‘The party started on the beach at ten,’ Harry said, hopelessness giving way to thought. ‘No one noticed the clothes before then. We’re working on search parameters based on an entry at ten at the earliest.’

‘Sunday night. The beach was busy. One bundle of clothes might well go unnoticed. An entry at eight, she’d be a lot further north by now. And if it was a mistake she’ll be fighting.’

‘Her mother’s sure she’s suicidal.’

‘How much does your mother know about you?’ Riley demanded.

‘I’d hate to imagine,’ Cordelia retorted-which was a lot of speech for Cordelia. She was quiet at the best of times, but tonight her head cold was making her miserable.

There was a moment’s pause while they all thought this through. Then: ‘I guess it’s worth a shot,’ Harry said, and hit the radio. ‘Assuming an eight o’clock entry,’ he asked Bernie in their control room, ‘can you rework the expected position?’

They did two more unsuccessful sweeps before Bernie was back with a location.

‘Half a kilometre north and closer to shore,’ Harry relayed. ‘Let’s go.’

It’d be so easy to slip under.

There will be no headlines. Not.

She was so tired.

The light. Had it turned? Was it coming?

She was imagining it. Her mind was doing funny, loopy things. The stars, the fluorescence of the waves and the roar of the sea were merging into a cold, menacing dream.

If this light wasn’t really in her head she should raise her hand. If she could summon the energy. She could just…

Maybe not.

She must.

‘Something.’

The Squirrel banked and turned almost before Riley barked the word. Harry was good.

So was Riley. His eyes were the best in the business. But still… the water was so choppy. They were in by the cliffs; any closer and they’d be victims themselves.

‘Sure?’ Harry snapped.

‘No. Ten back. Five left. Hover.’