Chapters (78)
- Title Page
- Dedication
- Prologue
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Thirty-Three
- Thirty-Four
- Thirty-Five
- Thirty-Six
- Thirty-Seven
- Thirty-Eight
- Thirty-Nine
- Forty
- Forty-One
- Forty-Two
- Forty-Three
- Forty-Four
- Forty-Five
- Forty-Six
- Forty-Seven
- Forty-Eight
- Forty-Nine
- Fifty
- Fifty-One
- Fifty-Two
- Fifty-Three
- Fifty-Four
- Fifty-Five
- Fifty-Six
- Fifty-Seven
- Fifty-Eight
- Fifty-Nine
- Sixty
- Sixty-One
- Sixty-Two
- Sixty-Three
- Sixty-Four
- Sixty-Five
- Sixty-Six
- Sixty-Seven
- Sixty-Eight
- Sixty-Nine
- Seventy
- Acknowledgments
- About the Author
- Remarkable Praise for Nicci French
- Also by Nicci French
- About the Publisher
As she went to take it off the gas, she looked to one side of the stove, where the toaster stood, and saw something that didn’t look quite right. What was it? Her mind was working so slowly. Then she saw: she was looking at the rack of knives on the magnetic strip. The colors of the rainbow.
She looked at the knives. Red. Yellow. Green.
There was a gap. One of them was missing. Blue.
Suddenly her mind worked quickly and with great clarity. Had he come knowing what he was going to do but not how? Now he had the knife, which he must have taken while she was talking to Leila Fox. The blue knife. He would probably like to do it while her back was turned, so he wouldn’t have to see her. It was a matter of seconds. Should she just let it happen? It would almost be easier.
Or she could take a knife as well.
She looked at the knives. Jude’s hands twitched in readiness but it was hopeless. She couldn’t get into a knife fight.
The kettle. There was no time to think. She eased the lid off, the steam burning her wrist. She had to be quick. She would have to take it in her hands. Just a moment of pain. Three, two, one.
With a spasmodic intake of breath, she seized the handle in her right hand and the spout in her left and, howling with the agony, she turned and hurled it at his face. It felt like an explosion, everything became blurred, but then there was a scream. She saw a gap and she ran through the kitchen, pulling the door shut behind her—she didn’t even look for any way of locking it or blocking it—and made for the stairs. She pulled the bike from against the wall and threw it behind her. She thought she heard footfalls but now she was at the front door. As she fumbled for the catch, she expected a hand on her, but she pulled it open and ran to the pavement.
Every movement sent a jolt through her ankle and leg and her left hand was raw and throbbing with the burn from the kettle. She turned left. Her slippers slipped on her feet, making it hard to run. Why was the road so empty? Should she bang on a door? No. She would only have one chance and what if they didn’t answer in time?
She didn’t dare look back. Maybe he was at her heels; maybe he was nearly on her and if she turned he would be on her.