Zoe fixes problems, she's very good at it and she doesn't need anybody's help to do it. Certainly not Mr Tall, Dark and Handsome, who saved her bacon and upset her equilibrium once before. Besides she has trust issues.

"What the hell are you doing here?" She growls. Resisting the urge to throw herself at him and devour him. Dammit, just why the hell did the man have to look so damn good. An image of chocolate body paint and a pair of handcuffs chooses that moment to insert itself into her mind.

"Pleased to see me, Zoe?" He stands there in front of her. Playing at Driver again. The plain black suit, the crisp clean white shirt, and the black tie, that's all it takes and she's putty.

But Zoe Morgan is no longer a schoolgirl. She's developed a few spikes of her own along the way. "Hmmm." She answers as she passes him and gets into the car. Proud of the accompanying sniff that announces to the world in general and John in particular that she's really not that concerned.

"Keep your eyes on the road, no small talk and definitely no jazz." She pulls three crisp notes out of her small bag, spreads them in a fan and flicks them a little to gain his attention as he slides in to the driver's seat. "Do as I say, and these will be yours at the end of the night." Three hundred bucks.

Damn, she's being bitchy and she knows it. But something about John and his smooth self-confidence just gets her dander up. For a second she thinks she can see a flash of hurt and disappointment in the somber blue-gray eyes, then he moves, and it was probably a trick of the light, and if anything that's more infuriating.

He drives. They have a long way to go. She's not really sure why she has taken this one on. Dining alone with this man far out of the city. Something wasn't playing right. She could smell it. But she's going anyway.

How and why John is there, driving her this night is a mystery. She's shut down conversation, not that that really makes a whole lot of difference. John and his 'imaginary' friend are two enigmas that she has yet to work out. And she knows that John will do exactly as he pleases.

He's a little like a pet that you keep in the wild. Her lips curve up at that thought. Something she is very loathe to admit, even to herself, is how truly glad she is to see John. There's something reassuring about his tall, lanky frame, and cool watchful demeanor. This night she knows she can use the reassurance.

She sits back and relaxes, lets John drive. After all, he knows where he's going and she could use the time to get her head in the right space, and mentally review the angles.

Greenport. Miles from anywhere. Splendidly isolated. She could smell trap coming off it in waves. But why, was the question.

The car slows, and she looks up, bemused to realize that they've been driving for over two hours and she hasn't noticed the time slip by. That would be because being within the vicinity of John, time gets compacted some how.

The house is huge and old, and rambling, and she has the weirdest vibe.

"How about I handle this one, Zoe." And that's the second time tonight that her soul has thrilled to the sound of her name on his lips. His voice slightly gravelly, distinctive, suits the man himself perfectly.

This is the second time that she is definitely going to decline that offer. This is her show. "No, John." She says firmly. Quietly thrilling to the sound of his name on her tongue. She tests it out a couple of times in her head.

An ordinary name to be sure, but it fits him. Direct, no nonsense. She thinks back to that night when she told him that he was one of those guys who can pick any lock with a paperclip, and the curve of his lips, the flash of straight white teeth told her that one tiny joke had penetrated his defensive barrier. She tried not to think of the way his blue-gray eyes lit up although he tried to hide that, the laughter lines at the corners crinkled a little, his lopsided grin was so damn sexy and endearingly off kilter.

He was one sexy, gorgeous guy and she almost wished she was in the market for such a person. John would be worth breaking her rules for.

She's distracted again and that is really beginning to annoy her. She steps past John and walks up the front steps, it's dimly lit and she can tell this is really not right. Stubbornly she walks on, there's nothing she cannot conquer, the man she is supposed to be meeting is seventy years old, and besides, John is there. What could possibly go wrong?

She knocks, and calls out "Hello", a voice comes from somewhere near the back of the house.

"Come in Miz Morgan."

She shrugs, she can see a light is on somewhere near the back of the hallway, but it barely penetrates the gloom at the front of the hall. Slightly irritated now, she pushes open the door and steps forward.

"NO." Suddenly John is there, his body between her and the interior of the hallway, and then it all happens so fast she doesn't know what hits them. There's a swish, an agonizing crunch, and John slips bonelessly through her startled arms to collapse at her feet.

"JOHN." Zoe screams his name in fear, and crouches down. Something cold and metallic scrapes her cheek. The threat is clear and she shakes her head in mute terror. He's helpless at her feet. She knows she will obey, because if they killed him then she would never be able to forgive herself.

The room is small, very dark and pokey and Zoe is grateful not to be the claustrophobic type. She doesn't have time to be claustrophobic, John is injured, he needs her and she needs him if she is going to get out of this one.

Apart from the act of extreme violence that captured them, they haven't been harmed. Just shoved roughly into the small room and locked in.

Zoe doesn't like to beg, but she needs to help John, she begs for a first aid kit. Grudgingly one is thrown in with them.

By the pathetic light of the one miserable bulb in the room, which turns out to be a sort of closet with a tiny sink in it, she sets about tending to and cleaning up John's head wound. Like all head wounds it's bleeding badly.

She calculates he's been out for about an hour. In the course of the clean up she finds a tiny flesh coloured earpiece, their phones have been taken from them, and his gun is gone too but the little earpiece is curiously comforting. Someone is looking out for them. John's imaginary friend.

John starts to come round, and Zoe backs off hastily, just in case he gets the wrong idea.

"John."

He groans, a hand goes to rub the back of his neck, and he blinks a few times.

"John." She puts a hand on his arm. "How are you feeling?" Damn Zoe, that question is ridiculous.

"Zoe." Her soul skips again at that quiet gravelly voice saying her name. Stop it, Zoe, you're forty not fourteen.

She looks up at the door, "Let's get out of here." She looks hopefully towards him.

"That might be a bit of a problem." His voice is quiet, and a little too matter of fact. It sends Zoe's danger radar soaring.

"Why?" She tries not to sound too agitated.

"Because I can't see, Zoe."