When Dempsey awoke the next morning, the throbbing of his swollen eye was the first thing he was aware of. Watery dawn filtered through the curtains, but the window seemed to be in the wrong place. He lay for a moment, disorientated, before he remembered that he was on his sofa in the living room because Makepeace was in his bed. His watch said 7.20am.
He rose from the couch and padded to the window. Holland Park was spread out below him, desolate in the half-light. It was the beginning of another bleak winter's day. Dempsey rubbed his eyes wearily, not feeling refreshed from his short sleep. It had taken them some time to get through to Forensics and deposit the 'gift'.
They'd finally crashed here at around two in the morning. It had been a long night, and he could feel in his bones that there was a long day ahead.
Moving quietly over to the open plan kitchen area, he peered at his reflection in the polished glass of the cooker door. His eye seemed to be turning a ripe shade of purple. From the breakfast bar, he surveyed the living room, relieved to see that it was at least clean and tidy, albeit devoid of many personal or comforting touches. He hadn't bargained on Harry paying a visit, and this was only the second time she had been to his place, although he had been to hers many times. Her apartment always seemed like more of a home somehow; a relaxing place where you would want to spend time.
He was very glad his cleaner had visited yesterday. A quick glance in the fridge confirmed that she had supplied him with bread, milk, eggs, butter, cheese and bacon. Dempsey grinned at his good fortune. Left to himself, he'd have nothing to offer Harry but stale instant coffee – and certainly no food. He was grateful to Anoushka, the polish woman who cleaned for him and regularly stocked his cupboards. He'd never asked her to do his shopping; only to come twice a week and keep the place looking presentable - and the first time food had appeared in his cupboards he had tried to protest, but she had just shaken her head at him in a vaguely pitying way, as if to say how else do you expect to survive, living here in a strange city on your own, in an apartment you only visit to sleep?
Standing waiting for the coffee to percolate, Dempsey ran the events of the previous day through his mind. He wondered how Harry really felt about the intrusion into her apartment last night. She had taken it in her stride in the usual way, but although the two of them had made as light of it as possible, it was nonetheless extremely disconcerting that Delaney and his cronies knew where she lived – she must feel it acutely. He felt indescribably angry when he thought about the nerve of the man, the brutality of the action, and Harry's pallid face looking at the finger in the box on the floor.
He peaked into the bedroom. She was fast asleep; one arm thrown over the edge of the bed, and to his relief, her face was peaceful and calm. He had a sudden urge to go closer, to reach out and stroke her hair, but he resisted. Better to let her rest while she could.
For what seemed like a long time, he sat drinking his coffee and looking out of the big living room window, watching the winter sunrise over the park. Last night had been bad, but it could have been worse – much worse. Immersed in their husband and wife role-play, they had been on a high after the drug operation went smoothly. They had managed to infiltrate the gang with no trouble at all (Makepeace could play the innocent ingénue like no one else when the situation required it) and Spikings' team had burst in to round up the three ringleaders of the gang plus the numerous accomplices present. It was a big coup.
But now it seemed that the omission of Delaney was going to cause them serious problems. Dempsey re-played the sound of the smashing window again in his mind. It had come out of the blue, had caught them both completely off guard. Someone was angry – very angry indeed. The thought sent a chill down his spine, and he knew it would be a while before he allowed Harry to spend time alone at home again. They had to find to Delaney, and find him fast. It was as simple as that.
The bedroom door opened and he turned to see her emerge. She had pulled on jeans and was still wearing the shirt he had lent her. "Morning" she said, running a hand through her hair.
"Mornin' angel. You want coffee?"
"Mmm, please."
"How'd you sleep?"
"Oh, you know. Took me a while to get off. But then, a severed finger through the kitchen window will do that to you every time."
She smiled weakly. He went over to the breakfast bar and poured a cup of coffee.
"How'd you sleep out here?" She asked.
"Not bad," he lied. "I was up early this morning. Thinkin' things through."
"Come up with any solutions to this mess?"
"Not so far. I was thinkin' the breakfast I'm gonna make us will help the brain cells."
"You? Make breakfast?" She wrinkled her nose incredulously.
"Sure, why not?" her disbelief nettled him. Although he had to admit she looked very cute when she looked at him like that...
"I never would have believed it" she said. "Just don't poison me, ok?"
"I'll try my best" he grouched, stomping back towards the kitchen.
Harry settled down on the couch to watch him.