Author's note: all usual disclaimers apply. Technically the end of this chapter is M-rated but from trying to explain the emotions, not salaciousness.

Detective Inspector Tommy Lynley thumped his steering wheel. "This traffic is insane!"

His passenger was used to his outbursts. Barbara Havers nodded and tried not to smile. "Must be an accident up ahead or something."

"An acute observation Sergeant. No wonder you're a detective."

"It's not my fault. Running late for some toffy dinner are we?"

"No. I don't have plans. I just hate waiting."

"So, do you want to play I Spy to keep your mind off it?"

"Oh very funny. I think we can... Now, what?"

This time, Barbara did chuckle as she fished her chirping mobile from her bag. "Havers."

"See if they know what's happened up ahead."

Barbara waved her hand in the air to quieten her boss. "Sorry Winston, can you say that again? ... Right... No, there's no way. We're stuck on the A22 near Ashurst Wood. There's some sort of delay. We haven't moved more than 50 metres in the last half hour... Yeah, we thought as much. Hang on I'll ask." Barbara turned to her boss. "Someone's phoned in a murder north of London. Hillier wanted us apparently, but we can't make it from here. Winston asked whether Miller and Baker would be okay or if they should send a more experienced team."

"Miller and Baker are ready," Tommy said without hesitation.

"Winston? Yeah, they can go. Make them earn their dough."

Barbara smiled as Tommy and Winston groaned in stereo. "Any idea what the hold up is on the road? Yeah... Okay, thanks. I may not tell my driver that. Thanks... Yeah, see you tomorrow."

"What are we missing?"

"Not sure. Winston didn't have details. Just said a murder. An apparently a lorry lost its load of pipes up ahead. We might be here a while."

It was three hours before he pulled into the carpark. Everyone in the building seemed unusually sombre. Barbara glanced at Tommy. "Something doesn't feel right."

"You sensed it too? Let's get upstairs and see what's going on."

As soon as they entered the room, Barbara knew something bad had happened. The new female constable who Barbara thought was sweet on Sergeant Miller was sitting on a chair outside the squad room being comforted by another young constable who had only joined the team a few weeks ago.

"Ah, good!"

They turned to see Winston hurrying towards them. "The AC wants to see you both immediately."

Barbara and Tommy exchanged puzzled glances and followed Winston back to the lift. Winston could not maintain eye contact and stood silently. Tommy pushed out of the lift and strode to Hillier's office. "What's going on?" he demanded.

Hillier looked up. "There was a murder at Hampstead Heath. When you were delayed coming back from Eastbourne, we despatched Sergeants Miller and Baker. When they arrived on scene they were ambushed. Miller was stabbed three times and died at the scene. Baker was... beheaded with a machete."

"Oh my God!" Barbara felt her knees go weak and she leant against a chair.

Tommy looked across at her; pain etched on his face. "I sent them."

"No point in feeling like that. Anybody who went would have died."

"Did they catch them?"

"Not yet but a terrorist group claimed responsibility. Counter-terrorism has the lead on this."

"What can we do?" Barbara asked.

"Nothing tonight Sergeant. I'm sending everyone home who's not essential. I suggest you two get going but come in early. We might be needed."

"Of course, Sir," Tommy replied.

Outside the office, he grabbed Winston by the arm. "Winston, is there something you're not telling me?"

"No," the newly-appointed sergeant said, "it's just that I nominated Miller and Baker. I should have gone."

"There's no point in recriminations like that Winston," Barbara said firmly. "If we had been back, it would have been us. It's no one's fault but the terrorists, and if we blame ourselves, they win."

Lynley smiled at her. "Barbara's right Winston. Now go home and get some rest. If you need to talk, ring me."

"Thanks," Winston said, "I know you're right but... well, it's hard not to feel responsible."

In a move that surprised Barbara, Tommy embraced Winston and hugged him. She was even more shocked when Winston hugged him back. She swallowed hard and held back her tears.

After they had bundled Winston into a cab, Barbara turned to her boss. "Fancy a drink?"

Tommy shook his head. "I don't think that'd be good for me tonight, but if you want to go, I think some of the team have gone to the Lion's Head."

"What are you going to do?"

"See that everyone's okay then go home."

"Right." Barbara tried hard to make sure her disappointment did not show. She did not want to go home alone where she would brood on things.

"Barbara, are you okay?"

"Me? Yes. Yes of course. Well, I'll see you tomorrow then." As Barbara walked away, she could feel his eyes burning into her back.

"Barbara! Wait!" Tommy hurried down the corridor.

She turned. "What?"

"I would like that drink with you, but... would it sound strange to ask if we can go to Belgravia? I don't want to be with people."

Barbara nodded. "Me either but I don't want to be alone."

In the car, neither of them spoke. Tommy looked tense, and Barbara worried that he might drink far too much. Despite knowing he was not to blame, she knew he still felt partially responsible. She also felt culpable. It had been her insistence in re-interviewing the final witness that had delayed their departure from Eastbourne. If they had left on time, they would have been ahead of the accident and back in time to take the call. They could be lying side by side in the morgue now instead of Miller and Baker. She looked across at Tommy who gave her a tight-lipped smile. More than culpable she felt guilty for being glad they were both alive.

At his house, Barbara had hung her bag and coat in his hall and slipped off her shoes. She was relieved that her socks were relatively new and her toenails had not worn through the top of them. She should cut her toenails more often.

Tommy put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a quick, reassuring squeeze. "I have a beer in the kitchen or an open bar."

"Whatever you're having."

Tommy guided her into his study. They usually sat in his kitchen or formal reception room when she visited, and it felt odd to be in his private rooms. She gazed around. The room was typically Tommy. One wall was lined with mahogany built-in bookshelves. On the left were rows of neat books, many of them quite old and bound in red or green leather. Barbara could imagine their smell and wondered how many were valuable first editions. It seemed the sort of thing Lynley would invest in. On the right were books of different sizes, shapes and colour. Some had shiny dust covers, and others had cloth spines in red or black or blue, peppered with the odd green or orange. Unlike the older ones that were sorted neatly by colour and size, these appeared haphazard. It seemed so unlike her boss to have such discordant shelves. There was not one paperback in sight.

She turned to look behind the open door. A large, well-worn and saggy Chesterfield was pushed up against the wall underneath a painting of a black horse. The brush strokes brought out the power of the animal. "Cornish Magic. He belonged to my grandfather," Tommy said as he walked towards her. "Here's your drink."

Barbara took the glass and tried not to look shocked. She had expected Scotch. Even though it was not her preferred drink, she knew it was Tommy's favourite. She took a sip of the dark drink then looked at his glass. It too was filled almost to the brim with at least three Black Russians. She imagined he thought politely pouring one drink at a time was a waste when they both needed a quick hit from something strong. She continued to stare at the horse. "He's beautiful."

"Sit down. Make yourself at home."

Barbara sat on the Chesterfield at the opposite end to Tommy. She continued to look around the room. Large windows dominated one side. Heavy velvet curtains in deep maroon were tied back with thick, gold, knotted cords. A large, ornately carved mahogany desk faced the window. It was bare except for a leather blotter and matching pen holder. It seemed so quaint. Barbara was surprised there was no quill lying next to a dusty bottle of ink. The last long rays of dusk fell softly across the desk and spilt onto the maroon and gold carpet. The room reminded Barbara of a West End theatre.

She stood up and wandered across to the window and looked out. The room faced the street. She drank down the last of her drink, surprised her glass was almost empty. "You seem restless," Tommy said as he came up behind her.

"I am. I don't know what I should feel." Barbara could not look at him for fear her emotions might show.

Tommy drained his glass and put it on his desk beside hers. "Certainly not remorseful, although it's hard not to when it should have been us. But I made the call. It should be me, not you, that feels guilty."

"Do you?"

"Yes, but I feel guiltier for being grateful it wasn't us."

"But we might have spotted something. It might not have happened."

"Barbara, we'll never know, but I'm happy it wasn't us." He put his hand on her shoulder as they continued to look out the window.

"Me too."

"When you were shot... it was the worst feeling." Barbara resisted a glib reply. Instead, she reached up and touched his hand. "I couldn't have..."

"I know." Barbara spun around and put her finger on his lips. She understood exactly, especially after watching Helen killed in front of him. And Barbara had imagined all evening how horrid it would have been to see him beheaded. She would have welcomed them stabbing her. Words could not describe the pain she felt at the thought of losing him. She saw the same emotions mirrored in his eyes.

She would never be sure who initiated the kiss, but it was hungry and urgent. She had always imagined kissing Tommy would be soft and tender. Instead, it was raw, almost brutal. She sensed Tommy, like her, wanted to make love slowly and savour the moment, but they tore frantically at each other's clothes, removing the bare minimum, before tumbling onto the sofa. It groaned under their weight and movement. Tommy moved with speed and desperation, and Barbara was shocked when she cried out his name. A decade of unrequited love, anger and anguish was released in one enormous rush. She screamed incoherently. Tommy stopped moving. She opened her eyes to see him looking at her. His eyes revealed the same torrent of conflict and confusion. She smiled then reached up and pulled him down. She kissed him savagely, and he began to move again, slower but harder. She felt his body tense. She expected him to climax as violently as she had moments before. In contrast to his earlier movements, his body stilled. Barbara could hear their breathing in the silence. Tommy exhaled in an extended sigh. Neither of them moved. Barbara wondered what happened and just as she went to speak she felt him twitch inside her. She opened her eyes and stared straight into his soul. She felt every minute movement as he filled her body with his seed and she clamped around him, milking him dry. "Oh God, Tommy! Tommy!"

Barbara had never experienced a sensation quite like what just happened. On the one hand, it had been a purely physical release, but on the other, she felt loved in a way she could not explain. It was as if he had filled a void she had not known existed but which would now dominate her life if he took that love away. Barbara clung to him, digging her fingers into his back through his shirt. Tommy kissed her. This time, it was gentle and although she could not say it was without passion, it felt much more about love and connection than physical urges. It was a kiss she could imagine being repeated in his car or on her doorstep at night. Tommy helped her from the couch. She pulled up her pants, but he made no attempt to do up his or tuck himself away. Instead, he took her hand and led her upstairs. He kissed her again as they slowly undressed each other. For not the last time that night, they made love. This time, it was unhurried and gentle.