At 7 a.m. on Sunday, Luke's phone rang with the theme song from The Office. At least it wasn't his mother again.

"Some bastard's attacking our biggest client's servers," he said when he hung up. "I can't leave this to anyone else."

"You want me to make you a coffee before you go?"

He already had his trousers on. "No time." He leaned over and gave me a quick kiss. "I'll be back as soon as I can."

Noon arrived, and I cobbled together a sandwich. Luke rang while I was eating.

"Can you do me a favour?"

"Sure."

"I need a file off the memory stick in my desk drawer. Could you email it?"

"No problem."

He explained what he wanted, and my breath hitched when he told me his laptop password. My name, and the date we'd met. Fuck. I was going to end up hurting him, wasn't I? Every time the sun set, my return to Virginia came closer. I wasn't strong enough to leave yet, but that day would soon arrive.

Back in the kitchen, I opened the internet browser on my phone and googled my company. How were things back home? Ticking along, it seemed. Unlike Luke, I'd been perfecting the art of delegation for years. We'd won several large contracts, and the Japanese office, a pet project of mine, had finally opened. A few more searches revealed no drama in the Richmond area. My husband's killer had held up his end of the bargain, at least for the moment. My friends were safe.

And what about me? I typed my real name into the search box. I didn't expect much—my tech guys and legal team were good at shutting down any mention of me—but it never hurt to check.

Coverage was limited to three small stories in Virginia newspapers. One speculated I'd fled to Panama. Yeah, I wished. The weather would certainly be better. Another informed me the police had no other leads in my husband's murder—good to see my tax dollars hard at work. The third article advertised an upcoming ball being held in Richmond to support a homeless charity. It listed all the projects they'd run with the $100,000 donation I'd made last year. That cause was close to my heart, and I smiled as I read.

My final search was for Luke again. Rumours abounded that he was dating Mitzi, a reality TV star famed for having her breast implant surgery live on television. Really? I happened to know he preferred the real thing. I'd got halfway through reading how Mitzi was considering an increase in her cup size when my phone rang.

This time, Luke sounded frantic. "George just called. Tia went out riding, and Gameela's turned up back at the farm on her own."

"Has anyone heard from Tia?"

"No, and she left her phone on the locker outside Gameela's stable. They've got people out searching, but there's no sign of her yet."

A teenage girl who wasn't surgically attached to her phone? Great.

"I'll go down to the farm and help look—I'll call as soon as I arrive."

"I'm getting in the car right now—should take me forty-five minutes to get there."

The snow was still thick, so I yanked on a pair of sturdy boots. Where was the first aid kit? Ah yes, in the cupboard by the back door. I shoved that in a rucksack along with a bottle of water.

Out in the garage, I eyed Luke's Porsche SUV with regret before hopping on his mountain bike. I'd told him I didn't drive, so I could hardly borrow his car. Luckily, the lanes had been gritted, and I made it to the stables in ten minutes on two wheels.

Chaos reigned.

George stood in the middle of the car park, flapping his arms. His tomato-coloured face made me fear for his health. Arabella perched on the mounting block crying, and several girls were riding down the drive. Marianne helped a woman in an expensively cut coat to breathe into a paper bag. Luke's mother? I'd seen her drop Tia off once, and up close, I saw the similarities in their features.

I waved to get George's attention. "What's happening with Tia?"

"What are you doing here?"

"Answer the question, would you?"

He did a double take at my tone, but answered nonetheless. "She rode off and the horse came back on its own so she must have fallen off and we can't find her," he said, all in one breath.

Luke had told me that much already. "When did she leave?"

"I don't know. Arabella—when did Tia leave?"

"About eleven? Susie said it was when she went in for a tea break." She sobbed harder. "What if she's dead?"

Nothing like looking on the bright side, was there?

So, Tia had been out for two hours, but how far she'd got would depend on her speed and Gameela's sense of direction. How long had the horse taken to find her way home? I did a quick calculation and estimated we were looking at a six-mile search radius. A snowflake landed on my arm, and I glanced up. Clouds were gathering overhead. Great. Even if Tia wasn't injured, we had exposure to contend with.

"Where have people looked?" I asked.

George did the deer-in-headlights thing. "Some of the girls rode up the lane, and Mr. and Mrs. Jackson from next door went out on foot. At least, I think they've left—Mrs. Jackson said she had to find her hiking boots first."

My eyes started to roll all of their own accord, and I blinked to stop them. "Which way up the lane?"

He scratched his chin. "I'm almost sure they went left."

Well, wasn't this organisation at its best? A well-oiled machine. Tia would be a popsicle at this rate.

"Who's still here?"

"Arabella, Marianne, and Mrs. Halston-Cain."

And me.

"Right, you stay here in case Tia comes back. Her mother can stay with you—get her a cup of tea and try to keep her calm." I turned to Arabella and Marianne. "It won't be dark for a couple of hours—saddle up and head right up the lane. Look for any single sets of hoof prints, medium sized. Has anyone called the police?"

George shook his head.

I took a deep breath and gritted my teeth. "Well, could you please phone them?"

The sweetness in my voice was at odds with the acid building up in my stomach. George's colour had lightened by that point, which was a relief. I didn't have time to deal with him stroking out as well.

He bobbed his head up and down. "I'll do it right away."

Moving at a steady amble, he headed for his house—he must have been the only person left in the country who didn't own a cell phone.

Next, I called Luke and gave him an update, brief because he was driving. Fast. I could hear the roar of the engine. After quickly reminding him it wouldn't help if he ended up in a ditch, I went to join the hunt myself.

Gameela was back in her stable, head hanging low. A quick examination revealed cuts on her legs, and although none of them looked serious, she still needed a visit from the vet. Apart from the crusts of blood, she was clean—hardly surprising given the frozen ground. It was in her mane that I spotted the clue I was searching for. Twigs with tiny, spidery yellow flowers attached.

Witch hazel. A shrub with many medicinal uses and one of the few that flowered in winter. The plants weren't common in the wild, but I'd spotted a clump at the entrance to a thicket when I'd been out running. It lay about five miles away, if I remembered rightly.

But how could I get there?

The quickest way would be by horse, but only Tia's were in the barn. I hurried past the two invalids and eyed up Majesty. I'd never seen him ridden, but his reputation preceded him. Still, he couldn't be worse than Stan. Nothing could be worse than Stan. I painted the bottoms of his feet with hoof grease the way Dustin had taught me, an old trick to stop the snow balling up in them, then tacked him up and hopped on.

Luke drove into the yard as Majesty, thrilled to be out of his stable, had a bucking fit then stood up on his hind legs.

"Come on, you pig-headed bastard—that the best you can do?"

The look on Luke's face was priceless.

"I meant the horse, not you."

"I got that. Are you sure he's safe?"

His face suggested he thought Majesty should be shot at the first opportunity.

"I'll be fine."

With those words, Majesty decided that trying to unseat me wasted too much energy and did what he was told instead. We trotted up the lane, and as soon as I hit open fields, I urged him into a gallop. The world lay silent apart from the rhythmic beat of his hooves. While we flew over the white-blanketed landscape, snow crunching underfoot, all I could do was hope my hunch was correct. I didn't fancy Tia's chances out here after the sun dropped. That posh school she went to undoubtedly taught Latin and Shakespeare rather than survival training.

A couple of miles from the thicket, we crossed a small ridge. On the other side, in an otherwise pristine layer of snow, I spotted a single set of hoof prints heading towards the thicket at a trot. Another set came back, much faster. Unless there was another nutter out galloping their horse in the snow, I was heading in the right direction. Thank fuck for that.

I went to call Luke, but the bloody signal had disappeared. Welcome to the world of mobile communications. The woods loomed closer as I carried on at a fast trot, only slowing as I ducked under the first boughs. The branches hung low, heavy with ice that twinkled in the last of the afternoon sun.

Hoof prints wound through the trees, deeper and deeper into the frosty wonderland. Majesty danced on the spot as a rabbit shot out of the bushes in front of him. At least somebody was having fun.

For some reason, an old children's song popped into my head. "The Teddy Bears' Picnic."

If you go down to the woods today, you're sure of a big surprise...

I never had been keen on surprises. What was I going to find?