t was shortly after ten when Sasha dropped Rory and Lindsay off at their hotel. They'd had a council of war and laid their plans, then Sasha had insisted on taking them all out to dinner in a restaurant that boasted the worst cabaret Lindsay had ever seen in her life. The combination of tawdry costumes, Westernized versions of Russian music and a tenor with more eye make-up than Cher had been so bad it was almost good. But the food had more than made up for it, a constant procession of traditional Russian dishes that had left them all feeling stuffed.

The only thing that had disturbed Lindsay all evening was a look she'd caught in her father's eye. She'd been leaning over to whisper some smart remark about the dancers in Rory's ear when she'd glimpsed him sizing her up. The expression on his face reduced her to childhood. Her mother had always been a sucker for whatever line Lindsay had chosen to spin her, but Andy had always been able to see right through her. That he still had the knack to flood her with guilt infuriated her almost as much as it frightened her how easily he'd figured out that she had something to hide. Something that concerned Rory.

But he'd said nothing, and the moment had passed. The pressure of Rory's knee against hers under the table was more than enough to distract her. She'd probably only imagined it, Lindsay told herself. She was subconsciously forcing herself to feel the guilt that hadn't come naturally.

They piled out of Sasha's Peugeot. "I pick you up at eight," he said. "So don't go drinking in the bar till late."

They waved him off. Lindsay said, "Do you fancy a drink?"

Rory shook her head. "I've had enough. All those toasts. I must have drunk a quarter-bottle of vodka. I can't figure out why I don't feel drunk."

"It's the way they pace it, with all the food in between. Or so Sasha says." They turned to go inside.

"He's a sweetie."

"You're not the first one to think so," Lindsay said. "There's a woman ten years younger than me in Invercross who has a wee boy the spitting image of Sasha. There's probably one in every fishing port between Newfoundland and Vladivostock."

Rory giggled. "Bad, wicked Sasha."

"Like bad, wicked Lindsay?" She stabbed the button to call the lift.

Rory looked aghast. "Me and my big mouth." They stepped inside the empty lift. "You're not like that, babe."

"You've only got my word for that. Anyway, is there any difference between one infidelity and a dozen?"

Rory frowned. "Of course there is. I should know. I'm the one who specializes in loving them and leaving them. If anybody's like Sasha, it's me."

They walked down the corridor to their room in silence. Lindsay unlocked the door, then went straight to the duty-free bottle of Bowmore and poured herself a stiff measure. "Sure you don't want one?"

"I've changed my mind." Rory reached for the bottle and matched her. Lindsay sat down in the armchair, Rory on the sofa. "Do you want to knock this on the head? Draw a line under last night?"

Lindsay sipped the amber malt, letting the peaty fumes clear her sinuses. She sighed. "No, I don't. It wasn't just some one-night stand, Rory. I don't do that kind of thing. It meant something to me. And I think it meant something to you too. So no, I don't want to knock it on the head. But I don't know what we call it and I don't know what we do with it."

Rory stretched out on the sofa, kicking off her shoes. "Let's get one thing straight. You love Sophie, right?"

Lindsay looked confused. "This isn't to do with Sophie."

"I know that. But you do love her, right?"

"Right."

"And you're not planning on leaving her, right?"

"I never said I was," Lindsay said, her voice defensive.

"And I'm not asking you to. That's the last thing I want. I don't do the long game, remember?"

Lindsay dipped her head in acquiescence. "That's what you said."

"But I don't want to be the Other Woman either. I don't want this to slide into some shitey-hole-in-the-corner affair where we duck in and out of bed in the afternoon and you tell lies so you can sneak off for a shag."

Lindsay winced. Rory's brutal honesty was uncomfortable, all the more so because part of her had been dreaming the impossible notion of continuing the adventure. "When you put it like that... So how do we go on?"

"I don't know if this makes any sense to you, but there'll be times when work takes us out of town. Either or both of us. Maybe even abroad. And then, we can be lovers."

"Out of town doesn't count?" Lindsay said incredulously. "How very male."

"I never said it didn't count. But at least it puts it in a separate box. You have Sophie, I have my little exploits and, when we can seize the moment, away from the mainstream of our lives, we do."

It did have a certain seductive logic, Lindsay had to admit to herself. "And what about if you meet somebody you want to get serious with? What happens then? 'Oh, by the way, darling, you'll have to accept my bit on the side.' "

Rory exploded in laughter. "Yeah, right, like that'll happen. Lindsay, how many times do I have to tell you? I don't do getting serious. And even supposing I did, what would change? We'd just go on being out-of-towners."

"And what if you wanted more than that?"

Rory got off the sofa and crouched down between Lindsay's knees. "I promise you I will never, ever ask for more," she said, suddenly very serious. "This is about fun. About the pleasure we take in each other. It's about a friendship that includes a sexual dimension from time to time."

Lindsay put her glass on the table and leaned forward. "Would this be one of those times?" she asked, closing in for the kiss.

"You might as well make the most of it. This time tomorrow, we could both be in a Russian jail. And I bet they don't do double cells."

Bernie put the phone down gently, staring out of the kitchen window, noticing the tendrils of honeysuckle that strayed over the edge of the frame, thick pencil lines against the glass. As they'd arranged, she'd called Tam on his mobile and been amazed by the extraordinary news that Lindsay had tracked down Jack. Not only that, but they thought it would be possible to snatch him back and make a clean escape. In a couple of days, she could be flying out to Helsinki to be reunited with her only child.

Now, her feelings were in turmoil. She was thrilled at the thought of seeing her son again. Her arms ached to hold him, and there was a permanent pit of anxiety in her stomach in his absence. She wanted him with her, no two ways about that. But, equally, she wanted him safe.

And safe was not a state he could achieve while Patrick Coughlan knew where she was. Perhaps the time had come to tell Tam the whole story. But that held its dangers too. How would he react to the knowledge that she'd been less than totally honest about her past? Could she really expect him to uproot himself from the city that had always been his home, turn his back on a successful business and go underground as she'd once had to do? And there was always the possibility that he might insist she give Patrick what he was demanding.

That was a risk she couldn't afford to take.

There was one other possibility. She had run away once before. Maybe she would have to do it again. But, if she did, she would have to take Jack with her this time. That meant she could do nothing until he was back in her arms again. And that in turn depended on whether Tam could bring him safely out of Russia.

Nothing had changed. She was still in limbo. With a sigh, Bernie lit another cigarette and picked up the phone.

There was always a trade-off, Lindsay thought. Yesterday, their stake-out had been riskily conspicuous, but at least they'd had access to food and drink and a loo. Today, slouched in the passenger seat of Sasha's car, parked opposite the school, she felt a lot less noticeable, but it definitely scored short on the creature-comfort level. Already the car was uncomfortably hot. And the conversation was considerably less entertaining. She'd always liked Sasha, but they'd exhausted all common ground the day before. Somehow, she didn't think Rory would be faring a lot better with Tam at the corner caf¨¦, though at least she might get some useful info on the seedier end of the second-hand car trade. Andy was back on the boat, stowing Rory and Lindsay's luggage and making sure everything was shipshape for a speedy getaway.

The pupils of the international school had started to trickle in for their morning lessons. Lindsay kept her eyes fixed on the far end of the street, straining to catch the first glimpse of Jack. She hoped Tam would stick to the agreed plan and not try anything daft. Still, if anyone could keep him under control, it was probably Rory.

They didn't have long to wait. Lindsay saw the woman, presumably Bruno's sister, round the corner first. Jack was a couple of steps behind her. But there was a change from the previous day. Where before the pair of them had been alone, now there was a third person in their little group. A burly man with the waddle of a weightlifter towered above Jack, his shaven head gleaming in the sunlight. A white T-shirt strained across pectoral muscles the size and shape of dinner plates and his forearms looked like ham hocks. "Oh fuck," Lindsay said. "Look. They've got a minder."

"He was not here yesterday?"

"No, I would have said."

Sasha shifted in his seat and frowned. "Maybe he is just an escort. Maybe the woman is going shopping and he is there to take care of her?" His optimism sounded hollow.

"You're telling me people need protection to shop in St Pete's?"

Sasha pulled a face. "Depends what you're going to buy."

They watched as the trio walked up the street and entered the school gates. A few minutes later, the woman emerged alone and headed back the way she'd come. "So much for the escort theory," Lindsay said bitterly.

"We need to revise our plans, no?" Sasha said, winding up his window. "You go off to the caf¨¦, I'll park round the corner and join you there."

By the time Sasha joined them, the others were staring gloomily into their coffees. "Hey, Sasha. Any bright ideas?" Rory greeted him.

He shrugged. "The park is still the best place, I think."

"But that guy's enormous," Lindsay said. "There's no way we can take him on."

"Want a bet?" Tam growled.

"Don't be daft, Tam. For all you know, he might have a gun in an ankle holster," Lindsay protested. "Besides, even if you could take him in a fair fight, the last thing we want is a ruck in a public park. We'll have the cops all over us. There's got to be a better way of doing it. Maybe Sasha can come up with something. He knows the territory, after all."

Rory stirred her coffee thoughtfully. "I don't think familiarity is the answer."

"How do you mean?" Tam asked.

"We should be cashing in on our unfamiliarity. We're foreigners. We're tourists. And we're women. Well, at least, two of us are."

Lindsay began to have a glimmering of what Rory was getting at. "We play the stranger card."

Tam and Sasha looked bemused, but Rory beamed. "Exactly."

Five to two and everyone's nerves were shredded. Sasha sat in his car at the far end of the monastery park, his fingers beating a random tattoo on the steering wheel. Tam was loitering behind a stand of bushes on the edge of the play area, smoking frenetically, trying to look as if he was casually appreciating the beauties of nature. Rory and Lindsay were sitting in the corner caf¨¦, bill paid, sipping at the dregs of the glasses of wine they'd ordered to give themselves Dutch courage.

Lindsay anxiously checked her bag, making sure they had what they needed. "God, I hope this works," she said.

"You and me both. Because we're the sitting ducks here. Once we get on that underground train after the snatch, we're rats in a trap."

"Thanks, Rory, that's what I really needed to hear." Lindsay gulped the last of her wine and grimaced at its sourness.

Rory, who had taken the seat facing up the street, straightened up. "Hey, Splash, it's showtime."

"Is the Terminator with them?" Lindsay asked.

"Walking right beside Jack." Rory leaned across the table and clasped Lindsay's hand, momentarily earnest. "Whatever happens, you know I wouldn't have missed this for the world."

Lindsay smiled. "Let's see if you're still saying that in an hour's time."

They waited till the crocodile of schoolchildren had rounded the corner before they followed. Everything was identical to the previous day, except for the presence of Jack's bodyguard. Down the street, across the bridge, into the park, then the children erupted into carefree play. Lindsay and Rory hung back, watching and waiting. The minder had taken up station on the fringe of the playing area, about twenty yards from where they knew Tam was lurking. He didn't take his eyes off Jack, who was running around in a game of tig with three other boys. Whenever Jack went more than a few dozen yards from him, the minder moved to keep him in range. The teacher had her back to them, watching half a dozen children playing a wild game of football.

"Let's go for it," Lindsay said, watching how Jack's game was taking him closer to Tam's hiding place. They walked across the grass, Rory with the guidebook, Lindsay with the map, pretending to argue about where they should be going, stopping a couple of times to look around helplessly. As they drew level with the minder, Lindsay suddenly swerved towards him, Rory trailing in her wake, doing her best to put herself between the man and the object of his attention.

"Spasibo," Lindsay began. "How do we get to the Tikhvin Cemetery?"

The man frowned and said something in Russian, sidestepping to bring himself closer to Jack. Rory moved nearer to him, doing the dizzy blonde. "We're lost," she said, giving him the dazzling smile that Lindsay knew only too well was a killer. "The Tikhvin Cemetery?" She pointed to the guidebook.

The bodyguard frowned and glanced down at the page.

"Kladbische" Lindsay said helpfully, thrusting her phrase book under his nose. Stay, Tam, stay, she urged him mentally. It was still too risky.

The bodyguard's face cleared and he said, "Da, Tikhvin Kladbische." But instead of giving them directions, he pushed between them and shouted. "Jack. Come now."

Lindsay's heart sank as Jack slowed to a halt and glared at the minder. "I'm playing," he said defiantly.

The bodyguard covered the few yards between them in seconds. He grabbed Jack's hand. "Stay with me." Then he turned back to Rory and Lindsay. He pointed to the far end of the park. "Go there, to end of street. Then right." He smiled.

Lindsay forced a smile in return and said, "Come on, Rory." She headed towards the bushes where Tam was hidden. "Abort," she said conversationally as they approached. "Stay out of sight, Tam," she added more insistently.

They rounded the bushes and found Tam crouched like a coiled spring. "Fuck it, I'm going for it," he growled.

"Don't be stupid," Lindsay said. "You'll blow the whole thing if you try it now." She took out her mobile and dialled Sasha's number. "Sasha? Abort. We'll see you back at the boat."

She turned back to find Rory and Tam engaged in furious argument. "He's my son," Tam said mutinously.

"We've all stuck our necks out to get this far, Tam," Rory said. "You've got no right to put everybody else at risk. We'll figure something else out for tomorrow. But today's a bust. Leave it."

"She's right," Lindsay said. "We need to figure out a better way of doing this. But we can't do it now. Come away, Tam," she added, taking his hand. "There's no sense in you getting arrested."

"Or worse," Rory pointed out.

The argument was settled by the blast of the teacher's whistle, summoning her charges into line for the walk back to school. Tam's head dropped and he pulled away from Lindsay, trudging despondently towards the far exit where minutes before Sasha had been waiting.