Page 81 of The Rising Tide

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At no point since this began has she believed him capable of harming their children. Even so, the unexploded bomb inher inbox was her first evidence of outside involvement. Of malicious intent.

The revelation that someone has deliberately targeted her family is almost too traumatic to face. But face it she must if she’s to save Billie and Fin – and face it entirely alone.

No way could she have shared that email with the police. It wouldn’t prove to Jesse Arnold or Abraham Rose what it proves to her; exactly the opposite. Hence her decision to erase it and later destroy the computer. Even if the emailhadn’timplicated Daniel, no way could she trust the authorities to handle this competently. Not after what happened in Portugal.

Nor can she confide in anyone she knows. Impossible – based on the email’s content – that the culprit is a stranger. Which means everyone is a suspect. Even her closest friends.

From the kitchen, Lucy grabs her crash helmet. Minutes later she’s in Skentel. Not the high street or quay but one of its wooded lanes. Just like before, she approaches the house on foot.

The front door is new. Opaque glass this time, so she can’t see inside. There’s no car in the drive or lights in the windows, but that doesn’t mean she’s safe. Keeping to the treeline, she circles around to the rear. The back lawn is contained by a natural border of trees. Other than a hooting owl, and something scratching around beneath a bird feeder hanging from the shed, she’s alone.

Lucy creeps on to the deck. She crouches behind a covered barbecue. The living room’s bifold door is a black wall, no curtains pulled against the glass. Nothing burns in the firepit beneath the copper flue. The wall-mounted TV is dark.

A fox screams, somewhere close. From the trees all around, birds take flight. Lucy turns her head, sees that the creature beneath the bird feeder has fled.

Her attention moves to the shed, gently illuminated by moonlight.

It’s a windowless construction. From the look of it, brand new. The door is secured with a padlock.

Lucy steps off the decking and crosses the grass. At the shed door, she activates her torch. The lock is far better quality than the hasp and staple through which it’s threaded. A few well-placed kicks should pop the screws loose.

Lucy slams her foot against the wood. The sound is horrendous. In the trees overhead, more birds take flight. She kicks the door a second time, a third. Already, the wood is splintering. Her fourth kick separates one side of the hasp. She slips her fingers under it and levers off the entire mechanism, padlock still attached. Then she yanks open the door.

‘Billie!’ she calls. ‘Fin!’

But one swab with her torch shows it’s useless. Aside from a lawnmower and a few basic tools, the shed’s empty.

Lucy spots a hammer, picks it up. Her mind is racing again. She has to slow it down. Recrossing the lawn, she focuses on her breathing: slow in; slow out. Back on the decking, she approaches the bifold door. In a single smooth movement, she swings at the nearest pane. The glass shivers. The hammer flies from her hand.

Fingers tingling, Lucy retrieves it from the grass. She examines the pane more closely. With a tighter grip, she aims for a spot close to one corner.

This time there’s no recoil, just a sharp sound of impact.Lucy continues to swing. Fracture lines appear. Glass chips start to fly. Soon, she’s broken through to the interior pane. Once that’s breached, the job becomes easier. A minute later, she’s standing in Nick’s darkened living room.

‘Billie!’ she yells. ‘Fin! Are you here?’

Of everyone she knows, only Nick Povey would grope his best friend’s wife. Only Nick Povey would attend the party of a family he’d just betrayed, or present Billie with an extravagant gift after destroying her stepfather’s livelihood. Of everyone Lucy knows in Skentel, only Nick Povey was absent from tonight’s vigil.

His behaviour, in recent weeks, has been more despicable than she thought him capable. That doesn’t mean he’s responsible for yesterday’s events. But it does put him first on her list.

A door in the far wall leads to Nick’s office. She checks there first – a desk, a chair, a few cabinets. Nowhere to hide Billie or Fin.

From the office she heads to the kitchen, where she discovers nothing incriminating. She looks inside the fridge, finds a pack of salami, a few beers. If Nick’s keeping prisoners, he’s not feeding them anything fresh.

Upstairs, she goes room to room, shouting her children’s names. She checks cupboards, looks under beds. She holds herself still, listening for any quiet tapping, any signs whatsoever of life.

In Nick’s bedroom, emerging from his walk-in closet, she hears the hiss of tyres on gravel and sees headlights sweep the frontage.

She’s got thirty seconds before he’s inside. Not even that if he’s already spotted her torch. Shielding its beam, Lucy snatches three chunky watches from a side table. From achange tray she grabs a fold of cash, scattering coins across the carpet. Important this looks like a random break-in.

Outside, a car door slams. Footsteps crunch across the drive.

Lucy flees to the hall, and from there down the stairs. She reaches the living room just as the front door clatters open. Glass pops beneath her feet. She hears commotion behind her in the hall.

No time left for stealth. Lucy forces her way through the smashed pane, hissing as pain flares in her wrist. Moments later, she’s sprinting through the trees.

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