Author's note. Just a small two-chapter nonsense that sprung to my mind while reading a cross-over on another fanfiction site. I had fun writing it down; I hope you'll have fun reading it. PS: The second chapter will be uploaded this week.

16:04 – Chelsea.

'No, no, no! Damn it!' Detective Inspector Thomas Lynley looked around him but the man he was chasing was nowhere to be seen.

'Sir!'

His partner, Detective Sergeant Barbara Havers, stopped, out of breath, by his side. She was red and sweaty. Leaning forward, her hands on her knees, she tried to get her breath back.

'Where is he?' she panted.

'Gone! Disappeared! Vanished !' Lynley exclaimed, throwing up his hands in exasperation. He paced the dead end in long strides, failing to understand what he had missed.

'I thought you had a visual on him?' Barbara went on.

'I had a visual on him!' Tommy retorted angrily.

'Okay, just asking. Don't vent your frustration on me.'

Barbara didn't insist. When the inspector was like that, he was capable of discharging his bad mood on the first person at hand and, since she was usually around, she was often on the receiving end of his burst of anger. It was generally unfair and he usually ended up apologizing to her but that was not a reason to add fuel to the fire.

Tommy was still pacing. He went over the pursuit in his mind, trying to find when and where their suspect had escaped him.

Barbara and he had gone to talk to the employers of the latest victim, in search of the reason why a 41-year old cleaning lady had become the third victim of the latest serial-killer operating in London. They had found nothing of interest but, going out, they had seen a man in a suit watching them from the other side of the road. They had already seen him in the street where the first victim lived and Barbara had identified him among the onlookers at the second crime scene. Then, like today, they had tried to talk to him but the man had run away. But today, Tommy was determined to catch him. As soon as he'd spotted the man he'd crossed the road, nearly getting himself run over by a car, but the man had fled. Tommy had pursued him and he'd seen him turn into that dead end. But when he'd turned the corner no more than three seconds after his prey, Tommy had seen no one. The space in front of him had been surprisingly and totally empty.

Tommy contemplated the brick wall in front of him, evaluating its height. Four meters, maybe four and a half, he guessed. Could the man have jumped over it? Unlikely, not to say impossible. Tommy became aware of a noise behind him. Barbara was taping on the left wall at regular intervals.

'What are you doing?'

'I'm looking for a secret door.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'This is a dead end. Look around you, there's no door and your guy didn't fly over that wall unless he grew a pair of wings. Since you're sure he turned this way, there's only one explanation: there's a door hidden somewhere. So I sound the walls.'

Lynley stared at her, speechless.

'What?' she asked, a bit upset about his lack of reaction.

'I'm wondering, Havers, if I shall rejoice to see you taking initiatives or worry about your vivid imagination.'

'My vivid imagination?'

'You're sounding the walls to find a secret door. Can you tell me how such a ludicrous idea formed in your mind?'

'Logic. Rationality. Out-of-the-box thinking. You saw the guy ran this way, he's not here, there's no other way out that the road you and I took to arrive. What other explanation do you suggest?'

Lynley didn't answer.

'So? Shall I go on?'

'If you want,' he said with a sigh.

It's not that I want to do it, it's that has to be done and you're obviously not going to do it.

Barbara bit her lower lip. Some truths were better left untold.

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20 : 37 – New Scotland Yard

'Sir?'

Barbara looked up from her computer screen. Lynley was standing in front of her desk and was looking at her with an uneasy smile.

'What?' she asked icily.

'I just wanted to tell you how sorry I am for this afternoon. I was mean and rude.'

'Yes, you were.'

She wasn't going to make it easier for him. It was about time he learnt he couldn't go all condescending on her whenever he felt frustrated. Because the man got frustrated easily and often. She wanted to remain firm but found her resolution melt away under his gaze.

Oh, crap, not the puppy eyes. Don't, please, don't. That's not fair. You're too cute when you do that. Never been able to stay cross with you when you look at me that way.

She was about to relent when his mobile phone rang.

Saved by the bell, she thought.

'Lynley. Oh, Sandra, yes, give me a minute, I'm going back to my office.'

Barbara watched him leave, pensively.

Sandra. Sandra Otubo. Lynley's latest conquest. A black beauty with legs up to her neck. Lynley had told Barbara they had met at a charity gala at the Ritz. Rumour has it Sandra had dumped her boyfriend on the spot and disappeared straight away with Lynley in one of the hotel's best suites. Barbara doubted that last point. Given that Sandra was a paediatric surgeon and that the charity had been held to raise fund for her foundation, Barbara didn't believe she'd have jeopardized the gala to roll in the hay. Nah, they'd probably waited till the end of the event to go upstairs. Barbara had met Sandra briefly, one morning she had come to fetch Lynley at his home. She had been nice, even friendly but Barbara had been ill at ease with her. She exuded sensuality. When she had kissed Lynley goodbye, the sexual tension between them had been so intense Barbara had pretexted a phone call to make to leave the house hastily. She had never been so embarrassed with Helen Lynley. But things between Lynley and Sandra were so overtly sexual. She had no trouble imagining them in bed, black and white bodies entwined. What had he said that morning? That she had too much imagination? Yeah, probably she had. And it hurt sometimes.

He came back 20 minutes later. She took a sip of tea to compose herself and pulled a face. It was cold and bitter. Without knowing why she felt like crying.

'I was on the phone with the pathologist. He confirms it's the same MO as for the first two victims.'

'Which means ripped open rib cage and missing heart.'

'I'm afraid so.'

'By the way, how's Sandra?'

'What do you mean 'by the way'?! How can talking about someone who gruesomely kill people and steal their heart can possibly make you think of my girlfriend?'

'Er, I don't know. Honest. Maybe because she's a surgeon.'

'It doesn't look like surgery,' Lynley commented, looking at the photos of the victims pinned on the board. 'It's a butchery. The pathologist said the wounds looked as if they were done by the claws of some big beast.'

'Don't tell me they're in adamantium,' Barbara quipped. Seeing Lynley's vacant stare, she added: 'Nevermind.'

'Did you find a link between the victims? Do we know how he picks them?'

'Winnie's onto that but so far we've nothing.'

She got up and went to the board.

'Giny MacLeod, 67, retired hair-dresser, married, one son, two grand-children. Killed after disappearing from the park where she was playing with her grandchildren.'

Barbara pointed at the second photo.

'Patrick Caffrey, 17, student. Killed on his way to his girlfriend's. And, finally, Harriet Fowley, 41, cleaning lady, divorced, no child. Spent all her spare time volunteering in the Salvation Army. Killed just a hundred yard from her employer's house.'

'Three victims, three different profiles.'

'And three different locations: one in Brixton, one in Shoreditch and the last one in Chelsea.'

'So the only common factor seems to be this man.'

Lynley pointed at the photograph of a white man in his mid- to late-thirties. He was tall and very slim, and had short brown hair.

'Anything on him?' he asked Barbara.

'Only two things: he runs fast and can vanish into thin air.'

'Very funny, Havers.'

'I'm doing my best, sir.'

'I'll get in touch with the press liaison officer. I want the photo of this man in the press and on TV. We need to find him.'

'Do you think he's the killer? He doesn't look like one.'

Lynley frowned and she went on:

'Yeah, I know, that's not a valid criterion but I don't see him as a killer. Though I've got the feeling he can be dangerous. Strange, isn't it?'

Lynley considered her for a few seconds. Over the years he'd learnt to trust his partner's instinct but with three vicious crimes on his hands he couldn't afford to ignore the facts and the facts were that this man had been seen around each crime scenes.

'I think we'd better call it a day. We put in long hours lately and we're both tired. I can't think straight. Do you want a lift home?'

'Nah, it's OK, I'll take the tube. I've some shopping to do before going home.'

'As you wish. Goodnight then.'

''night, Sir.'

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21:53 Chalk Farm

Carrying her bags of frozen dishes, Barbara turned into her street. The night was dark, well, as dark as it could be in London, and everything was calm. In the houses lining the street, she could catch the glimpse of flickering blue lights. The inhabitants of Chalk Farm were at home, watching TV at the end of another working day. Just two yards to go and she'd be home too. She'd never resented going home to an empty house. Life at her parents' at been so strenuous emotionally, especially at the end, she'd been relieved to have somewhere of her own. But sometimes she thought it'd be nice to go home to someone. She smiled as she remembered the spring in Lynley's steps as he had left her earlier. It was so obvious that he was looking forward to his evening with Sandra. Barbara modified her grip on the handles of the bags; they seemed heavier suddenly and she felt tired. Just one yard to go now, then a quick dinner, a good night's sleep and she'd be ready to face another day at work. Not that work was a problem. It has not been since she started working with Lynley. Going to work wasn't difficult because of him. Actually it was spending long hours without him that she dreaded. And it has become worse lately. His new love interest has not arranged things in that matter. She wanted him to be happy and he seemed happy with Sandra so really she should be happy for him she kept repeating to herself. But she wasn't. She didn't really like Sandra.

'You're jealous, old girl, admit it,' the little voice in her head told her. 'Sandra's gorgeous, she's got brains and she's got Lynley. The first two things you'd be able to forgive her but the third? Till when are you going to pretend you don't want Tommy for you? You want his lips on yours, you want his hands on your skin, you want…'

'RUN!'

Barbara froze and dropped her bags. Their suspect, the man who had escaped them this morning was running in her direction, screaming. It took a couple of seconds for her brain to understand that the man was ordering her to turn back and run away. At that time he was already by her side. He took her hand and dragged her along.

'I'm a police officer and …,' she started.

'Run! She's right behind me and she's here for you!' the man screamed back.

Barbara threw a glance above her shoulder and nearly missed her footing. Behind them was a woman with a sallow complexion, long black hair and way too much teeth in her mouth. Barbara took her decision in a split second: she started to run as fast as she could. Next to her the man seemed to be enjoying himself.

'She's a beauty! Really! We're lucky!'

'Lucky!?'

'This way!'

They turned into an alleyway. A door opened and without knowing where she was heading Barbara followed the man inside.

'Who's she? Who are you?' she yelled at the man who closed the door behind them.

He turned a grinning face to her:

'She's a Melthryn and I'm the Doctor.'