It wasn't often now that Ros thought about Adam. But walking into the kitchen, she was struck by a real sense of what might have been, had she had the courage to step out of her comfort zone and accept what he'd offered her. A relationship, however tenuous, that would have given her the occasional means of escape from the never-ending nightmares that their chosen path heaped on them.

Reminded now in a way that was unsettling, because she realised that the dynamics in this makeshift household had changed. Ruth, in the space of less than a week, had somehow managed to get Harry to climb down from the top of the ladder that he demanded of himself and stand with his feet on level ground. The headache that had plagued him apparently gone, to be replaced by a look of acceptance that he wasn't able to fix everything on his own, and that there had to be a few hours each day to be enjoyed. Coupled with a slight hint that whatever this was that they'd created between them might continue after this current problem was solved, meant that Ruth, who she'd given very little thought to up until now, had become a high priority in terms of protection. If she was Harry's means of redemption, then she would readily put her hands together and applaud her. That was for later, for now there was a job to do and she had news.

'We've found a body, Vaughan Edwards?' She told them, forcing herself to disembark from the train of nostalgia and watching Ruth, who was sitting at the breakfast table relaxing. Breakfast, as with a laid table and a spoon next to the marmalade. A concept that was from another age. Harry's presumably?

'What are you thinking? That Vaughan Edwards was the blackmailing half of the partnership in the plot to kill me?' Harry asked her, reaching up into the cupboard for another cup and saucer, with a nod towards the spare seat that he'd noticed she'd been eyeing. 'But why? He's a freelance fixer that I haven't seen for the best part of fifteen years and as far as I remember, he's been living abroad. Where did you say you found him?'

'We didn't, it was a member of the public that called it in, but we managed to persuade the police to hand him over. At the risk of ruining your breakfast, it was pretty messy and it looked as though he'd been suffering over several days before he died. He was lying in a warehouse, with what looked like a hunting knife sticking out of his leg. Eyes open, the full works. The poor woman that found him is traumatised. More than that we don't know, other than Malcolm's been down to take a look at the crime scene and he thinks that he was stabbed somewhere else, then dragged himself to where he died.'

'Any ideas about where he'd been living?'

'Yes, in a very fancy apartment block near Canary Wharf. High end, both cost wise and its other occupants. Not the sort of people that Vaughan would have mixed with.'

'Then get a team over there.'

Already done, although unfortunately by the time that we arrived, the place had been ransacked to look like a burglary. Jo's done a house to house, but those who were in, said that they didn't know him. She's good though and she found a telephone number scribbled on the inside cover of a book. Your number Harry.

'Which is why you've put two and two together.'

'That and it had been concealed inside one of the kitchen cabinets and whoever searched the place didn't find it.'

'Anything else?'

'Apart from the fact that he didn't ring you, there's also the suggestion that he might have been living with a woman, or at least had a girlfriend.'

'Any idea who?'

'Not yet, but we're working on it.'

'Who knows about this?'

'Only the core team.'

'Then I suggest that we keep it that way, at least for now. If you need an extra pair of hands on the grid, I could come back in,' he suggested.' Not because he didn't think she was coping admirably or wanted to, but more as a gesture of support.

'As much as we all love you Harry, the whole point of you being here is to keep you out of harm's way. It was your decision if you remember and I don't see any reason to change it. We're virtually on the doorstep, any one of us can be here in under ten minutes and Ruth can't be left on her own, especially after this. Tariq's trawling through the CCTV in the area where Vaughan lived, Malcolm's gone to get the results of the autopsy and Jo's just called to say that she's on her way back. You stay put and help Ruth dig into Vaughan's recent past and find out what he was up to. Contact me via the usual route if you find anything.'

.

'Vaughan Edwards, your so called part time fixer, would have been in his thirties fifteen years ago,' Ruth told him, forcing herself to concentrate on the information that was in front of her and ignore the fact that Harry had moved round to her side of the desk and had his arm across the back of her chair. An action that brought his face in line with hers and if she turned to look at him, was close enough to kiss. Something that Harry had done deliberately, but given what they were talking about and the seriousness of the situation, he'd stopped himself from doing. Keeping it on the back burner, but now fully intent on it happening, he dragged his mind into concentrating on what Ruth was telling him. Namely that Vaughan had been old enough to persuade someone much younger, that whatever he wanted fixing, he could be part of. Money presumably being the incentive. Which meant, that the person they were looking for, was now in his late thirties.

'Do we know where he was during that time?' He asked her.

'Not precisely, but he could have been in Dakar,' she told him. Her fingers flying over the keys and producing a list of files. Cases that had been high on their list of priorities fifteen years ago. 'If he was there and given his age, he was probably watching the rallying or gambling in one of the casinos - Harry what's the matter?'

The matter was two–fold, the second of which he'd decided to attempt over dinner. In the hope that he didn't get his faced slapped. Although it would have been a merciful release to have kissed Ruth now and blank out the horrors from back then.

'The Embassy bombing Ruth. If you're right, that's what this is all about. Vaughan must have been involved, or he knew who was and was threatening to blow the whistle. Seventeen people died that day Ruth and we never found the culprit.'

'You were there?'

'Not at the time, but I flew out the day after it happened. Apart from my time in Northern Ireland, I've never seen such destruction Ruth. Bodies burnt to a cinder. Family's torn apart. It took us years to re- gain the confidence that we'd established, in a region that had always been fragile and I was heavily criticised as a result. This is a can of worms that I'd dearly love to reopen, if it helps us prove who did it.'

'Which if you do, will only answer half the question.'

'How so?'

'What was it that Vaughan was demanding in exchange for his silence and instead got him killed?'

.

Early evening, the same day.

'I'm not sure that I want you involved in this anymore, it's far too dangerous,' Harry told her, as they sat down at the table to prepare their meal. Hoping that she'd see reason now that they knew what the killer was capable of. Although not wanting her to leave, for reasons that went way beyond what he'd originally envisaged when he'd moved her here with him.

'As in dangerous for me to be here, or dangerous in that I haven't got a home to go to anymore and you want to move me into a hotel or back to Malcolm's?' Wasn't what he was suggesting. Ruth had always been up for a battle and knowing how he felt, he so didn't want to battle with her.

'That's not what I meant Ruth. But whoever this is, if he finds out that you're here with me, could use you as means of leverage and I can't let that happen.'

Acceptance was one thing, going along with it was another, especially after what had almost happened that morning, so 'Harry, tell me what you're really thinking?' she asked him, watching as his expression softened then nothing. Great that was all she needed, a man that she was sure had held back from kissing her, forcing her to make the first move.

'Harry I'm not a child,' she told him. 'I see the way that you look at me. It was my choice to come back here, when I could just as easily have called you. I may not have envisaged this happening as quickly as it has, perhaps not ever, but we both know it's going to. So unless I've misread the signs, in which case I apologise and will go and pack my case, then rather than continue this pointless debate and before we both lose our nerve, I think we should forget about dinner. And by the way,' she added as an afterthought, 'you were right, mine is the nicer room.'

.

Long before he opened his eyes the next morning, Harry knew that if it did it to find a gun pointing at his face, that he'd die a happy man. Ruth had given herself to him, in a way that nobody else ever had. His overwhelming concern, had been that after all this time, that he'd have fumbled his way through what after all was a basic need in everyone. But if he had, Ruth had done a damn good job of ignoring it. If Juliet Shaw still believed that she'd had a hold over him, she could go swing. Ruth was everything that she wasn't. Passionate definitely, but with a gentleness that had taken his breath away. Warmhearted to the core and still asleep beside him, she looked as relaxed as he'd ever seen her. If it hadn't been for the fact that Jo was due in less than half an hour, he'd have stayed where he was and watched her sleep. But it was another day and the start of another search for whoever it was that was threatening him.

'Bit of a late night, Ruth's still in the shower,' he told Jo, brushing over the fact that Ruth was still upstairs when she arrived. Unlike Ros, who was like a dog with a bone when she thought he was trying to pull the wool over her eyes and went for the jugular, Jo seemed to accept what he said. Which meant that by the time that Ruth joined them, completely composed as though this was just another day, Jo had helped him lay the table and was sitting down next to him with the findings from the previous day.

The coroner's report, showed as they suspected, that Vaughan had bled out over several days. They were still trying to piece together some random notes that they'd found in Vaughan's flat, but despite their efforts, were no further forward in finding out who the mysterious woman was. The conclusion being that she knew what had happened and was keeping her distance, or more worryingly, that she might be implicated in some way.