“Where are my clothes?” Mia demanded, hands on her hips. The hospital gown she wore gaped at the back, affording anyone who happened to be passing an unrestricted view of her rear end.

Her head still felt a little fuzzy, but she was annoyed enough that the pain had receded into the background.

“Miss Kinsella, I really think you should get back into bed.” Standing in front of her, hands held up in a placating manner, the nurse who had been waking her every two hours through the night to ensure she didn’t have a concussion took a step towards her.

Mia took an automatic step backwards to maintain the distance between herself and the man. She thought she saw a flicker of annoyance in his eyes.

“I’m going home,” she stated. “Where are my clothes?”

“I don’t think that’s a very good idea, Miss Kinsella. Detective Sergeant Matheson is on his way back to speak with you.” Probably drawn by the sound of her raised voice, another man had entered the room, this one dressed in a police uniform. He was young and looked a little overwhelmed.

Mia had heard his superior giving another young officer a tongue-lashing just a few hours before, so she supposed this officer was attempting to avoid a similar reprimand.

Ordinarily she might have felt some sympathy for the constable, but under the current circumstances she wasn’t inclined towards compassion.

“I don’t care if the King himself is on his way, I’m going home.” She narrowed her eyes and turned her attention back to the nurse. “Where are my clothes?”

For a second it seemed like he might argue further, but instead he nodded and turned towards the door. “I’ll get them.”

With a sigh, Mia dropped her hands from her hips. “Thank you.” She pushed a hand through the tangled mess of her long, dark hair, wincing when she grazed the dressing on her forehead.

“Miss Kinsella…” the police officer tried again, but the index finger she raised was enough to silence him.

While she waited, she lowered herself into the chair by the bed. The chill of the cool plastic against her bare bottom was nothing compared to the ache that seemed to encompass every bone and muscle in her body.

Common sense told her it would probably be more sensible to get back into her hospital bed and stay put for the couple of days the medical staff were recommending. But the memory of a face leaning over her in the night, breath hot on her face, sent a chill through her that made her shiver. No, she couldn’t stay here a moment longer than was absolutely necessary.

The nurse—Mark? Martin?—returned carrying a clear plastic bag. Mia could see her belongings inside. The dress and heels she’d worn for her night out, and her little beaded clutch bag. Only her coat was missing. The police had taken that to test for trace evidence.

She’d felt good last night—pretty and festive after a long week in the classroom. Now, though, the thought of having to put those clothes back on made her feel queasy.

He put the bag on the end of the bed and turned to Mia with a barely concealed scowl of disapproval. “If you’re determined to leave against medical advice, you’ll have to sign some forms. Please come to the nurses’ desk when you’re ready.”

Gaze flicking quickly to the name badge pinned to his chest, Mia nodded. “Thank you, Michael.”

He returned her nod, then left the room again.

Mia pushed herself to her feet, suppressing a groan. She wasn’t in pain exactly, but her body seemed to protest even the slightest movement. She closed the curtain around the bed for the sake of privacy, since the constable had taken up a position by the door and appeared to have no intention of leaving.

Inside her little cocoon, Mia pulled the bag towards her and tipped the contents out onto the mint-coloured blanket. The scent of her favourite perfume drifted to her nostrils, and she winced. Would she ever be able to wear that perfume again without remembering… Big hands pulling at her hair, her forehead hitting the rough surface of the ground…

Shivering again, she reached for her clutch and opened it with fingers that felt numb and clumsy. She checked the contents and was relieved to see that everything was there—keys, purse, phone and the small pouch that held her lipstick and comb.

She took out the wide-toothed comb and dragged it through her hair, grimacing when it encountered knots and clumps of what looked like congealed blood. Dear God, given that she’d been thrashing around on the ground it could be anything. She suddenly craved a shower more than her next breath.

Doing the best she could with her hair, she dressed quickly, trying not to think too much and hating the tears that suddenly stung her eyes.

When she’d stepped into her shoes, she ripped the curtain back with more force than necessary and emitted a gasp of shock when she saw Detective Sergeant Matheson standing just inside the door.

He looked tired and annoyed, his salt and pepper hair mussed, and his clothing—the same grey suit and blue shirt he’d been wearing the last time she’d seen him—was wrinkled.

“Miss Kinsella,” he started, his voice rough, no doubt from the cigarettes he seemed to chain smoke.

Mia sighed again. “My students call me Miss Kinsella. My name is Mia.”

“Mia,” he said after a brief hesitation. “I must stress to you just how ill-advised it would be for you to leave here today. But…if you’re determined, then I’ll have an officer accompany you home.”

“An officer?” she asked, irritation rising in her. She had to admit that irritation felt better than the fear that had been thrumming under the surface for the last few hours. Had it really only been hours? “The officer who was supposed to be guarding my door last night?”

God, that sounds bitchy. Mia’s cheeks heated, but she refused to break eye contact with Matheson.

“I can’t apologise enough about that, Miss…Mia, but your safety is of the utmost importance to us.” Both his expression and his words seemed sincere.

She wanted to believe him, she really did, but a sickening mix of fear and cynicism twisted in her stomach.

“I got a glimpse of his face. He spoke to me,” she said, feeling cold and wishing she had her coat. “Am I right in thinking that I’m the only victim of this man who can say that?” Victim. The word tasted bitter on her tongue.

Pressing his lips together, Detective Sergeant Matheson nodded.

Mia’s hands curled into fists at her side. “I’ve no doubt that you do want to keep me safe, Detective, but I can’t help but think that it’s more because of my value as a potential witness than anything else. Tell me, do the four other victims of this bastard rate the same protection?”

Matheson drew a deep breath in through his nostrils and seemed to consider her words for a moment before speaking again.

“You will be a valuable witness when we catch this man,” he said, adding “and we will catch him.”

“But?” Mia asked. Some of the anger was leaving her, and the thread of fear was starting to appear again.

“But…” Matheson said, moving closer to her.

Again, Mia automatically took a step back. Matheson seemed to see this and held up a reassuring hand before retreating.

“You managed to fight this man off, Mia. You’re the only woman who did, and by turning up at your hospital room last night he’s shown that he wants to finish what he started. I don’t want to scare you, but I’ve seen what he did to those other women. I don’t want him to do that to you.”

He was a plain-speaking man. Oddly, it was both comforting and terrifying.

When her nails dug into her palms, Mia forced her hands to relax.

“I believe you,” she said. “But I have to take action to protect myself. I can’t stay here and live in fear, wondering what…who…will be around the next corner.”

“It sounds like you’ve given this a bit of thought,” he said. She thought she detected a hint of an Irish accent in his voice. “May I ask what you have planned?”

Mia nodded. “I have a friend I can stay with. I’ll be safe there.” For a moment warmth chased away the cold that had been hanging around her like a shroud.

He was quiet for a few long seconds, then raised his eyebrows and said, “That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

“I’ll keep in touch,” Mia replied. “And, of course, as soon as you make an arrest, I’ll be back to do whatever is required of me.”

Matheson sucked in a gulp of air, then released it through tight lips. He shook his head.

“If I could force you into protective custody I would, Miss Kinsella, I want you to know that. However, as things stand, I don’t have that authority.” He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and produced a business card, which he handed to her. “I recommend you buy a pay-as-you-go phone. Don’t register it. And keep a low profile.”

There was genuine concern in his expression. Mia managed a small smile of appreciation.

“Thank you, Detective Sergeant Matheson,” she said, turning away to tuck the card into her clutch.

“You can thank me by allowing Constable Gill here to drive you home,” he said, eyebrows still raised.

It was on the tip of Mia’s tongue to say that she could take a cab, but instead she nodded in agreement. It was a small concession.

PC Gill accompanied her to the nurses’ desk, waited silently at her side while she signed the requisite forms, then escorted her to the car park, and the police car parked there. He was so solemn and serious that Mia had the urge to ask him if they could turn on the flashy lights, but she decided against it, and sat quietly beside him on the drive to her flat.

When they reached her building PC Gill pulled up at the kerb. “Would you like me to come inside with you?”

Mia opened her mouth to speak, but hesitated when a brief frisson of fear ran through her. She shook her head—a sharp, jarring motion. “Thank you, but no, I’ll be fine.”

“I can wait and take you to wherever you want to go,” he offered.

“No, I’ll be fine, thanks. I have my car.” She nodded in the direction of the car park at the side of the squat brick building.

“Which one is yours?” he asked.

“The pale-aqua Nissan Figaro,” Mia said, pointing to the little car parked close to the building’s side door.

A smile seemed to tug at the corner of the young man’s mouth. “Cute,” he said.

He had a nice smile, so Mia chose not to take any offence. “Thank you for the escort, Constable Gill.” Mia reached for the handle and opened the door. She stepped out of the car and uttered a curse when a cold blast of winter air raised goosebumps on her skin.

She hurried towards the entrance, fishing her keys from her bag on the way, then opened the door and entered the building. Before the door closed behind her, she turned to see PC Gill lift a hand and send her a brief wave. She waved back, then, when she was sure the door was shut, headed over to the lift, too weary to attempt the stairs.

It took Mia less than half an hour to throw everything she needed into a bag and clear out the fridge of perishable foods, which she tossed down the rubbish chute.

She took another thirty minutes to shower and wash her hair while keeping the dressing on her forehead as dry as possible. She then roughly dried her hair and twisted it into a bun on top of her head.

She was, as a result, too busy to really think, but that didn’t stop the steady creep of tension into her body. She was in her own home, three storeys up with the door securely locked, but she found herself fighting the urge to look over her shoulder and jumping at every little sound.

It took her back to the early days of living alone for the first time after university. But back then all the ‘bad things’ had been elsewhere, almost an abstract concept in her life. It occurred to her now just how…comfortable her life had been. Real violence and threat had existed for her only in news stories.

It had touched her now—the darkness. Would this feeling of dread tightening her stomach and weighing on her chest be permanent?

Mia picked up her bag and swung it onto her shoulder. She stiffened her spine determinedly and headed for the door.

Even so, she hesitated before unlocking and opening it.

* * * *

Once inside her car, locks checked and re-checked, Mia programmed the destination into the satnav, never having made this particular journey before. She chose from the suggested routes, read that it would take approximately one and a half hours to travel the fifty-two miles, then set out across the country.

She had thought that she would gradually be able to relax with the ticking over of the odometer, but her shoulders felt as stiff as ever, and her fingers clutched the steering wheel in a death grip.

In fact, as the image in the rear-view mirror changed from the familiar to the unknown, emotion welled in her, shortening her breath and making her heart pound.

She stopped only once, in a town called Camden St James, where she bought a cheap phone. For the rest of the journey, she focused laser-like on driving, because the last thing she needed was to drive into one of the ditches on either side of the narrow country roads.

Her hands began to tremble when a church tower came into view. It acted like a beacon, drawing her in. She was barely aware of the picturesque little village, or the soft flakes of snow floating past her windows.

“In two hundred metres turn left.”

Mia followed the instructions of the benign satnav voice. When she turned left, the vicarage she’d only seen in photographs was right there.

“You have reached your destination.”

She pulled the car over and parked by the pavement in front of a black wrought-iron gate. She had to take a moment to get her breathing under control and fight back the tears that were starting to blur her vision.

When she felt more composed, she exited the car. The gate creaked when she opened it, making her start. She continued along the path, glancing around her at the neat squares of lawn on either side of the path, and up at the sturdy-looking red-brick house. A snowflake landed on her eyelashes, and she blinked it way.

She knocked twice on the green door, feeling hot in spite of the cold wind swirling around, her stomach clenching and unclenching.

A soft “Oh!” escaped her when the door was opened.

“Hello?” a woman she didn’t know said with a kind smile. White hair and the criss-cross of lines around her eyes and mouth suggested that she was in her mid to late sixties, but her pale-blue eyes were clear and sharp.

Mia searched her mind, trying to recall the text of the last letter she’d received. Mrs…Kole? No, Kloves! The housekeeper.

Smiling in return, and sure that it must look more like a rictus grin, Mia clasped her cold hands in front of her.

“H-hello, excuse me, but I was looking for Donovan…that is, Reverend Bancroft?”

“Oh, yes. Come right in, dear.” The woman she supposed to be Mrs Kloves opened the door wider and swept her arm out to usher Mia inside. “I’ll just get him for you.”

Mia waited by the door, twisting her hands, and watched as Mrs Kloves hurried along the hall. The woman’s shoulders stooped a little, but there was a definite spring in her step.

Mere seconds later, Donovan Bancroft appeared at the other end of the hall. He was tall and strong. An expression of surprised delight graced his handsome face for a second before morphing into something more like concern.

Mia’s knees started to give out under her. She had been in love with this man for as long as she’d known him, and going a little weak in his presence was nothing new. This, however, was nothing to do with the sexual attraction that always assailed her when she saw him. No tingle of awareness dancing over her skin, no hot flush of desire or dry mouth.

All the fear and shock she’d been struggling to hold at bay washed over her like an uncontrollable tidal wave. A sob escaped her lips, and she reached out towards him as her knees buckled and she went down.

“Mia!” Donovan exclaimed, racing to her side. Hands under her arms, he steadied her.

The warmth emanating from him wrapped around her. She brought her hands up to his chest and clutched at the fabric of his shirt. Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she shook like a sapling in a storm.

“Do-Donovan,” she stuttered, her voice barely audible, then leaned into his heat and strength. She felt no shame in falling apart in front of him, the person she trusted most in the world.

Without a word, he gathered her into his arms and, for the first time since this whole hideous ordeal had begun, she felt safe.