He’d regretted his decision to join Police Scotland almost as soon as he’d signed on the dotted line. Only the knowledge that he had to fill his time with something positive or spiral into depression had made him board the plane to Edinburgh. That, and the sense that if he didn’t continue to do some sort of police work, then he’d have let his accuser, Astrid, take absolutely everything from him.

Then he’d found Ava in MIT, tried to keep her at arm’s-length, realised she was way too strong and decent a woman to tolerate that, and given himself permission to make a friend. Just as quickly, she’d been taken from him by a man who was capable of the most grotesque acts of torture and violence.

Taking a personal item from her home had been wrong, but it was the only thing that had given him any comfort at the time. As for the other items, he’d simply been searching for a way to make the victims matter to him, in spite of the emotional void in his life. Not returning the victims’ personal belongings when the investigation had come to an end had been part denial, part shame.

He stared at the towels still littering the floor that had covered the possessions he’d taken. Like most things in his life, his stupidity had been born of fast living. Use a towel, wash it, put it back on the top of the pile. And at the bottom, the objects he’d taken from three different victims of crime had sat untouched, until now.

It was a disaster. Ava, finally in his arms, and now she couldn’t bear to look at him. Trying to rationalise what he’d done would do no good. She might be the most level-headed woman in the world when it came to an investigation, but her heart ruled her brain in her personal life.

Slowly, folding carefully as he went, he rebuilt the stack of towels and put them away, closing the cupboard doors behind them. Then he stood and tidied the surfaces in the bathroom. After that, he turned his attention to his bedroom, straightening the covers on his bed, remembering the celebrated recent quote that if you wanted to change the world you had to start off by making your bed. Such a trivial activity, but the sense of it resonated with him.

He couldn’t afford to feel sorry for himself the way he’d slid into introspection after Astrid Borde had accused him of rape. True, the implications of his current predicament were nowhere near as grave, but he wasn’t going to run away this time. It had taken all his strength to establish himself in Edinburgh and only a fool would let so much effort go to waste.