Max clears his throat. “Actually... you know how I said I was in the car because I’d just popped to the office?”
“Yes...”
“Well, what I really meant by that was... I’m coming to see you.”
My heart does a little backflip. “What?”
“Yeah. I was thinking... you could sneak me into your hotel room. We’ll have some fun.”
I laugh. “You can’t. Aren’t you working tomorrow?”
“No meetings till the afternoon. Anyway, the hotel’s got Wi-Fi, hasn’t it?”
“Max, I—”
“Sound like a plan?”
I don’t say anything for a couple of moments. From the corridor I can hear shrieks and muffled laughter, probably other like-minded delegates ducking out of the quiz.
“No,” I tell Max. “I’m sorry. I need to get an early night. This presentation tomorrow is a big deal.” I don’t go as far as to saycareer-defining, but I really do think it could be.
Anyway, I shouldn’t feel bad. Max knows this already. He’s made a romantic gesture, but he’ll wake up tomorrow and realize this was the right call. I need to run through my notes again, charge my laptop, press my clothes, get eight solid hours of high-quality sleep.
“Swear I’ll behave myself,” he says, but the mischief in his voice tells me otherwise.
I suppress a shiver. “No, Max. You know you won’t. You knowwewon’t. I can’t handle any distractions. Not tonight.”
He laughs. “I promise I won’t distract you. I’ll just... raid the mini bar and eat all your Pringles and test you on your slides.”
“No!” I smile. The thought of it is so sweet, but I know it’ll be even sweeter tomorrow, once all this is over. “Turn the car around. I’ll see you tomorrow night. I’ll take you out for dinner. Somewhere nice. I love you.”
So we say good night, and he turns the car around.
—
I wake to the sound of my phone ringing. I have to tug my eyes open, unsnag the sleep from my brain. There’s an ocean-floor depth to the darkness that tells me it’s the middle of the night.
I can’t hear any music or laughter. The world is still, waiting for what comes next. The silence is so loud it almost buzzes.
Switching on a lamp, I grab my phone, blinking at the screen. I tap to answer it, even though I don’t recognize the number.
“Am I speaking to Lucy Lambert?”
My heartbeat becomes liquid. I can hear it rushing between my ears. A question like that at this time of night can only ever be bad news.
I have never felt more desperate to hear someone promising me a special price on new guttering, or offering to fix my computer. But the female voice on the other end of the line is clear and steady, pin-sharp. I know from just those six words that she is no cold caller.
An image of my parents lurches into my mind.Who is it? What’s happened?
“Yes,” I manage to say, eventually.
On the carpet next to the bed, one of my blue Jimmy Choos has fallen on its side, like it’s fainted.
“Lucy, this is Kirsten Lewis from Surrey Police.”
Surrey? Why Surrey?
“Are you the partner of Max Gardner?”
