Fictitious Love Affair

"Goodbye, Alexandra Drake."

Alex looked back, determined not to close her eyes or blink. If this man was going to kill her, then he would bloody know it. He would know the exact instant her soul left her body and her life terminated. She refused to show fear.

"What was that?" Farrant snapped his head around and Dexter looked at him in confusion.

The men by the fire had stopped talking. The shop assistant was looking guiltily at the floor.

"What did you say, Hargreaves?" Farrant demanded.

The shop assistant looked up, "I said… I said we'd get the other one next time."

"What other one?"

"The one she came into the furniture place with. He was there at the gallery too, but always with other people so we couldn't get to him."

"There's someone else-" Dexter began but Farrant cut him off.

"Was he definitely with her in the gallery today?"

"Yeah. He kissed her."

Farrant looked back at Alex, a sick smile on his face. "Who is he then, love?"

Alex said nothing.

Suddenly Farrant fired his gun, making Alex jump. "WHO IS HE?"

It was a warning shot she knew, but for the first time, she could see a way out. She would not die in this hole.

"DCI Gene Hunt," she said smoothly.

Dexter looked like he was going to cry but Farrant tipped his head back and laughed.

"Hunt? Fenchurch East? We must be in trouble. And you kissed him, eh?" He looked Alex up and down, licking his teeth. "So that's how a woman got so senior in the Met. Sleeping your way to the top are you love?"

Don't react, don't react, he still has the gun.

"We kill this bitch and get Hunt then," said Dexter.

"No!" said Alex then cursed herself. This was no time to panic.

"You're standing in your own grave, love," said Dexter, "Little too late to be begging for your life."

"Doesn't solve the Hunt problem, does it Dominic?" said Farrant. "We kill Drake and then what? Start mowing down the rest of the Met?"

"Well letting her live doesn't help!"

"He kissed you, did he? So he'd be very reluctant to let you die…"

Alex could see the cogs turning in Farrant's head. She knew what decision he would come to based on the skewed evidence he received. Of course Gene wouldn't want to lose any of his team but Farrant, who could callously arrange the murder of any of his staff, his cousin's staff and their families would fail to understand this.

A love affair- even a fictitious love affair with a false kiss- he could understand. Exposure to popular culture would have made him aware of stories in which a dashing knight saved a damsel in distress and he would see that same story here and try and make it work to his advantage.

"Get out of there," Farrant barked. "Get in the van. Wait- Hargreaves, leave her warrant card in there. Drake, drop your ring beside it. Don't worry, we'll fill it in!"

Alex obeyed, eavesdropping on their conversation as she did so.

"Look," explained Farrant, "She's worth a lot more alive than dead now that we know what she means to Hunt. We can use her life in a bargain maybe. Get them to call off whatever investigation they've got."

Alex climbed into the van and reflected on her lucky escape. She knew she had just put Gene's life in danger, but so long as he stayed away from these men, he would be OK.

The important thing was that she had bought herself more time and a ticket into the cousins' lair. She had the same rush she had felt when the stairs had beckoned to her. Wherever she was going, there would be answers.

Gene, Ray and Chris pulled up quietly outside a mansion. Gene crossed over to Matthews who was briefing his uniform department.

"It belongs to Dexter. He lives here and paints here. The transit is parked over there, look. Once we've stormed the place, we'll take it away and give it to forensics. Hunt, if you have no objections, my men will take the front and side entrances. Your team can go round the back."

"I have no objections, Matthews."

They split up and went to their respective points of entry. Ray kicked down the door.

"It's one hell of a place…" breathed Chris in wonderment.

"Paid for by filthy money," snarled Gene. Chris stopped admiring the house.

Ten minutes later, they found themselves on the third floor. They crept forwards along a high-walled corridor, guns in the air. Gene was watching the door handles, none of them had bolts or locks, so he didn't bother opening them. Wherever Alex was, if she was here and if she was alive, she wouldn't be behind a door that he could open easily.

Suddenly, they came to one. It looked new. Gene placed a gloved finger to his lips then threw himself against the door. It burst open.

It was empty of people, was what he noticed first. Clothes were strewn everywhere, suits, trousers, dresses, loose socks, shoes with no partner… and a horribly familiar, beautiful blue dress, muddied and ripped.

Gene crouched beside as he would beside a dying relative and he felt Ray and Chris come in too. Ray pointed to earthy patches on the dress. "They're probably from the wasteland."

Gene got up and turned to leave. Ray saw the expression in his eyes and shivered involuntarily. Something bad had happened to Drake, someone had made her take that dress off, had made her stand in her own grave and may even have killed her… when the Manc Lion found whoever was responsible, he was going to do more than just roar.

AN: Again, thank you so much for all your reviews! And I'm really sorry about the heart attacks and stuff.

I'm going on holiday, so there'll be a delay in the next chapter being put up, but I hope you're still enjoying the fic!