Andrea Devern was a tough woman, and her life hadn't been easy. A successful, financially independent entrepreneur, she'd had to fight hard to get to the position she was in now. She'd taken one hell of a lot of knocks on the way, knocks that would have finished a lot of other, more privileged people, and she'd always held firm. But nothing could have prepared her for this. Emma was Andrea's world, no question, and to think of her now, trapped and frightened with no understanding of what was going on, filled her with a helpless dread. And that was the worst part, the sheer helplessness. Her daughter was missing, and there was absolutely nothing she could do.

Except satisfy the demands of the anonymous caller and find him half a million pounds.

My only child… If anything happens to her…

She flicked shut the phone and walked into the kitchen, the heels of her court shoes clicking loudly on the mahogany floorboards. She grabbed a glass from one of the cupboards and filled it with water from the tap, then drained it in one go.

She had to keep calm, but it was hard when you were alone. And that was when her thoughts turned to Pat.

Pat Phelan. Andrea's husband of two years, and Emma's stepfather. Charming, good-looking and five years younger than her, she'd been infatuated with him when they met. A whirlwind romance had been followed by a marriage barely four months later. Her mother had described her as a 'fool' and Pat as a 'ne'er do well'. At the time Andrea had thought her mother was being shortsighted, and maybe even a little jealous, but in recent months she'd begun to get the first hints that maybe the old woman, spiteful as she'd always been, had a point. After all, it takes one to know one.

She needed Pat now, more than she ever had.

So where the hell was he?

She refilled her glass with water and swallowed another couple of large gulps, then walked over to the landline and punched in the number of his mobile.