Her ringing mobile broke into her thoughts.

‘Inspector Hunter,’ she answered abruptly.

‘Jazz? It’s me, Jonathan. Is this a bad time?’

‘Er, no, it’s fine. Fine,’ she repeated, irritated at her train of thought being interrupted.

‘Shall I call back another time?’

‘No, it’s okay.’ Now she felt guilty. ‘Sorry, I’ve been up to my eyes all day.’

‘No problem. I’ll make it brief. I was just wondering whether we could meet up either tomorrow or Wednesday? I’ve just got a few more questions I need to ask you. I’m running out of time to complete this damned thesis, so I thought I’d drive up to Norfolk. I know you’re too busy to come here at present.’

‘Right.’ Her mind was still pondering the drug sheet.

‘Well?’

‘Well what?’

‘Would you be able to? Meet up, that is? So I can pick your brains a little further?’

‘Er . . . yes. I’m afraid you can’t come here, though, as I’ve got the plumber putting in the central heating and the place is a tip. In fact, I’m half thinking of moving out myself.’

‘Okay, you suggest somewhere. A pub maybe?’

‘There’s a good one on the coast in Cley called the Coach and Horses, which isn’t too far from you. We could meet there.’

‘Okay. Could you make tomorrow?’

‘At the moment, yes. But I should warn you that I’m slap bang in the middle of a murder case at the moment and things are hotting up, so if something breaks, then . . .’

‘I understand, but let’s cross our fingers it won’t and I’ll see you tomorrow. At eight?’

‘Yes, fine.’

‘Thanks, Jazz, I really appreciate it.’

‘Sure. See you then. Bye.’ She ended the call, then sank back onto the sofa and let out a long sigh.

It was almost ten years since she had been in a position to enjoy any attention from men. When she’d been in Italy, she’d noticed the odd admiring glance, but she’d been closed, unresponsive to it.

She wandered into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine, then sat cross-legged in front of the fire, trying to stem the chill that still ran through her bones from the earlier walk.

As Jazz stared into the flames, she remembered what her mother had said about not becoming bitter. It was a tough call, after what had happened to her. How could she learn to trust again?

The truth was, she had trusted Patrick completely, absolutely. And worse, she had loved him.

What scared her now was that she still loved him. Even after what he had done to her, humiliating her in the worst possible way, after she had spent weeks and months telling her eminently logical self what a lowlife bastard he was, she still found herself waking in the night and reaching for him . . .

Maybe a distraction was the answer.

She found Jonathan attractive, and she was pretty sure he felt the same about her.