Tate narrowed his eyes at me. "Who's at the door?"

"How should I know? It's not my house."

He bit his lip as he glanced towards the door. Go on, answer it. I just needed one more minute to get to my phone and call for help.

Another knock, louder this time, startled both of us, and Tate came to a decision.

"Don't you move."

"I'm tied up, Tate. I can't go anywhere."

He got halfway to the door before he stopped in his tracks, reaching out to tug a tasselled tie-back off one of the curtains.

"No, I just can't trust you."

He knotted one end of it around my ankle and tied the other to the leg of the couch, but that wasn't the worst part. As he straightened, he spotted the bulge in my pocket.

"What's this?" He pushed me sideways and delved in. "A phone? Tsk tsk tsk, Olivia. You weren't thinking of calling the police, were you?"

"No. I honestly wasn't."

Tate threw my smartphone against the wall by the fireplace, and it smashed into smithereens. Dammit. I should have stuck with my old Nokia. That would have survived Armageddon.

Low voices came from the hallway, Tate's and another man's, but I couldn't afford to waste time listening. Instead, I heaved the couch with all my might and managed to slide the tie-back off the leg. I wasn't free, exactly, but at least I could hop. Somebody shouted my name, and I'd stumbled six feet when the sound of breaking glass stopped me in my tracks. A few groans, and then everything went quiet again. What had happened?

A scraping sound came from the passage outside, and Tate backed through the door dragging a body. Black leather boots, denim-clad legs. My heart leapt into my throat. Please, don't let it be Nye. The rest of the visitor came into view, and I retched again, bringing up the last of a chocolate cookie.

Oh, hell. Oh hell, oh hell, oh hell.

"Is he dead? Tate, is he dead?"

Tate shrugged as he dropped Warren's legs, and they hit the carpet with a hollow thud.

"I hope so."

"How could you?"

"It was easier than last time. I just hit him over the head with a vase. But I'm not sure what to do with the body. Digging is such a menial task."

He'd gone out of his upper-class mind. "What did Warren ever do to you?"

"Nothing, but he came looking for you, and that could have made things tricky."

Maddie and Mickey knew who I was with too, but with Tate unravelling fast, I avoided mentioning that in case he went on a rampage.

"You didn't have to kill him."

"Sometimes it's just easier." Tate nudged Warren with one stinky shoe before heading back to the drinks cabinet. "Why does some common oaf always have to ruin things? First Ronnie, now this waste of space. I had so many plans for us this afternoon, and now I have to dispose of an extra corpse."

My heart bled. But devastated though I felt over Warren, I had to use the situation to my advantage.

"You should probably do that right away, before he stiffens up."

"Do you think?"

"He'll be more difficult to handle if you wait."

I needed more time. Just enough for Maddie to realise something was wrong and call the police. I only hoped she'd insist on speaking to someone other than Graham.

Hold on, did Warren just twitch? Or was it my imagination clawing onto any hope, no matter how faint?

Tate topped up his glass and turned back. Quick—I needed to distract him. If Warren was still alive, who knew what Tate would do if he realised?

"On second thought, we shouldn't let Warren ruin our afternoon. Why don't we have a drink together and deal with him afterwards?"

"I suppose that would be acceptable. Red or white? Or would you prefer something stronger?"

I choked back a laugh. Now his manners came back? "Red would be wonderful."

If I broke the glass, that would give me a weapon. Then I could aim a jagged shard for his eye, and...

A strange noise took my attention. Distant at first, but it quickly came closer. Whomp-whomp-whomp.

Tate heard it too and ran to the window on unsteady legs.

"Those bastards!" he screamed. "You told them, didn't you? You told them!"

What was out there?

"Told who? You're not making any sense. How could I have told anybody what you did when I didn't know myself?"

Tate ignored me and dashed to a walk-in cupboard in the farthest corner of the room. When he emerged, I nearly wet myself in fear. He'd gone from a vase to a gun, and from the way he loaded a cartridge, he knew how to use it. Tate swung the barrel in my direction, and I looked into a black hole that led straight to hell.

A crash came from the far side of the house, and a door slammed. Whoever was running through the corridors didn't worry about staying quiet. The footsteps came closer and closer, and I knew what would happen if they came through the door of the lounge.

"He's got a gun," I shouted as the person paused outside.

"You little bitch!" Tate screamed, and I stared in horror as he tightened his finger on the trigger.

Behind him, the door burst open, and relief became fear as Tate turned his sights on the man I loved. Nye leapt for him, arms outstretched, and my eyes screwed shut of their own accord. My boyfriend versus a shotgun. I couldn't bear to watch.

Time slowed, until the moment of silence was broken by an almighty bang.