As he stepped out from behind the tree, a cloud of bats swooped above him in a flutter of ragged wings. But Lloyd’s focus was solely on the occupants of the house. A small pair of binoculars were tucked into his outside pocket and his torch bumped against his hip, buckled into his utility belt. But it was the firm weight of his Smith and Wesson revolver that felt like an old friend. He didn’t go anywhere without it, because you never knew when people could turn. The pockets of his jacket had been stitched in to carry the handgun revolver, and it sat snugly next to his heart. He’d grown so accustomed to the extra weight that it felt strange to move without it.

He approached quietly and slowly, fixing his gaze on the small cottage living-room window as he approached. His pulse was picking up pace. It had been almost a year since tenants occupied the place. A few artists and writerly types had seen fit to use it as a retreat, but tenants had dried up as it fell into disrepair. He thought that was the end of it, and he’d learned to breathe easy again. The nightmares began to evaporate. He could go for hours without thinking of booze. That was until the place was put up for sale. And now here he was, back at his old haunt, a prisoner of the past.

He remembered the first time he saw Grace. A spate of aggravated burglaries in nearby towns had driven him deep into the woods. He’d been searching for a hooded suspect who was said to have been sleeping rough. But in reality, he’d been grateful for the excuse to spend some time on his own. Lloyd hadn’t known about the Harpers. Ten years ago, the community was different to what it was now.

He could still recall the first time clearly: it was just gone 1 a.m. The moon was full in the sky, negating the need for torchlight, the air warm enough to make him sweat. Stumbling over a tree root, he’d negotiated the rarely used path. His gun was jammed up against his ribcage, encased tightly in his jacket. He didn’t have authorisation to draw it on people. He wasn’t a firearms officer, after all. But only an hour before, he’d put down a muntjac deer after it veered out in front of a car. Not that he’d taken any joy from it. But no innocent creature should be left to suffer on the side of the road. And if the prowler he was chasing jumped out on him? Then he’d give it to him between the eyes. When it came to matters of life and death, it was no holds barred.