Chapter 1

Edward Pembroke could hardly believe it. He didn’t feel sick—at least not physically. Sick in the head? Absolutely. But the news about the cancer hit him like a train. He still felt healthy, yet the doctor’s cold, clinical delivery had shattered him.

“Terminal cancer.” The words echoed in his mind, the sterile room seeming to close in around him as the weight of the diagnosis sank in.

Not that his life had amounted to much anyway. The label he carried—a convicted sex offender—had stripped him of friends, family, and any semblance of a normal existence.

He had considered telling his mother about the diagnosis, the only family he had left. But what was the point? She’d likely only celebrate the news. Her last words to him after his most recent conviction still rang in his ears: “A disgusting piece of slime I wish I could never have said came from my body.” She hadn’t spoken to him since.

Oh well, Pembroke thought bitterly. Six months. That was all the doctor had given him. He might as well spend it alone, in anonymity, hidden in the East London hovel he called home he shared with other ne-er-do-wells who hated him. He would die as he had lived: unloved and unmissed.

At fifty-five, Pembroke still looked deceptively fit and strong. Standing well over six feet tall, his broad shoulders and large hands were overshadowed by a protruding belly that jiggled with every step. His head was bald, save for tufts of unkempt grey hair sprouting over his ears, and thick, bushy eyebrows hung low over his deep-set eyes. A large, crooked nose dominated his face, framed by sagging jowls and a double chin that wobbled whenever he moved. He was reminded of his repulsive appearance several times a week by yobs on the street, and by the expressions of disgust from many who came across him.

As he shuffled home, his mind churned with dark thoughts. Over the next six months, his body would break down and soon he might be unable to do anything other than lie in bed. Maybe he should go out on a high note, but how? He had no money, no prospects, and a desperate, joyless existence that no one envied.

He glanced at his cheap watch. Just after three in the afternoon. There was one place he could go where, for a brief moment, he might escape the terrible news—a place he was technically forbidden to visit. But what the hell, he thought. What difference did it make now?

Meanwhile, in Edinburgh, the McAllister family sat around their kitchen table, excitedly discussing their upcoming holiday around Loch Ness. All except for Maddie, their fourteenyear-old daughter and only child, who seemed far less enthused.

“Mummy,” Maddie groaned, slumping back in her chair, “why are we going hiking and swimming in Loch Ness? It’s going to be freezing and dirty.”

“Oh, sweetie,” Kate replied with a patient smile, “it’s going to be so good for the environment. We shouldn’t be flying everywhere.”

“Yes,” Gerry chimed in enthusiastically. “We’re doing our bit for the planet, and the campervan will make it such an adventure! It’s going to be fun.”

“Daddy,” Maddie moaned again, rolling her eyes, “why can’t we go to Italy or France like everyone else? They don’t have to sleep in a van.”

“Maddie, where’s your sense of adventure?” Kate countered, her tone teasing but firm. “Besides, you’ll love swimming in Loch Ness.”

“Mummy, you know I can’t swim!” Maddie huffed, crossing her arms in protest.

“Nonsense! A bit of wild swimming will sort that out,” Kate laughed, brushing off her daughter’s objections with the cheerful confidence of someone who had blazed her own path in life and did not want to molly coddle her daughter.

Dr Kate McAllister, in her late thirties, was the picture-perfect image of the modern, active mother. Dressed in sleek yoga pants and a loose hoodie, her toned figure attracted from other women and longing from men. Her blonde hair framed her face flawlessly, with barely a wrinkle on her confident face.

With dark hair and striking blue eyes, her husband, Dr Gerry McAllister, was tall, handsome, and effortlessly charming. Together, they made a picture-perfect couple.

Maddie, on the other hand, was still finding her place. At fourteen, she had inherited her father’s dark, curly hair and his piercing blue eyes. Petite and slim, just shy of five feet tall, she was on the cusp of adolescence, her cute, elfin features hinting at the beauty she would grow into. She was still so shy, intimidated by her parents’ success, and by the other girls at school who were bigger and more confident. Both parents had decided that Maddie needed to stand on her own two feet and this adventurous holiday might bring that out.

Maddie sighed, shifting in her chair and crossing her legs in her snug netball shorts. Her loose T-shirt, oversized and draped awkwardly over her petite frame, seemed to engulf her entirely, emphasizing her elfin build. She couldn’t help but wonder how many strangers might see her in a swimsuit at Loch Ness. At least it wouldn’t be anyone she knew— she was self-conscious about her skinny, undeveloped figure. The thought of showing off her body made her cheeks flush slightly.

Resigned to the fact that no amount of protesting would sway her parents’ enthusiasm, Maddie slumped back into her chair, the picture of teenage frustration, arms crossed and face scrunched into a pout.

It was going to be a long holiday.

School was out at the local comprehensive in East London, and the streets buzzed with life. The air was thick with the sound of excited chatter, a symphony of giggles and laughter as groups of schoolgirls poured out of the gates.

Their rebelliously short plaid skirts swayed in the breeze, the hemlines daringly high as their legs caught the eyes of one Edward Pembroke, who in breach of his court order, was enjoying the sights. Why not treat himself?

From a discreet vantage point, he looked at not their bodies but their expressions with a reptilian precision. He studied their faces, searching for signs of vulnerability: the lowered eyes, the nervous gestures, the hesitant smiles that marked the shy and the cowed. He lingered on those who seemed the least likely to stand up for themselves, the ones whose shame would silence them, whose fear would keep them from shouting, screaming, or reporting anything.

The excited chatter of the girls faded into a dull hum as his focus narrowed on one in particular. She was a small, delicate Chinese girl, her slight frame and skinny limbs making her seem even younger than the others.

When someone threw a sharp comment her way, her fragile smile faltered, and her eyes glistened with the threat of tears. She quickly turned away from the group, her hunched shoulders betraying her nerves and fear.

Pembroke watched her intently, his mind calculating. This one, he thought, was perfect. Vulnerable. Isolated. An easy target.

Was he crazy? His legs moved automatically, following the small girl as she walked ahead, her steps hurried and uncertain. He willed her silently to take a turn, to veer off from the busy street into a quiet, secluded alley. When she did, he almost cheered aloud.

But then he hesitated. Plenty of witnesses had seen him, strolling in the throng of schoolchildren. If anything happened here, if she reported it, surely others would remember him—his distinctive, ungainly frame and unpleasant features. He wasn’t someone who faded into the background. And worse, his name was already on a list, just being here among these schoolgirls could get him thrown back in jail.

Fuck it, he thought. He was dying. The cancer was eating away at his time, and he might not be able to do this in a few weeks, let alone months.

He told himself his instincts had always been good, sharp, reliable. It had just been bad luck last time. The girl had gotten pregnant and she had been forced to open up to her parents months later and the DNA was still available to convict him.

He glanced up and down the alley he knew so well. It was quiet, just as he had hoped. No cameras, no prying eyes, and plenty of warning if anyone happened to wander by. Perfect.

“Hello, miss! Sorry, I think you dropped something,” he called out cheerfully, his tone disarming, almost friendly.

The girl stopped and turned, her red backpack shifting on her small shoulders. Her dark eyes blinked at him, unguarded, filled with youthful, innocent curiosity.

“Umm, sorry, did I?” she asked meekly, her voice barely audible.

Pembroke smiled. Her immediate apology, her timid demeanor—this girl was perfect. A good target.

“Yeah, I think it was a pen or something,” he lied smoothly, reaching into his pocket and pulling out an old biro. He held it out toward her, his tone casual. “Just back there on the pavement. Looked like it might’ve fallen out of your bag.”

She hesitated, her gaze darting between the pen and his face.

“Oh, and by the way,” Pembroke added, his voice adopting a friendly but authoritative tone, “I used to teach at your school. I might have to have a word with your headmaster if you can’t tell me your name. Just to make sure everything’s alright.”