It was nearly two weeks since Sharon Carter’s terrifying night at Pennington Flash, and she had lived every day in fear of Jez finding out how stupid she had been. Just as she was beginning to feel safe, confident there was nothing to worry about, she had turned on the news two nights ago. Since then the same story had been on every bulletin, and each time she saw it her whole body shook.

She stared at the television screen as a police detective made a plea for witnesses. A body had been found at the Flash, and Sharon knew she should call and tell them what she had seen. But by talking to the police she could land herself in a whole heap of trouble. They might come to the house, and then Jez would find out where she’d been. She would have to explain to him why she had gone there at that time of night. On the other hand, what if a killer was on the loose and she said nothing? What if he killed someone else? Oh God, it was such a mess.

She was supposed to be getting married and the wedding was now only a couple of weeks away. If it all came out, Jez might call it off. What had she been thinking?

‘Do you want a cup of tea, babe?’ Jez shouted. He popped his head round the door to their tiny kitchen and grinned at her. ‘Wow, you look a picture of misery. What’s up?’ He glanced at the TV. ‘Oh, don’t go worrying about that. One of my mates says he knows a local cop, and they think she killed herself. They’re just looking for anyone who knows her.’

That’s not what they said on the news report, though. They said the police were treating the death as suspicious, and maybe Jez’s mate had it wrong. No, forget that. Jez’s mate did have it wrong.

Sharon knew.

Because Sharon had been there.

She remembered slipping off her shoes, her heart thumping so loud that she was sure the man walking slowly towards her, shining the torch into the bushes, would hear it. She’d been terrified of making a sound, but she had to get away from the path. Moving as silently as she could, her feet like blocks of ice on the slowly freezing ground, she had crept to a denser patch of shrubs.

She could barely make out the man on the footpath. Why was he trying to find her? Why did it matter that she was there – somewhere – having apparently abandoned her car? She knew it wasn’t the man from the club, so what did he want with her?

The torch flashed around, searching the area where just moments before she had been hiding, and she ducked her head.