~Chapter One~
Same old story
Harry stared at her partner in exasperation. "You should have waited for backup! We could have been killed!"
"Yeah, but we weren't, were we, Princess. And we got the collar, and the bullion, so I would say not waiting for backup was the right call." Dempsey took out a cigar and lit it as he watched Six-Finger Freddie being bundled into the back of a police van.
Harry threw her hands up in frustration and turned away. Of course she was pleased about the collar, but it had only been two weeks since she'd come back to the job. The image of Dempsey lying dead in the mausoleum was still fresh in her imagination. He didn't seem to have learned anything from the experience. The problem was, nor did she. Pushing the unwelcome thoughts aside, she picked up her bag and headed for the door.
Dempsey looked up and saw his partner walking away. "Hey! Where you going?"
"Home," Harry said over her shoulder.
"Great, we can get a pizza, do the paperwork together."
"Alone."
Harry continued walking to her car, got in, turned the key in the ignition and drove away. Dempsey watched her go, a baffled expression on his face.
/
What's going on
It was dark in the office when Harry arrived the next evening. She'd spent the day in the Records archive tracking down paperwork about a white collar fraud case. She was exhausted and on the verge of a headache from peering at columns of numbers all day. Still, she'd spent the day on her own, away from the team, which, in the current circumstances, was more than adequate compensation.
She dumped her files on the cabinet and flicked on her desk light. Her shoulders were sore from stooping over documents and she was covered in dust. Linking her fingers together she pushed her palms out in front of her, trying to stretch some life back into her aching body.
That was when she saw it. The mug of coffee on his desk. The steam rising from it.
In a rush, Harry picked up her handbag and flung the strap over her shoulder. But she'd only made it half way to the door when she saw him coming through it.
A smile broke out on his face. "Evening, Princess. I'd given up on seeing you today."
"Yes, well. Here I am. And here I go."
"Whoa, not so fast!" Dempsey stood his ground in the doorway, blocking her path of escape. "You not going to tell me what you found in the Records room?"
"Can't it wait?" Harry's gaze was chasing around the office. For some reason, she didn't seem able to look at him.
"What's the matter? Got a hot date?" Their eyes met briefly but then both looked away. Dempsey opened his mouth as if to speak but nothing came out. He moved aside. "Yeah, yeah," he said, as Harry walked past. "None of my business." But her turned and watched as Harry left the office and carried on watching until she reached the end of the corridor and turned out of sight.
/
No words
A new case had come in and Spikings had just finished the team briefing. He watched the men – and Harry – as they dispersed around the squad room. Chas had picked up a stack of files and began paging through. Dave and Watson were shrugging into jackets in preparation for going out and tracking down a snout. And Dempsey and Makepeace were… on opposite sides of the room, not talking to each other, not even looking at each other as far as he could tell.
Spikings knew there were rumours about his two best detectives. Not surprising, really. He had eyes and had been a good detective himself once, before he got shunted up to the desk job. He knew how to read people, even people who kept their cards close to their chest like Makepeace, or people like Dempsey who threw distraction around like confetti. So he wasn't shocked that the two of them were hitting choppy waters. He just hoped they'd sort themselves out without taking too much time away from the job.
Harriet walked across to the filing cabinets and Spikings watched as she displayed an unusual interest in a poster about unattended baggage. She was tapping a finger against her hip. Suddenly she turned her gaze towards her partner, a look of such unhappiness on her face that it took away Spikings' breath.
Harry's glance at Dempsey lasted only a moment before her attention turned again to the poster on the wall. Spikings was wondering whether to go over and have a word when he saw Dempsey look up from the file he'd been studying and turn his eyes in Harry's direction. Oh oh, thought Spikings, as he saw Dempsey's look of uncertainty and confusion. By the time Spikings had blinked, Dempsey had flung his pen onto the desk and pushed back his chair. Muttering something about a man and a dog, he grabbed his jacket and headed for the door. What Dempsey didn't see, but Spikings did, was the way Harry's gaze clung to his back as he left the room.
/
Awkward encounter
Harry was opening a chilled bottle of Chablis when the doorbell rang. She wasn't expecting anyone, but smiled a little as she took down a second glass before going to answer the door.
"Oh," she said, as Spikings walked past her into the hallway.
"Expecting someone else?"
"Um, no. Not at all. Do come in," she said, and led him into the kitchen.
"Don't mind if I do," said Spikings, nodding towards the Chablis.
"Of course." Harry poured a glass for Spikings and one for herself, filling it almost to the brim. "So," she said. "To what do I owe this honour?"
Spikings took a large sip and nodded. "Good stuff. Naturally. Nothing but the best for you, eh, Lady Harriet?"
Harry threw a glance in his direction, as cool and dry as the Chablis.
"Yes, right," said Spikings. "Down to business." He took another slug of the wine and put the glass down on the kitchen counter. The fingers of one hand fiddled with the stem while he drummed the pocket of his waistcoat with the other. "Yes," he said, looking at the ceiling. "Business."
Harry lifted her own glass to her lips and resisted the urge to down the contents in one. She said, after swallowing a mouthful, "Should I be worried?"
"Worried? Oh no, nothing like that."
"Well, what is it, Sir? It's after eight in the evening and you have never previously paid me a visit in my own home."
"It's of a somewhat… delicate nature," said Spikings.
Harry felt an uncomfortable curling in the pit of her stomach. "Delicate, Sir?"
"Mm. Yes. About Dempsey. And you."
"Right." Harry looked at the kitchen counter and stopped herself from putting her hand to her temple.
"No one's been happier than me to have you back these last two weeks," said Spikings. "Well, maybe one person. But it will only work if you want it to work."
"Sir?" said Harry, uncertainly.
"I don't know what's happened between the two of you –"
"Nothing, Sir."
"– And I don't want to know, but if you can't work with him any more you only have to let me know and I will fix it."
Harry paused for a moment, then said carefully, "Thank you for your concern. But this is my problem and I will sort it out myself."
Spikings' eyes narrowed in doubt but he said, "OK. If you're sure." He finished his wine in one last gulp and put the glass back on the worktop. "Well, I think that's everything," he said. "I'll let you get on with your evening."
Harry showed him to the front door and Spikings caught her eye as he walked through. "Think on, girl. That's all I ask."
"Of course, Sir."
Spikings left and Harry closed the door firmly behind him. This had got to stop. If things didn't change, she'd seriously have to consider her future in the Met.
/
Silk and steel
It was the end of another frustrating day. She hadn't made any progress in locating the diamond necklace belonging to divorcee Genevieve Fisher, although she was confident Fisher's toyboy boyfriend had something to do with it.
"Why you so sure it's him?" Dempsey asked as they walked back into the squad room. "Could have been that housekeeper woman, or the guy who drives her car."
Harry could feel a headache coming on and rubbed at her forehead. Spikings' little visit the previous evening was still on her mind, as was the reason for it. She didn't feel any closer to solving any of it.
"Of course it was the boyfriend," she said as she dumped her bag on her desk and sank down in her chair. She'd taken against the man, Adrian Black, the moment she'd met him. He was a smoothly handsome young chap whose fawning admiration of Fisher was so evidently faked she was staggered that the intelligent older woman couldn't see through it.
Dempsey came towards her and rested his hip on the edge of her desk. He was standing in front of her, leaning over her a little, a mug of coffee at his lips and an intent look in his eye.
"You know, it could be genuine," he said. "This thing they have."
"There is no way it's genuine," Harry snapped. "What on earth would he see in her beyond her cheque book and her jewellery collection?"
Dempsey looked at her closely. "Ms Fisher is a well-preserved lady," he said, and held his hand up as Harry frowned. "Not my cup of coffee, of course, but she's well groomed and she's interesting company, plus she doesn't have the baggage of kids or a job so she can concentrate on being some young guy's ideal older woman. I can see why someone like Adrian Black could be interested."
"They're just too different!" Harry couldn't believe she and Dempsey were still having this conversation. "They have nothing in common! He's stuck around her long enough to get the code to the safe and now he's taken what he can get and if we're not careful he'll be gone before we can collar him."
Dempsey put his mug onto Harry's desk. Her cheeks were flushed and she seemed to be almost vibrating with frustration. He couldn't tear his eyes away.
"You know," he said quietly, leaning slightly closer, "my own mom and dad were very different from each other. My mom's family wanted a nice Italian boy for her. There weren't happy at all when she bought home my loud, Irish father. But she wouldn't be told. She fought for him, despite their differences."
"And don't tell me," Harry said drily. "They both lived happily ever after."
"Well not exactly."
"Thought not. And Genevieve Fisher and Adrian Black won't either."
Dempsey bent closer to her. "I still think it's the driver," he said near her ear. She closed her eyes at the feel of his breath on her skin. Dempsey continued, "And I'm one-hundred percent certain that Black's got the hots for Ms Fisher. Because I know from personal observation that opposites attract."
He lifted himself away from her desk and sauntered over to his own, leaving Harry with an uncomfortable feeling that she'd given Dempsey the advantage.
/
Hopeless case
The Fisher case had been closed. It wasn't Black, who'd shown his gratitude when the necklace had been recovered by buying his beloved a pair of earrings to match it. It wasn't the driver either. It turned out that the necklace had been taken by the housekeeper, to fund her secret gambling habit. The fact that neither Dempsey nor Makepeace's instincts had been correct had not helped their tempers.
Spikings was thinking about Ms Fisher when he became aware of raised voices in the outer office. The general babble of his team at work gradually receded as Dempsey's impatient tones became louder.
"Honestly, Princess, you have no idea!"
"I have no idea? How dare you!"
Spikings winced as the volume increased.
"I dare because I aint going to be taken in by your landed-gentry self-confidence. Where I come from you have to earn respect."
"Where you come from you'd have to steal it."
"There you go again! Can't admit I'm right so you start flinging insults around instead!"
"I haven't even begun to start flinging insults at you, Dempsey. You're arrogant, conceited and stubborn and the worst –"
"Enough!" Spikings flung open his office door and strode into the squad room. Everyone was silent. The tension from Dempsey and Makepeace was evident from their flashing eyes and angry breaths. "Makepeace, get yourself over to forensics to check whether anything's come in on that bank job. Dempsey, go with Chas to interview those last few witnesses."
No one moved. Spikings stared at his two best detectives, who were looking back at him furiously. "Now!"
Makepeace gathered up her things and left without a word. Dempsey opened his mouth to argue but the glare from Spikings was enough to change his mind. He grabbed his jacket and looked over at Chas. "What you waiting for?" he said as he pushed his way through the door, leaving Chas trailing reluctantly in his wake.
/
Off the market
Dempsey persuaded Chas to call it a night on the witness interviews and head into a local for a quick one. The were standing at the bar when a tall, striking brunette took a stool at the bar opposite, trying to catch the barmaid's eye. Dempsey felt Chas nudge him in the ribs.
"Looks like she's alone," said Chas, tilting his head in the brunette's direction. Dempsey glanced over. She was pretty enough, clothes that clung to her curvy shape, but he shook his head. "Not my type."
Chas's eyebrows raised. "What is your type then? Slim, blonde? Aristocratic? Good sense of humour and a liking for solving crimes?"
"Very funny."
"Seriously though. When did you last spend any time with a woman who wasn't Makepeace?"
Dempsey winced. The situation with Makepeace was getting out of hand. He'd wanted her since the first moment he'd seen her – those legs, those eyes, those lips – but she'd been clear that she only fished in far classier pools and he'd packed his attraction away into a box marked Too Complicated. For a while he'd been able to distract himself with other women and he'd had his share of flings, but none of the girls he'd been with had made him even half as happy as a day at the office with Makepeace.
Lately, he hadn't even bothered with the other women. It'd been months since he'd been on a date, longer than that even since he'd seen any serious action. He just couldn't muster up the enthusiasm needed get to know any new women, got bored with the idea of cruising a club or a casino to find someone who still wouldn't be as good for him as the one he couldn't have. What did it mean when the girl you considered your best friend, the person you wanted to spend all your time with, the one you respected and valued more than anyone else, was also the one you fancied the pants off? He really didn't want to examine the answer to that too closely, so he shoved it in the Too Complicated box and tied a ribbon round it and made do with Harry in his imagination. Which was why Chas's dig had hit so close to home.
"Pack it in, wise guy," Dempsey muttered. "Just cause you're off the market doesn't mean you can go meddling in everyone else's love life."
Chas shrugged. "Have it your way. But if you ask me, you leave it much longer and you'll have missed your chance."
Dempsey stared into the bottom of his pint glass. "I think my chance went missing about three years ago."
Chas pulled a sympathetic face and signalled to the barmaid for another couple of beers.
/
Decision time
Spikings' late-evening visit was replaying in Harry's head once again. He'd said he'd fix it if she didn't want to work with Dempsey any more. She'd said no, but she was no nearer fixing it for herself, so perhaps she should let someone else help.
But help how? Harry took a bottle of something sparkling from the fridge, popped the cork and poured herself a glass. She knew it wasn't great to be drinking alone but she was tempted by the idea of becoming a little blurry, of softening a few of her harder edges.
Harry knew she didn't want to leave the force. She'd tried it once and had missed it deeply; not as much as she'd missed Dempsey, but enough to know that she wanted her future to include policing.
The question was, would her future include Dempsey? Could she continue working alongside him, feeling as she did, knowing he didn't feel the same? And she was sure he didn't feel the same. Whatever attraction she might hold for him, it was superficial, based on his physical desires and nothing more.
And what if they did act on those desires and Dempsey turned out to be the same as her ex-husband? Her ex had enjoyed passionate, inventive sex, just not with her. He expected her to act like a lady, to lie back and think of England, and this, she acknowledged reluctantly, was not her style. When it came to Dempsey, maybe she'd be safer sticking to her fantasies.
Sighing, Harry topped up her flute and took another sip. The way things were going, she might not have a choice in the matter. She was trying so hard to stay strong but her defences around Dempsey were in tatters already. It wouldn't take much for him to breach them completely.
/