Stalking into the kitchen Chandler skimmed through the case notes on the table looking for some inspiration. Though there was nothing that would stand up in court he remained convinced that the Bible had something to do with all this. One of those paragraphs held the key, both were too portentous to be coincidence. Thinking that it might come to him if he immersed himself in the details, Chandler reviewed the causes of death; the names of the suspects; the summary of their lives; an inventory of items found in the cabin and what was retrieved: blood, hair, clothing and significant markings. He went through the statements of Gabriel and Heath again, the list of names, the note that declared ‘named at the Beginning’. Still any sense of clarity or link eluded him.

If he had been getting somewhere, all that disappeared as a shadow flashed past the front window. The handle of the front door turned cautiously, stopping after a few centimetres, the door locked. Someone was trying to get into his house.

Gabriel had returned.

Sliding into the kitchen, Chandler raced to the back door.

Easing outside, he closed it gently behind him. Around the side of the house, he heard Gabriel coming. With no time to do anything else he ducked to the other side of the path and pressed up against the high brick wall of the shed, affording him the perfect place to stalk . . . and, if needed, attack.

He listened to the steps shuffle quickly across the uneven path. Gabriel would find the back door open but Chandler wouldn’t let him get inside. As soon as the moment was right he would jump him and force him to the ground.

He slid his gun from the holster. He didn’t want to use it but had to assume Gabriel was armed. As a last resort only, he reminded himself.

A shadow edged towards the back door. Chandler curled up, ready to pounce.

The dark shape stepped into the glare of the porch light.

‘Teri?’

The shock in his voice startled her and she leapt forward, bouncing off the screen door almost back into his arms. Regaining her balance she turned to him. It had been nearly three years but she still had the beauty to force him to pause, her Greek skin tinted a beautiful caramel, the two dark, round beauty spots on her cheeks only accentuating her overall attractiveness. Her face was as he remembered, like a cherry blossom tree in spring. A face that was spectacular in full bloom but which remained susceptible to any sudden change in the weather. From the look on her face it was early spring, an overcast day that could swing in either direction.

‘What are you doing in the fucking bushes?’ she spat. Age hadn’t tempered her language.

‘What are you fucking doing here?’ he yelled back at her. ‘I almost shot you.’