The last breath he heard leave her body was an inhuman rattle. He longed to comfort her, to tell her he was sorry. There was so much he’d wanted to do with her, and it had all gone so dreadfully wrong. Now, he had to start over. And first he would have to find someone new.

Chapter Two

Night-time was her time. The day’s colours had faded, and in the grey hues she was finally equal to those around her. Connie Woolwine exited the imposing Balmoral Hotel and crossed the road towards Leith Walk. It was midnight, and still the heat bounced up off Edinburgh’s roads. The late-licence pubs were turning out. She could hear both singing and sobbing from the crowds of revellers, depending on the level of drunkenness. Carrying only her hotel key card in one pocket of her jeans and her mobile in the other, she walked past the crowds, enjoying the stretch in her legs after a long flight and the sense of liberation she knew would come from allowing herself to get lost in a foreign city.

It was her first trip to Scotland. Six hours and counting. The buildings were so steeped in history and architectural perfection that they might have been conjured rather than built. Lights from tall buildings scattered moving images on the bustling streets. It was humanity soup, reminding her a little of Boston, Massachusetts. Taking a left into Union Street, she marvelled at how safe the city felt. Every person who lived there a 24-hour witness to the comings and goings around them. So much connectivity. Edinburgh’s city centre was a human body, each street a blood vessel, with so few areas that were exclusively business or commerce. It was a city you could live in, rather than simply exist.

A catcall interrupted her thoughts, and she turned her head towards the man who’d issued the unwelcome quasi-compliment. Other men surrounded her as she made eye contact with the one who’d expressed an interest. A cloud of alcohol fumes assaulted her nose, and she breathed in beer and cheap liquor freshly deposited into the stomachs of the twenty-somethings who were obviously suffering a high level of drunken delusions.

‘You on your own then, love?’ the catcaller asked.

The accent was English rather than Scots. She’d spent enough time in London to recognise the East End vowel sounds.

‘I’m meeting someone. Excuse me,’ she replied, keeping it light but icy as she tried to take a step forward.

‘You’re American. Should’ve known with an arse like that. Don’t see many that tight where we’re from.’

He moved clumsily forward and Connie sidestepped him, pushing her shoulder between two of his mates to exit the group.

‘Don’t be a bitch. We were just having a laugh,’ one of his companions added.

She allowed herself a private eye-roll and kept walking.