Run Away Read Online Free
Author: Laura Salters
was warm and wet—if she closed her eyes, she could easily still be in Thailand, embracing the upcoming monsoon season. But she’d never be able to return to Thailand. Not now.
After much investigation, the police had concluded that Sam’s disappearance was linked to the drug debt he’d accumulated. Kayla had insisted this didn’t make sense. Sam hated drugs.
But the police had found fairly damning evidence to suggest otherwise. In Sam’s backpack, they uncovered a small bag of MDMA, traces of marijuana, and his wallet, which contained several tightly rolled banknotes and a credit card laced with particles of impure cocaine. A search of his mobile phone showed that Sam had been in contact with several well-known drug dealers in Phuket.
Whenever Kayla tried to make sense of any of it, her head spun. She’d never seen Sam completely out of it. He always stopped drinking early for fear of losing control. Why would he seek out drug dealers in a new city, acquire a range of illegal substances without paying for them, then snort, smoke, and swallow them in private? It didn’t fit, but there was fairly conclusive evidence to the contrary.
Once the Thais had labeled it as “Self-entitled Westerner goes on a bender and gets himself in a spot of bother,” they’d rapidly lost interest, and let Kayla catch the next plane back to England. They said the British police would be in touch if they needed anything more from her, but because she wasn’t being charged with anything, she was free to go. She was too shell-shocked to be relieved.
She spotted her parents’ Range Rover parked in the drop-off zone. She stopped and took a deep breath, mentally preparing for the onslaught of concern from her mother and up-by-the-bootstraps bravado from her dad. God, she’d love a cigarette right now. But her parents didn’t know she smoked—that was just one of the many secrets she’d kept from them over the last six months. Sam, by contrast, had known everything. Both good and otherwise.
“Sweetheart! Oh Kay, come here.” Martha Finch sprinted across the zebra crossing to embrace her only living child, enveloping her in a cloud of musky perfume and the vague scent of last night’s whiskey. Straight, no ice.
“Hi, Mum.”
“Are you okay? Oh, what am I saying, of course you’re not. Gosh, you look awful. Have you slept since—you know . . .” Martha’s eyebrows were tilted upward in the center like a sad-face emoticon. The damp fur on her coat felt like a dead animal against Kayla’s face.
“Yes, Mum. I’ve been sleeping like a baby. Not a care in the world!” Kayla tried to bite back the sarcasm, but it spilled out before she could stop it. Even when she was on the verge of tears, she couldn’t help but make jokes. She sniffed like a toddler, wiping her nose on her soggy sleeve.
“Of course you haven’t. I am so sorry, my love, I really am. Come on, let’s get you home. I’ll make you a nice mug of hot cocoa. I’ll even put marshmallows and whipped cream on, just how you like it. I went to Sainsbury’s especially.”
Martha had been a beautiful woman not too long ago. But gone were the weekly blow-dries, shiny manicures, and immaculate clothes—a long battle with alcoholism and the death of her young son had taken its toll on her appearance. Now, standing in the middle of a road and trying to comfort her bereaved daughter, she looked twenty years older. “We’re just grateful it wasn’t you, sweetheart. What would we do without you?”
Kayla wanted to chastise her mother for being so inconsiderate, for wishing that kind of pain on another family, but she was too exhausted. It had been a long flight. Well, a long six months. She dragged her feet along the pavement and slung her rucksack into the trunk of the car.
“All right, kiddo. Nice to see you back on home turf,” Kayla’s dad, Mark, greeted her on the pavement. He also looked older, more world-weary, than the last
After much investigation, the police had concluded that Sam’s disappearance was linked to the drug debt he’d accumulated. Kayla had insisted this didn’t make sense. Sam hated drugs.
But the police had found fairly damning evidence to suggest otherwise. In Sam’s backpack, they uncovered a small bag of MDMA, traces of marijuana, and his wallet, which contained several tightly rolled banknotes and a credit card laced with particles of impure cocaine. A search of his mobile phone showed that Sam had been in contact with several well-known drug dealers in Phuket.
Whenever Kayla tried to make sense of any of it, her head spun. She’d never seen Sam completely out of it. He always stopped drinking early for fear of losing control. Why would he seek out drug dealers in a new city, acquire a range of illegal substances without paying for them, then snort, smoke, and swallow them in private? It didn’t fit, but there was fairly conclusive evidence to the contrary.
Once the Thais had labeled it as “Self-entitled Westerner goes on a bender and gets himself in a spot of bother,” they’d rapidly lost interest, and let Kayla catch the next plane back to England. They said the British police would be in touch if they needed anything more from her, but because she wasn’t being charged with anything, she was free to go. She was too shell-shocked to be relieved.
She spotted her parents’ Range Rover parked in the drop-off zone. She stopped and took a deep breath, mentally preparing for the onslaught of concern from her mother and up-by-the-bootstraps bravado from her dad. God, she’d love a cigarette right now. But her parents didn’t know she smoked—that was just one of the many secrets she’d kept from them over the last six months. Sam, by contrast, had known everything. Both good and otherwise.
“Sweetheart! Oh Kay, come here.” Martha Finch sprinted across the zebra crossing to embrace her only living child, enveloping her in a cloud of musky perfume and the vague scent of last night’s whiskey. Straight, no ice.
“Hi, Mum.”
“Are you okay? Oh, what am I saying, of course you’re not. Gosh, you look awful. Have you slept since—you know . . .” Martha’s eyebrows were tilted upward in the center like a sad-face emoticon. The damp fur on her coat felt like a dead animal against Kayla’s face.
“Yes, Mum. I’ve been sleeping like a baby. Not a care in the world!” Kayla tried to bite back the sarcasm, but it spilled out before she could stop it. Even when she was on the verge of tears, she couldn’t help but make jokes. She sniffed like a toddler, wiping her nose on her soggy sleeve.
“Of course you haven’t. I am so sorry, my love, I really am. Come on, let’s get you home. I’ll make you a nice mug of hot cocoa. I’ll even put marshmallows and whipped cream on, just how you like it. I went to Sainsbury’s especially.”
Martha had been a beautiful woman not too long ago. But gone were the weekly blow-dries, shiny manicures, and immaculate clothes—a long battle with alcoholism and the death of her young son had taken its toll on her appearance. Now, standing in the middle of a road and trying to comfort her bereaved daughter, she looked twenty years older. “We’re just grateful it wasn’t you, sweetheart. What would we do without you?”
Kayla wanted to chastise her mother for being so inconsiderate, for wishing that kind of pain on another family, but she was too exhausted. It had been a long flight. Well, a long six months. She dragged her feet along the pavement and slung her rucksack into the trunk of the car.
“All right, kiddo. Nice to see you back on home turf,” Kayla’s dad, Mark, greeted her on the pavement. He also looked older, more world-weary, than the last
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