‘You did what?’
‘I told Dolly.’
Annie sipped her tea, trying to put a lid on her anger and the panic welling inside her. She glanced at Layla’s hand, at the missing finger. Annie would never forget the despair she’d felt when her baby girl was taken from her, the horror when the kidnappers delivered her child’s finger in a box. She had done things then she hadn’t believed she was even capable of; there was nothing she wouldn’t have done to get her baby back. And now someone had targeted her daughter again. That bastard who tried to grab her could have been Redmond. If he’d succeeded…
‘You told Dolly and she didn’t tell me?’ said Annie.
‘She wanted to tell Steve.’ Layla threw the toast down on to the plate. She glared at her mother. ‘Look, I’m not used to all this, I can’t even think straight! But this is what you do, isn’t it?’
‘Meaning?’
‘Meaning all this: lurking in shadows, getting rid of bodies in the middle of the night. I don’t know about any of this, I don’t want to.’
Annie was still thinking about Dolly. ‘So how come Dolly didn’t tell Steve about this bloke in the park?’
‘I made her promise not to. I didn’t want to start anything.’ Layla eyed her mother in something approaching disgust.
All her life she’d fought against being part of that world. Her mother, the Mafia queen. Her father, the gangland boss. Layla was proud not to be a part of that. The incident in the park had seriously rattled her. It was a reminder that the shadowy world she had resisted for so long was merely a footstep away. Her first instinct had been denial, to pretend it never happened. The last thing she’d wanted was to stir up a hornet’s nest by raising the alarm.
‘There was something else,’ she said at last. ‘Something weird. When I went out to pick up my trainer, there was a little paper shamrock in it.’
Annie hitched in a breath. A shamrock? She stared at Layla. No use ranting and raving. She could see that Layla was upset enough as it was. But she was going to have to do something about this, and quick.
‘You know, like a four-leaf clover? Do you think there could be a connection between that and Orla breaking in here?’ Layla asked. She was peering at the buttered toast as if it was going to rear up and bite her.
‘It’s possible,’ said Annie. Orla and a shamrock – oh, there was a connection, no doubt about it.
‘What should we do?’
‘You have to go into work?’
Layla nodded.
‘Phone in sick.’
‘I can’t do that.’
You bloody well can. Until I find out what’s going on here, we’re not taking any chances.’