She swallowed hard, the spicy-sweet scent triggering an image that changed her fright to anger. Ketchup. In her mind she saw Jason Wheeler mopping up his plate with a triangle of bread. Bringing her fingers close to her nose, she sniffed. Yes, it was definitely ketchup. With a savage twist she turned on the tap, rinsing her hands clean. The last of the ketchup vanished down the drain in a pink swirl. Only a sticky drop still hung from the nozzle of the soap dispenser. Damn. Damn. Sam jerked the towel from the rack and dried her hands. Her face stared back at her from the mirror, pale and scared. For just a second she gave in, resting her forehead against the cold glass. She gripped the edge of the sink, her hands shaking as tears seeped out from under her tightly closed eyelids. Was Jason Wheeler the culprit? He could have gone into the bathroom while she was in the kitchen making the coffee. No, that wasn’t likely. She would have noticed if he’d been gone that long. On the other hand, someone could have come into the flat during the day.
