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‘Don’t you die on me. Don’t you dare die on me.’

Emilia hissed the words at Charlie, her desperation rendering her pleas harsh and urgent. If she could command the fallen officer to survive by sheer force of will alone, she would do so, but Charlie was slipping away and she knew it.

Emilia was hunched over the new head of the MIT, who lay on the dockside outside a cavernous warehouse, in a pool of her own blood.

The sticky, crimson trail from within the building told of her erratic progress, the injured police officer just about making it out of the storage area before collapsing in a heap on the ground.

Still Charlie’s life force seemed to flow from a nasty wound in her chest, so Emilia redoubled her efforts, increasing the pressure on the wound, rich, dark blood seeping through her fingers.

Cursing, panicking, she tugged off her jumper and held it tight to the wound, the rich, luxuriant wool greedily sucking up the viscous liquid.

If she just kept the pressure on, if she kept her conscious until the ambulance arrived, there was a chance, wasn’t there?

‘How long until the ambulance gets here?’ Emilia barked, but when she looked up, she saw only anguish on DC Roberts’ face.

‘Five minutes, maybe a touch more,’ he replied, stricken.

‘That’s too long, that’s too bloody long.’

The fresh-faced DC stared back at her, helpless and forlorn, agonized by his powerlessness.

Behind him, DC McAndrew appeared equally poleaxed, weeping copiously as she spoke urgently into her phone.

In truth, Emilia felt much the same way, still desperately trying to process what was happening.

She had been the first to spot Charlie, as she raced along the dockside, desperately searching for the missing fugitive.

Confused at first by the MIT chief’s odd gait and jerky movements, she had been shocked to see her collapse to the ground.

As she tore over the rough concrete towards her, she prayed that she’d simply fainted or at worse been struck by Visser.

For a moment, she was tempted to continue into the warehouse in pursuit of him, but the sight of the blood pooling around the fallen officer had stopped the journalist in her tracks.

Horrified, Emilia had immediately gone to Charlie’s aid, waving the approaching DCs into the warehouse.

Visser had vanished, however. Only his grim handiwork remained, coughing and gasping in Emilia’s arms.

‘Come on, Charlie, stay with me …’

Emilia’s tone was stern, urgent, but it elicited no reaction, as Charlie slid into unconsciousness.

The journalist had had her run-ins with the new DI in the past, but had never disliked her, finding her always fair, committed and honest. She also knew that Charlie had a partner and two daughters, who stood on the brink of catastrophe.

Pressing down hard on the wound, Emilia felt more determined than ever to save this young woman, to ensure that her death wasn’t Visser’s final insult.

It was she who had summoned Charlie and her team here, she who had followed him into their carefully laid trap, she who would be responsible if anything happened to Charlie.

‘Come on, Charlie, I know you can do this …’

Once more she glanced up at the growing crowd of by-standers, who looked as distraught and desperate as she was, then beyond them to the port entrance. There was plenty of activity there, but still no sign of an ambulance. Where the hell were they? Didn’t they realize how urgent the situation was?

Returning her attention to Charlie, Emilia was alarmed to see that the fallen officer had gone slack in her arms, her head lolling backwards.

Panicked, Emilia removed her right hand, shoving two blood-stained fingers onto the side of her throat, desperately searching for signs of life.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still, all present falling silent, until finally DC McAndrew’s voice cut through, tentative and fearful:

‘What’s happening? Is she going to make it?’

Devastated, Emilia turned to face her. No words were required, her stricken expression giving the clearest of answers. There was no pulse.