"We haven't missed the tide, have we?"

"Relax," Gabe said from the front seat. "We've got plenty of time."

Relax? How could I relax? Kat was still missing. I'd tried calling her ten times this morning, and we'd stopped at her apartment on the way to Lionhouse Reef, but nothing had changed.

Today, Hamid was behind the wheel of the pickup—the same Bedouin who'd driven us on our previous excursions. I gripped Adam's hand in the back seat, and I had to keep reminding myself he wasn't a stress toy. He hadn't said anything, but I'd noticed him grimace a time or two when I squeezed too hard.

I stared out of the window, watching but not seeing the passing scenery. Two trains of thought warred for my headspace. Firstly, Kat and Mo—I was beyond scared for them, but at the same time, I couldn't bear to think about what might have happened.

Better to think about Adam, and in particular, what had happened last night. Although we hadn't gone all the way, we'd definitely taken a step forward. And I'd loved every second of it.

I glanced at him from under my eyelashes. That man made my insides turn cartwheels. He made me feel with every strand of my DNA.

And last night, he'd said he was mine.

Well, I was his. I just needed to find the courage to tell him.

But Kat and Mo took priority. We got through the first checkpoint by paying the requisite fee, no problems, but when we reached the second, we hit a snag. Four policemen were on duty there. None of them looked friendly, and they all had guns.

I clutched at Adam's fingers while Hamid fired off rapid streams of Arabic, only to be met with grunts and shrugs in response. Gabe tried as well, but eventually he too admitted defeat.

"They won't let us past. They say the dive sites are closed for maintenance."

"Maintenance?" What maintenance? "Seriously? It's just rocks and sand."

"Exactly what I said. It's bullshit. We even offered them extra money, but they wouldn't play ball. We can't go past."

"Why would they say that?"

"No idea. A lot of things that happen in Fidda Hilal have no logical explanation."

"Is there another way around?"

"Not unless you can abseil down a mountain."

"So what do we do now?"

"We go back. We don't have a choice."

I tried to protest, but Hamid swung the truck in a wide arc and headed back the way we came.

"Can we go to the police station, see if we can get them to grant us permission?" Adam asked.

Gabe let out a long sigh. "Sorry, but I can't. If you cross the police around here, they make your life a living hell. And I've got a small issue with my work permit."

"What kind of issue?"

"I don't have one. But don't worry, my PADI qualification is absolutely kosher."

"Dare I ask why not?" A note of exasperation tinged Adam's words.

"They're scarce as hens' teeth, and even if you can get one, they're expensive—about eight thousand Egyptian pounds. Most foreigners here just take a chance and pay the occasional bribe for the police to turn a blind eye to the problem."

"Fine." Adam's exasperation turned into full-blown annoyance. "In that case, can you at least drop us off at the police station and we'll go in on our own?"

"Sure, I guess."

I scurried along behind Adam as he marched up the steps to the police station and stopped in front of a rickety wooden desk. And when I say rickety, I mean it was practically firewood. One leg had been replaced by the bottom of a chair with a three-inch stack of dog-eared paper tied to the top to increase the height. What were all those sheets? Crime reports?

The young officer sitting behind the desk looked up, his face twitching.

"Do you speak English?" Adam asked.

"No."

So how come he'd answered in it?

"Spanish?"

A shake of the head followed by a shrug.

"You speak Spanish?" I asked Adam.

"A little."

Perhaps we could try Google Translate? I typed in the phrase, but I'd only got halfway through mangling the Arabic for "How do we report a missing person?" when an older man appeared from a back room.

"We can help you?"

"I want to report two people missing."

He shrugged. I could sense a theme here.

"People come, people go."

"They haven't gone anywhere. Their home and all of their belongings are still here."

"Then they go to visit friend."

"They were meant to meet us last night, and they didn't turn up."

He laughed and showed us his watch—made by Kalvin Clein, no less. "Egyptian time. Maybe they just running late."

"Can we at least file a missing persons report?"

"No reports, all up here." He tapped a finger on his head.

"In that case, I'd better give you their names."

"No bother, I forget."

This was hopeless. I wanted to scream in frustration and punch something. Preferably the village idiot standing in front of me.

Adam tried again. "We think they may have had an accident diving. We went to look for them by Lionhouse reef, but we couldn't get through."

"Yes, we are doing maintenance," he announced, pride evident in his voice.

"Could we go through if we promise not to disturb anything?"

"Maintenance. Very important."

Adam gritted his teeth. "How long will 'maintenance' take?"

"Maybe one month, maybe two month." Another shrug. "Maybe three month."

Adam tensed up, and if he'd taken a swing at the irritating little man, I'd have gladly mortgaged my soul to pay his bail money. But that wouldn't have helped the hunt for Kat.

"Leave it," I whispered. "He's not worth getting in trouble over. We'll think of something else."

How difficult was abseiling?

Out in the street, Adam waved down a passing taxi. At least, the driver claimed it was a taxi. I had my doubts since it was a single cab pickup and I had to sit on Adam's lap. Despite the fact that at least four policemen loitering outside the station saw us like that, none of them moved to stop us—it seemed they didn't get too picky about seatbelts in Fidda Hilal. Not like bloody maintenance.

"Let's take another look at their apartment," Adam said. "Just in case they've come home."

As soon as we reached the bottom of the steps outside the apartment, we knew there was a problem. The door hung askew on its hinges, creaking back and forth in the gentle breeze.

"Shit," Adam muttered.

Inside, the place was trashed. And I mean trashed. Kat's beautiful scarves lay strewn on the floor, and someone had poured a bottle of cooking oil over them. The couch cushions had been slashed, as had most of Kat's and Mo's clothing, and shards of crockery littered the floor.

This was more than just a simple burglary.

"Why?" I gasped.

Adam was equally horrified. "Fuck me." Then under his breath, he added, "What did they get themselves into?"

"What do you mean? Kat wasn't 'into' anything."

"Easy, sweetheart. I didn't mean she was peddling drugs to kiddies or anything like that. But the fact is, the pair of them have disappeared, and from the look of this place, they did a good job of pissing somebody off."

"Kat would never have got into anything bad. She's not that kind of person."

"How well did you know Mo?"

"I've only met him a couple of times, but he seems really kind. And Kat's head over heels in love with him. More than anything, I trust her judgement."

Adam perched on the end of the couch, squashing down the remains of the spilled stuffing.

"So, where do we start?"

I was as clueless as him. "I have no idea."

"How about we try searching for the truck? That's a pretty big thing to hide. Any idea who Mo would have borrowed it from?"

"No, but we could try asking at the watersports club. Someone there might know."

We checked around the apartment before we left, just in case there were any clues. Not that either of us knew what we were looking for. A map with a big red X would've been handy, or a diary.

At least I managed to salvage Kat's jewellery and some cash. Thankfully, the burglars had missed the tin of chickpeas that wasn't really a tin of chickpeas at the back of a kitchen cupboard. Kat had used tins as hiding places ever since we'd shared a flat at university. I'd put the hoard into the hotel safe until we found her.

The front door no longer closed properly, but we used the remains of a paperback to wedge it shut as best we could. I wasn't worried about the place being broken into again. There really wasn't much more damage anyone could do.

Eid gave me a dirty look as we walked into the sports club.

"See who it is. The English slut and her new fiancé."

Adam balled his fists up.

"Leave it," I whispered. "Think of Kat."

I could quite cheerfully have socked the slimy git too, but I heeded my own words and smiled sweetly.

"Eid, I was wondering if you've seen Kat or Mo? I can't get hold of either of them."

"No, I have not. Neither of them turned up for work today. When you do find them, you can tell them they're both fired. My father is never employing an English person again. They are unreliable."

Oh, how I wanted to pound Eid into the colourful woven flooring.

"Would you happen to know who Mo borrows a truck from on occasion?" I asked through gritted teeth.

"I can't imagine anybody would be stupid enough to lend a vehicle to someone so untrustworthy."

Adam took hold of my hand. "Come on, we're wasting our time with this idiot."

Who else could we ask? I was scanning the windsurfers on the lagoon, searching for anyone proficient enough to be a colleague of Kat's, when a ginger-haired girl scurried up to us.

"I overheard you talking to Eid," she said. An Aussie—Fidda Hilal was a real melting pot of cultures. "I think I might be able to help, but I need to finish setting up the windsurf boards first or Eid will fire me next."

"We'll meet you afterwards," I quickly offered. Could this be the lead we were looking for? "Where and when?"

"In half an hour? By the beach bar?"

"We'll be there."

Adam and I snagged a table straight away, but I was so nervous that I barely touched my soft drink. Food was out of the question.

"Do you think she'll come?"

"It was her idea, sweetheart."

When she didn't arrive on time, I began to fear I'd been right to worry, but forty minutes after we met, she slipped furtively into the seat we'd left free for her.

"Hi. I was worried you might have left—setup took me longer than I thought. I'm Grace, by the way."

"I'm Callie, and this is Adam."

"Do I know you from somewhere?" she asked Adam, squinting against the sun. "Have you been here before?"

He shook his head. "A lot of people say that. I've just got one of those faces."

Maybe he really did—it was the second time I'd heard someone ask that.

"I guess. Anyhow, I heard you ask who Mo might have borrowed a truck from?"

"That's right."

"He has a friend in town. Samir. He works at the Octopus dive shop, and he's got a big maroon truck with alloy wheels. I'm sure I saw Mo driving it once. Does this have anything to do with Kat and Mo not coming to work today? Eid's chucking a mental, and we're all working triple time under threat of being sacked if we don't."

"Eid's a treasure, isn't he?" I said. "As for Kat and Mo, we can't find either of them. They were supposed to meet us for dinner yesterday but they didn't show up, and when we went to their apartment, we found it'd been burgled."

Grace lifted her hands to her cheeks as she gasped. "That's terrible! They were both such lovely people." Stop using the past tense. They still are lovely people. "I talked to Kat every day at lunch, and she never mentioned any travel plans. We were planning to have a movie night next week. She told me about you. I'm sorry about the whole wedding thing, by the way. That was a shitty thing to happen."

"Thanks. It was quite a shock."

"I'd better get back." Grace tapped her watch. "Eid times us on our breaks because it beats doing proper work. I might see you around?"

"Yes, I hope so."

"Good luck with finding Kat and Mo." She pushed her chair back and got up to leave, but before she walked, away, she leaned down to whisper in my ear. "By the way, I think you lucked out on the replacement."

Even in a scruffy Harley Davidson T-shirt and a pair of Raybans, Adam looked like a model, but more importantly, he was beautiful on the inside too.

Yes, I definitely did luck out when I met him.