Now we had Marshall to question, Aiden to find, Arthur's murder to solve, and the small matter of a lunatic with a fetish for matches on the loose. I was definitely getting used to waking up next to Will, but this morning, I'd only got one quick kiss before he stumbled out of bed and into the shower.

"Are you sure you don't need me?" I called after him. "I don't mind getting up to help."

A muffled thunk followed by cursing made me jackknife up off the bed. I'd got one foot out into the early-morning chill when Will poked his head around the door.

"Stubbed my fucking toe."

"Shall I get some ice?"

"Nah." His eyes dropped to the tent in his boxers. "I've got to take a cold shower anyway. And no, you stay here and rest."

He didn't mean to make me feel inadequate, and even if I had been able to stomach the more my body wanted but my head didn't, we wouldn't have had time, but still... I felt like half a woman. A child whose innocence had been stolen by circumstances. By bombs and bullets and mortars and men.

I burrowed back under the covers as the water shooshed out, doing my best not to think about the fledgling relationship I desperately didn't want to screw up. Despite the circumstances, Will had shovelled a thin layer of hope into the empty chasm of my chest, and I craved being whole again. Or at least, something more than nothing.

Will showered fast, in and out in less than two minutes, and I peeked from under the duvet as he dropped his towel to pull on a pair of boxer shorts. I only caught the rear view, but that was enough to make my mouth go dry in a good way. Could he hear my heart racing?

I watched him surreptitiously until he perched on the edge of the bed and pulled the duvet back. Please, say my cheeks hadn't gone too red.

"Wish I could stay with you all day, but the guy I need to speak to walks his dog at six every morning.

"Who is he?"

"A cop. I've still got a few friends on the force. Albie's two years off retirement, coasting along, but he keeps his ear to the ground and if Marshall's been doing business with ladies of the night, Albie would know about it."

"Be careful."

"Always am." He leaned forward to brush his lips against mine. "I'll be back in time to take you to work."

Another opportunity to converse with Helene. "I can hardly wait."

***

Shannon arrived home grumpy after her shift, her pretty face marred by a scowl as she stomped into the living room where I was watching cartoons with Aisling.

"What's wrong?" Aside from the obvious problem with the flat. "Did something happen at work?"

"No, after work. I told RJ I'd catch the bus home, but when I got out of work, there was a car waiting for me. Not even a cab. Some fancy Mercedes with blacked-out windows."

"To drive you home? RJ sent it?"

"Apparently. And when I told the man behind the wheel I was taking the bus anyway, he followed me all the way from the factory."

"Why didn't you just take the ride?"

"Because I'm not for sale. Not anymore."

"Maybe RJ was just trying to be nice?"

Shannon folded her arms and dropped onto the sofa. "Nice would have been lending me the money for the bus fare until my new debit card arrives."

"I'm only surprised he didn't pick you up himself."

"He wanted to," she mumbled. "But he had an important meeting, and I wouldn't let him cancel it."

Oh, Shannon. I could tell by that wistful note in her voice that she'd wanted him to come, even if she pretended she didn't.

"If he didn't have money, would you be so cross with him?"

Folded arms turned into hugging herself. "If he didn't have money, he wouldn't have been able to do something so stupidly outrageous, would he?"

"But what if he'd spent his last twenty pounds on a taxi and had it waiting outside?"

Her mouth twisted as she considered my question, and her expression said she didn't like the answer.

"Well, I guess that would have been sweet."

I tried not to sigh, really I did, but sometimes, Shannon was impossible. "So because RJ, who seems like a genuinely nice guy, decided to ensure your safety in a way he could afford, you're pissed off at him?"

"Well, I guess when you put it that way..."

"Just let him help you, Shannon."

She sprang to her feet, and I recognised that look. She didn't want to talk anymore because she knew I was right.

"I need to make dinner."

"But it's two in the afternoon."

"I'm making pizza from scratch. The base, the sauce... It'll take ages."

"Pizza? Because RJ likes it?"

"Shut up."

***

Will dropped me off at work, but a late meeting with a contact who was practically nocturnal meant he left me to deal with Helene and Arthur alone while he dug for more information on Aiden and Marshall. He'd confessed that RJ was spying on Aiden's emails and his credit card too, but so far, there'd been no activity. And according to Lloyd Weston's secretary, Marshall was technologically inept. Every letter had to be couriered because he refused to use the secure network like everybody else.

"I'll be back at nine," Will said. "Earlier if I can get away. I don't like leaving you here alone."

"I'll be okay."

We'd been through the building together, and the only person left was a salesman pacing as he muttered on the phone. According to Will, the guy was married and had a solid alibi for Helene's murder.

"Any problems, call me. I won't be far away."

While I'd never loved my job, before Helene's death, I'd felt secure in the solitude that came with being alone in Daylesford Hall after everybody else left for the day. Not so tonight. After the salesman called out a goodbye and slammed the door behind him, every creak and groan of the building grated on my already frayed nerves.

It was strange—my years in Syria had numbed me to shootings and bombings and screams in the night, or perhaps I'd just been resigned to the fact I was going to die. But in England, the passage of time had let me feel again. A ringing phone made me twitch, the whooshing sound of the dishwasher was far from soothing, and when I caught the vacuum cleaner's power cable around a coat rack and pulled the whole thing over, my heart pounded so hard I thought I was having a coronary.

"Stop being so stupid, Rania," I chided myself.

"Now what have you done?" Helene asked.

She'd been mercifully quiet so far this evening. Sulking again, most likely.

"I haven't done anything. It's just not much fun being here on my own at night."

"But you're not on your own. I'm here."

"If whoever killed you comes back, you're not going to be much help."

"Do you really think... Did you hear that?"

Yes, I did. I froze at the sound of a door opening on the ground floor, then quiet footsteps padding across the industrial carpet in the reception area.

"Are you expecting a visitor?" Helene asked.

I shook my head, then realised it was a pointless gesture.

"No," I whispered.

"Then who is it?"

If I knew that, my heart wouldn't be threatening to claw its way out of my chest, would it? I reached into my pocket out of habit, but my trusty knife had burned up in the fire. I had nothing.

Well, nothing but my phone. Could it be Will downstairs? Had Lloyd Weston given him a key card?

I backed away from Helene, all the way to the cleaning cupboard. My strange little sanctuary. Cursing under my breath as my fingers shook, I pulled out my phone and dialled Will.

"Are you downstairs?" I whispered the second he answered.

"At Daylesford Hall? No."

"Shit."

"Why? Is somebody else there?"

"I heard a door. Footsteps."

Background noises blurred as Will hurried through wherever he was. "On my way. Stay hidden, okay?"

"Okay."

That was what I said, but I'd lied. Because my mind fought my insecurities, and a little of the old Rania came back. I didn't cower. I calculated and took the best course of action. Tonight, the last thing I wanted to do was hide and become a sitting duck.

I grabbed a can of spray polish off the shelf next to me. Not a great weapon, but I could use it to blind a man and it was better than a duster. Blood rushed in my ears as I clicked the door open and peered out, listening for the slightest sound.

Nothing. Well, nothing but Helene.

"Rania? Who's there?"

"Shut up," I hissed.

Every limb hummed with tension as I scuttled along the corridor, always ready to duck into a doorway for cover. Which stairs should I take? The middle set was closer, but the staircase at the back of the building lay beside an exit.

Shit! Footsteps were approaching. I ran into the nearest office, then pushed the door almost closed and peered through the crack.

Closer... Closer...

Anthony came into view, wearing jeans and a leather jacket rather than his usual scruffy suit. Light glinted off something in his hands, and I leaned forward for a closer look. Wine? He'd come back to the office late in the evening to drink?

Or rather, drink more. He stumbled against the door I was hiding behind, sending me backwards across the room as I struggled to stay upright.

"Whaaaat the...?" Anthony slurred. He struggled to focus, eyes rolling like errant roulette wheels. "The hell are you doin' here?"

"My job," I snapped. Now I knew who it was, my fear turned to anger. "What are you doing here?"

He didn't answer, just slumped to the floor, leaning against the wall with the bottle wedged between his legs.

"Do you want me to call your father?"

"Fuck you. Call my father? 'You're a drunk, Anti... Anthy... Anthony,'" he mimicked. "'You're not welcome in my house until you're sober.' That hypo...hypotipicral bastard."

Anthony heaved the bottle up and hurled it at the wall. Shards of glass flew everywhere, and a red stain splashed across the white paintwork.

"He never liked me. Always Helene. Little bitch could do no fucking wrong."

I backed away, not wanting to make him any angrier. "Fine. Just sit there, then."

His head lolled to the side, farther, farther, until he keeled over entirely. A soft snore rumbled from his lips, and two seconds later, someone hammered on the door downstairs.

Will! Oh, hell. I'd overreacted, and he must have driven like a maniac to get here so quickly. I sprinted down the stairs, and he was rattling the door as I ran to open it.

"Sorry. I'm so sorry. It was just Anthony."

"Anthony? What's he doing here at this time of night? Not work, surely?"

I stepped back so Will could get past, and my skin tingled from the waves of worry radiating off him.

"No, he's drunk." I peered past into the car park. No cars apart from Will's BMW. "I don't even know how he got here."

"Where is he?"

I led Will up to the meeting room where Anthony was curled up in the foetal position, drool running from one corner of his mouth. Charming.

"What's with the wine?" Will asked, nodding at the mess.

"Anthony threw the bottle. He was kind of angry."

"Angry?"

"Something about his parents hating his drinking. Helene too."

"He was angry at Helene?"

I saw where he was going with this. "Will, he couldn't have drugged then stabbed Helene in that state. He'd probably have stuck the needle in himself instead."

"Maybe he was in no fit state tonight, but if he was harbouring a grudge..."

"Killing his own sister?"

"It happens. And his alibi wasn't great. He had an argument with his girlfriend at lunch, she stormed out, and he spent the rest of the day watching football apart from a phone conversation with his mother at five."

I glanced over at Anthony's slumbering form again. Some people had all the luck—money, a good job, family—yet they were determined to waste it.

"So what do we do now?"

"Well, we can't leave him here."

***

Forty minutes later, I held the door open as Will helped Lloyd Weston to carry Anthony out to his car.

"I can only apologise for my son scaring you," Lloyd said, grunting under the weight. "He came home drunk, and my wife locked him out of the house, so he must have come here to sleep it off."

"Has this happened before?" Will asked.

"Once or twice, but not for a year or so. Helene's death... It's affecting everybody."

Secretly, I had my doubts that grief was responsible for Anthony's drinking spree, but I kept my mouth shut.

"Perhaps it would help if he talked to somebody?" Will suggested, ever the tactful one.

"I doubt he'd agree to that. Anyway, it's a good thing you happened to forget your jacket."

That was the story we'd both told Lloyd, that Will had left his jacket behind yesterday and he'd stopped by to pick it up because he knew I'd be working late. Neither of us wanted to broadcast our fledgling relationship to our boss.

"Yeah, luck's funny like that."

Back in Will's car, I slumped against the seat. The adrenaline had seeped away, and now I felt exhausted.

"Sorry I messed up your evening."

He reached over to squeeze my hand. "Never be sorry for that. Anthony's a prick."

"Did you get everything done that you needed to?"

"No, but I can talk to the guy tomorrow instead."

I checked my watch—almost nine o'clock. "Unless you could go now?"

"Nah, tomorrow's fine. I hate this damned job. If we didn't need the money, I'd jack it in. Want to run away to a desert island?"

We. He'd said if we didn't need the money. Despite the chill in the air, that one word warmed my heart.

"An island sounds good to me."

"It's a date."