‘I’ve got to get out of here,’ Keller said suddenly, hunching her shoulders as a shiver crossed her back. She slipped out of her towel without warning and reached forward for her underwear. Foster shifted his gaze to protect her modesty. He turned his back and watched the message in the mirror slowly evaporate. In its place came the reflection of Kirsten Keller, her eyes seeking out his; a little bit coy perhaps, but not embarrassed.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you’ve got my back.’

She stood there for a moment in the mirror, Foster staring at her half-dressed reflection, and then she broke into a girlish smile. In his mind, Foster steamed the mirror back up until Kirsten Keller’s soft tan curves were all hidden, and then he imagined leaning forward and writing two words on the glass.

STAY PROFESSIONAL.

Good luck with that, he told himself.

CHAPTER 7

TWENTY MINUTES AFTER the fog lifted in the locker room, Kirsten Keller was fully dressed and sitting in the passenger seat of Foster’s slate-grey Range Rover as they headed north through Battersea and then east along the banks of the River Thames. The car was supercharged, with a five-litre engine and an exhaust that growled and rattled and echoed off everything they passed.

‘Where are we going?’ Keller asked, glancing over at Foster in the driving seat, his sharp eyes scanning the road ahead.

They were a long way north of the rented house she had been sharing with Rosario in Wimbledon.

‘Someone knows a lot about your schedule,’ Foster said. ‘I think it makes sense to change things up. I’m going to find you a hotel. Do you have a preference?’

Keller scanned the skyline, the city of London framed in the windscreen and growing by the minute.

‘Somewhere high up,’ she said. ‘So we can see people coming from a long way off.’

It was irrational, but Foster understood. He called ahead to the Shangri-La at the top of the Shard and booked a suite overlooking the river.

‘I bet you’ve handled a lot of stalkers in your job,’ Keller said after a while. ‘Why do they do it?’

He glanced at her, then let his eyes go back to the road.

‘Various reasons,’ he said. ‘But sometimes they just melt away after a while.’

‘And sometimes they don’t?’

‘No. Not always.’

The Shard came into view. It was taller than anything else in London, dominating the skyline, razor-straight metal and glass tapering off into the ether. Kirsten Keller watched the sunlight glinting off it for a minute and then turned back towards Foster.

‘I don’t think Maria’s happy about the new set-up.’

‘Not my job to make her happy,’ Foster said bluntly. ‘I’ll try not to lose sleep over it.’

Keller punched him in the thigh as he drove. Hard.