Veil of Blood by Rachel McLean, book 0.5 in the Roscoe & McBride series - Chapter 1

Dr Petra McBride sank into the armchair, her feet finally free from the torture of her usual four-inch heels. She massaged them and winced at the tender spots. At least the hotel robe was soft against her skin, a small comfort after a long and difficult day. She’d tried the hotel slippers, and they were like sandpaper.

She glanced towards the bathroom. The tub was filling, steam escaping into the bedroom. A bath would help. She needed to unwind, clear her head.

She yawned and blinked at the phone on her bedside table. Hungry. She picked it up, hit the button.

“Hola, room service,” came the voice on the other end.

“Yes, I’d like to order, please.” No point even attempting Spanish; pretty much every person in Spain spoke better English than she did Spanish. Everyone in the courtroom had, even the defendant. “The grilled salmon, and a glass of red wine. Rioja, if you have it.”

“Of course, señora. Anything else?”

“That’ll be all, thanks.”

She hung up, stood, and stretched. Her feet protested as she walked towards the bathroom. She peered at herself in the mirror, rubbing at a smudge of mascara under her eye.

Her sponge bag. She’d taken it into the bedroom this morning when she’d been preparing for court. She left the bathroom, inhaling the perfumed steam as she went.

The TV was on, the volume low. She’d turned it on when she’d got in half an hour ago, for company, and hadn’t bothered turning it off.

A news channel: Petra was a news junkie, even if she couldn’t understand a word. She caught snippets of Spanish, her grasp of the language shaky at best. But the images were clear.

A man, in handcuffs, being led out of a courtroom. The headline at the bottom of the screen: “Fuga en los juzgados de Madrid.”

Even Petra could figure out what that meant.

Escape at the Madrid courts.

She stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. The man on the screen...

Petra put a hand on her stomach. She groaned.

The footage changed. Chaos outside the courthouse. Police were everywhere, sirens, people shouting. That man again, now somehow free of his cuffs. Flailing at a guard, tripping, then getting up again. Running.

She put her hand to her mouth and let out a guttural sound.

“Aw, shit.”

She sank onto the bed, her heart pounding. Just hours ago, she’d felt his eyes boring into hers as she gave her evidence. She’d ignored them as best she could, but she could almost read his mind as he listened to her.

So what? Petra was a forensic psychologist whose job it was to understand the nature of crimes so their perpetrators could be tracked down and brought to justice. Pissing off criminals wasn’t exactly new territory for her. It was just one of the perks of the job.

But how had he got away?

The bath was still running. Petra forced herself to her feet and hurried to turn off the tap. The room went quiet.

She returned to the bedroom, picked up the remote and turned up the volume. The news anchor was speaking rapidly, the words coming much too fast for her to follow.

But she didn’t need to understand the language. She knew who the man was. And she knew what he was capable of.

Her phone buzzed again. She ignored it, her gaze fixed on the screen.

This couldn’t be happening.

The room suddenly felt colder, the robe doing little to warm her. She wrapped it tighter around herself, her mind racing.

She needed to know more. Would she be needed?

Most importantly, what would he do next?