Without another word, Rosario walked to the door, opened it and slammed it shut behind her.

‘You said you don’t do a hard sell,’ Keller said. ‘And I’m glad. But tell me what you think? Should I be worried?’

‘If you’re worried, you’re worried. That’s neither right nor wrong. But is there a credible threat? My gut says no. People who genuinely want to kill you usually get on with it. They don’t send notes. If someone wants you dead, they sneak up on you instead of giving you a heads-up.’

‘I guess,’ Keller said.

‘I know,’ Foster said. ‘But Tom will give you my number. You can call me day or night.’

‘So maybe I’ll see you soon,’ she said.

‘Maybe you will.’

CHAPTER 3

TWO DAYS LATER, Chris Foster was lying face-down in a small white room, pain etched across his face. His jaw clenched as the woman in the nurse’s uniform pulled at his arm, twisting and manipulating his bones and muscles.

‘You’re supposed to be a tough guy,’ she said.

Foster smiled and grunted all at once. It was true that in the force he had gained a reputation for toughness, but this five-foot-nothing woman in her white cotton top and combats had a medical file that told her exactly where to hurt him.

‘Seriously, is it too much?’

Her voice was gentle, girlish almost, and her fingers felt soft and cool on his skin.

‘It’s fine,’ he told her.

‘It’ll be worth it tomorrow.’

He gritted his teeth. Eventually her soft fingers found an area worthy of investigation, and she firmed her fingers up and pushed blistering heat into him, like twisting a knife between his bones.

In the three years she had been treating him, Foster had noticed it was rare for her to ask him about the pain. He presumed it was to preserve his dignity.

They were almost done when Foster’s phone rang in his jacket pocket.

‘Take it, if you need to,’ the nurse said, and she slipped her hand inside his jacket and passed the phone to him.

‘Thanks,’ Foster said, looking at an unfamiliar international number on the screen.

‘Hello?’

Foster heard Kirsten Keller’s voice on the other end of the line. He made an apologetic gesture to the physio and said, ‘What’s up?’

‘I’ve had another letter,’ she said. ‘It arrived in the post today.’

Foster could hear traffic noises in the background.

‘Why are you outside? Are you on your own?’

Keller paused. Paris rumbled on behind her.

‘Tom Abbot is with me,’ she said eventually, as if she’d made up her mind to trust him. ‘I wanted some privacy for us to talk. My coach thinks you’re a bad idea. She thinks we should ignore the threats and concentrate on my game.’

‘Easy for her to say.’

‘Exactly. Another video came, too.’

‘On a memory stick?’