‘Confident,’ Dom said immediately.

  ‘Generous,’ Oscar countered.

  Everyone laughed, no one meeting anyone else’s eye.

  ‘Isla, is that true?’ Felicity asked.

  Isla tilted her hand from side to side. ‘Meh.’

  Everyone laughed again, except Oscar.

  ‘Well, Dom then, I guess,’ Clementine said. She risked a brief glance at him. Part of her still couldn’t believe what Felicity had said: that he wanted to try her out, and he’d asked his wife to make it happen. Clementine was surprised to see a shy smile on his face. He looked more vulnerable than she’d ever seen him.

  ‘For the record,’ Oscar said, ‘you’re missing out.’

  ‘Maybe we should have a dare, then,’ Felicity said.

  ‘It’s not your turn,’ Isla pointed out. ‘It’s Clementine’s.’

  ‘Shouldn’t Oscar get a chance to prove himself?’ Felicity said.

  Isla looked alarmed. ‘How?’

  Felicity spread her palms wide. ‘Well …’

  ISLA

  Isla could feel herself losing control of this situation, if she’d had any to begin with. Was Felicity seriously proposing that Oscar—Isla’s husband—have sex with Clementine—Isla’s best friend?

  Felicity was joking … obviously. She told jokes for a living. But Isla saw a glance pass between Clementine and Cole, like she was seeking his permission.

  Holy shit, Isla thought. She’s seriously considering this. The betrayal was like a sip of acid, burning all the way down.

  Oscar was giving Isla a similar look, trying to gauge her reaction.

  ‘We’ve all had a bit much to drink,’ Isla said, pointedly lowering her glass to the table.

  ‘Or just the right amount.’ Felicity winked.

  ‘Very funny. I’m not loaning my husband out for sex with another woman.’ Isla gave Clementine a pointed look. ‘Not even my oldest friend.’

  Oscar’s lip curled. She could guess what he was thinking: If you won’t sleep with me, why can’t I have sex with someone else?

  ‘What if you got something in return?’ Felicity wondered aloud, giving Cole a sidelong look.

  His cheeks reddened, and Isla’s heart fluttered. But no—she couldn’t do this.

  She found herself looking to Dom, of all people, for support. But he was smiling. It infuriated her, the way nothing got under his skin.

  He acted like high school was a long time ago. They all did. Remember this? Remember that? Isla didn’t have to remember: at any time, she could search Isla kneels before me on Pornhub. And there she would be, seventeen years old. The camera of Dom’s iPhone had been blurry, but it was still recognisably her.

  She always clicked report, but it was like pulling up weeds. The video would disappear for a while and then be reuploaded by some other hoarder who had saved it to his hard drive and saw himself as a librarian rather than a pervert. The internet was full of sociopaths who had decided that any man was entitled to see the body of every woman, and who considered it their solemn duty to make this possible. Never mind that it was a crime.

  Every time she thought about this, her hand twitched towards her phone. Searching for the video had become a compulsion. But there was no reception up here. It felt as though she’d left the stove on. What if copies of the video were silently proliferating, with her unable to thin the herd?

  That first day back at school, everyone seemed to be either looking at her or avoiding her eyes. Some boys made lewd gestures; others were suddenly too friendly, buzzing around her like mosquitoes. The girls stopped inviting her to events, like she was contagious.

  It was Cole who told her the bad news, behind the science block. She wanted to throw up. He held her while she cried.

  Dom said he hadn’t shown the video to anyone. He’d ‘only told one person’ that it existed. They must have stolen his phone out of his bag and slipped it back in after—

  ‘Why did you tell anyone?’ Isla screamed.

  ‘I know, it was stupid. I’m sorry, okay?’ He tried to hug her.

  She punched him in the solar plexus, so hard that he couldn’t talk for an hour. She wished the damage was permanent.

  Dom grovelled for a month. Long enough that all the other students seemed to think Isla was being petty. After all, wasn’t she partly responsible? She had done the deed and let him film it. And while his face wasn’t visible in the video, his naked body was exposed, and everyone knew it was him. Isla, meanwhile, was fully clothed. Wasn’t Dom the real victim of this unnamed, video-sharing phone thief?

  But Dom’s reputation was only enhanced. While Isla frantically tried to make sure her parents and teachers didn’t find out, Dom was the envy of the school for weeks. Then everyone seemed to forget about his role. Now he was a successful financial planner, charging a fortune to tell people to put more money into their super.

  For Isla, this would never be over. She eventually caved to the social pressure and pretended to forgive him, but the shame still burned inside her. Her parents wondered why she’d become so withdrawn. After she graduated, she screwed up one job interview after another. She would stammer and sweat as she looked at the recruiter, wondering if they’d somehow seen the video and recognised her.

  Oscar missed all this, having gone to high school in Maitland. Meeting him had been an opportunity to reinvent herself. But every time he gave her a strange look, she wondered if he’d finally found out.

  Now, Isla saw that Dom wasn’t just unruffled by the prospect of partner swapping: he looked satisfied. He orchestrated this, she realised. He told Felicity to bring this up.

  Isla put her drink down and stood. The world spun woozily. ‘We’ve all been friends for a long time,’ she said. ‘Let’s not ruin it. It would be very hard to look someone in the eye after you’ve cheated with them, don’t you think?’

  ‘It’s not really cheating if you have permission,’ Clementine mused, running a finger around the rim of her water glass. She was the only sober person in the room, and even she seemed to be on board with this. Isla felt like her best friend had been replaced with a body-snatcher.

  ‘We could turn out the lights,’ Oscar suggested.

  ‘I don’t follow,’ Isla said coldly.

  ‘I mean, if we swapped partners in the dark, no one would know for sure who they’ve been with—easier to look them in the eye afterwards then.’

  ‘Like a game of heads down, bums up,’ Felicity said.

  ‘That’s not what the game is called,’ Isla said through gritted teeth. ‘You think we can’t tell each other apart with the lights out?’

  ‘I mean, Dom would need a haircut,’ Oscar said. ‘Cole would have to shave off his beard. We’d all wear the same aftershave, or perfume, or whatever. And there’d be no talking, obviously.’

  He’s thought this through, Isla realised. She remembered the condoms; the fact he’d cut his hair short, like Cole’s. He knew this was coming before we left.

  A terrible rage stirred in her heart, like a dragon slowly awakening upon its pile of gold.

  ‘Cole’s taller than you,’ she said. She knew Oscar was insecure about his height, and she wanted to hurt him—to kill him.

  But he shrugged it off. ‘Not lying down, he isn’t.’

  Isla glanced at Cole, who had gone even redder. The image slipped into her head: his naked body between the sheets. She wondered if he was picturing her, too.

  ‘As for you three …’ Oscar gestured at the women. ‘I guess Clementine’s more athletic, and Felicity might be …’

  ‘Fatter,’ Felicity put in.

  Cole laughed awkwardly.

  ‘Curvier, babe,’ Dom said.

  ‘But only a little,’ Oscar continued hastily, turning back to Isla. ‘And you’re about halfway in between. So either one of them could be you, in the dark.’

  Heads were nodding all around. Isla couldn’t believe it. Her own husband was acting like she was interchangeable with two other women. But, she realised, he was pretending. They all were. If this went ahead, they would all realise who they were with, darkness or no—they just wanted to be able to act like they didn’t.

  ‘What if we end up with our own partners?’ Clementine asked.

  ‘Then I’ll be a very lucky man,’ Dom said.

  ‘Aw.’ Felicity slapped him playfully.

  ‘In Secret Santa,’ Oscar began, ‘if you pull your own name out of the hat, you just redraw. Maybe any man who recognises his own wife could—’

  Isla glowered at him. ‘Women are not names in hats.’

  While Oscar was talking, Dom whispered in his wife’s ear. Isla noticed again Felicity’s red hair, straightened and cut to the same length as her own. Oscar wasn’t the only one who’d come prepared.

  Looking around, she could imagine why the others might be keen for this. Oscar hadn’t got laid in months. Clementine seemed sexually unfulfilled. Dom was just sleazy, and Felicity was desperate to please him. But for Isla, the odds were bad. There would be a two-in-three chance she’d end up in bed with a man she held in contempt: Dom or Oscar.

  On the other hand, there was a one-in-three chance she’d be with Cole.

  She turned to him. He was giving her a searching look. Those veiny hands, clenched around his wine glass. Was he running the same calculation, weighing up the chances he’d find himself in her arms?

  Later, she’d wonder how much of her decision had been the alcohol and how much had been anger at her husband. But right then, she was only thinking about Cole and the chance to taste the life she’d missed out on.

  And if she ended up with Dom, well, that was an opportunity to live out an entirely different fantasy.

  Revenge.

  NOW

  KIARA

  Elise and Kiara leap up from the table. Kiara bolts towards the front door, then realises Elise isn’t following—she’s running to the hall instead, towards the thump from upstairs.

  ‘What are you doing?!’ Kiara whispers.

  Elise stops. ‘What are you doing? We have to catch her!’

  ‘I have to get you out of here!’

  ‘Stuff that.’ Elise resumes her sprint towards the stairs. Despite the bad knee, she’s fast.

  ‘Elise, wait!’ As Kiara gives chase, she berates herself for being so foolish. She assumed Ms Madden was lost in the bush and probably dead. It never occurred to her that the missing woman might have doubled back and taken shelter in the house. And if she’s been living here in secret for a week rather than trying to get back to civilisation, that could mean she’s the killer.

  Elise isn’t a cop, and she’s unarmed. She’s come face to face with evil before, and survived. But she may not be so lucky this time.

  Just as Elise gets to the landing at the top of the staircase and reaches for the doorhandle, Kiara manages to grab the back of her shirt. Elise stumbles, almost falling down the stairs and crushing them both. ‘Let go,’ she snaps.

  ‘Stay behind me,’ Kiara growls, pushing Elise aside.

  The door is unlocked, and the room seems empty. Kiara checks under the bed and in the ensuite. Perhaps the thump was just a possum in the roof cavity.

  But Elise is leaning out the window. ‘I see her!’ she yells.

  Kiara runs over in time to see a lithe form in dark clothes climbing down the side of the house. Night is falling, and the suspect’s face is hidden by a hoodie, but Kiara is automatically memorising other identifying features: About one-seventy tall, maybe sixty kilos. Matches Madden’s description.

  The window overlooks an eight-metre drop onto a gravel path lined with garden beds. The suspect climbs down without obvious difficulty, digging gloved fingers into invisible seams, then leaps off the wall and flattens a shrub before scrambling up and sprinting towards the tree line.

  Elise runs back towards the stairs, but by the time she gets out the front door and circles around to the back of the house, the suspect will have disappeared into the endless bush.

  ‘Aw, shit,’ Kiara mutters, and climbs out the window.

  A cold wind attacks, trying to pluck her off the side of the house. The void below is terrifying. She dangles from the window, hips hugging the wall, the toes of her shoes slipping against the bricks, unable to find the footholds the suspect used. Kiara spots a drainpipe bolted to the wall a metre or two to her right, but her outstretched hand can’t quite reach it. She’ll have to jump.

  She grits her teeth, swings sideways and lets go of the sill. For a heart-stopping second she’s not connected to anything, five metres above the ground—then she crashes into the pipe and grabs hold. It’s too thick to wrap her hands all the way around, and she finds herself sliding down, her feet scrabbling against the wall, until they find purchase on a bracket.

  When she’s still two metres above the gravel, she hears the front door bang. Elise is coming, ready to make a citizen’s arrest.

  The pipe groans. As Kiara frantically tries to shift her weight, she loses her footing on the bracket. After half a second of freefall, she hits the ground feet first and tumbles onto her side. The impact bruises her ribs and knocks the wind out of her.

  As she rolls over, she sees the dark figure in the distance, running through the trees.

  ‘Stop! Police!’ Kiara scrambles to her feet and gives chase, limping from the fall. Every step in the dark risks a twisted ankle.

  The fugitive seems to know the bush, following the trail even in the dark, while Kiara gets tangled at every bend. After only a few seconds, her quarry has vanished between the trees. She stops running, instead listening for the footsteps. Hopefully she can follow by ear alone.

  Something crashes through the brush to her left. Kiara brings up her guard, elbows tucked, fists clenched. ‘Hold it!’ she yells, but the figure is already barging into her, slamming her off her feet. She hits the ground, winded again, the other woman on top of her.

  ‘Elise!’ Kiara wheezes. ‘It’s me!’

  Elise opens her fist, lowers it. ‘K?’

  In her statement, Ms Dubois insisted she didn’t know which man she’d slept with on Saturday night, because the lights were out. The claim no longer seems ridiculous.

  Elise climbs off, and Kiara sits up dizzily.

  ‘Sorry. I thought …’ Elise looks around. ‘Fuck me, it’s dark out here.’

  Away from town, the moonless night is impenetrable. They have no hope of tracking the suspect. If they hadn’t left the dining-room lights on, they might not even be able to find their way back to the house.

  Kiara coughs. ‘I have to get you out of here.’

  ‘No,’ Elise says. ‘We can backtrack. Pick up the trail.’

  Kiara grabs her hand. ‘You’re not a cop. This isn’t your job.’

  ‘We can’t just leave.’

  ‘That’s exactly what we should do.’

  ‘I’m not running away again,’ Elise snaps.

  Kiara frowns. ‘Again?’

  Elise starts trudging back towards the house.

  Kiara hurries after her. ‘You didn’t run away last year. You stood up to those people. You—’ She stops herself from saying killed them. They’ve never talked about this. Kiara had thought, naïvely, that there was nothing to say.

  Elise’s gaze is on the dirt between her feet.

  ‘Listen.’ Kiara keeps her voice low, in case the suspect is close enough to overhear. ‘We’ll tell search and rescue to update the Last Known Point. We’ll go home and come back at sunrise to help with the manhunt.’

  ‘You can go, if you want,’ Elise says. ‘I’m not leaving.’

  Kiara wants to shake her. Do you know how insane you sound?

  ‘Okay,’ she says instead. ‘But we need to warn the other officers that the suspect is nearby.’

  ‘There’s no phone reception up here,’ Elise objects.

  ‘There’s a landline at the house. Come on.’

  Kiara has been using her cop voice, calm and firm. It works, thank God. Elise follows her around to the front door, which is standing wide open, letting in the cold.

  In their statements, all three suspects agreed there had been no batteries in the cordless handset when they’d tried to call for help. Kiara brought new ones, but it looks like someone has already replaced them. When Kiara dials Warrigal police station, the phone works fine.

  The acting station chief, Clive Wallworth, picks up. Kiara explains that someone, possibly Ms Madden, has been secretly living in the house and is still in the area.

  ‘Bloody hell,’ Clive says. ‘I’ll send a team out. You get Elise back here.’

  Kiara shuts her eyes. ‘We’re staying.’

  ‘You’re what?’

  ‘Send the team. We’ll meet them here.’

  ‘You have a civilian with you. This suspect may have committed a double homicide—’

  ‘I’m technically off-duty,’ Kiara says. ‘You can’t make me leave.’

  ‘What am I supposed to tell Rohan if you get killed up there?’ Clive complains.

  ‘Tell him not to let Jennings investigate our deaths,’ Kiara says, and ends the call.

  They search the house room by room, in case the suspect doubled back. Kiara tries to focus on the places where the suspect might hide. But she keeps looking sideways at Elise, who’s scanning the environment like a Terminator, arms crossed.

  Kiara thinks there are two types of relationships. The first kind grows stronger under pressure, and is fuelled by time together. The second kind gets weaker under pressure, and depends on time apart. She’s seen loving couples break up because they’re forced to live in different cities for a few months. She’s also seen marriages crumble after decades when someone retires and is suddenly exposed to their spouse’s company.

  Kiara always thought she and Elise had the first kind of relationship. It could endure stressful situations, but was threatened by the long hours they spent working separately. Now they’re together, and it doesn’t feel like they’re facing this crisis as a team. For the first time in a year, Kiara allows herself to wonder: what if we don’t make it?