‘Hi, it’s DI Fan… I just… to… that we’ve…’

‘Inspector, I’m in the Underground, I’m losing you.’

‘We’ll call… this aft…’

She pressed the phone more tightly to her ear, knowing it wasn’t going to make any difference. ‘Did you say you’re coming to see me this afternoon?’

‘Yes, I’ll fill…’

The line went dead. When he didn’t phone back, she sent a short text to say she’d see him that afternoon. Maybe he had some news for her. She couldn’t rustle up any interest. If it weren’t for Freya and Remi, she didn’t think she’d care that someone was trying to kill her. The numbness and the soul-destroying emptiness lasted until she was almost home. She walked down Elystan Street and stood outside their house for several minutes. It was a lovely house, on a beautiful street. Anger broke through the numbness, rushing up, white hot. She gripped the gate as it doubled her over, a scream of rage and frustration erupting, the sound lost in the growl of traffic behind her.

Anger was quickly overlaid by sorrow. She didn’t want to lose her home. It was brimful of memories. Jack had proposed to her in the kitchen. In the garden that stretched behind, they had made love, had moonlight drinks and daytime picnics. Freya and Remi had taken their first stumbling steps in the living room, she and Jack on their knees cheering them on. Jack had put together a climbing frame in the garden for the children and Molly had sat on a rug on the grass and watched them, Jack taking photo after photo, she laughing at their antics, her heart swelling with love for all three.

Molly had danced around the kitchen with Freya when she’d been accepted to the Sorbonne, remembered running up the stairs with Remi’s letter from MIT, waiting while he’d opened it before gathering him into a hug where tears of happiness mingled on their cheeks.

It had been a home filled with love and laughter, a home fit for the perfect life she thought she’d been living.

She opened the front door, the beep-beep of the alarm telling her that Jack wasn’t home. Where was he? Fear settled in her chest. He’d probably guess that the hotel would contact her, so he’d know she knew the full extent of the trouble he was in. He’d be feeling guilty, maybe even desperate. She took out her mobile and left him a voicemail. ‘I know everything, Jack. Ring me, we need to talk.’ She added, ‘I love you. We can get through this.’ In case he was ignoring voice messages, she quickly sent a text.