As Good As Dead: The brand new and final book in the YA thriller trilogy that everyone is talking about… (A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder, Book 3)

kissed her on the forehead, his breath in her hair, and – when Josh wasn’t looking – moved down to press his lips against hers.

Wait!’ Pip sat up, scrabbling against the duvet. He hesitated at the threshold. ‘Love you, Dad,’ she said quietly, because she couldn’t remember the last time, and she was still alive.
A grin broke his face.
‘What do you want from me?’ he laughed. ‘My wallet’s in the other room.’
‘No, nothing,’ she said. ‘I was just saying.’
‘Ah, well, I’ll just say it too, then. Love you, pickle.’

How did everything go with you?’ Pip asked, leaning forward to press her forehead against his, in the way he always did to her. To take on half her headaches, or half her nerves, he said. And here, Pip took on half his fear, because it was the ordinary kind, and she could handle it.
It worked, Ravi’s face relaxing a little as she pulled away.

I don’t want to argue,’ she said quietly.
‘No, hey, no.’ He bent down until his eyes were level with hers. ‘We’re not arguing. I’m just worried about you, OK? I want to keep you safe. I love you, always will. No matter how many times you almost give me a heart attack or a nervous breakdown. It’s just...’ he drew off, his voice guttering out. ‘It’s scary, to know that someone might want to hurt you, or make you scared. You’re my person. My little one. My Sarge. And I’m supposed to protect you.’
‘You do protect me,’ she said, holding his eyes. ‘Even when you’re not here.’ He was her life raft, her cornerstone for what good truly meant. Didn’t he know that?
‘Yeah OK and that’s great,’ he said, clicking finger guns at her. ‘But it’s not like I’m a muscle man with biceps the size of tree trunks and a secret Olympic-standard knife-throwing habit.’

Hello, Sarge,’ he said, the creaking sound of him pushing the door fully open. ‘Agent Ravi here, reporting for boyfriending duties.’
‘Hello, Agent Ravi,’ Pip said, her breath fogging up the glass in front of her. The smile was back, fighting her until she gave in.
‘I see,’ he said. ‘Not even a glance back, or one of your scornful looks. Not a hug, not a kiss. Not an Oh, Ravi, darling, you look devilishly handsome today and you smell like a spring dream. Oh, Pip, my dear, you are too kind to notice. It’s a new deodorant I’m trying.’ A pause. ‘No, but seriously, what are you doing? Can you hear me? Am I a ghost? Pip?’
‘Sorry,’ she said,

Oi!’ she called from ten feet away, making him jump.
He stuck out his bottom lip in exaggerated sadness. ‘Be gentle,’ he said. ‘I’m delicate this morning.’

They made it to each other, outside the café door, Pip’s hand finding its home in the crook of Ravi’s elbow.
‘And what’s this “Oi” we’ve started?’ He pressed the question into her forehead. ‘I have an array of beautiful and flattering nicknames for you, and the best you can come up with is “Oi”?’
‘Ah, well,’ Pip said. ‘Someone very old and wise once told me that I am entirely without pizazz, so...’
‘I think you meant someone very wise and very handsome, actually.’
‘Did I?’

‘It’s scary, to know that someone might want to hurt you, or make you scared. You’re my person. My little one. My Sarge. And I’m supposed to protect you.’
‘You do protect me,’ she said, holding his eyes. ‘Even when you’re not here.’

He was angry, but Pip couldn’t help smiling, holding the phone tighter to her ear, to bring him closer. She had disappeared and he had... he had looked for her.

Who will look for you when you’re the one who disappears?