Hostage to Murder Read Online Free PDF

have to be a parent to a child I don’t want. This is emotional blackmail, Sophie.”
    â€œYou think I don’t know that? You think I want to behave like this?” Sophie turned to face Lindsay, tracks of moisture glistening on her cheeks. “You think I like myself like this?”
    Lindsay tried to stay resolute, to keep her eyes on the opposite wall. But it was more than she could manage. She slid down the bed and reached for Sophie. “You know I can’t leave you,” she mumbled into Sophie’s hair.
    â€œAnd you know I don’t want you to. What would be the point in having a baby without you there to share it with?”
    For a long time, they clung to each other, their tears salt against each other’s skin. Then Lindsay leaned back. It was going to be a long night; time they made a start on what had to be said. “So. What’s your next step?” she asked, resignation heavy in her voice.
    Â 
    Café Virginia was suffering its daily identity crisis in the hiatus between the after-work drinkers and the evening players. The music had shifted into more hardcore dance, making conversation more difficult, and there was a strange mixture of outfits on display, from business suits to teeshirts that clung to nipples and exposed midriffs.
    The quietest place in the bar was the corner booth where Rory McLaren ran her business and held court. Nobody else ever sat in the booth, mostly because of the foot high scarlet neon sign that said, RESERVED. Rory had wanted it to say GONNAE FUCK OFF? but Mary the bar manager had vetoed it on the grounds that it would be too big for the table. Rory was hammering out the finishing touches to a memo on a story proposal for the Herald feature pages, occasionally pausing to sip at her bottle of Rolling Rock. She looked up, sensing company heading her way and saw a sharp-suited Asian woman with gleaming hair in a shoulder
length bob weaving her way through the tables towards her.
    Sandra Singh flopped on to the bench seat opposite Rory, dumping raincoat, handbag and briefcase beside her. “That jerk Murray,” she spat.
    â€œThought as much,” Rory said, giving Sandra the quick once over. “Love the earrings.”
    â€œA wee shop in Cambridge. I’m going to kill him, I swear to God. Three weeks hammering out the new format and then this morning it’s, ‘the network disnae like it.’ I tell you, some days I wish I’d never left newspapers.” She raked in her handbag and came out with a packet of Marlboro Red and a matchbook from last night’s restaurant.
    â€œYou don’t mean that.” Rory leaned out of the booth and waved to the bar, holding up two fingers.
    Sandra’s grin was even sharper than her suit. “You’re right, I don’t.” She sighed. “I just wish I did. So, any news?”
    â€œYou could say that. Looks like I might have got myself a partner.”
    Sandra snorted smoke. “As in, you got laid?”
    Rory’s attempt at dignity wouldn’t have fooled a drunken child of two. “Sandra, there’s more to life than sex.”
    Sandra’s laugh attracted every woman in the place. “You didn’t get laid, then.”
    â€œI’m talking business here, fool.”
    Sandra nodded acknowledgement to the barmaid who placed two sweating bottles in front of them. “You serious? I thought the whole point of this was being a one-man band?”
    â€œI thought so, yeah. But this one’s really special.”
    Sandra took a long swallow of her beer. “So you’re planning on getting laid?”
    Rory shook her head in affectionate exasperation. “No. Focus your mind above the waist for once, would you? I’m not looking for a shag, I’m looking to build a business. Listen, do you remember me telling you years back about Lindsay Gordon?”
    Sandra frowned. “Lindsay . . . ? Oh, wait a minute. The great lesbian