No matter how much Daisy had reassured him over the phone that his precious little girl was okay, he’d hardly been able to breathe on the way over, his mind conjuring up all sorts of nasty visions of Molly lying bruised and battered. Or worse. And he’d dredged up a host of memories that left him reeling to this day. Memories of how he’d got the call-out four years ago—how he’d first come upon the mangled wreckage of the red Ford SUV on the highway, how he’d thought the car so similar to Jackie’s and how his heart had been ripped out when he’d caught sight of his wife’s lifeless head lolling on the headrest, her vacant eyes staring heavenward, to where he hoped she now rested peacefully. Memories were the pits, and he’d sworn over his wife’s dead body that he would protect their daughter with every fibre of his being. So much for promises. He’d been out having the time of his life with another woman when he should have been keeping his promise to Jackie. ‘Are you okay, munchkin?’ He enveloped Molly in his arms and buried his face in her neck, inhaling the smell that was uniquely hers—a combination of raspberry bubble bath, strawberry shampoo and sweet little girl.
