“I can’t come with you to hospital.” Steph had spoken quickly and quietly, her breath hot on Emma’s skin.

“Where are you going?”

She recalled the whites of Steph’s eyes, incandescent in the dark. Strands of sweaty hair plastered to one of her cheeks from their chase, the smell of the wax jacket she’d been wearing.

Emma had wondered whether she’d recognized the person they’d been following too.

“Are you going to that place? The address you gave me?”

“Don’t tell anybody,” Steph had begged. “Please don’t tell the police. Tell them they have to look for Paul, though. I can’t lose either of them. This is all my fault.”

“Steph—”

But a paramedic had arrived and Steph had leaped to her feet. A support had been slipped around Emma’s neck: She couldn’t move, couldn’t lift her head even to watch Steph dash away. It seemed as though she’d just melted into the night.

Now the blue curtain swished and a nurse poked her head into Emma’s bay. “How are you doing?”

“I’m okay, but I really need to—”

“The police want to talk to you.”

“Oh?” Emma’s stomach fluttered.

“They’re at Reception. They’ll be here in a moment. Once they’re done, we’ll get you down to X-ray.”

Emma tried to sit up and compose herself as two uniformed figures approached. One of them was the man she’d started talking to about the hate mail and silent phone calls, before the sight of Zeb had cut the conversation short.

“Miss Brighton, the incident tonight—could you tell us what happened?”

“I . . . er . . .” She found herself acting more drugged than she really felt. Actually, her head was beginning to clear, and she realized she’d preferred the cushioning fog. “Steph and I heard noises. We found a note had been put through the door. Outside, we saw a person running away . . .”

One of the officers nodded. “We have the note.”

Emma nodded as well, glad of any information about how much they knew.

“So we chased him. Or tried to. I fell and I presume he got away.” She held her breath until the officers confirmed that they hadn’t caught him.

“Did you see the man?” they asked.

Emma winced as if she’d had a twinge in her hip, trying to distract their attention from her face. She’d never been a good liar. “It was too dark.” She mimed another pang of pain, hoping they’d take the hint and leave her to rest.

“Could you give any kind of description?”

“He was wearing a baseball cap.” She made her voice slow and dreamy. “Normal height. Sorry, I . . .”

They exchanged a glance. “No problem.” One of them laid a business card on her pillow. “Please call us if you remember anything else.”