Free WILL TIME WAIT: Boxed set of 3 bestselling 'ticking clock' thrillers by H Elliston

one was when she insisted that I sort out a pre-nup.”
    “Ooh. 
Tricky.”
    “I
did it to stop her nagging.  Paul understood.”
    “So
he should.  He’s a nice guy.”
    She
smiled.  “Lucky me.  Anyway, come back later if you’ll miss me that much.  And, sorry for being snappy lately.  I don’t mean to
be.” 
    I
nodded against her shoulder, then trudged to my car with a lump in my
throat.  Like any rational person, I wanted someone’s help.  But I
was doing Laura a big favour by cutting her loose.  Right now, being near
me could be dangerous.
    The
further I drove from Laura’s, the more daylight faded.  Thick, grey clouds
rolled in.  A rainstorm was on the horizon.  Stupidly, I wondered if
my mood had caused it.  On the approach to my street I realised that if
Lee was right, another email containing a get-out-clause puzzle could arrive
any moment.  I needed to view it in large on my computer screen.  If
I logged on via my mobile, some graphics could be missed, or run slow, meaning
I’d blow my opportunity to beat any puzzle it contained.  I’d already
figured out the last email arrived late morning and wondered if the sender
would stick to a pattern.  I assumed even killers had jobs or schedules. 
I put my foot down to beat the storm.  
    Once
indoors, after sweeping the house for intruders, I booted up the computer and
went into the kitchen.  While I waited for my toast to pop, I prayed that
the email sender would slip up and leave a clue as to their identity. 
    A
sudden urge to phone my parents came to me, strong as thirst.  I needed to
hear my mum's comforting voice.  I settled for looking at a photo
instead.  I didn’t want to worry them.  My mum never missed a
trick.  She was bound to pick up on telltale nerves in my voice. 
    I
searched the fireplace for the silver-framed picture of them in their summer
garden, but couldn’t find it.  What did I do with it?  I scanned the
other pictures, then found it switched with a photo of Laura, Emma and me taken
a couple of months ago.  I smiled, reminiscing the surprise spa day which
Laura’s fiancé Paul had organised.  I looked back to my parents’ photo,
then stared at the place it should have been.
    My
toast popped up.  I spread a thick layer of lumpy jam on it and ate. 
On the last bite, I moved the few strides into my dining room and faced the
computer desk.  Am I ready?  Alert enough?  As soon as I
switched it on, if there was another game in the email, I’d have to solve it on
my own.  I couldn’t afford to blow my chance of stopping that damn death
clock by not being focused. 
    I
took a step nearer to the desk, cutting through the invisible tension that
lingered in the room. 
    “Check
my emails.  Call the police,” I told myself.  Simple.
    A
burst of knocking on the front door shattered the silence.  I stopped
typing my password, then edged into the hallway. 
    A
dark, wide object moved past the magazine-sized window in my front door,
causing me to flinch and press my back against the wall.  What the hell
is that?   The dark shape shot past the window again.  My muscles
tensed, immobilized by the threat of its size.  It wasn’t a vehicle. 
It came closer to the door than that.  I remained still, back pressed
tight to the wall, and took deep breaths.  Is this the person who’s
threatening me?   I needed a plan.  I grabbed a shoe from the
floor, and held the pointed stiletto in the air like a blade. 
    I
moved to the door, squashed my nose against its textured window and peeked
harder.  I saw no one on my path except a few neighbours unloading their
car on the opposite side of the street. 
     
No one would attack me on the doorstep in broad daylight, surely? 
Ridiculous!  The neighbours would see. 
    This
was one of the rare times I’d wanted to find either a double-glazing or
annoying gas & electric salesperson at my door, with a clipboard and cheesy
grin, claiming, as they all do, that their