He had been out for far too long. Tristan picked up a steady pace. He hoped all was well. He hoped Pippa had slept through his absence and would still be asleep when he returned. He'd tell his sister goodnight - not even talk to her about tomorrow - and crash. He had a feeling he wouldn't sleep, but if he could just lie down in the dark for a few hours, that would help. Yet the closer he got to home, the more he worried that something had gone wrong and his sister didn't know how to handle it.

He entered the darkened hallway. There was light and a delicious smell coming from the kitchen. He relaxed. He took off his hat and coat and was just about to head for the kitchen, when he heard the commotion upstairs. Pippa yelling. And a man's voice. His heart fluttered.

He raced up the stairs, three steps at a time. He had been set up! It was a trap! He turned on the landing, dashed into his study, stumbling over his own feet and bumped into the desk, jerked the top drawer of said desk open and grabbed the loaded handgun he kept there. Then he bolted up the remaining stairs. Tristan hurled himself into the attic room and pointed the gun at...

"Jesus Christ..."

He lowered the weapon.