Strong described him absolutely, she thought. His whole body was rock-solid. Tammy was five feet six and slightly built, diminutive in the presence of this much larger man. He’d caught her and held her without apparent effort, and now he was staring down at her with the first trace of concern in his face.

‘Are you okay?’

She thought about it. Okay? Okay was a long way from how she felt right now. His hands were gripping her shoulders and she had an almost overpowering compulsion to place her face on his chest and burst into tears.

No. She hadn’t cried for as long as she could remember and she wasn’t about to start now.

‘I’m fine.’ But her voice wobbled.

‘You truly didn’t know your sister was dead?’

She concentrated fiercely on the row of medals pinned to his chest. She even counted them. Six. The fabric of his suit was a fine worsted wool, she thought. Nice. She could bury her face in his chest-hide from the pain that was threatening to overwhelm her.

‘You didn’t know?’ he said gently as he put her away from him, still holding her but forcing her to look up at him. His fingers were under her chin, cupping her face to meet his eyes.

A girl could drown in those eyes. A girl might want to. Anything but face this scorching, ghastly pain.

‘I…my sister and I have been…apart for ever,’ she whispered. ‘We don’t…’

‘I see.’ He didn’t. His voice said he was totally confused, and Tammy made a Herculean effort to make her voice work.

‘My sister and I didn’t get on.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be.’ She let herself stay motionless for one more long moment, as if drawing strength from the warmth and size of him. Then she hauled herself bleakly together and pulled away. He released her, but the way he did it was curious. It was almost as if he was reluctant to let her go.

Questions. She had to ask questions. She needed to know-but she didn’t want to.

She must.