Alex swallowed her last mouthful of egg, bacon and fried bread, and put her knife and fork down on the empty plate which had recently contained her full English breakfast. "Mmmm, that was delicious," she commented, wiping her mouth with her napkin. Gene looked on in approval as she took a sip of tea and then reached for the toast and marmalade.

"I can't remember the last time I enjoyed food so much," Alex continued, buttering her piece of toast. "Honestly, I don't believe it, I feel so much better after…last night…" She paused, glancing at him a little shyly.

He smirked cheerfully at her. "Stands to reason, Bolly. The Gene Genie refreshes the parts other DCIs cannot reach."

She giggled a little, but then frowned. "Listen Gene, I've been thinking - "

"God 'elp me," he remarked, still smiling.

"Gene, be serious for a minute. You know these two women we're going to see today?"

"Yes?"

"I think it would be better if I spoke to them on my own, you know, just one-to-one."

"Wot?" He frowned. "Why? We've both come up here to see them."

"Yes, I know that… I just think that they'd feel more comfortable with another woman. It's not as if it's a formal interview, they've already done all that. This is just to try and glean some more information, and I think they'd open up much more in an all-female situation."

"Fine – you have your girly chat with 'em, if you like, but I've got questions of my own. Don't forget who's leading this investigation." He was feeling slightly annoyed now: why was she springing this nonsense on him at this stage?

She sighed and began to explain to him. "Yes, you are leading this investigation, but that doesn't mean you have to do everything yourself. This is my field of expertise, Gene, and I really don't think questioning by a man would be appropriate right now. Trust me. These women have been through a horrifying ordeal, you know that."

"Of course I know that!" He found her tone of weary patience distinctly irksome. He'd read the files just as well as she had, hadn't he? He knew the disturbing factor that linked these crimes - after raping the women, their attacker had viciously slashed their genital area with a sharp weapon. That was what had alerted them to the fact that the attack on their patch might be connected with those in Nottingham. He'd been over every detail, several times over. Now she was talking to him as though he was simple. "I know what level of sick scum we're dealing with here!" His voice grew louder.

"There's no need to shout at me!" Alex rejoined, half angry, half hurt. Why was he behaving like this? Less than an hour ago he'd been so tender… giving… now he was back to the angry Neanderthal she'd encountered months ago. Why wouldn't he listen? "I do know what I'm talking about!"

To think that he'd missed arguing with her. God, he'd forgotten just how infuriating she could be. He switched on the sarcasm. "Oh, do you? Well, bloody excuse me, but I am the senior officer here, and I'll do it how I sodding well like!" He rose to his feet, swiping his jacket off the back of the chair. "Go and pack your stuff, I'll see you by the car." He strode off out of the restaurant without a backward glance.

They sat in the car in stiff silence, heading towards the police station in Nottingham city centre. The heavy morning traffic did nothing to improve Gene's mood. Alex glanced at his stubborn profile and bit her lip. She was still hurt from his dismissal of her suggestion, but perhaps confrontation was not the best way to bring him round. She tried to speak reasonably. "Gene, will you think about what I said? You know I've been right before…"

He did know it, and that was what annoyed him – that, coupled with the patronising tone she persisted in using. He felt half inclined to assent to her proposal but pride prevented him. "Say what you want, Bollykecks, but it's not how I do things. You'll see when we get there," he replied, and set his face into such a fearsome scowl that she did not dare make any further argument.

They parked at the police station and were met by the front desk by their equivalents in the Nottingham force. Gene looked them over, appraising. DCI Jim Bordon was a smallish man in his fifties, moustached and grey. A bit world-weary, Gene thought. Next to him stood a taller man, about Alex's age, thin and bespectacled. Gene took in his smart suit and tightly-buttoned collar with the beginnings of dislike: this one seemed a bit too proper and clean-cut for his liking. Jim introduced him as his DI, Andrew Lambert, and they shook hands.

Gene was taking no prisoners. "My esteemed DI here," he indicated Alex, "has dreamed up the idea that she should talk to these women on her own. A nice little girly chat over a coffee - "

If Lambert picked up Gene's sarcastic tone he gave no sign of it. "What an excellent idea," he replied, addressing himself to Alex. "I'm sure that would be much more comfortable for them than a formal interview." Gene's dislike of the man increased exponentially.

Alex beamed back at Lambert, ignoring Gene. "Do you have anywhere suitable that we could use?" she asked. "Rather than an interview room?"

Lambert grimaced. "Well, nowhere ideal, I'm afraid, but you're welcome to use my office. It's quite private; would you like to come and have a look?"

"Oh, that would be great…"

Gene looked even more furious at having the rug pulled from under his feet in this way and opened his mouth to object, but Bordon stepped in first. "Well, Andrew seems to have that in hand, now, if I can just fill you in on some new developments in the case…" Gene was fuming, but Alex and Lambert were already heading off, and he didn't want to miss what Bordon had to say about fresh developments. Unwillingly he followed the smaller man in the opposite direction.

Lambert's office was large and light, a few floors up the building. As well as the usual desk and filing cabinets there were, as he had said, two easy chairs and a small table in one corner. "It's great, thank you so much," Alex smiled.

"You're welcome." Lambert returned her smile. "Let me go and see if your first interviewee is here, and then I'll get coffee for you both." Really, Alex thought as she settled into one of the chairs, this could hardly be better for the purpose.

Lambert soon returned with two coffees, at the same time ushering in a young woman with curly blonde hair. "This is Liz Peterson," he introduced her to Alex. "We think she was the rapist's first victim." He smiled encouragingly at both of them and withdrew from the room, saying 'I'll leave you to it."

Elizabeth Peterson was twenty-one, a shop assistant who lived with her parents in Beeston. Back in February she'd been walking home along Chilwell High Road after a night in the pub with friends, when she was grabbed, dragged around the back of the bus station, and raped. Her account of what happened bore all the hallmarks of a fairly unplanned attack: the perpetrator had had no means of disguising himself and had used Liz's own scarf to blindfold her. She had caught a glimpse of him but her description was vague: tall, white, short dark hair, wearing jeans and some kind of dark top. He had been strong and quickly overpowered her, holding her hands behind her back as he forced her to the dark corner where he had forced her to the ground and raped her. She admitted to Alex that she had not fought back, nor, after an initial scream, cried out, believing that if she offered less resistance he would quickly finish and leave her alone. This belief had been sadly shattered when after the rape he had slashed her vaginal area with a broken bottle – an improvised weapon. Only then did he leave her, shocked and bleeding, and disappear into the night.

In spite of the horrific nature of this ordeal and the fact that she had needed an examination under anaesthetic and three units of blood, Liz Peterson appeared quite calm as she told her story to Alex. She seemed to be a strong character who had tried to come to terms with what had happened to her and move on. Alex felt admiration for her and told her so as she gently led her through the details of the attack, asking questions, hoping to trigger any memory of a detail which she had not recounted at the time. "Can you remember hearing his voice at any time?"

"Well," Liz sipped her coffee and tried to remember. "When he first grabbed me he said something like 'Don't struggle or it'll be the worse for you'…"

"Mmm hmm…" Alex discreetly made a note. "What did he sound like? Any sign of an accent?"

"Well, I dunno, not a strong accent. Don't think he was a southerner… but it was hard to tell, really…Oh, I've just remembered!" She looked surprised at her own sudden recollection. "When he'd finished, after he'd – you know – cut me…" In spite of her self-possession the young woman winced and Alex nodded in sympathy. "Well, after that, he kind of muttered something. 'Never again.' And then he said it again, 'Never again.' It was really quiet, you know, like he was talking to himself."

"OK, that's great. Well done for remembering that," encouraged Alex, nodding again. "Did he say anything else at all?"

"No, I don't think so. Not that I can remember, no."

After a few more questions Alex drew the conversation to a close and showed Liz out to a discreetly hovering DI Lambert. She had a ten-minute break and then Lambert returned with the second victim, a twenty-year old university student named Nadine Taylor. Nadine was small and curvy, with brown eyes and smooth brown hair drawn into a pony-tail. She was quieter than Liz and seemed more traumatized by her attack, which, like Liz's, had taken place in the late evening. Nadine had been visiting some friends who lived off the campus and had been walking back along the main Derby Road when she was seized and dragged into undergrowth in Wollaton Park. This time the rapist seemed to have come prepared: he was wearing a balaclava, and had carried gaffer tape with which to cover her mouth and bind her hands behind her back. After raping her, he had inflicted vaginal wounds with a penknife. Although the blade was small, it had been very sharp: the Queens Medical Centre staff who had later dealt with Nadine had thought it must have been specially sharpened for the purpose. Again Alex guided her gently through the attack, offering prompts to remember even the smallest details. The rapist had issued the same kind of warning about not struggling to her as he had to Liz, but did not appear to have said anything after that. Alex questioned her gently, carefully, trying to ascertain as much as she could about the attacker and his demeanour. He'd seemed quite calm and in control; more so than during the first assault, when he'd been angry. Already Alex's mind was starting to put things into place, but there was still a long way to go.

Nadine was still quite upset at the end of the interview, and Alex was concerned about her. "Will you be all right? Are you going back to the university now?"

Nadine nodded, gulping, trying to pull herself together. "Yes, a couple of friends are coming to meet me… I think they'll be there now, if I go downstairs…"

Alex opened the door but DI Lambert was nowhere to be seen. "I'll come down with you," she said to the young woman. Together they walked down the few flights of concrete stairs, Nadine still dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. In reception a couple of people of student age were hanging about, looking out-of-place and slightly anxious; Nadine headed over to them with a relieved smile on her face. One of them, a rather beautiful blonde girl taller than Nadine, enfolded her in a hug and asked "Are you OK?"

Nadine nodded, turning around to make introductions. "Yeah, I'm all right – look, this is Alex – I mean, Inspector Drake, she's been ever so nice to me…" The blonde girl smiled at Alex, obviously pleased that her friend had been well looked-after. Nadine continued, "This is Sarah, she's my best friend, she's really looked after me since it happened… and this is Simon, he's been ever so kind too."

Simon and Sarah appeared to be a couple. Alex smiled and said "Hi" to them, thinking wryly to herself that they looked like children. Hell, how old was she getting? She turned back to Nadine. "Well, I'll leave you with your friends - they obviously take good care of you."

"Yeah." Nadine gave her a shaky smile before gratefully accepting a cigarette from Sarah. Simon lit it for her. Alex watched as the three of them headed outside; it had stopped raining and the sun was weakly trying to come out from behind the clouds.

"Ah, there you are." It was Andrew Lambert. "Sorry to abandon you. Had to go off and deal with something… are you ready for a spot of lunch now?"

Alex was still quite full from her breakfast, but it seemed the polite thing to do. "Well, maybe a little," she replied, and followed him towards the canteen.

Gene, meanwhile, had had a rather less satisfactory morning. His impression of Jim Bordon was not a good one: the man seemed to have largely given up on life, and lacked any of Gene's dynamism and motivation. He seemed happy to let Andrew Lambert make a lot of his decisions for him. In spite of what Bordon had said earlier, Gene didn't learn anything that he hadn't already got from the files. What was more, he got the distinct impression that the investigation might have been on the lax side; Jim Bordon was not a man to follow up his team too closely. At the end of the morning they too went to the canteen, where they met up with Alex and Lambert.

Gene and Alex managed to be civil enough over lunch that Bordon didn't notice that there was still an atmosphere between the two Met detectives, though Alex thought that Lambert probably had his suspicions. As the conversation turned once more to the case, none of Gene's misgivings about Bordon were dispelled. Unwillingly, he found that he was pinning more of his hopes on that smarmy git Lambert. At least, he reflected sourly, the speccy swot didn't seem like the type to cut corners. After lunch they said their goodbyes, promising to liaise if any fresh information came up from either investigation, then Alex and Gene headed outside to the Quattro.

Pulling on his driving gloves, Gene looked reflectively at Alex. He really didn't know what to make of their current situation. Last night had been fantastic; this morning, extremely annoying. Half of him wanted to make things right between them, but his pride was wounded by the way she had, as he saw it, undercut his authority, publicly ignoring his wishes in front of two other officers. He settled for a rather grumpy enquiry. "So, find anything out, Bollinger Knickers?"

Stung by his tone, she adopted a dignified manner. "Maybe," she replied noncommittally.

God, she was irritating. Who did she think she was, sticking her nose in the air like that? "Care to share it then?" he asked sarcastically.

"I'd rather think it through, first," she replied icily. Why was he in such a bad mood today?

"Oh fine." He was sneering now and there was real venom in his voice. Bloody stuck-up bitch, talking down to him like that. "You just think about all your psycho-bollocks crap then, and I'll get on with working stuff out and actually catching this sicko!"

Alex felt his scorn like a slap in the face. How dare he, how dare he belittle her skills, talk about her work as though it was nothing? "Fine!" she spat back at him, eyes blazing. "If you think what I do is crap, I can't even think why you brought me up here in the first place!" With an abrupt movement she turned away and stared fixedly out of the window, hiding the angry tears which were now springing to her eyes. Seething, Gene set his jaw and guided the car through the streets of Nottingham and out onto the motorway.

The three hours back to London were the longest and most uncomfortable that Alex had ever known. She would rather have been anywhere than next to this glowering man who sat in silence, chain-smoking and refusing to acknowledge her presence. As her anger subsided it was replaced by hurt, rejection, bewilderment. How could this possibly be the man she'd made love with last night? The man who had held her so tenderly, making her feel so cherished, so wanted, so complete, as he had driven away her demons and her lurking nightmares. Whose touch, whose kiss had been desire tempered by gentleness… his mouth, whispering down the skin of her neck, down to her breasts… her nipples tightened at the memory. Then, as he'd discovered what she liked, grown bolder, more insistent… his teeth, his body, driving her to heights of pleasure… the passion in his eyes as their bodies had moved together… everything he had done had made her feel valued, utterly precious. Today he seemed to set her at nought. She swallowed the tears that threatened to return as she thought about it.

Glancing across at her as she stared resolutely away from him, Gene could see one of the dark bite-marks on her neck, just visible above the collar of her blouse. Immediately the night before flashed into his mind, sending his senses reeling… the taste of her skin, the feel of her flesh under his mouth as he kissed and nipped at her… He'd tried to be gentle at first, although Christ knew how difficult it was, but when she had responded to his teeth with cries of "Yes!" he had gladly followed the desires of his own body and tasted her more fiercely… biting and sucking at her neck, her chest, her breasts… It was when he had entered her, though, that he'd really had to fight for control of himself. He'd always suspected that she might be loud in bed, but nothing had prepared him for her high-pitched squeals of pleasure when he started to thrust into her… Oh God… he'd wanted to come so much… There had been nothing for it but to sink his teeth as hard as he could into the flesh of her breasts: it was either that or come far too soon... that was what must have left the one or two really livid bruises she had discovered this morning…

His hard cock throbbed insistently as his mind replayed the images and sensations, but however much he might want her again, that wasn't what really bothered him. No, it had been earlier than that – right at the beginning, when she had clung onto him, begging him to stay. He thought of the way she had whispered "Please…please…" as he had undressed her, caressed her, gently kissing and stroking… His overwhelming memory was her need for him, evident in her eyes, her voice, every movement of her body. That was why he had stayed: he wanted to show that he was there for her, that he cared, would do everything he could to make her whole again. I was needed and I was there... And at the end, when he could hold on no longer and had spilled into her, shouting and gasping, his only thought had been not of himself, but of her: it somehow felt as though he was giving himself to her, giving what she needed. And now, today, she was acting like she didn't need him at all. Just stuck her nose in the air and did things her own sweet way, completely ignoring anything he might have to say. That was what really hurt. Well, bollocks to her. She wasn't going to get the chance to hurt him like that again. He would make sure of that.