heavily lashed, blinks down at me.

       ‘I can see you!’ he says, voice echoing towards me. Panic flutters inside. ‘Can you hear me?’ he asks.

       I clamp my hand over my mouth.

       ‘Please,’ he says again, voice weaker with each word he utters. ‘I’m hurt, it’s really bad. Please help me.’

       I quickly shove my hand down the slim gap at my side, fumbling for the door handle. The door clicks, air rushing in and I stride out, his cries echoing after me as I lock the door then double check it.

       I have to be careful, the boy might find a way to get down here, even escape.

       And that just won’t do, it won’t do at all.

       Chapter One

       1 July 2015

        Coast to Coast. Your Say Question of the Day: Has the war on drugs failed?

        Caller A: ‘Yes, it bloody has! I was mugged last week by a druggie, the government’s too lenient.’ (Fiona, 47)

        Caller B: ‘No. I’m a recovering addict now working in rehabilitation. I’ve really noticed a change actually, especially over how drug addiction is now seen as a health issue.’ (Ryan, 27)

        Caller C: ‘It’s out of our control with all these immigrants flooding into the country!’ (Dawn, 37)

      The screen blurred in front of Anna’s eyes. She put her hands to her face briefly, the smell of her little girl still on her palms: the sweet scent of baby lotion and that indescribable Joni smell. It brought with it the sight of her baby’s smile, flowering first in her brown eyes before spreading to those cherub cheeks and pink lips. Anna felt her whole being ache to be with her. She was only two hours into her first day back at work after eight months of maternity leave and she was already desperate to be back with her daughter.

      ‘Thoughts, Anna?’ She looked up to see Heather, her new producer, giving her a stern look through the glass window dividing them. Anna quickly took a gulp of her coffee, caffeine’s magic taking effect. The memory of Joni’s smile faded away, her scent replaced by the tart smell of coffee beans.

      She leaned forward and pressed one of the buttons on her microphone. ‘Let’s take caller C out,’ she said.

      Heather frowned. ‘I’m not sure that’s wise. In the months you’ve been away we’ve found immigration calls go down well with the public, really puts fire into their bellies.’

      ‘I’ve found in the past seven years I’ve been presenting the show, it’s best to keep the focus tight. This phone-in isn’t about immigration, it’s about the success or failure of the government’s fight against drug abuse.’

      ‘I understand what you’re saying,’ Heather said, tucking a wisp of black hair behind her ear that had dared escape her trademark tight bun. ‘But I’d like to keep it in. I was a senior news reporter at Radio 4, remember, Anna? An investigation I did on this