CHAPTER ONE

      ‘SISTER ANN, DO I really need to wear a habit?’ Clare Marchant looked doubtfully at the Mother Superior. ‘It seems wrong to pretend that I belong to the Holy Order of the Sacred Heart. I feel like I am an imposter.’

      ‘My child, I strongly advise that for your safety you should dress as a nun. Torrente is one of the most dangerous places in Brazil. Its close proximity to the border with Colombia has made it a route for drug smuggling and people trafficking and I have heard of young women in the town who have been forced into prostitution. It is a lawless place where even the police are too scared to visit. The men who run the drugs cartels have little respect for life, but they do at least retain some respect for the church.’

      The Mother Superior smiled gently at Clare, noting the signs of strain on the young Englishwoman’s face and the shadows beneath her eyes that told of too many sleepless nights of worry.

      ‘There is no need for you to feel like an imposter. You have come to Brazil with the selfless intention to search for your sister and pay the ransom her kidnappers have demanded. You are bravely prepared to put yourself in danger to help someone you love, and at least the church can offer you some small measure of protection.’ Sister Ann’s expression became grave. ‘I’m sure I don’t have to remind you that the men who took Becky are utterly ruthless.’

      Clare followed the nun’s gaze to what looked like a jewellery box on the desk, and a feeling of nausea swept over her as she pictured the gruesome contents of the casket. Don’t think of it, she ordered herself. But her mind visualised the severed tip of an earlobe wrapped in layers of tissue paper like some ghastly mimicry of a gift from a lover. Surely it wasn’t a piece of Becky’s ear? She could not bear to think of her beautiful sister being mutilated by whoever had snatched her from the street outside the five-star hotel in Rio de Janeiro where Becky had been modelling for a photo shoot.

      She tore her eyes from the box and stared at what she could see of her reflection in the small mirror hanging on the wall of the Mother Superior’s office. The grey habit Sister Ann had lent her fell