‘Because, like you say, we don’t know what this is,’ he said. ‘Tom’s right. The guy’s not a player, but somehow he’s got unusual access to you. He threatened you, but killed Maria. We don’t know why, but the trouble hasn’t stopped since she died, which means the guy is still fixated on you. He’s dangerous, and he’s coming. The safest thing to do is to get out of the way.’

Abbot turned to Keller and backed up his friend.

‘Chris is right,’ he said. ‘This guy’s getting closer and it looks as though he’s focusing on the final.’

Keller twisted in her seat and faced Foster full on, her eyes burning into his.

‘I can’t control what happens when you’re out on the court,’ Foster told her, his voice a low admission.

‘I can’t promise to keep you safe. So you need to go home.’

Keller took a breath and composed herself. As Foster watched, she found her nerve. Her skin flushed, suddenly glowing healthily under the dim yellow lights. Her shoulders broadened as her lungs filled and her whole frame set in a stronger, more perfect poise. Slowly, the cold-steel gaze that Foster had seen in her eyes during matches replaced the burning anger.

‘I am twenty-three years old,’ she said. ‘This is my time. And it doesn’t come around twice. It’s my time to win matches, to win tournaments and to become world champion. You know who says so? Maria Rosario. Except that she’s dead. But I’ll tell you something: if I run now, I will never find out who killed her, and I’ll never know why. And we’ll never catch this guy, and I’ll live the rest of my life looking over my shoulder.’

Foster nodded.

‘You know what, Chris?’ Keller continued. ‘Maria told me once that she quit coaching Marta Basilia because she couldn’t stay objective after they slept together. And I can see that in your eyes, right now. So you need to forget everything that’s happened between us and do your job. You’re going to keep me safe, and we’re going to nail this guy. We’re going to do both of those things for Maria. Now drink up, I’ll wait in the car.’

She swiped Foster’s keys off the table and headed for the door. Foster swallowed his beer, avoiding eye contact with Tom Abbot. He stood up and followed Keller, lengthening his stride to keep her in sight. The words everything that’s happened between us were still hanging in the air and, at Foster’s side, Tom Abbot was suppressing a smile.

‘Whatever you’re about to say,’ Foster told him as they walked, ‘don’t.’

CHAPTER 22