Thom wanted her to leave George, but for a while she’d resisted, and it might just have remained an affair had she not found out about George’s own affair with Ivana, which was when events took a more lethal turn. Thom came up with the idea of killing them both and making it look like the work of The Disciple, using his inside knowledge of the case.

At first, Amanda had been reluctant, thinking it too risky, but Thom had persuaded her it could be done. After all, had they not got away with murder before? The more she thought about it, the better she liked the idea, and it would serve that philandering bastard George right.

So she’d agreed.

The plan itself was flawless. Amanda had got herself an alibi by travelling to London to see her father for the night, already knowing from his emails that George had arranged to spend the night with Ivana at their home. She’d stage-managed an argument with her father (never a problem given his cantankerous nature) and driven back home early. Thom had already let himself in the back door using the keys she’d given him, having earlier blacked out the CCTV camera so it couldn’t record him.

He’d wanted her to take part in the actual murders themselves, but she’d refused, not at all sure she had the stomach for them, and instead timed her arrival for just after they’d been committed.

Thom had been insistent that when Amanda came in the house, she should act as naturally as possible. He wanted her to put all thoughts of what they’d done out of her mind. She had to play the part of an innocent woman right down to the last detail, because that way, when she recounted what had happened to the police, there’d be no way she’d contradict herself. So they’d acted out the whole thing. Her calling out to George as if she was expecting him to answer; the ambush on the landing; her fleeing down the stairs and out through the front door, even the fake tattoo on his left arm. Just to add to the authenticity, Thom hadn’t even warned her he was going to cut her with the knife. Although she’d been furious at the time (as well as in a hell of a lot of pain), Amanda had had to admit it had been a masterstroke on his part. As had been the chase, which had totally fooled the police.

In the end, there’d only ever been one hitch, and that was the fact that Ivana had managed to scratch Thom’s neck, drawing blood, before he could restrain her properly. Even though he’d done everything he could to clear it up before it contaminated the scene, he hadn’t been successful, and the police had managed to get a DNA sample.

Although Amanda didn’t like to admit it to herself, she knew it was only a matter of time before the police caught up with Thom, and then her. The problem was that the intense attraction they’d felt for each other all those years ago was still there, which was why she’d arranged for him to drive up to see her tonight, even though they both knew they were taking a huge risk contacting each other at all.

But, as she backed the Land Rover down the track and into the entrance to her rear garden, her heart still thumping from the ordeal of the last few hours, she knew she was going to have to do something about him, and sooner rather than later.

Turning round in the driver’s seat, she held up the Stanley knife, using her thumb to expose the blade, so that Jess could see it glinting in the darkness. ‘Make another noise and I’ll kill you, understand?’

Jess nodded, her eyes wide with fear, and Amanda slipped out of the car, checking her neighbours’ windows to make sure no one was snooping on her. There were old people on either side and, although nosy, they tended to go to bed early, which suited her fine. She was annoyed that Thom had parked his car there, though. She’d told him to park out of the way so that no one would know he was here. Her plan was to spend a couple of days in bed with him, then have him slip away under cover of the night and head back down south. Now it was obvious she had a visitor.

She was about to phone Thom and tell him to help her with Jess when the back door to the cottage opened and he stepped out into the darkness.

It had been three weeks since Amanda had last seen him, but the sight of him standing there – tall, broad, hair tousled – sent shivers down her spine. He was her one true weakness.

Thom came over and they embraced, holding each other tight, her head buried in his neck, taking in his smell.

‘Are you all right, darling?’ he asked.

She sighed, amazed that she hadn’t gone into shock yet. She knew she was tough but, even so, the ordeal she’d experienced had taken her right to the edge. ‘I think so. I just want to make my report to the police, and come back here and be with you.’

‘Have you got the girl?’

‘She’s in there. Can you deal with her before I get back?’

He smiled. ‘With pleasure.’

She opened up the back of the Land Rover and the two of them looked down at Jess, who was shivering on the floor, hands trussed behind her back, mouth gagged.

Thom let out an appreciative murmur and reached out for Jess’s legs. ‘Now this really is a nice surprise. You’ve surpassed yourself this time, Amanda.’

The terror was coming off Jess in waves. The woman she thought was her friend had changed into a monster, and there was no one left to help her. She had no idea where she was, just that whatever she’d been brought here for, it wasn’t good.

Now she was staring up at Amanda and a big, good-looking man in his thirties. The man was smiling at her, and making a satisfied, grunting noise, as if he’d just been presented with a really good meal. He leaned in, grabbing Jess’s ankles, and said, ‘Now this really is a nice surprise. You’ve surpassed yourself this time, Amanda.’

Jess tried to move away from him, but he dragged her out of the back of the Land Rover easily.

Then, as they sat her down on the edge of the vehicle, with Amanda holding the Stanley knife close to her face to prevent her doing anything stupid, Jess caught a blur of movement behind them as two figures approached, running.

Fifty-five

DURING HIS DAYS in The Flying Squad, the Metropolitan Police’s specialist Armed Robbery Unit, Mike Bolt had been taught that, when ambushing armed robbers, sudden overwhelming force, delivered without any warning whatsoever – be it with fists, guns, or even planks of wood – was by far the most effective means of bringing down men with guns, and could often be achieved without fatalities.

Bolt hadn’t wanted to arrest Amanda Rowan or Thom Folkestone before the reinforcements he’d called in from Tayleigh had arrived. With just him and Mo on the scene, there was too much risk of one or both of them escaping. He’d already had a good meal and a couple of drinks that night, and Mo, who was short and stout and preferred detective work to chasing suspects, wasn’t the most athletic of coppers, so it would have been far easier to have kept an eye on them from their position behind the shed.

However, as soon as he’d heard them talking about some girl Amanda had apparently brought with her, he’d known they were going to have to do something. As Amanda and Thom had leaned into the back of the Land Rover and he’d heard the muffled cries of someone inside, Bolt had crept out from behind the shed, motioning for Mo to follow, and approached them from behind.

Thom had heard them at the last second, but he’d been too late. Bolt raced forward and punched him in the side of the head, putting all his weight behind it. Thom’s head hit the edge of the roof, bounced back, and Bolt grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, swung him round, and drove a knee into his balls, lifting him off his feet.

At the same time, Mo grabbed Amanda round the middle, pinning her arms, while she screamed and struggled violently, almost knocking them both over. Bolt could see she was holding a Stanley knife, with the blade about an inch exposed, and he knew he had to act fast before she broke free. As Thom fell back against the car, his face contorted with pain, Bolt rained blows down on his face, one after another, literally beating him to the ground.