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  'Where is it? Where the fuck is it?'

  He shoved her roughly inside, letting go of the chain and sending her sprawling to the floor.

  'The bag!' he yelled, his voice filling the room. 'The bag with the fucking money! It was on here!' He pointed a gloved hand at the empty kitchen table. 'Where the hell is it?' He paced about inside the room, rubbing a hand over his face beneath the balaclava, his eyes wide and angry. 'I can't believe this. Someone's taken it. Someone's taken my money.' He stopped and slammed his hand down on the table, hitting it so hard the legs wobbled. 'My fucking money!' he roared at the ceiling.

  Emma cowered, terrified, pushing herself into the corner of the room, away from his rage and frustration.

  'I'm going to find whoever's done this,' he muttered. 'I'm going to find him now. And when I get hold of him . . .' He shoved the penknife he was holding back into the pocket of his jeans, then yanked open one of the drawers, took out a huge kitchen knife and ran a finger along the blade. 'When I get hold of him, I'm going to fillet the bastard.'

  He turned and pointed the knife at Emma. The blade shone in the glare of the overhead lights.

  'Stay there, all right? Don't you dare move an inch if you ever want to see your mum again. OK?'

  She nodded, trying not to sob. 'OK.'

  He swung round and stormed out of the door, knife in hand.

  And immediately cried out in surprise.

  The next second he was flying back through the door with another man hanging on to him and shouting something that filled her with sudden and delirious relief: 'Armed police! Drop your weapon!'

  Fifty-two

  But that was the problem. Bolt wasn't armed when he charged Scott Ridgers. He wasn't even carrying standard-issue pepper spray, which had been taken off him earlier. He had nothing but surprise. He grabbed Ridgers' wrists and twisted them away from his body, paying particular attention to the hand holding the kitchen knife, and trying to butt him as he'd done Marcus Richardson earlier that day. But the blow he caught Ridgers with as they both crashed into the kitchen barely glanced the other man, who had the good sense to move his head, and as they hit the kitchen table, disaster struck. Bolt lost his footing and slipped, sliding along the tiled floor on one knee, desperately trying to keep hold of his foe, even though his head was now only level with the other man's groin.

  Ridgers was fast, and he took advantage of Bolt's plight to tug his wrists free and slam a knee into his face. A piercing, hot pain shot through Bolt's nose and he wobbled in his kneeling position, unable to react as Ridgers then lifted a leg and delivered an accurate kung-fu kick to the side of his head. This time he fell backwards, landing against something white and hard. His head throbbed savagely where Ridgers' boot had connected and he could feel the blood pouring out of his nostrils and on to his lips. He tried to focus through the pain, saw the huge knife in Ridgers' hand, and knew that he was helpless.

  Jesus. After all this, he'd failed.

  Then he saw Emma crouching in the corner of the room, her eyes wide with shock.

  'Run, Emma!' he shouted. 'Run!'

  Ridgers took a step forward, pointing the knife down at Bolt, ignoring Emma now. 'Where's my money?' he roared. 'Where's my fucking money?'

  Bolt rolled on to his side, thinking fast, assessing his options . . . knowing full well that he didn't have any. Emma leapt to her feet, but instead of running for the door, she ran at Ridgers and sank her teeth into his knife arm, just above the elbow. He cried out but didn't relinquish his grip on the knife. Instead, he grabbed her by the hair and yanked her off in one movement, the force of his attack sending her crashing into one of the worktops.

  Adrenalin born of pure rage shot through Bolt, briefly substituting the pain and dizziness. He started to get up.

  But it was too late. Ridgers was bearing down on him, and there was murder in his eyes as he brought back his knife arm to deliver a blow that Bolt knew would not only end his life, but would mean the end of Emma's too.

  And then there was a loud crack, followed a second later by the sound of breaking glass, and suddenly Scott Ridgers pitched forward as his legs went from under him. His head smacked hard against the fridge and he collapsed to the floor, landing on his side on Bolt's legs. A thin stream of blood poured from the smoking hole where his right eye had been.

  Emma screamed as he convulsed in his death throes.

  'Stay down!' Bolt yelled at her, kicking Ridgers' body off him.

  Four more shots exploded through the night air in rapid succession, showering the table and floor with shards of glass. Emma screamed again, and Bolt crawled over to her, moving as fast as he could and ignoring the glass beneath him. Grabbing her in his arms, he pulled her under him so that she was shielded from the gunfire. She was shaking with fear and sobbing, and he held her tight, thinking how small and vulnerable she was. Even in those dramatic moments he felt a kind of love he'd never experienced before.

  'Just stay still,' he whispered. 'I'm here now. You're going to be all right.'

  For ten seconds they lay there together in a tight, tangled embrace. There were no more shots. Silence had returned, and Ridgers had stopped moving. But the fact remained that someone had just murdered him, and that person was close by.

  'Stay where you are,' Bolt told Emma as he got to his feet.

  'Where are you going?'

  'Just stay there, help's coming.'

  Keeping low, he killed the kitchen light and crept over to the back door. A yard, with outbuildings to the left and right, ran about twenty yards to the beginning of the tree line. It looked empty, but, as Bolt turned the key in the lock and slowly opened the door, he knew he was being foolish. It was one thing risking your neck to save your daughter, it was quite another to chase a gunman while he was unarmed.

  But whoever had fired the shot that killed Scott Ridgers was also involved in this, and Bolt was in no mood to let him get away. And if he was carrying half a million in cash, his escape was going to be a slow one.

  Bolt slid through the gap in the door on his hands and knees, then made a dash for the nearest outbuilding, where he stopped and peered round at the trees. He could hear nothing. The night was silent with only the lightest of breezes. The gunman was gone.

  He was being an idiot. He could never do this alone, and he couldn't leave Emma alone with a corpse either. He wiped the blood from his face, pulled his mobile from his pocket and put in a call to Tina as he jogged back the way he'd come.

  'I've got Emma,' he told her once he'd briefly explained what had just happened. 'She's OK, but the guy who shot Ridgers is gone. You're going to have to get people over here quick. We need to get a security cordon in place and seal off the whole area.'

  Ignoring the fact that she was being ordered around by someone who was suspended, Tina said she was on it and hung up.

  Bolt stepped back inside the kitchen door. Emma was sitting on the floor, staring into space. She turned his way as he entered, and for several seconds they simply looked at each other in silence.

  Emma looked utterly exhausted. Her clothes were torn and sweat-stained, and her blonde hair was matted and dishevelled, parts of it stuck to the thin layer of grime that covered her face. But none of that mattered. She was beautiful. And she was safe. He felt a wave of emotion sweep over him and he had to grit his teeth so that he didn't cry.

  'Who are you?' she asked uncertainly.

  Who am I? Your father, I think. A man you've never met before who's linked to you inextricably and for ever. Someone who's sweated blood these past hours trying to find you, who wants to get to know you, take you places, be a part of your life, and explain why he hasn't been there for so long. Who needs you so badly you can't imagine it.

  'I'm the police,' he said.

  'Will you take me home?'

  He took a deep breath, fought back the tears. 'Of course I will.'

  Fifty-three

  But he didn't take her home. In fact, he hardly had a chance to talk to her.


  Within minutes, the first of a long line of police and ambulance vehicles were on the scene, and she was taken away from him. After checking that she didn't need emergency medical treatment, the paramedics whisked her off to the nearby Chase Farm Hospital where she was to be reunited with her mother before being debriefed, and for Bolt, that was largely that. He was left alone on the periphery, watching as the local police sealed off the murder scene.

  Within half an hour, the area around the farmhouse was teeming with activity, and floodlights had been set up to illuminate proceedings. Bolt was introduced briefly to a DI called Baker, who was running the CID nightshift at Enfield Nick, and who had the initial responsibility for investigating Scott Ridgers' death. He looked more like an accountant than a copper and when he spoke it was in a flat estuary accent, but he had sharp, intelligent eyes that didn't look like they missed a lot, and Bolt had a feeling that when he went down to the station later to give his statement he was going to get a serious grilling about how he, a suspended SOCA agent, had ended up at the scene, particularly as the ransom money was missing. But he was ready for it. After everything else that had happened today, he was pretty much prepared for whatever was going to be thrown at him.

  He was leaning against the farmhouse's front fence, drinking coffee from a plastic container, when a car pulled up just behind the line of police vans on the driveway, and Steve Evans got out, followed by Tina and Mo. Their expressions were grim and businesslike, but as they got closer Tina nodded at him from behind Evans's shoulder and gave him the barest hint of a smile. Mo just nodded.

  Evans, meanwhile, was just plain pissed off. 'I thought I told you you were suspended, Mike,' he said, stopping in front of him.

  'You did, sir. I got a lead on Scott Ridgers. I thought I'd check it out. As a concerned private citizen.'

  Evans didn't look mollified. 'And you tracked him down here, only for him to be shot dead by an unknown assailant while you were struggling with him. That's the story I'm getting from DI Baker.'

  'Yes, sir. Someone shot Ridgers from outside the kitchen window while I was fighting with him inside. I'm assuming it's the same person who disappeared with the money from the ransom drop. I phoned Tina as soon as I could so that she could alert the local police, and I've been here ever since.'

  Evans looked sceptical. 'It always seems to be you who gets in these situations, doesn't it? How did you end up here?'

  Avoiding Tina's eyes, he told Evans the story he'd already rehearsed in his head.

  'Ridgers told his girlfriend where he was staying in case she needed him. When her father told her that he was wanted for a very serious crime, she gave him this address. The father phoned me because we'd already spoken earlier today. Obviously I was suspended, and I didn't think my word would count for much, so I decided to come up here myself, just to check things out. As soon as I arrived, I saw Ridgers dragging Emma into the house, and decided I was going to have to intervene immediately.' He shrugged. 'The rest you know.'

  Evans stared at him for several seconds. He had a hard, intimidating gaze that carried the heavy weight of authority. Bolt, who was used to such looks and wasn't affected by them, held it firmly.

  'Well, you're still suspended, Mike, and I don't want to see you around again until you're back on duty. Understood?'

  The rebuke was painful, especially as he'd done so much to break a case that was about to go very high-profile, but not entirely unexpected. Evans was right. He still shouldn't have been there.

  'Sure, I understand.'

  'Good. Now, I need to go and see DI Baker. If you'll excuse me.'

  Evans moved past Bolt, leaving him alone with Mo and Tina. Mo asked how Emma was. His tone was stiff and formal, and Bolt had noticed that he hadn't called him 'boss' for some time now.

  'She's good,' he answered. 'As well as can be expected, anyway. But it's going to take her a while to recover.'

  'But she will recover. Kids always do. They're resilient like that.' Mo looked towards the house. 'I'd better go inside.'

  'OK.'

  Mo managed a weak smile that confirmed to Bolt that their relationship had taken a serious beating.

  'I hope you're back on duty soon,' he said.

  'I will be.'

  'Good luck.'

  Mo turned and walked towards the gate. Tina made no move to follow him.

  'You not going with him?'

  She nodded. 'In a minute.'

  Bolt smiled at her. He couldn't help but think she looked pretty in the moonlight.

  'Thanks for what you did, Tina. It saved Emma's life.'

  'Thanks for covering for me.'

  'I couldn't really do anything else, could I? Not after you put your job on the line.' He sighed. 'How's Turner?'

  'Still critical, but he's off the operating table now. It looks better than it did.'

  'Thank God for that. Any other developments in the case?'

  It was her turn to smile now. 'You're the one who seems to be creating the developments, Mike.'

  'I didn't have anything to do with Ridgers' death, you know.'

  'I never thought you would have done.'

  He wondered why he'd felt the need to tell her that. Had he really moved so far from his position as law enforcer that he had to justify himself to his colleagues in case they suspected he might be a killer?

  'It wouldn't surprise me if Mo thinks I did, though,' he said, rubbing his eyes.

  'Mo likes to do things the right way. He's pissed off with you, but he still thinks you're a good cop.'

  Tina was wrong. Mo didn't always have to do things the right way. Bolt remembered that at one time Mo had done things for him way above and beyond the call of duty, but that maybe now he'd grown weary of bailing his boss out.

  'You look whacked, Mike.'

  'I am. It's been a long day. But, you know, I don't like the idea of going home knowing there's still someone out there who's a kidnapper and a killer, and who's now at least half a million pounds richer.'

  'The police here have found Phelan's car in one of the outbuildings. But no sign of Phelan.'

  Bolt was surprised. He'd almost forgotten about Andrea's husband.

  'I don't think it was Phelan who killed Ridgers,' he said slowly. 'I just can't see that he's the one behind this. I mean, the guy's a fly-by-night, a minor criminal, and an inveterate gambler. He's hardly a criminal mastermind.'

  'But if his car's here, then why isn't he?' asked Tina. 'If he wasn't involved, I would have thought they'd've disposed of the car and the body together, because there'd be no point doing it separately.'

  'I suppose so, but if he is part of this, then why did they bother killing Andrea's cleaner?'

  Tina shrugged. 'Good point. God knows.'

  They fell silent, and Bolt yawned.

  'You'd better go in, Tina. Steve Evans won't be pleased if you're talking to me. You'll keep me posted of how things go though, yeah?'

  She nodded. 'Of course I will.'

  As she walked past him, she patted his arm reassuringly and he realized it was the first time in their two years working together that she'd ever touched him.

  'You did a good job tonight, Mike,' she said. 'You'll be back on duty soon.'

  He watched her go, thinking of all the things he'd done today, so many of which could still cost him his career. He'd been in law enforcement for twenty years. It was the only job he'd known, and despite the constraints it imposed and the huge tedium of much of the work, he loved it. If they sacked him, he had no idea what he'd do. But the fact remained, there was no way he'd have changed any of his actions because in the end, illegal or not, they had got him the one thing he wanted most: his daughter back.

  He thought about Pat Phelan in the photograph with Emma and Andrea at Andrea's house, all close up together, the happy nuclear family. If he was involved, it would be a betrayal of epic proportions. Fear can make a man do some strange things, and owing big sums of money to a violent thug like Leon Daroyce was going to make someone
like Pat Phelan very frightened. But even so, Bolt still didn't buy the fact that he was the man who'd escaped with the money.

  The problem now, with the other conspirators dead, was finding out who was.

  Part Six

  Fifty-four

  Whatever doubts Bolt had about Pat Phelan's involvement in the kidnap of his stepdaughter, the fact remained that they were largely irrelevant. He was off the case and, for the moment at least, off the team.

  It had been a long night. He'd been at Enfield Nick until the early hours, giving his statement to two of the local CID and taking their questions. He'd stuck to the story he'd told Steve Evans about why he'd been on the scene in the first place, but made sure he told the truth about everything else, and it soon became clear that they were treating him as a witness rather than a suspect in the murder of Scott Ridgers. Formalities complete, he'd eventually made it home a little after three a.m. and collapsed, exhausted, into his bed straight away, able to relax for the first time in close to forty-eight hours.

  He slept late. It was gone eleven when he finally rose from his bed, cleaned himself up, and put on a fresh pot of coffee. There was a message on his mobile from Mo telling him that Matt Turner was still on the critical list but that the operation had been a success and the doctors were confident he was going to pull through. He also added that Emma had been debriefed and had confirmed Bolt's version of events, then finished by wishing his boss luck and hoping he'd be back on duty soon. He sounded a little contrite, and Bolt guessed that this was his apology for the way he'd been the previous day.

  It was good news about Turner. He'd go down the hospital to visit him as soon as he was well enough to be seen.

  As he poured the coffee and made himself a couple of slices of toast, his thoughts turned to Emma. It was a strange feeling knowing that he had a daughter who for fourteen years had grown up only a few miles away. But he felt happy about it, and hopeful too. He wanted to become a part of her life now, although he knew that this would have to wait a while, at least until she'd recovered from the worst of her ordeal.