He was starting to wonder if this was what Hell felt like. Maureen had been brought up in a Catholic household, and she’d maintained her faith throughout their marriage, despite Frank being a firm non-believer. She’d attempted to drag him along to church on numerous occasions, but he’d stubbornly refused, unless it had been to attend a wedding, christening, or funeral. But these last few days, since coming home from visiting Yvonne and walking into this nightmare, he’d found himself praying fervently to the God he’d professed did not exist. The prayers hadn’t been for himself, though; they were for those poor girls Karel was holding prisoner – and for his children.

At the thought of his son, Frank released a remorseful sigh. Evan was a smart cookie, and Frank had hoped he might sense that something was wrong and come back to check on him after his visit the previous day. He hadn’t, and Frank had resigned himself to the thought that Evan, like his sister, had washed his hands of him. He could hardly blame them, given the way he’d behaved since meeting Irena, but it broke his heart to think that the recent bitter arguments would be their last memories of him if he didn’t survive this ordeal.

A floorboard creaked outside his door, interrupting his thoughts, and Frank jerked upright, praying that someone had remembered to bring him a drink. Mouth already watering at the thought of it, he frowned when a shadow passed through the shaft of light under his door, followed by the sound of a key turning slowly in the lock of Evan’s bedroom door. It wasn’t Irena, because he’d heard her cry herself to sleep a couple of hours ago. And it wasn’t Nick, because Frank had heard him driving the girls away from the house earlier, and the van hadn’t come back yet. As far as he’d managed to ascertain, the other men slept in the caravan and never came any further into the house than the kitchen, so it wouldn’t be one of them. That left Karel. But if it was him, why was he creeping into the room as if he didn’t want anyone to know he was there?

Curious, Frank got up and crept over to the wall. Above the sound of bedsprings protesting, and a soft, feminine exclamation of confusion, Frank heard a deep, crooning voice, and his eyebrows rose sharply when he caught the words being spoken.

29

‘Yeah?’

The woman who had answered the door stared out at Evan. She looked to be in her sixties, but her heavy make-up and tight-fitting clothes told him that she thought she looked much younger – glamorous, even.