They take the subway. With the streets as busy as they are, it’s the fastest option. Eric doesn’t ask any questions for which Brad is grateful. The sick feeling in his gut gets worse, even though he can’t imagine what Vivienne can do to Damien. Could she have a weapon? Would she hurt Damien? Or Zoe? Brad’s gut feeling is yes, she would. Damien is no weakling, of course. He’s not helpless, and he might even be able to talk her down. But caught unawares, confronted with an angry woman wielding a knife or a gun, will he be able to?

Brad nearly spills his fears at this point. Anything is better than keeping those awful thoughts inside. But just then the train stops at Canal Street, and they hurry out of the station. Brad is climbing the steps to street level two at a time when his cell buzzes in his pocket. He doesn’t recognize the number but takes the call anyway.

“Who’s this?” he barks, no space in his head left over for niceties.

“It’s Rose,” a familiar voice says. “Is this Brad?”

“Yeah,” he says, his heart rate speeding up together with his steps down the packed sidewalk. “How did you get my number?”

“I have access to Damien’s address book.” She sounds distracted. “Brad, I can’t get through to him. I picked Zoe up and went ahead for the Open Day at her new school. He had to make some calls so he was gonna join us there. That was an hour ago. I tried his phone but he’s not picking up.”

Brad’s heart sinks. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Eric struggling to keep up, even with his long legs. “You got Zoe?” he asks.

“Yeah. Brad, what’s—”

Brad cuts her off, his voice firm. “Good. Stay away from the penthouse. You got that?”

“Yes, okay,” she says, sounding scared. Brad hangs up. He can apologize later. At least Zoe and Rose are safe.

They turn into Damien’s street. Everything is quiet. No fans hang around outside. Even in his haste, Brad marvels at the short-lived nature of social media posts.

Brad uses the fob keys to get them into the building and to call the elevator. He glances at Eric. “Let me go in first,” he says, a lump in his throat.

“What do you think she’ll do?” Eric looks at him and knows that his partner has pieced the truth together very accurately indeed. Brad is grateful for Eric’s unruffled professionalism, and for not trying to talk sense into him.

“I don’t know,” he replies. “She’s obsessed with Damien. I just hadn’t realized how much.”

“That notebook, that was her stalking diary, wasn’t it?” Eric asks.

Brad nods. “She’s the one who smashed my patio door, too.” There’s no doubt in his mind about that now. Then he remembers something else. “Damien, he was getting a migraine last night. The meds make him dopey…”

Eric’s expression is serious. “If it gets hairy, I’ll keep an eye on him.” As the elevator pings to a halt he pulls his pistol from its holster, and Brad does the same.

“And leave her to me.” Talking strategy like this, just the same as they would in another high-pressure situation, calms Brad. He’d trust Eric with his own life, and he’ll trust him with Damien.

When the doors glide open, Brad steps through them first. He strides across the hall to the penthouse, key in one hand, weapon in the other.

The first thing Brad hears when he eases open the door is a crash from upstairs. It sounds like a plate breaking on the floor. There’s another crash, and Brad is already halfway up the stairs. Next there comes a screech, then a woman’s voice shouting.

“You betrayed us. You!”

Brad takes two steps at once, bursting into the living room seconds later. The scene before him would be almost comical if it wasn’t so chilling. Vivienne is near the open terrace doors, a small ceramic statue from a nearby table in her hands. Before Brad can do anything, she hurls it across the room at Damien, who has backed away into the kitchen, arms raised. There are shards of glass around him already and pieces of a picture frame Brad recognizes from having sat on a shelf until this morning. The statue shatters on the tiles. With a sense of relief Brad sees that Damien has got on shoes. In fact, he’s fully dressed, wearing his leather jacket, too. He was probably just about to leave for his meeting with Rose and Zoe when Vivienne turned up.

All this takes a second to notice, then Brad turns to the woman now screeching obscenities at both him and Damien. “It’s your fucking fault, you pig,” she hollers at Brad, hands balled to fists. Her hair is wild and unkempt. She wears a dress more suited for a summer picnic than fall in New York City. Her face is turned toward Brad now, a mask of pure hatred that stops him in his tracks. Her eyes are red and puffy. Tears make streaks down cheeks covered in too much makeup.

Brad feels nothing but pity. Something has gone wrong here, and even though she’s dangerous and volatile Brad can’t hate Vivienne. She’s suffering, that much is clear. He slips his weapon back into the holster under his jacket. She’s unarmed, he won’t need it. “Miss Aubert,” he says as gently as he can. “Please, there’s no need…”

She shakes so hard, her entire slender frame seems to be vibrating. For a moment Brad isn’t sure whether she’ll charge or retreat. He takes a step toward her, gambling on the latter. She glares at him. “You ruined our life!” she yells. There’s a tremor in her voice, and more tears run down her face. She turns toward Damien.

Brad takes a step in front of Damien, cutting her off if she decides to go that way. She hesitates again, now staring at something by the stairs. Brad doesn’t turn around, but he’s sure she’s looking at Eric and his gun.

Trembling harder than ever, she gives an anguished howl. Brad can feel Eric moving behind him and holds up a hand without turning around. “No,” he murmurs.

Then Vivienne turns, as Brad had suspected she would. He’s ready for it, and yet she manages to get out onto the terrace before he has taken two steps. She clutches the balustrade and has a foot on the big terracotta flowerpot holding an artfully cut miniature tree. Brad lunges for her as soon as he’s in reach. He grabs her around the middle just as she tries to get enough purchase to launch herself over the railing.

They stagger backward together, Brad nearly losing his footing. Even though Vivienne is so slender, she thrashes around madly, putting up a terrible fight. With a mighty effort, Brad lifts her up in his arms and heaves her through the door into the living room. Eric is there, cell phone clamped to his ear. But it’s Damien who is by Brad’s side and grabs hold of Vivienne’s arm first. She screams again, flailing and kicking.

“On the sofa,” Brad pants. Damien nods, holding both her arms now and trying to stay out of the way of her kicking feet. Somehow, they get her onto the sofa, facedown.

“Don’t hurt her, Brad,” Damien whispers.

Brad looks up into Damien’s face, which is mere inches away. With a thrill of horror, he notices a number of deep scratches on Damien’s cheek and down the side of his neck. Enough blood has run down to soak the side of his white T-shirt collar crimson. Brad clenches his jaw.

“All right, I won’t” he says. “But help me get the handcuffs on her.”

For a moment, Damien looks like he wants to argue. But then he nods, and shifts Vivienne around until her wrists are in the small of her back.

Brad pulls handcuffs from his back pocket and secures them around Vivienne’s wrists. He fights the urge to make them extra tight. Sitting back on his haunches, but not letting her go, he considers the pitiful sight before him. Vivienne is no longer struggling. She cranes her neck, and her eyes meet his. There’s blood on her mouth and her teeth; it looks like she’s bitten her lip. If that’s supposed to help her, Brad isn’t worried. He has two witnesses to confirm that he used no unnecessary force. Her eyes blaze with hatred.

“You think you won, huh?” She spits out each word as if it tastes bad.

Brad bites back an angry retort. Instead, one hand firmly on her back, he says, “Vivienne Aubert, you’re under arrest. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you can’t afford an attorney, one will be appointed to you. Do you understand these rights as they have been given to you?”

She says nothing. Brad clenches his jaw again, and his hand on her back balls into a fist. Before he can say anything, however, Eric speaks from behind Brad. “Miss Aubert, do you understand?”

She glares up at Eric. “Yes,” she mutters eventually. Then she turns her face away.

“A squad car is on the way, and an ambulance,” Eric says. Brad glances up at him and nods his thanks. His partner looks pale and shaken. “You okay?” Eric asks.

“Yeah,” Brad says, and then glances at Damien, who is on his knees next to him on the rug, eyes fixed on the back of Vivienne’s head. His arms hang by his side and he seems lost and confused. He’s staring at the back of Vivienne’s head, unblinking. Clearly, he’s not okay.

Brad reaches out and puts a hand on Damien’s neck. Damien looks around, and a tear rolls down his bloody cheek. His eyes are wide, but other than that he looks blank.

It’ll be all right, Brad wants to say, but can’t get the words out. He wants to say, I’m sorry, too, but can’t get that out, either.

Damien’s mouth moves for a moment with no sound coming out, and then he pulls away from Brad’s hand and pushes himself slowly to his feet. He takes a couple of shaky steps, then stops and turns his back on the three of them. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, his shoulders shaking.

Vivienne moves at his words, and Brad tightens his grip on her back. But all she does is look around, fixing on Damien for a moment, then looking at Brad again. “We’re not done,” she snarls. “You’ll see—”

“No, ma’am,” Brad interrupts her, unable to stand any more of her madness. “You’re wrong. We’re definitely done.”