"Thanks, guys, you don't know what this means to me…"

"Save it." Mickey went quickly down the steps to the pavement. He flagged a taxi down, then to the amazement of the others, hailed a second one. "Albert, Stacie, I'll see you later. Danny and I are going to have a chat." He shoved Danny into the back of the first cab, got in, and shut the door, leaving a puzzled pair plus a cabbie asking, "Where to, miss?"

Danny, too, was unsure what was happening.

"Euro International Hotel, please," Mickey instructed their driver, and sat back in his seat, adjusting his jacket. "So, Danny, why do the police think you're a tooled-up drug pusher?"

"I have no idea!" Danny gesticulated wildly. "I was just…sitting in the park, minding my own business…"

"…tailing Albert," corrected Mickey, poker-faced.

"Was he there too?"

Mickey tutted and glared at Danny.

"OK, OK," he conceded. "I went back to the Excelsior to see if I could sneak in and get my bags. Then Albert showed up, and I followed him because I wanted to see you guys again. Was that so wrong?"

"Well, something you did must have been wrong, because if, as you say, you're not involved in any of the things you were picked up for, you must have pissed off somebody enough for them to try and frame you. Or at least send you a warning."

Danny stared back in disbelief. "What, you're saying somebody tried to set me up?"

"It's not beyond the realms of possibility, is it, Danny? I mean, you didn't return to England because you missed steak and kidney pudding or the royal family - you were deported and had nowhere else to go. That has to indicate that somebody, somewhere, has taken a bit of a dislike to you, wouldn't you say?"

A sulky look came into Danny's eyes. "I was coming back anyway," he protested, not very convincingly.

Mickey saw it was useless to try and get him to admit he'd been forced into anything. "Let's try and stay focused on what's happening now, shall we? Who else knew you were coming back, apart from us?"

Danny pondered on this for a few seconds. "Nobody! I texted you from immigration when the security guard was out of the room." He smirked at the thought.

"All right, who else did you call?" demanded Mickey, his suspicions growing by the minute.

"Like I said, nobody here. There was this gorgeous weather lady…"

"Danny! You just said nobody else knew!" Mickey was infuriated.

"Yeah. Nobody here." Danny seemed unable to see the conflict, and

Mickey realised he would have to spell it out in words of one syllable.

"Think about it, Danny: if you were able to get a message to me across the Atlantic, what would prevent your weather girl from doing something the same if she wanted to?"

"Amy? Naaahhhhh." Danny grinned fondly at the memory.

"Oh, for goodness' sake! Give me your mobile." Mickey held out his hand.

"What! No way…"

"Danny, if you want us to help you, you need to co-operate. Come on, hand it over."

With deep reluctance, Danny drew an iPhone from his pocket. "Now, this has got all my…" Mickey snatched the device unceremoniously from his hand, and began going through the contacts.

"I'll get Ash to vet these and find out if there are any security issues with the phone itself," he announced, putting it away.

"What about me?! How am I supposed to…" Again, Danny wasn't allowed to finish, but was handed a very basic mobile, which he regarded with suspicion and distaste.

"There's ten quid on it. Don't spend it all at once, and don't contact Amy – or anybody else – until we tell you it's safe to do so. Right, I'm off. You carry on, and stay out of trouble – better yet, stay in your hotel room and don't annoy anyone else," lectured Mickey. He leaned forward, asked the driver to pull over and let him out, and instructed him to continue on to Danny's hotel. "I'll be calling you on your room phone," was his final attempt to ensure the outcast behaved himself.

**********

"I thought I'd find you here," murmured Mickey as he slid into the booth to face Ash.

"You mean, you rang Eddie and he told you I was keeping Jack Daniels company," was the reply.

"Boy, you really are in the mood for plain speaking, aren't you?" Mickey shook his head wistfully.

"I figured it was about time." Ash topped up his glass, and signalled for Eddie to bring another so that Mickey could join him.

"Just my usual, please, Eddie," Mickey called across to the bartender, who obliged by bringing him a tall orange juice, then discreetly left the pair to their conversation.

"Ash, nobody's going to force anybody to do anything they don't want to do – and that includes accepting Danny back into the crew. I'm serious," he added for emphasis, as Ash looked up in surprise. "If necessary, we'll take a vote on it, and it would need to be unanimous in favour of him returning. Of course, that would go for Sean as well, if the circumstances were such…"

Ash had been toying with his drink as Mickey spoke, making him hard to read. Now he sat back and exhaled. "I'm a realist, Mick; I know there isn't a snowball's chance of Sean giving up la dolce vita to come back to us…"

"…Emma even less so," interjected Mickey ruefully.

A lopsided grin tugged at Ash's mouth as he carried on, "…but I wouldn't expect him to get preferential treatment if he did – it'd still have to be a joint decision. But you know how I'd vote if it came to it with Danny."

Nodding philosophically, Mickey leaned on the table, arms folded. "I'm not here to try and change your mind, Ash. Obviously we've moved on as a team, and as individuals, since we all last worked with Danny, and a lot of water's gone under the bridge. And I'm sure you've got a good idea of how Albert and Stacie feel about him."

"Stacie's a tough one to call," observed Ash. "On one hand she was excited about him coming home and happy to see him again, but on the other hand, she doesn't have especially happy memories of working with him in the States."

Mickey shook his head. "I'm pretty sure that while she'd be fine with Danny as a friend, having him as a colleague again would be a very different story. And as far as I'm concerned, his being part of the crew now wouldn't be a wise move."

There wasn't much more that could be said. The two men finished their drinks, the atmosphere a lot less strained than at the start.

Mickey broke the silence conversationally. "It looks like Danny got himself in tow with a femme fatale in Washington – hence his arrival back on these shores. Unfortunately trouble seems to follow him wherever he lands."

"Police?" Ash asked.

Mickey nodded in reply. "They got a tip he was dealing drugs and carted him off at gunpoint." He raised an eyebrow at Ash's amused expression. "Could've been nasty!" he said by way of a reprimand.

"I somehow doubt it," countered Ash, still smiling. "When have you known Danny to have anything to do with drugs, apart from that run-in we had with lovely Inspector York?" He hesitated, then seemed to forge ahead with what he wanted to say. "I knew perfectly well that they wouldn't find anything more incriminating on him than some bent credit cards."

Mickey's jaw almost hit the table. "Are you telling me that you were the anonymous tipster?" When Ash's nod confirmed this, Mickey stared at him incredulously. "What the hell did you hope to accomplish, Ash?"

"Just wanted to wipe that smug grin off his face. He still needs reminding that he's as vulnerable as the rest of us." Ash rose to go. "Incidentally, I had nothing to do with him being deported. If I'd had my way, he'd have been granted American citizenship and allowed to stay there forever."

It was only once Ash had left that Mickey realised he had totally forgotten to ask him to check out Danny's phone. He slumped forward onto the table, hiding his face in his folded arms. What a bloody day! And it wasn't even over yet…

His phone rang. "We've got a problem, Mickey."

Why did the hairs stand up on the back of his neck at the tone of Stacie's voice? "What's up?" he asked, although he didn't particularly want to know the answer.

"I got a bit of a garbled voicemail message from Danny, something about the hotel and being asked to go somewhere he didn't like the sound of…it was all very confused. I think he was still at his hotel, though."

"I'll meet you there, then. Albert knows where it is." Mickey ended the call, tossed the money for his drink at a startled Eddie, and flew up the stairs into the street. He had to run half a block before he found a taxi, which managed to get him to the Euro International in record time.

Albert was waiting on the hotel steps. "Stacie's inside, sweet-talking the young man on the reception desk," he explained helpfully as they walked into the lobby.

Stacie saw them, finished her conversation and came over. "From what I can gather, about forty-five minutes ago a group of six men turned up and asked Marius, the receptionist, for Danny's room number. They claimed he was a terrorist suspect. Unbelievably, he'd checked in under his own name" – here Albert and Mickey tutted and pulled incredulous faces – "and when one of them flashed some sort of ID card, Marius just caved and told them. They went charging upstairs and brought Danny down. All Marius could see was that they put him in the back of some kind of dark-coloured van." She lowered her voice and added, "I think Marius was a bit intimidated by it all, they definitely put the wind up him."

She and Albert looked at Mickey hopefully. When he remained silent, they looked at each other. At last, Albert said, "Michael?"

Without making any reply, Mickey turned and went out of the hotel. Alarmed, Stacie went after him, followed by a somewhat resigned Albert. On the pavement, Stacie collared Mickey. "What's going on? We have to help him, Mickey! I'll call Sandra again," she finished decisively, pulling her phone out of her handbag.

Mickey gave a noncommittal shrug and started to walk away. As they followed, Albert put a hand on Stacie's arm and said, "Don't bother your friend. There's only so many times you can call in a favour, and you don't want to wear out that particular marker, my dear."

Stacie gawped at the apparent indifference of the two of them. "He's your friend too, Albert," she said in a very reproachful voice.

"I know he is, but what kind of friends would we be if every single time Danny got himself into hot water, we pulled him out again? He'd never learn that every action has its repercussions and that in real life, you can't always escape them."

"He's right, Stacie. It's time we let Danny show us what he's really made of." So saying, Mickey headed for a nearby Thai restaurant that happened to be a favourite of his.

"I'm going to call Ash anyway," answered Stacie obstinately. A cross frown told the others that she hadn't succeeded in getting hold of him. "He'd better check his voicemail," she muttered, implying that there would be dire consequences if he didn't.

**********

"You there!" The imperious voice shook the desk sergeant from his crossword puzzle and biscuits.

"Yes, sir!" He jumped to attention and tried to surreptitiously brush some crumbs from his tunic.

"ADC Morris for Detective Inspector Oakley. See that he's told I'm here. And I don't care to be kept waiting, either." Having delivered this speech, the Assistant District Commissioner strode around the front office a few times, inspecting notice boards and dust layers. DI Oakley was informed of his presence in short order, and produced himself at his superior officer's behest.

"I hear you're holding a terrorist suspect," announced Morris.

"Yes, sir." Unsure what Morris's connection to the case was, Oakley asked tentatively, "Would you like to speak to the prisoner, sir?"

"That's why I'm here, man! Good grief, does everybody round here operate on single-figure brain cells? Take me to him!"

Obeying at once and partly in fear for his life, Oakley conducted the ADC to the custody area. The presence of so much gold braid and a military-style moustache made all present unaccountably nervous, as was evinced by the dropped papers, spilt tea and hushed tones of the rank and file.

Oakley instructed the custody officer to take them to the cells, and the three men gazed in on the hapless Danny.

"Right," barked Morris, "open up." He thrust a printed form into Oakley's hand. "He's to be taken to Paddington Green. Can't think why the hell he was brought here in the first place."

Oakley hesitated, and was immediately sorry for it. "Well, man? What are you waiting for? Organise transport and a driver, for pity's sake!"

The custody sergeant saved any further blushes by almost running back to his post and commandeering two constables and a patrol car. A handcuffed Danny was brought from the cell and taken out to be placed in the back seat. Without so much as a backward glance, Morris got in beside the prisoner, and ordered the driver to make for Paddington Green. A prickly silence descended on the car's occupants, and remained until the car had stopped at a set of traffic lights, at which point both Danny (now mysteriously un-cuffed) and ADC Morris got out of the back seat and legged it for all they were worth. The two PCs in the front of the car looked at each other with a mixture of disbelief and horror.

**********

"Wow, cheers, Ash!" Both men were bent almost double, and Danny clapped his rescuer on the back as they gasped for breath about half a mile away. It had soon become apparent that the officers in charge of the patrol car were not in hot pursuit, and the alley off a familiar back street provided the two fugitives with safety for the time being.

Ash peeled off his moustache and said, between gulps for air, "Don't ever put me in a position like that again, Danny."

"I promise…," puffed the miscreant. "What position?"

Wearily, Ash replied, "Just…don't. All right? I helped you out as a favour for Stacie."

"You're getting too old for this malarkey," grinned Danny, and was nimble enough on his feet to avoid a swipe at his head.

"But you'll notice I'm not the one that keeps getting nicked and banged up," retorted Ash. "And if you had any sense at all you wouldn't be in this situation – again." He looked over his shoulder and noticed a very nice Aston Martin Vanquish sitting parked at the end of the lane. Walking casually up to it, he could see that whoever the car belonged to obviously didn't deserve such a wonderful machine, because they had dropped the keys on the ground right next to it. With a fluid movement, he retrieved them, got in the car and started her up. Before Danny could jog the few yards to catch up with him, he was gone.

**********

It was a rather pleasant evening, for autumn, and tootling along the motorway at 105mph was just the perfect way to spend it. Having familiarised himself with all the gadgets and buttons, Ash had found his favourite radio station and was letting some prog rock ruin his eardrums. He smiled contentedly and replayed in his mind the phone conversation he'd had with Stacie before setting off on his journey.

"You've got him? Oh, that's fantastic, Ash! You are a darling. When will you be back?"

"Danny's on the way over to his hotel now, I reckon. Just hang about there and he's bound to turn up. We didn't have time to collect his property at the police station, so he won't have a phone."

"Aren't you with him? Where are you?" The note of distress that had crept into Stacie's voice stabbed at Ash's heart, and he convinced himself that he heard the faintest sob as he explained that he would be gone for a while.

"Take care, Stace, I'll be in touch when I get back." He hung up, lowered the car window, and tossed his mobile into a rubbish bin, then headed for the motorway.

Distance lends enchantment. Absence makes the heart grow fonder. His dad had been apt to use these age-old sayings, and the longer Ash lived, the longer he realised the truth of them. After all, hadn't Stacie welcomed Danny with open arms when he returned? He, Ash, had learned a valuable lesson from that. If people get used to you, they take you for granted. They don't appreciate what they have until they don't have it any more.

The hills rose all around him and the in-car thermometer dropped below zero. The night sky was crystal clear. Ash pulled over on a country road, got out, and, leaning back on the car, gazed upwards. Countless stars dotted the indigo heavens, and the Milky Way wove itself like a ribbon among them.

He didn't know how long he stayed there, marvelling at the spectacle, but suddenly he felt very cold. Hopping back into the Aston, he revved it up and headed back for the main road. The miles sped by and his thoughts went even further ahead as he saw the sign that said, "Edinburgh: 60".