A/N: So, yep, it has been a few days since my last update, got so much going on in my head I'm sure it'll explode. Not good for my computer screen really. Anyhow, I'm back.

Dinner on Thursday evening had been a complete failure, Sam didn't even have to ask Phil to be certain of that. For a start she'd been somewhat distracted most of the time, managing to answer most of his questions with an incoherent mumble. Then she'd poured wine over his lap instead of in his glass and liquidated the dessert in the microwave. It was fairly safe to say that a dutiful housewife she would not be.

So on Friday morning she thought it only right to wait for him outside the station to explain. That way they wouldn't be airing any dirty laundry in front of the whole of CID.

He appeared, a little irritated perhaps to see her, but he stopped anyway. 'Morning.'

'Phil,' she said hesitantly. 'I made a mess of last night.'

He let out a heavy breath. 'No, you didn't. You know, maybe we were rushing things.'

'Maybe.'

'But, listen, when you spend half the night staring into space and the rest talking about another bloke I start to worry.'

'Sorry, who was I talking about?'

'Gabriel Kent. Thought you were trying to make me jealous or something.'

'I didn't realise,' she admitted.

'Sure you don't fancy him or something?'

'No, that I'm sure of.'

'Good, cause you were in danger of putting your streak of good taste at risk.'

'I think that ship's already sailed.'

'Cheeky.' He nodded for them to start walking. 'I think I'll take you out next time.'

'There'll be a next time then?'

'You can count on it.'

'Have you talked to Gabriel today?' Lance questioned Sheelagh as they patrolled the Jasmine Allen Estate early afternoon.

'When did you become my watcher?'

'Pretty much as soon as I started worrying about you.'

'You don't have to worry, Lance.'

'If you say so.'

She contemplated letting that go but, no, she had to find out what he was trying to say. 'You've got a problem with Gabriel, what is it?'

He shrugged. 'I don't trust him.'

'Why not?'

'There's just something about him, Sheelagh. Be careful.'

'You're the second person to tell me that this week.'

'Perhaps there's truth in it then.'

'Don't you think you're being a little over-dramatic?'

It was turning out to be a long drawn-out afternoon for Sam. One thing she could never understand was why, when criminals were completely backed into a corner, they still kept up the pretence of whatever lie they were running with. Take good old Patrick Gordon, two witnesses placed him at the scene of a serious assault plus they had the weapon with his prints all over it and still he protested he was at home having his breakfast. Even the graphic detail of how the bacon and eggs were cooked wasn't going to save him.

After depositing Mr Gordon back in his cell to let him think about whether he wanted to cooperate or not, Sam headed back up the CID intent on finding something in the database that would allow her and Gary to finish the job.

However, as she started up the steps she heard voices coming from the corridor above. Though not prone to eavesdropping she hesitated as she recognised one of the voices as belonging to Gabriel Kent.

'What's your problem, Lance?' he was saying.

'Sheelagh deserves to be treated well.'

'I know exactly what she deserves and, believe me, she'll get it.'

The way that he said that chilled her a little.

Lance obviously agreed. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Just what it says.'

'A lot of people care about Sheelagh around here.'

'Like who?' Gabriel scoffed. 'The ones who can remember what her last boyfriend did to the station? Or the ones who think she's a racist?'

'Gabriel, I'm warning you.'

'Is that supposed to scare me?'

Sam quickly moved aside as Gabriel came down the stairs. He must have seen her but he made no acknowledgement. Moments later, Lance appeared, stopping short as he saw her. 'Oh, Sarge.'

The part of her which usually screamed at her not to get involved seemed to have blacked out temporarily. 'What was that about?'

PC Powell shifted uncomfortable. 'Nothing, Sarge.'

'Lance.'

'It was nothing to do with work.'

'I know that,' she answered leading him away from the busy corridor below. 'What was that about Sheelagh?'

'It's private, Sarge.'

'I'm a friend of Sheelagh's. If she might get hurt, I want to know about it.'

'Gabriel was just winding me up,' Lance answered. 'It's nothing.'

Watching the young PC escape down the corridor she could safely assume that it was definitely something. And nothing good, she knew that much.