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He was surprised when it was answered promptly by a cheerful voice which announced it would be with him in five minutes. That usually meant ten and on this island that would no doubt stretch into fifteen. By the time the headlights swept into the marina seventeen minutes later Horton was ready to throttle the bloody man, but he held his tongue and his temper long enough to give clipped instructions for Cowes.
       While he had waited for the taxi to arrive, he'd considered calling Birch and asking him to send a car to Thea's house. But he didn't. Why, he couldn't say, except that it had something to do with Thea not trusting anyone, which meant he couldn't either.
       He cut off the taxi driver's friendly chatter with a mixture of monosyllabic replies and stony silence. He soon got the message. Although the rush-hour traffic on the island was nowhere near as heavy as that on the mainland, tonight it seemed exceptionally busy. Horton cursed silently every time they stopped, which seemed like every five minutes. If he'd had the Harley he'd have been there by now.
       Finally they were heading into Cowes. But even then it wasn't plain sailing. Jesus, it would have been easier to get out and run! At last they turned the corner and pulled up outside Thea's house. It was in darkness. Had he rushed here like an idiot and Thea was with friends or relatives? But she'd said there was no one. He rang the bell. No answer. He called through the letter box. Still no reply, and yet he felt sure she was inside. Could she have done something stupid like take her own life? He shuddered at the thought and, quickly extracting the key, opened the door.
       Now his sense of danger was stronger than ever. Everything was silent. Too silent. Perhaps she was next door. But he didn't feel it. This bloody psychic stuff was rubbing off on him. Yet he couldn't bring himself to call her name. Some sixth sense was telling him there was someone here. He could feel a presence, and he didn't think it was a spook.
       Silently and swiftly he covered the rooms on the ground floor. There was no one and no sign of Thea, though she had been here: a cup was on the drainer that hadn't been there this morning. A noise suddenly alerted him. His senses strained to place it and its location. It was the cat, Bengal. He was meowing and the sound was coming from upstairs.
       Taking the stairs two at a time with his heart pounding like a piston engine, he paused on the landing and listened. Silence. Then Bengal mewed again. He was in Thea's bedroom.
       Holding his breath, Horton thrust open the door hoping to slam anyone lurking behind it, but it only bounced back on him. The brief glimpse inside made his blood freeze. Swiftly he crossed the room where Thea was lying face down on the bed and pressed his fingers on her neck. There was a pulse, thank the Lord. But he barely had time to register this when a movement caught the corner of his eye. He dodged to his right at the same time as trying to turn, but he was too late. A violent blow caught him on the side of his head. He heard the crack before he felt the pain. Then the bed raced up to meet him. He sensed someone hovering, but the lights were fading fast. Muffled footsteps. Then nothing, only blackness.

FOUR

    S omething was licking his face and screaming in his ears. He opened his eyes with a groan, which turned into a throat-clenching choke. A sharp pain stabbed his head so it took him a few seconds to connect his choking with the acrid smell of smoke. Bloody hell, the house was on fire!
       He pushed Bengal away and staggered up, trying to stop the room from spinning, and desperately struggling to remember what had happened. He didn't know how long he'd been unconscious but it could only have been seconds, maybe a couple of minutes at the most. It was long enough to feel the heat through the floorboards. Time to get out and already his mind was rapidly calculating that using the stairs wasn't