Ben was fast catching up. When he was just sixty yards behind, he sank down behind the thick base of a pine trunk and shouldered the crossbow once more to observe the figure through the scope.

Even from the rear, he instantly knew for a fact that the person wasn’t the poacher, or Boonzie McCulloch, or any other man. It was a woman. The heavy coat didn’t completely obscure the feminine contours of her body.

Then the woman turned to look about her again, and this time Ben was able to get a glimpse of her face.

It was Grace Kirk.

Grace hadn’t seen him yet, and he didn’t want her to, not looking like a bogeyman from the forest. Still behind the tree, he quickly stripped off the ghillie suit and bundled it away out of sight along with the crossbow. Then he stepped out from behind the tree and broke into a jog to catch up with her, calling her name.

She stopped and turned, pulled back the hood and stood there planted halfway up to her knees in the snow, staring at him as he approached. Her cheeks and nose were flushed red from the cold and her hands were hidden under big woolly mittens. She raised one of them to brush away a lock of black hair that had fallen across her face. Her breath billowed in clouds. Her eyes were shining with excitement and she looked as though she was about to say something, but Ben spoke first.

‘What are you doing here?’

If Ben was surprised by her presence here by the loch, her reply was even more unexpected.

‘Looking for you,’ she said. ‘I had a feeling I’d find you here.’

‘Why were you looking for me?’

‘To tell you that I found the poacher. I know who he is.’

Chapter 28

That moment changed everything. Ben was full of questions, but Grace was so cold that she could hardly speak. The temperature had to be minus six out here. He said, ‘Let’s get you somewhere warm, and talk there. Where’s your car?’

She pointed a mittened hand towards a gap in the trees. Her teeth chattered as she replied, ‘There.’

The opening in the trees led to a rough track that sloped upwards from the lochside. Her old Land Rover was parked on the frozen ground a couple of dozen yards away, icicles hanging from its roof guttering and the battered bodywork glittering with frost. It felt like a fridge inside, too. Ben got behind the wheel, found the key in the ignition and started it up. The vehicle’s heating system was feeble at best, consisting of two small air vents on the dash and a fan that couldn’t have made a candle flicker. It took a while with the engine running before anything resembling warmth began to filter through and thaw Grace sufficiently to tell her story.