‘How does it feel, Rob? It’s been a while since your last big tournament win – what are you thinking right now?’

Grinning to the camera, satisfaction danced in the golfer’s baby-blue eyes. The sunshine glistened off his blond hair, his skin was tan, and his arm muscles rippled under his orange Nike golf shirt. Typical privileged Ivy League prick. He looked every bit the winner, a total champ at the top of his game. His whole demeanour screamed young, vibrant, and on the up. Ward could hear the crowd of onlookers screaming with delight and felt a reflexive stab of envy as he recalled what it was like to win on that level, to feel unstoppable.

‘Well, John—’ the golfer grinned at the reporter as he walked off the green and headed to the crowd ‘—I gotta tell you, it feels great. This is what I’ve been working towards and I just felt it today, you know? Everything was working. All of it came together. Honestly, I feel on top of the world.’

‘Congratulations on an incredible game. So how are you planning to celebrate?’

Something sparkled in Kendrick’s eyes then – a hint of mischief coupled with menace, Ward recognized. He didn’t know much about golf but he already knew in his bones he disliked this smarmy asshat. In sport, you learned to size up people within a split second, and his instincts were screaming right now that this guy was a dick.

‘You know what? I’m not going to tell you; I’ll show you.’

The golfer moved ever so slightly to the left of the frame, beckoning to someone off-camera. He reached out, his words garbled, clearly trying to persuade someone into the frame. A muffled voice could be heard protesting, but Kendrick persisted, his shit-eating grin only intensifying as he became more determined.

Finally, he yanked a figure into the frame with him, a woman with her back to the camera. Wrapping his arm around her waist, Kendrick pulled her close, leaning her backwards in a dramatic flourish and kissed her.

Showboating . . .

Ward’s lip curled in disgust. It was obvious the girl didn’t want to go along with it either and he felt bad for her.

Yup, his intuition was dead on. Guy was a narc of the highest order.

‘There you have it, folks,’ the reporter grinned raising an eyebrow, ‘PGA tournament champ Rob Kendrick, causing a stir here today in more ways than one.’

And as the camera panned away from the golfer and his reluctant squeeze as she wriggled out of his grasp, Ward frowned again. His vision blurred and he blinked, refocused and tried to zoom in on the woman, whose deeply uncomfortable face was now suffused with scarlet blush.

The woman on the screen was Hannah.

Chapter 49

HANNAH