The cat’s intervention had also granted her the presence of mind to think of something that would get him to back off, something she could use against him. His precious ego. There was no internal CCTV activated while she was staying here of course, that would be creepy, but he didn’t know that.

She saw concern dance across his face then as Rob finally concluded that she might well have the upper hand here, and even a trump card. She could damage him personally and professionally in a heartbeat. His eyes darted around the space, as he thought hard, clearly seeking out the hidden cameras, reality dawning at what they’d just captured.

Then seemed to come to a conclusion.

‘Like I said, you’re not worth it.’ Rob put a hand up, finally conceding defeat, and much to Hannah’s relief, retreated to the door.

When she was certain he was gone, she reinstated the locks, then came back into the kitchen in search of the cat. Who’d since settled itself on one of the wicker Peacock chairs and was now casually licking its fur as if it was no big deal; all in a day’s work. ‘I have no idea where you came from or who you belong to, but thank you,’ Hannah said, crouching down to massage its ears. The cat leaned into her hand and elicited a deep purr. ‘Good shot, too. Well played.’

Chapter 54

WARD

Ward had been dodging Hannah’s calls for days now. And then he started to avoid Bernie’s too – according to his agent’s voicemail, she had got in touch to pass on the message that he’d been asked to present an award to a teammate at this year’s NHL ceremony happening at the end of the month.

Whatever … they could set the whole town on him and put in alarms with the NYPD and FDNY if they liked. He didn’t care. He just couldn’t bring himself to speak to her … and he had plenty little to say to his agent too after Bernie had thrown him into Sumners’ den without warning, inadvertently or otherwise.

In fact, Ward had nothing to say to anyone. People in general were welcome to talk to his ass, or his voicemail at least. After all, he had things to do. He’d spent the morning watching the most recent PGA Championship on replay – or rather, watching one player in particular. Hoping to establish whether his instinct about this guy was correct or merely clouded by jealousy.

Not that he realistically could do anything about it if Hannah was still with him, but Ward needed to know.

And so he studied, like he always did with people.

‘Amazing shot,’ gasped the TV commentator now. ‘But only if he can chip his ball and miss that bunker, which has proven tricky for the best of them during this tourney.’