The next morning my mood is dramatically better than the day before. We walk into the yard, hand in hand, ready to face whatever rubbish comes our way.

There are several wolf whistles as we enter the briefing room, but John quickly shushes them.

"We've had a twenty-four-year-old brunette reported missing," he says to Trent.

His tone telling us both exactly what he thinks. This is the next victim, if we don't save her first.

Trent drops my hand to accept the file ...