This is the 2nd novel published by the BBC to feature the 8th Doctor.  His companion is Samantha "Sam" Jones.

Carolyn made it through the afternoon's paperwork by the simple method of pretending that nothing was wrong.

She phoned the theatre on her return to the lab, and again on her break, and got no answer in James's office.  The stage manager said he hadn't come back after lunch.

On the way home she called the house over and over, getting more and more frustrated with the ever-so-cheerful voices on their answering machine.  She rang the theatre again, the café again, then started working her way down the depressingly short list of friends of theirs whom they didn't work with.  Everyone she got hold of sounded more concerned for her than for James, and she couldn't figure out why.

Finally she pulled up in front of their house - surprised that his car wasn't waiting there, despite everything - and went inside, feeling her body tightening all over.

He wasn't there.  She had to do something.  Something sensible.  Feed Mina and the kittens, get dinner ready.  After all, there wouldn't be dinner waiting.  She climbed the steps into the kitchen and began rummaging through the cupboards.  Her mind was flickering between studiously controlled concern and unreasoning irritation at James for pulling this disappearing act.  It was only when she opened the fridge and saw the only thing handy to eat was James's leftover rice and mushrooms that she found herself shaking uncontrollably.

For a long frozen moment she just stopped thinking.  Her body was still moving, carrying her vaguely around the kitchen, looking for silverware.  She couldn't think of anything more useful to do than set the table.

Finally, she put down the knife and fork and called General Kramer's number.

Kramer was an even bigger amount of no help.  'Carolyn, I'm sorry.  But what do you expect me to do?  Conduct a house-to-house search of the city?  Post a soldier on every street corner to ask people "Have you seen this man?"?'

Every word grated on her.  Carolyn felt the urge to reach through the phone abd grab Kramer by the throat.  'No,' she sighed, 'I guess not.'

'Well it's a good thing.  With the budget cutbacks, we'd barely have enough men to cover a six-block radius anyway.'  The voice at the other end of the line paused, awkwardly.  'I really am sorry.  But you've got to keep calm, all right?  I'll do everything I can.  I'll start asking questions at the Other Place tonight.'

'No, wait, they'll get you too.'  She was staring vaguely into space, her eyes not quite focusing on the casserole as it rotated in the microwave.  'My God.  They got him in broad daylight'

'Don't worry, I'll be subtle.  I actually can manage that once in a while.'

'They got him,' Carolyn repeated, unhearing.  She felt the cold spreading outward from her heart, as if it had just started pumping ice water.

'No.  Carolyn, hold on a minute.  If James were dead, we'd have found the body by now.  The bastard wasn't exactly subtle about hiding Grant.'  Kramer's voice burnt.  'We'll get him back alive.  Just keep your grip, all right?'

Carolyn took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly.  'All right.  So what do I do?'

'Just get some rest for now.  Call me lunchtime tomorrow and we'll see what you can do then.  OK?'

'OK.'  The shivers had gone; now she didn't seem to feel a thing.

Hold on.  Get a grip.  Get some dinner.

She went back to the fridge and dug out the leftovers.  Then she busied herself at the microwave, holding the phone a little bit away from her ear, hearing the tinny little voice of the desk sergeant as he calmly asked her for details about a man who might be dead, a man whose Mickey Mouse coffee mug was still sitting in her sink waiting to be washed.