She’d seen enough police dogs in action to know their response to the discovery of human blood. According to Donald, Blaze had been trained like a rescue dog and the collie had all the instincts of one.

Someone had lain injured there. That was all she knew . . . until tomorrow.

As she turned down the track that led to the cottage, Rhona realized that she had a visitor, although who might have arrived here in a black SUV, she had no idea. A horrible thought that it might actually be McNab entered her head momentarily, but the vehicle was an unlikely match for the detective sergeant.

So if it wasn’t McNab, who was it?

6

‘Rhona,’ Alvis said in obvious surprise as he appeared round the side of the cottage. ‘What are you doing here?’

‘I could say the same thing to you,’ Rhona said, suspicion already forming in her mind as to why Inspector Alvis Olsen of Stavanger Police should be standing on her doorstep.

‘I’m on a climbing holiday. Arrived yesterday afternoon and decided to start easy with a walk today to the Point of Sleat. I remembered you talking about the cottage, so I thought I’d check out if you were right,’ he said brightly.

‘Right about what?’

‘You told me it had the best view on Skye, remember?’

Rhona did remember. Her suspicions abating a little, she said, ‘Was I right?’

‘Most definitely.’

They stood for a moment in awkward silence. What to say next? Rhona knew it would seem odd if she didn’t ask Alvis in, but she wasn’t certain how long she could keep up a pretence of normality. And he was sure to ask why she was here.

The suspicion re-formed. Or maybe he knew already? She could of course say she was on holiday, like him, but then he might suggest they do some walking together.

In the absence of a decision, Rhona retrieved the key from below the stone and proceeded to open the door.

‘I thought you said no one locked their doors on Skye?’ Alvis jokingly reminded her.

‘Times have changed,’ was all Rhona could muster in response.

The cottage was warm, the fire still lit. Rhona busied herself stoking it and putting on more peat.

‘How long are you here for?’ she said as she moved to set up the coffee machine.

‘A week,’ Alvis told her.

Squashed together in the small kitchen, Alvis seemed taller and broader than Rhona remembered. But his voice was the same. The clear concise English, with a touch of humour. Standing so close, she also recalled his scent, and with it came a rush of memories from the night they had spent together in the Aberdeen hotel room, where they had tried to forget, however briefly, the terrible world their case had led them into.

‘How have you been?’ Rhona found herself saying the words she didn’t want to hear from him.

‘Okay.’ He sounded slightly unsure.