Properly speaking, she should have gone straight to the station to fill out a report on the incident at Barrowman Farm. But she was shaking from the adrenaline rush and from negotiating the hill road in the snow. Fuck it, basically.

Ellie’s house was one of the first you passed entering Barsall Village, a few doors from the crossroads and the conical war memorial. Ellie let herself out of the Land Rover, locked it and stumbled to her front door, stepped through and slammed it shut behind her.

The house was warm and quiet. A sweatshirt and leggings were draped over the living room radiator, ready for her return. She shucked off her stab vest, utility belt and the rest of the uniform, tossed it on an armchair and pulled on the soft, warm clothes.

Ellie’s hands were shaking and she was desperately hungry; in the kitchen she put the kettle on, ate four slices of bread and made a mug of heavily sugared instant coffee. Normally she was a tea drinker, but this was her comfort drink. The crockpot and rice cooker were steaming away, ready for Milly and Noel; Ellie filled a bowl with chilli and rice and took it upstairs.

Enough. Easy. Rein it in.

She breathed in, then out. Slow. Steady. Control. Ellie ran the hot bath she’d promised herself, poured in a capful of Radox, undressed, then sank into the hot water to work the day’s chill out of her bones and cleanse her of the contact she’d had with the Harpers.

Could have been killed back there. Beaten anyway. Maybe raped.

No maybe about it, when Paul Harper was involved.

Breathe in. Breathe out. She didn’t want to think of that right now. Or the adrenaline rush. The thrill of sudden danger and excitement. Or the fight.

The violence, too. The release of it.

You enjoyed it. Admit it.

Of course she had. Before this, Ellie had worked one of the toughest beats in inner-city Manchester; you had to be hard, the people you were dealing with, but she’d always found that easy; the difficult part was reining it in. After Richard died and Stan left, it only got worse. Sooner or later, she’d known, she’d go too far. So she’d transferred out to the sticks. It’d meant goodbye to CID and promotion, but losing your child and your marriage in quick succession made you re-evaluate your priorities.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

She lay back in the water and chuckled weakly. Over and above the release of the action, there’d been satisfaction in giving the Harpers some well-deserved pain, especially Paul. They got away with ninety percent of the shit they pulled; a few baton blows at least dealt out a small measure of justice.

Jesus, Ellie.