Your reviews have been so nice I thought I'd post another chapter straight away!

Thanks continue to skywise012000 and Emzi.x for their beta skills.

Disclaimer: characters beling to Kudos

Chapter Four

Wednesday 21 April, 1982

Alex had been undercover for nearly two months. Another girl had been found dead at the end of March, throwing the team into turmoil. The third victim's profile was slightly different from the first two: she led a quieter lifestyle and didn't have a boyfriend. She shared her flat with another quiet girl and her parents had moved north. Gene had wanted to bring Alex in but she had insisted she remain where she was, that this change in pattern gave them a greater chance of enticing him to her. He was looking for more isolated victims, she claimed. They had argued vigorously on the telephone, Gene in his office, Alex in her temporary flat. She argued that it would take time. Again he had known that she was right, that to pull her in now would only destroy the work they had done so far. And they were still so far away from catching this killer. Again, they found no evidence on the third body to further the investigation, only the desperate grief of the girl's family.

Gene had sulked in Luigi's the evening after his row with Alex, hiding in a dark corner away from the prying gazes of his colleagues, all looking to him to lead them, to inspire them to find this evil bastard. He brooded over his third beer. He missed her: her scent, their arguments – over the phone wasn't the same: she couldn't bring her flashing eyes close to his - her loopy ideas. He regretted not having had the balls to confront her about their night together; her rejection in the morning had seemed to him so outright. He forlornly recalled the moment when, after several hours and many more bottles of wine than was sensible, he thought she would make her usual exit upstairs. She had leant forward as if to shift her chair away from the table, paused, and then let her cheek sink heavily into the palm of her hand instead and slowly batted her heavy-lidded eyelashes at him. Months of dreaming of her, of wanting to hold her, to comfort her, to find out why she had taken the Prices' deaths so personally had taken over him and without thinking he had leant forward and kissed her. And she had kissed him back. He had wanted her from the moment he set eyes on her hip-length red dress and he had sensed that his time had come, he would finally get her.

Pained, he realised that he had known then that he should have stopped it; he had taken advantage of her. She was very drunk and even he had sensed she was emotionally fragile. But he had needed to touch her, to possess her. And he had been drunk enough to allow himself this indulgence having resisted so many times before. He had carried her up the stairs, kissing her ferociously all the way. He had virtually broken the door down as she had fumbled helplessly for her keys. She had led him, pulling him by his tie, to the bedroom, hugging his face to hers.

And he had lost himself in her. To be able to run his hands through her hair, entwining his fingers in her curls, to trace the contours of her body, to fuck her as he had dreamt of doing was intoxicating. But in the morning, he felt … he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He should have been elated but he had a nagging sense of…something he couldn't quite grasp.

So she had rejected him and he accepted it. He pushed his emotions to one side, trying to treat the night like any other one-night stand: forgotten. Work dominated their time and conversation. And then a few weeks later she had fainted spectacularly in his office and his repressed feelings for her flooded back, pulling the metaphorical rug from beneath him. It was more than desire: they had already shagged, there was more to it than that, he grimly considered. And then she insisted on this crackpot scheme. He couldn't believe her urge to put herself in danger. But he was a copper and deep down he did understand her drive and was in awe of her bravery.

Two months was a long time to stomach her absence. His brief phone conversations with her made him miss her all the more. He took his turns at surveillance with the rest of the team but it was a laborious job; in the rare glimpses he caught of her moving between locations he found himself watching her instead of scouring the area for other illicit observers. There had been moments when he had almost left his observation point, walked up to her and ended it instantly, the thought of her furious reaction almost motivation enough. How could she irritate him so thoroughly yet simultaneously tug on heart strings he thought had long been severed?

It was still dark when Gene entered his office. He hadn't been able to sleep. He was fed up with this case. Right, he told himself, she's got one more week. We're not getting anywhere and she's needed here with the rest of the team. Her psychotic skills – he smiled to himself – are needed in the office and shouldn't be wasted teaching snotty-nosed, toffy-arsed kids English. He shunned the little voice at the back of his mind - the one that articulated the sentimentality that Alex had been briefly privileged to witness, even if she hadn't fully noticed it – who nagged at him that he was ending the operation for the wrong reasons: he was allowing his feelings for a bird to cloud his professional judgement.

From his vantage point on the third floor, he watched her leave the block of flats opposite and seat herself at the bus stop outside. It was raining, a light spring shower. She brushed her windswept hair from her face. He licked his lips and through his binoculars traced the contours of her form with his eyes, down the length of her neck, along the v-line of her satin shirt, taking in the exposed skin. He inhaled heavily at the thought of her breasts beneath. She placed one hand on her stomach, rubbing it gently with her thumb. Her legs were crossed at the ankles. He could imagine the smell of the leather of her boots hugging her legs.

She lived alone. There was no boyfriend, he was sure. Three women had moved into the block in the last few months. He had seen a woman enter the building with her a few times but that was all. She worked at the local private girls' school. He grimaced. It would be different this time. Those pleas on the television from their families: he had had enough of that. He would not lose control, would not be the one to be caught. He would not be the stereotype. His psychology degree had taught him well and he knew why he was doing what he was doing. But he pushed his last shred of conscience to the depths of his soul. She had no life, he told himself. There was no one to really care for her. His need was greater. One addiction is like any other. But there was no counselling for his addiction. His body ached at the memory of the blood, tiny bubbles glistening through their pale skins. He didn't want to kill them but they only had so much blood.

He had curbed himself after the first two. He knew he would leave clues. He had locked himself in his flat for three days, shaking and sweating in a corner, detoxing himself. He would not allow any mistakes and he had known he was close to losing control, the excitement, the high, too much for him to manage.

The last one had been three weeks ago. He was ready for another.

Alex waited for fifteen minutes before giving up on the bus and deciding to walk the thirty-minute journey to school instead. She stood up for two minutes, giving Ray and Chris enough time to notice her change of plan, according to the agreed code. She shoved her hands in her pockets, hunching her shoulders against the light rain and set off in the opposite direction to the watching car.

Ray and Chris were parked about 200 yards along the road, on the corner of a side road rather than on the main road itself. They had a clear view of Alex. Her daily routine was simple: she caught the bus to work at 7.15am. A car (a different model each day) would then be parked within sight of the front gates of the school. She would leave for home at 4.30pm. Any plans that Alex made to change the routine in the evening, she called into the office from the phone in the sparsely furnished flat. Any change to her route or mode of transport, she would stand for a few minutes before moving along her way.

DC Chris Skelton had a pounding headache. He had passed out at the bar at Luigi's the night before. All this surveillance, it was so boring. They had been doing this for months. Another girl had been killed and they still had no evidence. He missed hanging out with Shaz at work and had overdone it last night. He wasn't meant to be on duty today but another member of the team had called in sick, and the Guv insisted there were two officers watching Alex at all times.

Ray teased him mercilessly.

"You big poofter, can't hold yer booze. 'Ere, I'll get you a sarnie." laughing at the sight of his friend whose eyes were crossing as he leant against the headrest. "Keep yer eyes on 'er ,won't ya." he said to Chris as he closed the door of the car.

"'ey, Ray. We're 'sposed to stay in the car together." But it was too late, Ray had already crossed the road, heading for the cafe about 100 yards along the side road. Chris willed himself to sit up properly. He peered through the binoculars. She was standing. Chris glanced at his watch: 7.30. "Oh shit." He had to make a quick decision. He jumped out the car and ran after Ray.

"She's moving, the bus 'asn't turned up!" he puffed as he caught up with Ray exiting the cafe.

"'lright, calm down. She's prob'bly just walking to school." Ray said calmly, thrusting a sausage bap into Chris's hand who looked at it with bemusement.

They returned to the car, Ray in the driving seat. She was gone. "Oh, fuck!" Ray started the car, and tore off down the road, past the flats and the bus stop. It was a long, straight road which meant it should take her at least ten minutes before she had to make a turning that was the route to the school. They made it to the end of the road in less than twenty seconds.

"Where the bleeding'ell is she?!" Ray yelled. "Stupid tart, why couldn't she wait for the bloody bus!"

The bus hadn't turned up. She walked away. He reacted instantly. In less than a minute he was down the stairs, along the road, a mere few feet behind her.

Alex felt the bang to the back of her head before she registered that she was being pulled backwards and a gloved hand had covered her mouth and nostrils. She tried to steady herself on her feet, but she was being dragged with such force. She grabbed at the arms around her chest, pulling downwards. She couldn't breathe. She tried to elbow her attacker in the ribs but he withstood her blows. Alex's eyes darted around urgently, looking for her back-up, seeing no one on the street to help her. She tried to scream but only a muffled noise came from her lips. She gained a brief respite as he removed his hand momentarily from her mouth. She breathed in huge gulps of air, needing a few breaths before she could scream. She didn't get the chance as his hand returned to her mouth with a cloth and Alex blacked out instantly.

Gene's phone rang. Sitting at his desk he looked at it, barely moving a muscle. His senses condensed that moment, searing the memory of every detail of the ordinary morning office buzz. He flicked his eyes towards the office and glanced at her empty desk. The phone continued to ring insistently. There was an almost imperceptible stillness in the air that hung heavily over him. Sniffing, Gene picked up the receiver, trying to ignore the tingling butterfly sensations that had crept across his every pore.

TBC...