The mother by Jaime raven 

Firstly a big thank you to the Avon team for my copy and having me on the tour. 

I haven’t read any of this authors books but I know Avon never disappoint .

This had me hooked instantly as it is straight to the action !

This as a mum is my worst nightmare and I can only imagine the frustration and anger Sarah was feeling having to both be parent and cop in the case of her daughters abduction .

With twists and turns and an upredictable trail of events . This will have you on the  edge of your seat.

Addictive and chilling.

Do check out the other blogs taking part and read on for a sneak peek! 

Sergeant Palmer stood on the other side of the room looking through the front window. I wondered fleetingly what was going on outside. Had the press turned up or were curious neighbours gathering to try to find out what was going on?

My watch told me it was three p.m. So surely the news had broken by now.

It was a wretched thought that seven hours had passed since Molly was abducted. I had no idea what was happening to her and it was killing me. Was she being fed? Given drinks? Was

her nappy being changed? Was she being spoken to or ignored? Was she upset and confused?

I grabbed my phone and brought up the latest picture of Molly asleep in the cot. The thumb in her mouth. The pink pyjamas. The off-white sheet she was lying on. I wondered if she was awake now and if so whether she was calling for her mummy.

Mummy!

It was one of the few words she knew, along with cat, cuddle, bird, wow and no.

I loved it when she tried to speak. It was so cute and funny, especially when she struggled to explain what it was she wanted.

These past few months she had got so much better at communicating. At the same time, she’d become more of a handful. Throwing tantrums, refusing to sit quietly in her buggy, fussing over her food, waking up most mornings around five a.m. But it was all part of growing up and I’d embraced it, as mothers do. Not because I had no choice, but because it made me happy and proud and . . .

You’ll never touch or speak to her again. But you will see her grow up.

Oh God . . .

My blood turned cold at the prospect of never holding Molly in my arms again. Of never tucking her into her bed, of never wiping away her tears. And I couldn’t even imagine how painful it would be to be forced to watch from a distance as she grew from a toddler into a little girl. It would destroy me knowing that someone else was bringing her up.

I’d already had a taste of what it was going to be like if he carried out his threat to keep her while sending me photos and video clips. The two pictures I’d already received – of Molly sitting on the sofa and sleeping in the cot – had opened up wounds in my heart that would never be healed.

Jesus, it was all too much. I hunched forward, dropping my face into my cupped hands.

Suddenly Sergeant Palmer was leaning over me, a hand on my shoulder, telling me that she wished there was more she could do. But there wasn’t, not unless she could bring my daughter back to me.

I felt a sharp stab of fear and dread work its way under my ribs, and this was followed by a bolt of nausea that hit me hard.

And then the sound of my own voice, oddly unfamiliar.

‘I think I’m going to be sick again.’

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