Keris Gudmundson, she muses. Chef at P27. And now he’s sitting in my kitchen, working hard to make a good impression.

And he does, it turns out, once the first awkwardness has worn off and the conversation is flowing easily between bites.

‘Delicious,’ Karen says and snatches up another slice of perfect, pink lamb.

‘I’m so glad you like it,’ Keris says, passing her the gravy boat.

‘It’s similar to my own recipe, or, well, my grandmother’s, I should say.’

‘Mine’s an old family recipe, too,’ Keris replies. ‘It’s not something we’d serve at the restaurant, but it’s one of my favourite things to cook at home. And when Sigrid told me it’s one of your favourites, too . . .’

He gestures at the table and trails off.

Something about that last statement melts the last of her resistance. He’s a nice guy; unpretentious and relaxed now that the nerves have worn off. And clearly as in love with Sigrid as she is with him. But what slowly dawns on Karen, warming her from the inside, is the realisation that her approval is important to Sigrid. Not required, but important.

When Sigrid told me it was your favourite, too . . .

She looks up and meets Leo’s eyes. A mockingly cocked eyebrow followed by a quick smile and an air kiss sets the thunder inside her rumbling again.

Oh, so now I’m good enough, she hisses inwardly. Now that you don’t have Luna to amuse yourself with anymore.

They haven’t talked about her since the text. Other than when Karen stopped by KGB to inform the guys that the message really had been sent from Luna’s phone, and from Harwich. She had secretly relished watching as worry turned into anger at Luna’s complete lack of regard for them and their time. Kore and Brynn had called down searing curses on her head while Leo and Billy had mostly looked disappointed.

The goddess definitely seems to have fallen off her pedestal, Karen had concluded smugly.

Now, she puts her cutlery down, wipes her mouth and turns to Keris.

‘While Sigrid and Leo do the dishes and clean up in here, maybe you’d like to come with me to the living room and have a whiskey,’ she says. ‘I obviously need to know what your intentions are towards our Sigrid,’ she adds with a grin.

Chapter 15

15

Four victims, four women with nothing in common, other than their encounters with the same madman. None of the three survivors saw their attacker’s face. All three agree he seemed big and that he said nothing, just grunted and breathed heavily. None of them thinks it’s someone they’ve met before.