Mirror, Mirror

Chapter 1

"Mr Temple? Telephone call for you."

Connor Temple dusted his hands on his already sand coloured trousers and stood up. His back ached, his eyes hurt and his mouth was dry from the incessant hot wind that blew sand, dust and grit everywhere he wished it wasn't. Palaeontology wasn't quite so much fun when you had to dig for your specimens.

There was no way round it, of course: he had to get some field experience if he wanted his degree and, unfortunately, actually going back beyond the KT boundary in person didn't count. He reached the sturdy, sand-stained tent that served as a base and pulled back the flap.

"It's a Ms Lewis, Mr Temple," said the weather-worn secretary as he walked in, her tone matronly and disapproving, "calling from London."

Connor tried smiling at the secretary, in the hope that she would let him answer his call in private, but was ignored. He decided to ignore her as well: there wasn't much else he could do.

"Jenny! How nice to hear your dulcet tones!" Connor's voice was bursting with false enthusiasm.

"No time for pleasantries Connor: this phone call is costing us a fortune. We're sending a plane out for you. It's a military personnel carrier. It should be with you in approximately two hours."

"Two hours? That's quick!"

"It left some time ago. It just took us this long to find out where you were, then find a phone number for you!"

"But..."

"Never mind that. You have two hours to get your stuff together and get back to Sana'a Airport. We've cleared a runway for the jet. Your cover story is that your father is a high ranking member of British Intelligence. We have reason to believe that his identity has become leaked and you may be the target of a kidnap attempt. We're flying you home for your own protection."

"Why does my father get to be the one with the exciting, hidden life: why can't it be me for a change?"

"Firstly, Connor: it is you and the truth rarely makes a good lie. Secondly, Connor: a good lie has to be plausible! See you soon."

She had hung up before he could reply. Of course, she was right: nobody would believe that he was the one with his name on an Official Secrets Act somewhere. Even his best friends hadn't believed him capable of that. He frowned as he remembered how that affair had turned out. Maybe if he had been more capable, Tom would still be alive.

His frown increasing, he handed the receiver back to the glowering secretary and made his way out of the tent. It would take more than an hour over rough terrain to get back to Sana'a from the dig site, and another half hour to cross the town and double back to it's airport, although you could probably save some time by cutting across town in the suburbs. Maybe there was a quicker way than that. Connor shook his head and started scanning the dig site for the elderly palaeontology professor who had agreed to take over from Cutter in his tuition. Finally spotting him on the far side of the dig, he made his way over there.

XXXXXX

"Cutter!" Jenny shouted through the letter box of the ageing, detached, Early Victorian town house. "CUTTER!"

No answer was the loud reply.

Sighing, rolling her eyes and leaning back on her high heels, Jenny shook her head, glanced back at her car, decided it would be perfectly safe, weather and dinosaurs permitting, in this neighbourhood, and picked her way through the cracked paving and overgrown garden to the rear of the building. The front door had been locked, possibly double locked, but that didn't mean the back door would be.

After a somewhat hazardous approach across weed-broken slabs that threatened to trap and snap her heels at any minute, Jenny reached the plain, wooden door that led into the kitchen at the rear of the house. From the window it looked as though, while still visibly lived in, the kitchen got just about as much attention as the garden.

She tried the door.

It was locked.

Now what?

Jenny scanned the area around the door for a handy protruding lintel or worn out doormat that might hide a spare key, but found nothing. She did notice a light on in an upstairs window though: that meant he was in there at least, but presumably not conscious enough to have noticed the daylight beaming through the same window. She sighed. She hated having to do this. It wasn't so much the fact that didn't really want people to know she could do it: it was the fact that she as going to have to redo her hair, and probably her nails, when she did. Jenny Lewis didn't mind surprising people: she just hated having to ruin an expensive manicure to do it.

She retrieved a couple of long, pointed pins from her tightly coiled French roll. It didn't fall out. That was a good sign: perhaps it wouldn't. Lowering herself to eye level with the ancient lock, she allowed herself the positive thought that at least it was more likely to be a quick task and she wouldn't get cramp in her legs from the awkward, crouching position they had to be to stop her putting her knee through her tights.

She was right: it was a quick job. Just four parts to slide into place and the lock clicked open. It was just like that summer in Avignon.

Straightening up and dusting herself down, she replaced the pins as close to where they had been as she could remember and opened the door.

The air inside was dry and stale. It rushed to greet her like a puppy that had been shut in a room for too long. The house was quiet: sleeping, like its only occupant. Closing the door behind her, Jenny made her way through the kitchen to the main hallway of the house and turned to climb the stairs. A photograph caught her eye: Nick, Helen and Stephen posing with one of Cutter's books. All three were smiling in the picture. Jenny wondered how long ago it was taken and whether any of those smiles were as false as the one she had given when she had told Cutter that they wouldn't need him for a while, that he should go home and get some rest: take some time off to grieve properly. That was just a month ago. She had neither seen nor spoken to Nick Cutter since and she wondered if it had been remiss of her not to check in with him occasionally.

She reached the top of the winding staircase and suddenly realised that she had let herself lose her point of reference: she could no longer be certain in which direction the lit window lay. Glancing to left and right, she started trying doors at random. The first was a cupboard. Then a bedroom: Nick's judging by the clutter. Then the bathroom. Then another bedroom, presumably a spare one since it lacked any form of personality. Finally, she opened the door to the lit room. It was a study of sorts: the walls lined with bookshelves, some of which held skulls or bones, others fossils still embedded in their rocky tombs, others supporting jars of pickled specimens that looked as though they had come straight from the dissecting labs, still more carrying photographs of people, dig sites or yet more skeletons, and the lower shelves holding legions of box files. The books were stacked in haphazard piles on the floor. She had thought his office at the university had been bad, but that had been paradise compared to this!

Giving her mind a moment to sort through the rubble, she eventually spotted its owner in the midst of it. He had his back to her, his head resting on a pile of papers in front of him, a computer keyboard, hanging precariously over the edge of the desk, by his elbow. She walked over to him, then stopped suddenly. On the windowsill beyond there was a photo frame. Tucked into the side of the frame, almost completely obscuring the picture behind it, was a photograph of herself and Nick Cutter. Only it wasn't her. It was like her: the woman in the picture was identical to her in every way except her clothes and hairstyle. Her hair was lighter too: Jenny's natural colour rather than the chic dark brown she paid her hairdresser so much money for. She reached over and lifted the photograph out of the frame, peering at it closely. It must be her: Claudia, the woman he had spent so much time getting her mixed up with, and who Helen had seemed to recognise in her too.

Nick stirred and Jenny glanced up, dropping the photo. She looked back to the photo frame, curious to see who or what had been replaced by this mysterious woman. She tilted her head to one side to get a better view. The photograph was old. It was a wedding photograph: the bride and groom smiling happily at each other. She realised with a shock that it was Nick and Helen's wedding photograph.

Shaking her head and reminding herself that she was here for a reason, Jenny turned back to Nick.

"Cutter," she said softly. He stirred, but slept on. She tried again, this time a little louder. "Cutter!"

Still nothing.

Jenny sighed, frowning down at the sleeping enigma before her. He was such a puzzle: rash and emotional sometimes, coolly rational and steady at others. And brave: how much courage had it taken to stand there in that room full of predators and not panic? And now this new piece of the puzzle: Claudia was real. She hadn't seen that one coming. She had always believed the story of Claudia Brown to be just a figment of his vivid imagination, but now that she had proof that the woman was real, did it mean that his story was too? If it was: how much more did she only think she knew about the real Nick Cutter?

She brushed the messy hair back from his forehead.

"Nick," she said, letting her hand fall to his shoulder and shaking him until he started to come round. "Nick, wake up."

"Wha... Claudia? What..." Nick Cutter pushed himself up from the desk and rubbed a hand across his eyes, then looked up and flushed in embarrassment. "Jenny! Sorry: must've dropped off. What's the matter? Has Lester fallen out with his new pet mammoth?"

"Let's just say we need you back, sooner than expected. Connor has been called in too."

"What about Abby?"

"Relatively easy to find and not a priority at present: you weren't answering your calls and Connor's a little further afield than usual at present."

"Oh, yeah, the dig. I wonder how Professor Sanderson's finding Connor's conspiracy theories out in Yemen."

"He isn't. At least, not any more. By now Connor should be finding his way onto a plane straight home."

"I thought there weren't any commercial airlines that were flying direct to London from Yemen just now?"

"Who said anything about commercial. Now you go and have a shower, please, and get changed and I will go downstairs, locate something that resembles a coffee machine, and make you some coffee."

"It's by the sink," Nick muttered, getting to his feet. "Mugs and coffee in the cupboard up above. No milk, no sugar."

"I shall find them, don't worry: now go!"

Jenny watched Nick stumble off in the direction of his bedroom, closing the door behind himself when he got there. She bent down and retrieved the photo of Nick and Claudia, replacing it carefully in its original position, then turned and headed out of the room and back down the stairs.

The kitchen was sparsely furnished and the fridge was empty: if there ever had been any milk, it had gone off and been thrown away. She sighed: she would have to wait until she got back to the ARC to make herself a cup: she'd paid too much for the porcelain enamel on her teeth to risk ruining it with coffee stains. Locating the coffee, mugs and coffee machine was easy: they were the only things in the kitchen that seemed to undergo any regular use, other than the freezer and microwave. She heard water gurgling through the pipes as she waited on the machine and realised with relief that Nick had followed her orders regarding the shower.

As the coffee machine began to gurgle itself, she let herself mentally tick off things on a to do list.

First: Ensure that Captain Beckett and his team were fully aware of case details and their orders.

Second: Get Connor back from field trip.

Third: Get update from Beckett and pass on to Lester

Fourth: Get Cutter back.

Fifth: Ensure Cutter is fully briefed on the case before taking any further steps

That was the difficult one: this wasn't exactly a straightforward case and he was probably going to have asked her a dozen questions before she'd even got past the first part!

XXXXXX

It was good to be home. Connor dropped his bags happily then turned round and shut the sliding door. He'd still have the stairs to negotiate with the two heavy holdalls, but at least he was home now. He turned, hearing footsteps and preparing a silly grin with which to shout "surprise", but as soon as he did so his smile faded. The footsteps hadn't belonged to Abby: instead it turned out that they belonged to a tall, tanned, muscle-bound guy wearing nothing more than a towel and an impressive set of abs.

Connor swore inwardly and started mentally kicking himself for disappearing half way round the world for a month. Just as he was beginning to feel he should probably say something, Abby appeared at the top of the stairs.

"Connor!" Abby's voice suddenly filled the vacuum-like silence. She was definitely surprised, Connor thought, but was she glad?

"Abby!" Connor replied, trying to regain some of the cheerfulness he had felt a few moments earlier. "Surprise!"

Abby hurried down the steps and stopped short beside the be-towelled guy, who was now looking awkwardly from Abby to Connor and back again.

"Who's your friend?" Connor asked, gritting his teeth into a forced smile.

"My friend? Oh... Yes.. This is Sam. He's an old friend. Used to work at the zoo for a while. Went to uni. Been out in Trinidad. Just back. Needed somewhere to stay. That's all." Abby was aware she was blurting everything out way too fast, but for some reason she couldn't quite stop herself.

"Oh, so he's staying... Here? With us? Well... With you... I guess..."

"I, um... I said he could have your room. Just while you were away, you know? Couldn't have him sleeping on the sofa when there was a bed going spare. You weren't due back for another two weeks..."

"Oh... My bed..." Connor's voice bizarrely brightened a little: he'd never been so pleased to hear he didn't have a room to come home to. "I guess I'll be taking the sofa then."

He grinned again: this time it was genuine. Abby grinned back apologetically.

"Sorry: I'll bring you some bedding down."

"No worries," Connor said, cheerfully, picking up his bags again. "It's better than a camp bed and it'll save me lugging these things up those stairs. It took us long enough to get them down here in the first place!"

Abby grinned back again and suddenly the bags felt a bit lighter.

"I think I'll go and get dressed," said Sam, suddenly breaking the new silence that had grown.

Abby glanced back over her shoulder as he disappeared up the stairs then looked back to Connor.

"Cup of tea?" She asked.

"Love one!"

He watched her disappear off to the kitchen, then dragged the two bags over to the sofa in the middle of the various vivariums. Letting the bags fall, he collapsed back onto the sofa and laughed. He heard a chirping from above and looked up to see Rex gliding down in a spiral from one of the rafters. The lizard landed gently on the sofa beside him, looked up at him and chirped again, then dug his head under Connor's hand.

"He's missed you," said Abby as she arrived with two steaming mugs of tea.

"Bet he's the only one!" Connor laughed as she handed him his mug and sat down on the sofa, avoiding Rex's happily curling and uncurling tail.

"Don't be silly, 'course he's not!" Abby laughed in return.

Suddenly there was silence again. An awkward silence that took their memories back months to a cliff top maybe millions of years in the future. It was a silence that was difficult to break.

"I'll go see if Sam knows how long he'll be here," Abby said suddenly, breaking her gaze and getting to her feet. She hurried off up the stairs without a backward glance.

Connor mentally swore at himself again. Why could he never bring himself to say anything that mattered? Not at the right time anyway.

He sighed and set the mug down on a nearby table, lifting his hand up off of a protesting Rex who proceeded to head butt his knee in an attempt to get his attention.

"Well, looks like that was it, Rex: the big hello and welcome back, it's great to see you Connor I've really missed you..." Rex growled at his sarcastic tones and Connor relented a little.

"I know mate: you've missed me. And you're not the only one, apparently. Just wish I knew what to do about that..." Connor's voice trailed off as he thought through the short conversation he'd just had with Abby, replaying it in his mind to get every little detail right. A chirp from Rex brought him back to the present and reminded him that he should be paying attention to Rex now, in reparation for going off and leaving him for a month. He grinned down at the little lizard.

"These clothes aren't going to wash themselves, mate," Connor told Rex seriously, leaning down to pull another bag out of the inside of one of the holdalls. "And believe you me: they definitely need washing. Come on: let's see if we can persuade that old bucket of bolts in there to work for us."

Dragging the bag with him, Connor made his way through to the kitchen and the washing machine. Rex flapped silently along behind him, landing on top of the front loader and watching with interest as he tipped the contents of the bag into the machine, picking out a few items that might end up the wrong colour if they were to stay and throwing them back into the bag.

"Now then, Rex: we add the detergent, like so," he poured liquid detergent into the drawer of the washer, "press the button for a forty wash, turn the dial past the delay bit and press go."

Connor pressed the power button on the front of the machine.

The light came on. The machine stayed silent.

"Right. The door's shut, the right buttons are pressed and not pressed, the dially thingy's at the right bit, the stuff's in the drawer and the drawer is closed. It is closed right, isn't it Rex?" Rex examined the drawer and chirped at it. "So why isn't it going now?"

The sounds of laughter floated down from the stairs and Connor looked up to see Abby and Sam walking down laughing over some photos.

"You might need to give it whack, Conn," Abby called back over her shoulder as the two carried on through to the sofa. "It's been on the blink again. I'll have to get someone in to take a look at it."

"Oh, I could take a look if you like," Sam muttered to Abby as they walked away. "I'm a dab hand with washing machines these days."

"Oh, he's a dab hand with washing machines these days," Connor mimicked quietly to Rex.

Another peal of laughter rang out from the sofa. Connor brought his hand down on top of the machine, narrowly missing Rex, who growled at him reproachfully. The washing machine started going.

"Oh, sorry, mate," Connor said, looking down at Rex.

The lizard chirped at him, flicked his crest and curled up on top of the rumbling washing machine.

"I suppose that's what it feels like to sleep though a gorgonopsid rampage," Connor muttered, his eyes drifting over to the sofa where Abby and Sam still giggled over photographs. Suddenly Abby glanced up, catching him watching. His cheeks flushing, Connor turned away quickly, busying himself with picking up his washing bag and trying to think of something to do next to avoid going back through to the sofa to get his cup of tea.

Just then his phone buzzed. At the same time, he heard the familiar sound of Abby's phone ringing. He answered his and turned to see her answering her own. It was the ARC. They were being called in. He hung up and raced through to the sofa, grabbing his jacket off the top of his holdall.

"Sorry, got to go," he called, making his way for the door.

"Work," Abby explained as she followed Connor to the door, leaving Sam looking both surprised and confused by the sudden burst of simultaneous action.

They got to the mini and both headed for the drivers door.

"My car, Connor: I drive!"

"But you always get to drive! I've been driving over deserts this past month, I'll have you know!"

"My car, my keys!" Abby's face jutted forwards in determination: she trusted Connor with her beloved Mini about as much as she trusted him with a tranquilizer gun!

"Fine!" Connor threw up his hands in defeat. "Some things never change!"