Take a serving of romance, stir in a little intrigue and add a dash of passion. The secret ingredient is murder. Simmer gently in the heat of wartime Malta and serve with shocking revelations and a tempestuous climax.
'I must go.'
He was off the wall and seizing her arm before she had taken two paces.
'What's the hurry?'
She tried to pull free, but his grip was firm, vice-like, painful. She let out a small cry and attempted to twist away. The manoeuvre failed miserably and she found herself trapped against him, her back pressed into his chest.
He clamped his free hand over her mouth. 'Ssshhhh...' he soothed.
He spat the cigarette away and put his mouth to her ear.
'You want to know who I am? I'm the last living soul you'll ever set eyes on.'