I reached the fork and stopped. There was no sign of him. Shit. Running further, retracing my steps from earlier, the path curving in a big semi-circle around to the left as it went back to the car park. Ben was still nowhere to be seen. I stopped, panting with the exertion, looking around. How had he got away from me so fast? He’d had a head start, but even still . . . I looked around, cold October air scouring my lungs. There was no wind, the trees were completely still. A high-pitched whistle of birdsong far off in the distance.

I was completely alone.

Or was I?

Maybe he hadn’t run off at all. Maybe he was hiding here, nearby. Watching me. Stalking me. Laughing to himself. There was lots of cover, dense bushes and trees standing close together, lots of places to conceal yourself. I looked around quickly, with a powerful sense that I was being watched. Listened hard, my ears straining for the tiniest sound that would give him away.

Off the path, a flash of bright blue stood out against the autumn undergrowth. Ben’s sports bag. The one he’d just been carrying. It was only a few feet off the path in a small clearing. A quick calculation told me that straight through the trees here would bring me out into the car park.

He had taken a shortcut to get there before me.

Moving branches aside, I left the path and headed into the undergrowth. Twigs scratched and snagged at my coat and jeans. Ducking my head, I pushed on and through, the bushes closing up behind me and hiding me almost completely from the path. The bushes were heavy and wet, streaking my clothes with water. A low branch scratched my cheek. Another stabbed the back of my hand.

The blue sports bag was slack and unzipped. I nudged it with the toe of my shoe, feeling it yield under the pressure. I picked it up. Empty.

So he took the gun out?

I stopped for a second, an icicle of realisation sliding into my stomach.

Ben’s here, with a gun. Full of hate and anger and jealousy. He’s led you here, got you where he wants you.

There’s no one else around.

No witnesses.

You idiot.

He had played me to perfection.

Shit.

The bushes and trees were thick around me. Lots more places to hide. No fast way out. Where the hell were the police? I’d asked them to meet me here, given them the time and place.

Maybe they weren’t coming.

Crouching down, I listened to the sounds of the woodland. The drip of moisture from overnight rain. The wingbeats of a bird high overhead. Faint sounds of rustling in the fallen leaves. Expecting at any moment that Ben would step around the trunk of a tree and level his shotgun at me.

Can’t stay here.