Chapter One

       Oologah Lake

       25 miles from Tulsa, Oklahoma

       The present day

      The August sun was still high above the trees by the time Erin reached the cabin. The driver pulled the Cadillac Escalade to a halt, got out and opened the back door for her.

      ‘Thanks, Joe,’ Erin said brightly, stepping down from the car with her small backpack, which was all the luggage she’d brought.

      ‘You have yourself a great weekend, Miss Hayes,’ Joe replied. ‘You got the number, right? Just call me whenever you want, and I’ll come right away to take you home.’ With a final smile, he got back behind the wheel, and she watched the car disappear down the track that was the only access to this remote spot.

      ‘So here we are,’ Erin said to herself, gazing around her once she was alone.

      Angela hadn’t been kidding about the beauty of the place. So this was how the wealthy folks lived. And for just a couple of days, humble charity worker Erin Hayes was to have it all to herself. Everyone should have an employer this generous.

      Oologah Lake. The name came from the Cherokee word for ‘dark cloud’. This northern corner of Oklahoma was known for its fearsome windstorms. Today, though, the lake was as still as glass, visible through the trees with the sunlight glittering across its vastness and gleaming off the windows of the boathouse by the little jetty. The cabin itself was long and low, surrounded by a whitewood veranda complete with rocking chair and beautiful old lanterns. The nearest neighbours were about a mile away through the woods, or so she’d been told.

      The solitude didn’t bother Erin a bit. It was Friday, the end of a long week, and she had nothing on her mind other than the peaceful weekend ahead. She let herself inside and quickly entered the alarm code on the keypad panel near the door.

      Angela might call it a cabin, but the place seemed three times the size of Erin’s miniscule house in Tulsa’s Crosbie Heights district. The furnishings were predictably expensive. The walls and floor were burnished oak and walnut, gleaming with a thousand coats of varnish. Some architect must have got paid a packet to come up with the design. The right blend of traditional and modern, with a high ceiling framed all the way around by a galleried landing that overlooked the open-plan living space below. Four bedrooms radiated off the landing, east, south, north and west. She spent a while exploring, then carried her backpack upstairs to the room she’d decided would be hers for the weekend. The east bedroom, so she’d be woken by the rising sun in the morning. She dumped her stuff on the bed and then changed into her running shoes, trotted back downstairs and headed outside to discover the tracks Angela had said wound for miles through the woods.

      Erin was in training for that November’s Route 66 Marathon, which she’d entered to help raise funds for the Desert Rose Trust, the youth education charity she worked for and of which Angela was president. As she jogged along the sun-dappled track that skirted the lake, she thought about the employer who’d become her friend. Angela had never really confided in her, but Erin got the impression that she and her husband lived somewhat separate lives. They were rich, of course – unimaginably rich, at least by Erin’s standards, with a fabulous mansion in north Tulsa. But even rich folks had their problems. Angela’s husband was often off somewhere or other on ‘business’; Erin wondered whether Angela might be seeing someone else on the side, someone who could make her laugh and treat her with a little more warmth. There had only ever been tiny hints, but women noticed these things.

      Erin enjoyed her long run through the lakeside woodlands. At thirty-three, she was in the best shape of her life, an achievement that made her feel proud. Returning to the cabin as the sunlight was fading, she showered, changed into soft lounging-around clothes and then spent the evening doing just that. Angela had said to help herself to whatever was in the fridge, but Erin ignored the well-stocked drinks cabinet.

      After a light meal and a couple of hours’ reading and exploring the CD collection, she turned on the alarm system the way Angela had instructed, then padded contentedly upstairs to bed. She fell asleep gazing at the moonlight through the trees and listening to the soft noises of the woods in serene anticipation of the weekend ahead.

      She was deep in a pleasant dream when she awoke suddenly. It wasn’t the rising sun on her face, greeting her at the start of a fine new day.

      It was the sound of voices. The room was still dark. It was still night. She checked her watch. Nine minutes to two in the morning. She sat rigidly upright in the bed, suddenly alert, heart beating fast. She strained to listen.

      She hadn’t imagined it.

      The voices were coming from inside the cabin. From downstairs.

      Frightened but quickly gathering her wits, Erin scrabbled out of bed and reached into her backpack for the compact Springfield nine-millimetre that her daddy had given her: one of the former security guard’s two gifts to his only daughter before he’d died. His comfort as he left this world had been that she would always be able to look after herself. Always have a backup, was the motto he’d drummed into her from when she was a little girl. Erin had honoured that by learning to use the pistol effectively and safely and keeping it near her, always loaded.

      Clutching it now, she sneaked out of the bedroom and onto the landing, crouching to peer through the wooden railing. She shrank herself down as small as possible, almost too afraid to look. Her heart was thumping so loudly, she was scared it would give her away to whoever had entered the cabin.

      The open-plan space below was all lit up. From her vantage point in the shadows, Erin had a clear view of the whole living area, as well as the open doorway leading out onto the veranda.

      There were four men inside the cabin. One was standing with his back to her. He was tall and broad and silver-haired, wearing a tan sports jacket, chinos, loafers. The second and third were standing by the window. Younger men, maybe late thirties, lean and serious-looking, one with dark hair cropped military-style and the other with a thin blonde ponytail. Both wore jeans and T-shirts.

      The fourth man Erin could see was short and heavy, with black curly hair and a beard. He’d made himself comfortable in one of the cabin’s plush armchairs.

      What was happening? How had they got past the alarm system? If they were burglars, Erin thought, they were pretty damn relaxed about it. The large silver-haired man had already served out cut-crystal glasses of liquor from a decanter and was heading back towards the sideboard to pour one for himself.

      It was as he turned round that Erin recognised his face.

      She heaved a sigh of relief and her fingers relaxed on the grip of her handgun.

      It was Angela’s