a/n: again, a big, big thank you to Sweepeaspatch and all reviewers - your feedback means so much to me!! Xxxx

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It was unlike her to be late. Well, before. When he'd been DI before, it had been unlike her to be late. Of course, things might have changed. As a general rule, things did change... She'd probably changed. And of course that was absolutely okay. She was totally allowed to have changed since he'd known her. That was natural. Change was natural. Natural, evolutionary- heck, he'd probably changed!

Although from Dwayne's exceptionally wry glances yesterday he doubted that was the case.

But how was Dwayne to know he'd bought new pyjamas?

Purple stripes, this time. And some pink ones, but he was partial to the purple.

Really quite aesthetic, Richard had thought contentedly, when he'd bought them in MS back in Croydon. Nobody ever really saw his pyjamas, but they provided a certain element of self-satisfaction.

Well, Camille used to see his pyjamas. When she picked him up for work each morning... And he'd always fantasised about-

Change is natural, he reminded himself forcefully.

Natural, evolu- he paused, intently aware that his thoughts were creating full loops. Maybe he was loopy. No, he couldn't allow one woman to have that effect on him. One woman shouldn't have the power to make him loopy. That was out of order. Simply outrageou-

"Camille!"

Richard's head shot up.

In that moment, he decided the heat had something to do with her. The back of his neck hadn't been prickling a few minutes ago. In fact, he now had the inclination to remove his jacket, he was sweating so much. It certainly hadn't been this warm a moment ago. He watched - quietly, sidelined - as Fidel and Dwayne smothered Camille's slender frame in a thick embrace.

She did seem to emit some sort of heat. Under the guise of looking for the source, he scanned her appearance, letting the radiance of her wash over him.

Dark curls, wild and untamed yet alluring and beautiful, had been chopped shorter - they only just brushed her shoulders, much like they had when he'd first met her. A broad smile stretched across her features (although it looked the slightest bit strained to Richard's eyes), giving her slight dimples, her lips were perfectly curved and oh good grief he should NOT be looking at her lips.

He focused instead on her eyes: smokey brown and impossibly soulful, lined subtly with ebony black. How could he have forgotten the way they creased when she smiled?

He started when he realised she'd noticed he was staring. Cheeks blushing furiously, he turned and took his suit jacket off.

"What did I miss?" She addressed Dwayne, but Fidel replied.

"Pretty much nothing. We added to the database," a nod towards the whiteboard, "But that's it. I believe the Chief was planning to do interviews today...?"

Richard looked up from the stack of paper he'd been absently fiddling with.

With a little cough to clear his throat, he arose from his seat and clapped his hands.

"Yup. I thought we'd go and visit our suspects. Collect them from the hotel they've been moved to and put them together in the villa. Gauge the interactions among themselves and the setting before we tackle each of them individually." Richard forced a smile and raised his eyebrows cheerfully, risking a fleeting look in Camille's direction. She'd folded her arms and was looking purposefully at the wall next to him. Wincing, he assigned roles to each team member.

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Ten minutes later, and Richard Poole somehow found himself cramming a helmet onto his head before sliding a pair of Wallace-and-Gromit-esque goggles over his eyes.

He groaned, the feelings of mortification and severe discomfort all palpably familiar.

Deja vu? Deja poo, more like, muttered Richard internally.

"Ready Chief?" asked Dwayne, who looked just as gleeful as he sounded.

"Yes, ready, Dwayne," replied the inspector grumpily. "I don't see why Fidel and Camille get to take the jeep and we have to ride the bloody death trap- ARGH!"

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Fidel muffled a snort of laughter upon his superior's arrival at the villa where Sasha, her husband James, Roger and Angela were residing.

Richard emerged from the side carriage of Dwayne's motorcycle with a milky green pallor and tufty hair. Very tufty hair.

The sort of hair, Camille thought, after giving her superior a once over and then swiftly averting her gaze, that the old her would've found cute. Cute? No - not cute - mignon. It sounded better in French, she decided, making a mental note.

"Dwayne, Fidel, the pair of you can gather our suspects and seat them in the living room. Then you'll scan the area for eyewitnesses," instructed Richard, authority coolly maintained, oblivious to his hair. "Camille and I are going to pay Humphrey's chums a little visit."

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The less-than-10-second walk to the door of the holiday villa was incredibly awkward. How such a short period of time could harbour such an abundance of awkwardness, Richard wasn't entirely sure, he was merely conscious of the miraculous fact that Camille and himself had managed it.

Positivity, he thought aggressively. The way to look at it is that we're made for creating miracles. Camille and I are made for creating miracles. That's our fate. Our desti-

Accompanied by a huge sigh, he felt a lithe arm shove him out of the way and he grimaced as he realised he'd been too absorbed in thought to open the door.

Camille pushed it open violently with her toe and stormed into the villa, leaving a wincing Richard in her wake. He hadn't changed a bit, she thought, rolling her eyes.

Upon entering the lounge, the DS ran her eyes over each its four inhabitants.

First, a blonde, brown-eyed female, short in build, draped in a brightly patterned dress; next, a man alone in the corner, a countenance of undisguised frustration, a mop of unruly dark hair; finally, a couple, man with arms wrapped around the slight lady - Camille saw bands on their ring fingers.

Richard coughed, causing all four suspects to stiffen.

When had he come in? thought Camille.

She drew her paper pad from the pocket of her shorts, traced the faded Honore logo in the bottom corner.

"Hello," began Richard solidly. "My name is Detective Inspector Poole and this here is Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey."

She knew what she had to say. Funny how quickly they gelled back together as a team: it was like they'd never been apart.

Instinctively, she finished his sentence.

"We'd like to ask you a few questions."