Her Silent Obsession: A London Crime Thriller (Detective Chief Inspector Arla Baker Series Book 6)

wisted mystery and devilish suspense go hand in hand in this engrossing crime thriller.

The heartbreak of a stolen baby…

Influential Instagram star Rebecca Stone is the proud mother a beautiful baby boy. Her Instagram photos of motherhood and her baby are instant hits.
But four weeks after bringing baby back to the house, he disappears from his cot. The window is open, curtains flying in the wind, and the baby is gone…


Rebecca's husband Jeremy is the scion of a wealthy business family. They approach the police, and Detective Arla Baker is assigned the case. The more Arla digs into the background of the elitist family, the more disturbing secrets she uncovers...

When another baby disappears, Arla knows she is up against a brutal, seasoned killer. Because this time, the baby was unborn, and the nine month old pregnant mother is left to die…


Arla is in the latter stages of pregnancy herself, and will give birth soon. She is exhausted, but despite warnings from Inspector Harry Mehta, her partner, and the baby's father, she will not rest till this killer is caught. Soon, Arla realizes the killer has an unhealthy obsession with herself.
He's coming for her now and Arla is in more danger than she has ever been before…

Discover Mind bending plot twists, breathless intrigue, and a heart stopping climax that will leave you stunned.


Grab your copy.
Get some coffee.
Because you will read all night…

CHAPTER 1

The figure watched the woman pushing the pram. His name was Rhys Mason, and he was safely hidden behind a tree, crouching so far low the face was only a few centimetres above the frozen grass of Clapham Common.
Snow was piled up heavy on the sides of the path that snaked into the woods. Rhys had watched the woman for several days now. Mother and baby liked to go for a walk in the morning, if the sun was up. It was cold but sunny, melting snow trickling into the gutters by the road, the branches of bare trees lined with a white dusting of snow, as if carefully arranged by invisible hands in the wintry silence of the night. The sky was leaden grey, but the portent of Christmas was in the air, a brief punctuation of light in the closing darkness of December.
Rhys watched the woman stop and stare intently inside the pram. The hood of the pram was up. The woman reached inside, as if she was touching her baby. Her baby, Rhys thought with a sudden jolt in the blood.
The mother straightened and appeared to say a few words to the baby safely ensconced in the warmth of the pram. The flicker of a smile crossed her pretty face. For TV serial watchers and Instagram followers, an instantly recognisable face.
Mother and baby came off the path and onto the sidewalk. A car stopped at the traffic lights, and the woman waved her thanks to the driver before crossing the road. The lights changed and the car moved on. On this road of expensive detached houses overlooking the dense woods of the Common, cars were not frequent. Which, Rhys thought, was perfect.
The woman came up to the shoulder-high gates of a house and pressed a buzzer. The iron grill gates swung open.
Mother and baby went inside the house and the door shut. Rhys waited for another five minutes. Then he rose and shook off the flakes of snow stuck to his body. The house had a wide footprint. Four large bay windows watched the iron pillars that enclosed the front garden and sides. Rhys knew there was a side gate, which was an entrance for the housekeeper. He pulled the Fur lined white hood of his parka jacket tighter around the face. Dark glasses allowed no visibility of the eyes. The side gate was open, because the housekeeper had driven off an hour ago to do some shopping. Again, this was a routine Rhys had meticulously observed over the last several weeks.

Rhys slipped to the side of the house and came to the housekeeper’s entrance. The door was unlocked . He slipped inside and crouched on the floor. The narrow hallway of the housekeeper’s apartment was dark. Listening for sounds but hearing none, Rhys moved forward stealthily. The bedroom was empty, as were the tiny kitchen and bathroom. Finally, Rhys came to the back door, which opened out into the common garden. Rhys stared out at the huge garden, wondering why one family needed this much space. He didn’t step out into the snow-covered expanse. Instead, Rhys arched his neck upwards and located the first-floor windows. One of the windows was ajar; judging from its size, it was a bathroom. There was a back porch with a flat roof just below the window. Easy access. Rhys smiled.

























CHAPTER 2


Rebecca Stone was tired. As joyous as the arrival of the new baby had been, the delivery had been traumatic to say the least. She had lost more than a litre of blood and had to stay in hospital for a week.
She had needed a blood transfusion , and despite still being on iron tablets, she got tired easily and woke up every morning feeling dizzy.
Rebecca turned on the baby monitor in the kitchen, as was her habit. She put the kettle on to make herself a cup of tea. When she walked in the Common it was with slow, measured steps because that was all her body allowed. But it did make her feel better to get some fresh air, despite the freezing cold. Initially, she had been apprehensive about taking baby Reggie out in this weather. But her mother, Christine, was right: Reggie actually liked it. He fell asleep even before she got to the woods, and the moments of peace she got were precious.
Rebecca stood with a cup of coffee in her hand, staring out at the garden, blanketed with a carpet of snow. Small pawmarks crossed the snow a few metres from the porch. She smiled at the thought of the solitary fox in the back yard, scavenging for tidbits..
The dizziness began as a humming behind her eyes and slowly escalated louder, almost blurring her vision. She sat down quickly, leaning back against the sofa. The light-headedness subsided. Dr Mansfield had said it would be like this for at least two weeks. Well, ten days later she didn’t feel any better.
Rebecca went out into the wide hallway, crossed it, and came to one of the four large rooms that faced Clapham Common. Thick red velvet curtains had been gathered and tied at the corners by the housekeeper. Rebecca stood at an angle, looking out the window.
Her mind wasn’t playing tricks. Yes, she was tired and irritable, but she hadn’t missed the man who had stared at her when she went out walking with the pram.
He was clean-shaven, in his mid-thirties, and wore a heavy jacket with a hood. The hood was always over his head but she managed to get a good look at his face. As soon as their eyes met, he had looked away. There was a bus stop about one hundred metres from her house. Given how pervasive London’s bus routes were, even an exclusive address like hers wasn’t immune to the groaning machines.
Rebecca was sure she’d seen the man get on a bus one day. Which meant he didn’t drive. She found it odd that a solitary man would be walking around here on his own. Not many people came out to Clapham Common in the winter. It was a desolate, frozen wasteland. Sometimes, she saw joggers cutting their way through the park. But mostly, it was only her and Reggie in the pram. That was why she chose the routes she did—so she had some peace and isolation.
Jeremy, her husband, was trying his best but he didn’t really understand. Neither did her mother, however hard she tried. Christine had never had a difficult pregnancy, so Rebecca couldn’t really blame her. Thank God Reggie was well. He had emerged perfectly formed and healthy. He was going to be fine, and that thought kept her going.
Rebecca looked carefully out the window, crossing to the other side and making sure she watched both sides of the road. Her heart leapt into her mouth. A vice-like grip squeezed her throat and nausea lurched in her stomach.
There he was.
That same man, wearing the white hooded jacket . He was standing at an angle to the house, but Rebecca could see him. He turned slightly to stare at the window and she pressed deeper into the shadows.
He couldn’t see her, but that piercing gaze was too direct, violating. Rebecca’s heart hammered against her ribs, her pulse surging to a crescendo as her back hit the wall. She couldn’t see the man anymore. Her fists were claws, close to pulling down the curtains. She heard the pelmets creak and let go, fearful of tearing the curtains down. She gripped her forehead and found it covered in sweat. Her breaths came short, rapid.
Then suddenly, he moved. He almost ran down the road till he was out of sight.
A faint but distinctly uneasy sensation forced its way into the back of her mind like the scream of a train whistle inside a tunnel. She blinked rapidly, then ran out of the room, up the giant staircase that rose straight to the first floor. She was gasping when she opened the door of the nursery room, where Reggie’s cot stood against the wall, away from the window.
Rebecca came to a standstill. Her vision was frozen, arrested by the sight of the open window. It was raised high enough for a man to duck in and out of. The net curtain fluttered in the breeze. Her head snapped towards the cot. She ran to it. The cot was empty.
Baby Reggie was gone.
Rebecca’s mouth opened but no sound came from her throat. Grunting like an animal, she lurched to the window and forced her head out into the frigid air. The garden, and the woods at the back, met her eyes. She spun back into the room, eyes bulging, whole body shaking like she had been electrocuted by a live wire. She ran to the cot again, forcing herself to see the emptiness inside. Her hands became fists and when her mouth opened this time, she screamed.