Alicia had arrived – a little bit late, but Paul would overlook that on the basis she’d had the good manners to text him and alert him to the fact that she would be. Clearly, their daughter had picked up her sloppy manners from her husband. Collecting up his homemade olive dressing, Paul placed it on the dining table alongside his Italian-inspired salad, and then, pleased with the table arrangement, went to greet his long-anticipated visitor.

‘Darling,’ he said, his warmest smile in place as he reached to open the door, ‘I—’

‘You bastard!’ someone rasped furiously on the other side of it.

Sprawling backwards as the door was shoved violently into his face, Paul didn’t stop to wonder what had just hit him. He rolled over, attempting to scramble away from the terrifying intruder advancing towards him.

Gulping hard, his bladder almost failing him, he pulled himself up onto all fours and then to his feet, almost losing his footing as he glanced frantically around for means of escape. He quickly realised his only exit was through the front door, but he stumbled away from there, where some madman, probably armed with a knife, was advancing towards him.

Paul felt sweat saturate his armpits as he imagined what despicable crime this thug might be intent on, and then physically sick as he caught up with him at the patio window.

‘Take anything you want,’ he spluttered, spittle wetting his cheek as the side of his face was rammed forcefully against the glass. ‘Anything,’ he gasped desperately. ‘I won’t try to stop you, just… please don’t hurt me.’

The person behind him, clearly some lowlife, thieving thug of the worst kind, said nothing.

‘I have money,’ Paul tried. ‘In my wallet. There’s at least two hundred in cash. My credit cards are there, too. I’ll give you the PIN—’

Fuck! He trailed painfully off as his face was forced harder against the glass. He was going to smash his cheekbone, deform him for life, the mad son of a bitch.

‘What do you want?’ he said weakly, when his attacker didn’t answer. ‘If it’s electrical goods, I have phones and— Aaargh! Don’t, you’re hurting me!’ he screamed, finding his arm pulled back and jerked high up behind his back. ‘For God’s sake, just tell me what you want!’

The man moved closer, his face right up next to his. ‘My daughter,’ he growled, close to his ear. ‘Where is she, you fucker?’

Shit! ‘I don’t know!’ Paul gurgled, as Justin Cole clutched a handful of his shirt, tightening it at his throat and yanking him back. ‘I have no idea!’

Cole didn’t answer. Hanging on to him so tight he almost choked him, he reached for the locking mechanism on the doors instead. ‘You might want to have a rethink,’ he suggested, pushing him bodily out onto the balcony.

Oh God, no. Realising he was facing his worst fear, Paul struggled to turn away from the fifteen-floor drop, at the bottom of which was nothing but bone-crushing concrete. But Cole was on him, pressing his arm hard across his shoulders, pushing him towards certain death.

‘Where is she?’ he repeated, his tone now menacingly quiet.

God, please help me. He couldn’t tell him. How could he? The mad bastard would bloody well kill him. ‘I don’t know,’ he whimpered, blinking hard as the ground loomed up towards him. ‘I swear to God I don’t.’

He heard Cole draw in a ragged breath. Paul had no idea how he was breathing at all. Gulping hard, he waited. He wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t stand a chance of getting away with it. And then getting out of the building unnoticed, if he did. Would he?

After a second, Cole relaxed, just fractionally, the arm he had locked across his back, to Paul’s huge relief. He hadn’t thought he would. He was bluffing. And Paul had called his bluff.

‘So now what are you going to do?’ he asked him, his voice shaky, despite his attempt at bravado. ‘Electrodes? Pull my fingernails—’

He stopped, emitting something between a squeak and a scream as Cole’s arm snaked its way around his throat.

‘Shhh,’ he whispered, pressing a cold syringe to the side of his neck. ‘You wouldn’t want to attract any attention, would you, Radley? Because if you do, I may be forced to drop you after all, and that really would be very messy.’

Paul’s eyes bulged as the man tightened his hold.

‘Do you believe in karma, Radley?’ he asked him, talking almost companionably, to Paul’s disbelief. ‘You should.’ He squeezed still tighter. ‘Because I’m going to hurt you. I’m going to do to you exactly what you did to my wife. I imagine you have one or two kitchen implements that might serve my purpose. Or something from the bathroom, maybe? It will hurt, but then pain turns you on, doesn’t it, you sick, sad bastard.’

He let it hang, leaving Paul with a graphic image and his insides turning to liquid jelly.

‘If I find you’ve hurt my daughter, in any way,’ Cole growled, ‘the pain is going to be so, so much worse. Last time, you fucker, where is she?’

‘I don’t know,’ Paul cried. ‘I swear—’ He stopped, terror gripping him as Cole pressed the syringe closer. ‘Don’t,’ he rasped, clamping his eyes shut.

Cole didn’t answer, breathing slowly and heavily instead, like some lunatic psychopath.

He was insane, Paul realised, knowing with certainty that if he did tell him, the chances of the madman not doing him permanent damage were nil. ‘What are you going to inject me with?’ he croaked, perspiration popping out on his forehead.

‘Just ketamine, Paul,’ Cole said matter-of-factly. ‘Nothing harmful. Just enough to render you incapable. You know, unable to speak, move or control your own body? Powerless, Paul. As in, unable to fight back. I take it you’re getting my drift here?’

‘Please, don’t…’ Paul’s voice came out a hoarse whisper.

Cole, though, just tightened his grip.