Just after six thirty, he got up and showered. He stood under the hot water, letting it pour down on him. His stomach twisted as if he was going to throw up, yet he knew he’d not eaten enough for that. For the first time in his life he understood the term, heartsick. A huge hole, no, make that chasm, had opened up within him and he had no way of fixing it. He’d failed. He’d never failed at anything before. Not a case, a race, or even a tennis match. But now he’d lost the single most important thing he’d been given. He dressed and headed downstairs. He went into the kitchen and filled the kettle. Footsteps made him turn. “Morning, Mary. How did you sleep?” “Not very well. You?” Luke shook his head. “Dozed, but that’s it. The same thought has gone around my mind all night. I failed in my duty, and as a direct result, my charge, the woman I love, is probably dead, either at the hands of Austin or her own body.” Mary moved over to him. “You can’t think like that.
