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PROLOGUE

I stare at his lifeless body and watch the pool of blood fanning around his head, soaking into his hair, turning it darker. There’s no chance he’s alive.

Slowly, I walk over to him and pat down his pockets. There’s something in one of them that feels like a wallet, so I pull it out and prise it open. A photo of him and a woman stares back at me – both of them smiling with their arms around each other.

I throw his wallet down and it lands by his body. And then I sink to the ground, my knees scraping on concrete, and scream – a wail I don’t recognise as coming from me.

I can’t make it stop.

‘Kate?’

Rowan’s voice forces her back to the present. She’s not back in that desolate place, standing over a dead body; she’s in her therapist’s office, a mews house in Kensington with magnolia walls and teal green cushions. She’s safe.

‘Are you thinking about him again?’

The stream of winter sunlight flooding through the window obscures Kate’s view of Rowan so that she has to squint. ‘No, actually I wasn’t. Ellis has finally moved out and we’ve set things in motion for the divorce – I’m not going to let him get under my skin. We’re over. He’s Thomas’s dad – that’s all now.’

Rowan tilts his head and studies her. He won’t believe that it’s as simple as she’s making out.

‘I wasn’t referring to Ellis,’ Rowan says.

‘Oh.’ Kate knows exactly who he’s talking about, and she doesn’t want to go there right now. ‘Never again will I be a victim.’ She searches Rowan’s face, wondering what he’s reading into her statement. One day she’ll tell him how she chose him as her therapist. It was his photo on the clinic website that drew her in – nothing to do with the text underneath it, detailing his long list of credentials. None of that mattered; it was his hazel brown wide-set eyes that grabbed her attention. His reddish hair. The modest smile that told Kate he was someone she could trust. He was the person she needed to talk to.

‘I’m glad to hear that, Kate,’ Rowan says. ‘You’re a survivor.’ His lips twitch, restraining all the questions he wants to ask but holds back. He knows all about her childhood, the horrific incident that made her the person she is. But how can Kate ever tell him about what happened six days ago? That, for the second time in her life, she’s come face to face with a dead body.

‘I feel like you want to tell me something,’ Rowan says.

Of course he can read her by now; it’s been two years since a podcast episode led Kate to seek the therapy she’s needed since she was fifteen.

Kate glances at the clock. Ten more minutes to fill and then she can get out of here. ‘I need to know that you’ll believe me,’ she says. Whatever I tell you. That you won’t question it, no matter what you think. That’s important.’

‘Kate, it’s not for me to?—’

‘I need someone to know this, and it has to be someone I can trust.’

Rowan nods. ‘That’s why you’re here. Because you can trust me.’

Kate pauses, selecting her words carefully. ‘I think a woman I know wants to kill me.’