Chapter 21

She refused to allow him to travel with her in the ambulance, demanding that he inform SI10 of the situation and ensure that Robards was tracked down and apprehended before he came to the hospital. All this he accepted, knowing she was right and knowing she was angry with him for letting his feelings for her take precedence. By the time Henry Robards was safely in custody for the passing of sensitive Home Office information to a member of a Middle Eastern terrorist network, it was early evening.

To Dempsey's surprise, Spikings was coming out of Harry's hospital room when he turned into the corridor.

"Didn't know you were visiting, Boss."

Spikings eyed him with displeasure. "I've already read your statement, Dempsey and I thought it would be prudent to hear the real version of events from Makepeace."

"Hey, on my life, Chief, it's all there, nothin' missed out, no embellishments, exactly as it went down."

He wondered where Spikings was going with this. "Why, what's she said?"

Spikings smirked. "She's not happy with you, son," he smiled wickedly, "is she?"

What was that wink for? Was he saying something with that wink?

"In fact, I would go so far as to say that Lady Harriet is outraged." Spikings was grinning now.

"Outraged?" Dempsey repeated, warily.

"Incensed, even." Pure delight seemed to smooth out every wrinkle in Spiking's face.

"Incensed is worse than outraged?"

The Chief nodded. "Oh yes. Yes, it is."

"And this is because I let Robards go?"

Spikings rocked on his heels contentedly, his hands behind his back. "Not only did you let Robards go, Dempsey, you had the temerity to let your primitive macho instincts come to the fore, thus undermining her value as a police officer, your partner and as a woman."

"I did all that? That's pretty impressive," Dempsey said flippantly, his eyes wide.

"Apparently."

Lieutenant Dempsey squeezed his lips nervously with his fingers for a moment, his mind running over what awaited him in the hospital room. "Right."

A finger broke free to point at the door. "She's okay though – otherwise?"

Another slick smile. "I gather it was quite a lengthy and painful process, removing the glass from her ... various areas. But you can rest assured, Lieutenant, Sergeant Makepeace is in fighting spirits."

Dempsey could still hear him chuckling to himself when he reached the end of the corridor.

"That's great. Thanks, Chief," he called after him.

Spikings had woven his magic and now Dempsey stood before the door with a sense of trepidation. Should he knock? There was nothing this lady had got that he hadn't seen but seeing it when she was – what had Spikings said – 'incensed', that was a different matter.

He rapped lightly, feeling the compulsion to clear his throat too. He waited. No response. He started to sweat. Just as he raised his fist to knock again, Harry called out, "Please come in."

Oh boy, this broad knew how to work him over!

He walked in, finding Harry sitting up on pillows in a pink hospital gown, bits of sticking plaster on her bare arms and neck.

"And how's my princess?" he gushed, kissing her with propriety on her cheek. "I couldn't bring you nothin' 'cause I've come straight from the factory and also the cemetery was shut." He winked. " But I stopped off at your place and picked up some stuff I thought you'd need." Opening up the plastic carrier bag he'd brought, he held up a toothbrush. "Hah?" He grinned, pleased with himself. Reaching in again, he came up with a hairbrush. "Hah?" He was quite proud of his thoughtfulness. "And..." he pulled out her see-thru ivory lace and chiffon nightgown and matching negligee. "I like you in this, you look real hot in it." He laid them across the foot of the bed with the other items and didn't see the expression of disbelief on Makepeace's face. "And I knew you'd want a change of clothes but I wasn't sure what to bring." He produced a pair of jeans and her magenta cowl neck knitted jumper – it was the middle of July and had been twenty-five degrees outside that day.

"Underwear?" she asked, calmly.

"What?"

"Did you bring me any underwear?"

Harry wasn't sure why she was bothering to ask – the answer was fairly obvious.

He seemed to be contemplating his reply though.

"Well now, that's a funny thing. Considering how your underwear is often so uppermost in my thoughts, you'd think I woulda remembered a spare pair of panties, huh?" He shrugged, sheepishly. "I'll stop by first thing, okay?"

"And my handbag? I suppose it's still behind the desk at the salon?"

"Unless some low-life has already lifted it, yeah. I'll pick it up on the way to your place."

She wasn't looking at him but the slightly peeved expression she wore was telling him he should take cover.

"So Spikings told you we got both Akim and Robards banged up?" he asked, deciding to hit the ground running. "They picked Robards up near Scotch Corner. Some story 'bout wanting to get to Edinburgh to say goodbye to his mother before he was put away. How old must his mother be ... like a hundred or somethin' huh?

He ran out of steam at that point and sat down cautiously on the edge of the bed. Harry was gazing at the wall beyond, hands folded in her lap.

"You okay, Harry?" He tilted his head, the better to look into her eyes. "Honey?"

Oooh, big mistake.

"You buggered up the job, Dempsey," she said flatly.

He smiled nervously. "You know, I've told you before Harry, I wish you wouldn't use that word around me. It has certain connotations for we Americans and I think it maybe has more impact for us than for you Brits."

She turned to face him then. "I'll give you buggering 'impact'," she told him heatedly.

"Would prefer it if you didn't," he winced.

"I'm being serious, James!"

"You are?" He feigned shock.

It was sometimes easier to just ignore him.

"Whilst I was lying in the remains of that coffee table, suffering from mild shock, Doctor Isaacs has told me, I actually wasn't waiting for you to come and pick me up in your arms and pull out every last shard of glass with your teeth – I was busy thinking that I'd probably managed to put the whole operation in jeopardy but it would be alright because my partner was there to cover for me." She paused, still looking straight ahead. "But then I find that my partner has disappeared and my bloody boyfriend has turned up, whispering hackneyed platitudes and waving my partner's gun around like a maniac." She finally turned to him with a withering expression. "You shot Akim in the leg without a single verbal warning for God's sake!"

"Who did, me or your boyfriend? You're confusing me here, Makepeace."

"You tell me who it was! All I know is that only Lieutenant Dempsey was supposed to be there today."

Dempsey got up, stuffing his hands into his jeans pockets and began to wander aimlessly about the small room. "Trouble is Harry, I ain't two people. I'm just one guy who's finding it real hard to love you to a schedule."

Harry played with some strands of her fringe. "This isn't working is it?"

"It's working fine. You just need to loosen up for Christ's sake!"

"Well if 'you' get any looser, we'll both wind up dead!"

Dempsey yanked her medical chart from the end of the bed and scanned it sightlessly. "You want a new partner, Makepeace? If I'm not up to the job anymore, you may as well try your luck with some other poor schmuck."

"You know that isn't an option," she told him quietly.

"Why? Why isn't it?" he barked. "Come on – explain it to me. I need to know."

He was in her face and angry as hell.

She gave a grunt of frustration. "Because we're good together, damn it, we work well together."

"So which is it Harry, are we working or not working?"

"Well it obviously isn't that black and white, is it?" she bit back sarcastically.

"It is for me."

"You let Robards go!"

"So what? We got him in the end didn't we? And even if we didn't, better than havin' another partners blood on my hands."

Harry slapped him hard across the face. "Don't you dare, you bastard!" she cried but then twisted away slightly with a gasp.

Holding a hand to his reddening cheek, Dempsey glared down at her. "What?"

"I think I might've burst some stitches," she grimaced.

"That's just great," he glowered. "I'll go get the doctor – he can take a look at my face while he's at it."

Harry sat forward gingerly. "Just have a look will you," she said irritably, her fingers reaching behind her to pull apart the back of the hospital gown. Dempsey bent forward to see. Her back was a canvas of thin red lines, criss-crossing in torturous random patterns. He pulled back, unable to keep in the murmur of distress that rose to his lips.

"Doctor Isaacs says it's nowhere near as bad as it looks," Harry told him. "Most of its surface wounds that'll heal in a few days."

When he made no move she tutted and pulled the gown down a little off her shoulders. "The bottom of my back, left hand side. Can you check under the dressing – if it isn't too much trouble?"

"Look," he objected, "maybe I should get a nurse to do that."

"Not like you to be squeamish, Dempsey."

He wasn't about to be accused of wimping out and so carefully peeled away the rest of the gown that obscured her lower back and discovered a large, rectangular pad of gauze and adhesive tape. Easing the tape off at one corner, he managed to lift it away from the skin. He felt a minor jolt go through her that channelled through his own body. "That hurt?"" he asked in alarm.

"Of course it bloody hurts, Dempsey – I've had fourteen stitches. I just want you to tell me if they're all still intact."

He took a deep breath. "Gotta say this hospital gown really isn't a good look for you."

"You don't say."

Getting down on his haunches, he examined the wound at eye level. He gave a low whistle. "That's one helluva cut, Harry. Did it go deep?"

"An inch or so."

"Sorry about that jibe I made before – the partner thing– it was low."

"Does it look alright?"

"Depends what you mean by 'alright'." He ran two fingers alongside the line of stitches with infinite gentleness. "Doesn't look like you've ruptured anything."

"Sorry I hit you."

His fingers slid further up her back and he rose to sit beside her on the bed, never losing contact with her skin. "When do you get discharged?"

"Probably tomorrow. They have to do another glass sweep first though apparently, to make sure they've got it all out."

He could've lost her today – she could literally have died if a piece of that glass had struck deep enough. And it had just been a stupid accident; she hadn't been shot or knifed or run down or blown up or any of the other methods by which the bad guys despatched the good guys – it had been simple fate. So how was he supposed to protect his partner from that too? With an unconscious shudder, he replaced the dressing before dropping a soft kiss on her shoulder and re-fastened the Velcro edges of her gown.

Harry gave him a smile before inching down the bed and turning to lie on her right side facing away from him.

"You'll have to come round this side – it's uncomfortable sitting up for too long."

Dempsey laughed quietly. "Spikings mentioned – glass in your ass."

"Mmm. I'll admit it would be funny if it wasn't quite so painful."

He went and took the chair on that side, shuffling it forward and then dipping down so he could rest his chin on the backs of his hands beside Harry's head. Their faces were scant inches apart.

Harry gave him a smile. "You haven't kissed me properly yet."

"That's 'cause I'm not sure of the protocol."

"Protocol?"

"Well, this is a hospital which is a public place but then we're alone and you're in bed so ... You see my dilemma."

Harry was starting to feel uneasy with this black humour of his. Over the last few weeks it had become a constant presence in their relationship and it felt as though she was battling against it, defending herself and her actions to him on a regular basis. She knew their circumstances weren't ideal but what was the alternative? One or both of them giving up their career in SI10? She could never force Dempsey to choose and she hoped he felt the same. And besides, if that happened, wouldn't it alter their relationship irrevocably? Wouldn't they lose that spark that set them on fire when they were together? Didn't they thrive on the danger; the risks they took together on a daily basis? Without that, surely the relationship would peter out into conventionality, would become the humdrum existence of other couples. And what they had was good; the secrecy added an extra dimension, it built up a longing sometimes that became a subtle desperation and the sating of it a beautiful phenomenon. Yet James seemed to think they were missing out on something vitally important. They didn't kiss in public of course and they had to be careful not to discuss their domestic arrangements within earshot of others but ... Leading up 'til the time of them becoming lovers, they had flirted outrageously with each other and Harry could now see that she actively discouraged that these days. She couldn't help it, even though this change in their behaviour was in itself suspicious, she just couldn't cope with that type of social interaction between them. It felt as though they were crossing over the fine line they trod.

"Just kiss me," she told him softly and he obliged, pressing his mouth to hers with great tenderness.

"Think you're in need of some T.L.C, princess."

Harry rolled her eyes with an indulgent smile. "Go on then, I'm listening. What's T.L.C?"

Dempsey was genuinely surprised. "You kiddin'? You never heard of T.L.C?"

She shook her head, still half expecting a punch line.

"Guess it must be a stateside thing." He looked deeply into the cerulean blue of her eyes. "Tender Loving Care."

Harry chuckled. "Really? I thought it was going to be some off-colour abbreviation."

"I'm sure I can think of a few."

"I'm sure you could," she smiled, "but I think we'll stick to the original." He'd have a whole string of them blue enough to make her blush if she allowed him his head. She brought a hand up between them and played her forefinger along his lower lip. "I like it when you 'care'."

He caught up her finger in his hand and kissed it. "I've always cared, Princess."

Harry could never have imagined in her wildest dreams that she would have fallen so completely in love with a man like James Dempsey. From the moment she had first met him, a burning thread of emotion had run through their relationship, fiery dislike to smouldering desire to this exquisite white heat of love. It was almost frightening, to need somebody this much. He was part of her, they fitted together and she wondered if maybe it was the fact that they were such totally different people, that together they completed some sort of complex human jigsaw.

"I wouldn't be the same without you," she said, struck by the revelation.

Her words held no surprise for Dempsey. He understood perfectly.