No Safe Place (Joe Hunter Thrillers Book 11) Read Online Free PDF

might have an adverse effect on the boy’s recovery. She aimed a finger at the doorbell. I didn’t hear a corresponding chime, but the bell must have worked because from within the soft thud of footsteps approached the door.
    Because of the plyboard over the broken pane, I had no view inside, so had no idea what to expect. I’d pictured Andrew Clayton based upon his affluent home and expected one of those guys who wears golfing attire even when he was off the courses, a pullover tied around his shoulders, and quite often a trophy wife hanging off one elbow. But when he opened the door, Andrew Clayton burst my bubble of expectation. I tried not to show my surprise. He was a bull of a man, with wide shoulders, thick legs, and a round shaved head. He wore wireframe spectacles perched on the flattened bridge of his nose, dressed in a plaid shirt and jeans, and loafers on his feet. There were old scars on his forehead, and as he held out a hand to usher us inside I saw more scars on his knuckles. He was older than I imagined the father of a young child would be, maybe in his forties like me. I thought of him as a heavyweight boxer who hadn’t been active in the ring for a decade or more. We stepped inside.
    ‘So this is the tough guy, huh?’ Clayton said to Bryony, but appraising me. He was three inches taller, and about five stone heavier, than me, and his arms bulged with muscle. Judging by his lop-sided smile he didn’t appear too impressed at his first impression of his bodyguard.
    ‘This is the guy,’ Bryony confirmed. Then with a teasing smile at me, she added, ‘Looks can be deceiving, Andrew. You’re in good hands.’
    Clayton held out a paw to shake, and I accepted. He squeezed, the way some big guys with an attitude did, and I felt the bones of my hand begin to grate. I met him eye to eye, and returned the Neanderthal grip. Clayton grunted in mirth, then withdrew his hand and rubbed distractedly at his forearm as if I’d pained him. ‘So what do I call you, buddy?’
    ‘I’m Joe Hunter,’ I said. ‘Suit yourself. My friends tend to call me Hunter.’
    ‘Then Hunter it is.’ Clayton glanced briefly at Bryony. ‘My friends have been in short supply lately.’
    He led us into a spacious sitting room towards the rear of the house. There was a large picture window, and through it I could see the lawn where it dipped down towards the pond. Sun-bleached reeds formed a tall barrier between the mowed grass and the still water. My gaze went to a pale splotch on one wall. Spackling paste had been applied to fill an indentation in the wall, but to my trained eye I recognised a bullet hole. I made a brief scan of the other walls and saw more cover-up work. Bryony had already explained how the invasion crew had broken in via the garage, entering through a utility room to the kitchen where they’d given chase to Ella. She’d fled into this room, where more than one shooter had tried to bring her down. From the placement of the bullet holes she must have given them quite a run around, or they’d been simply shooting for shooting’s sake. There had also been bullets found embedded in a settee, as I recalled, but Clayton must have replaced the furniture because the current settee looked unmarked.
    Clayton watched me as I made my perusal. ‘Yeah, this is where it all happened,’ he said. He nodded to a spot on the floor. ‘That’s where Ella finally died. The bastards chased her in here and shot her like a dog.’
    ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ I intoned.
    The only indication he accepted my words was a jump of one eyebrow, before he turned aside. He moved across the large room, adjusting his spectacles, and I thought perhaps containing his emotions. Even big tough guys grieved, I had to remind myself, even if they didn’t like to show it. I myself had gone through the process too many times not to feel sympathy for him.
    Bryony knocked my elbow. ‘Want me to hang around?’
    ‘No. I’ll get settled in. I