The police arrive

Nathalie drops onto the floor of Rocko's back room. The air smells sweet like a recent air freshener, but underneath there is a slight odour of wet dog. The carpets are thick shagpile and the rooms are immaculately clean.

She creeps out into the hall. It doesn't feel like anyone is in the house, but it is always better safe than sorry. The walls are lined with shelves displaying cheap trinkets from foreign holidays and there is a pine cabinet at the base of the stairs.

She steps carefully past the cabinet and up the stairs. The bedroom door is slightly ajar.

She enters, stops, and grins.

Positioned above the large bed is a clean mirror. Dirty bastard! He must like watching the action. Next to the bed is a framed holiday photo of Rocko, looking a little older than when she'd last seen him, and a smiling brunette in a skimpy string bikini. She's hot, Nathalie thinks. No wonder he likes to watch.

After a quick glance around, she walks over to the nearest chest of drawers and opens them. There, on top, are neatly piled sets of panties and bras.

Relief floods her. I win, she thinks gleefully. And I've bloody earned it as well! This was not easy.

She scoops up a pair of cute green knickers at random and shoves them into the waistband of her dress. Now, it's definitely to leave.

She is halfway down the stairs when she sees the torchlight shining in through the window. She freezes. Then there comes a knock on the door.

"Hello? Anyone home?" A female voice; authorative. "Hello? Mr Rockson?"

Another knock on the door.

"There's a window open at the back." A male voice; younger, slightly deferential. "Someone could have gotten through here, alright. Look."

"Can you fit through? We need to check this out." Then a burst of static and a terse report to base. "Yes, sir. We're just checking out the property now."

Shit! Police!

Nathalie bolts up the stairs in a panic and darts back into the bedroom. She needs to hide, now! She must not get caught breaking and entering!

A dull thump downstairs as someone else drops through the window. A heavier figure, male probably. There is sudden illumination downstairs as he flicks on lights.

Not for the first time that night, Nathalie slips inside a wardrobe, pressing herself in amongst a rail of coats and hanging jeans.

A burst of static from downstairs. "Nothing yet, boss. Downstairs looks clear. I'm just checking upstairs." And then the slow creak of boards as the man makes his way upstairs.

And then the bedroom door creaks open.

Alone in the dark wardrobe, Nathalie holds her breath.