Jack had his hands shoved deeply into his pockets as he watched Phryne walking in front of him, keeping a few paces back so as not to give away their small indiscretion behind the gymnasium. Belatedly, he noticed his waistcoat was still unbuttoned and he rushed to restore himself to a respectable state.

Her power over him scared him a little. A lot, if he was honest. Jack Robinson was not at all the type of man to indulge in a semi-public encounter with a woman, especially not while on duty. And yet, just then, he had not thought twice. She had needed him and he had needed her and he had not thought twice.

Only now, watching her join merrily up with Hugh at the front of the school, did he truly assess his behavior. She was dangerous for him. This was not news, really. He had always known how dangerous. Not only to his heart but to his habits. Despite his attraction to her, Jack preferred a quiet life. With all the excitement that came with being a policeman, he really didn't need any extra stimulation while at home. It was one of the reasons why he and Rosie had not got on towards the end.

After the war, Jack treasured the comforts of home more than ever, valued every bit of peace and quiet and privacy he could get. Rosie, on the other hand, committed them to every soirée, ball, and party in Melbourne and beyond. He had played along at first, standing quietly at her side while she danced and socialized, not noticing for a moment her husband's discomfort. Before long, however, this had become tiresome to Jack and he had simply stopped going. Though she had barely acknowledged him when he did go, for him not to go at all was unacceptable and she made sure he knew it. It had been one of many things that had led to their downfall.

Would it be the same with Phryne? Would she expect him to always keep up with her? Though her energy and vitality were among the things about her that most attracted him, he didn't think he could match her on a daily basis. He spent his energies in his police work, and when the day was done he was happiest when he could simply go home and recline on the sofa with the newspaper or a good book.

The attraction and desire between them was undeniable. And their friendship was strong. But the jury was still out on whether a long-term romantic relationship would be possible between them. Or if Phryne would even be able to sustain a monogamous partnership for that long.

And a fling was not what Jack was after with Phryne Fisher. He valued their friendship too much. What was more, he did not think their professional relationship, which he valued very much as well, would be able to survive a fling. Not on his end anyway. His emotions were too invested. He mentally berated himself, thinking belatedly that he would have been better off keeping his hands and lips to himself.

But such had been the circle he had followed around and around in his head since he had first come to terms with his attraction to her. Only this time, instead of reaching the conclusion that it would never work between them, he had acted on his impulses. And now he had no choice but to see where that led.

Strangely, it filled him with excitement and hope rather than dread and doom. There was something here, and there was a chance, even if it was but a small one, that they could make it.

But there was a predator on the loose and at least one young victim in very real danger. This was not the time to be fretting about his love life.

"Let's stop by your home, Miss Fisher, and see what Jane's progress is with the sketch artist," he suggested as the three of them climbed into the police motor. "Perhaps while we're there, Hugh can borrow your telephone to check in on the young ladies who have been missing from school."

"Yes, of course," replied Phryne, straightening her cloche. "We'll need to put feet on the ground with that sketch as soon as we can."

They were back at Phryne's front door before long. They entered to the aroma of lemon and sugar warming in the oven. "Delightful," sighed Phryne. "Mr. Butler must be making lemon cakes." She relieved them of their hats and coats and hung them up along with her own.

"I'd not turn down a lemon cake, or five," smiled Hugh as they entered the drawing room, where Dot and Jane sat across from the sketch artist, who was still working away at the face of a man who at this point looked not unlike the only portrait Jack had ever seen of the poet Edgar Allan Poe.

"We're finishing up here," said the sketch artist, who was called Laurent. The man had studied with great painters in Paris, but had never truly managed to come into his own as an artist. His abilities, however, lent themselves well to police work, and he had contributed to the capture of no small number of criminals. "Jane has been an excellent witness."

"If you will sit with them and let us know when they're finished," Phryne said to Hugh, giving the young constable a squeeze on the elbow. "I have something to discuss with your inspector in the garden."

Oh dear, thought Jack. Was she looking to continue their earlier encounter? Behind a deserted gymnasium was one thing, but in Phryne's garden, where anyone could be expected to look out a window at any moment, he did not dare lay hands on her. No matter how much he may want to.

Nonetheless he allowed himself to be led to the back of the house and out into the lush Eden which Phryne had cultivated—or, at least, had paid to be cultivated—in the yard behind the mansion. It was filled with both native Australian flora, such as eucalyptus and climbing clematis, as well as exotic imported blooms—graceful white tuberose, bold pink peonies, and delicate cream-flowered osmanthus hedges.

Jack inhaled the crisp, potent scent of earth and herbage as he waited for Phryne to announce her purpose.

"I just thought I'd hear your thoughts on what we should tell everyone. About us, I mean," she said with a very un-Phrynelike timidity. "Dot and Hugh already have their suspicions, and I don't want anyone to get the wrong idea."

"The wrong idea, indeed," Jack laughed. "You want to talk about this now? When we're trying to catch a killer?"

"Don't laugh," she scolded, giggling a little herself. "Who knows when there will be a good time to talk about it? And in the mean time, I don't want the people we care about to be anxious about what is going on between us. As long as we have a moment of free time, waiting for the sketch to be completed, we might as well put a strategy together."

"Well," said Jack, a smile in his eyes. "We could tell them I'm courting you."

"Don't make me laugh, Jack! They wouldn't believe it for a second."

He raised an eyebrow and flashed her another grin. "What will we say then? That we're lovers?"

"I think we should tell them we are exploring the boundaries of our relationship and that they should not worry themselves. We will let them know if anything develops."

He smirked at her. "That sounds complicated. It will concern them even more."

"By all means, then, if you have any better suggestions?" she said with a touch of exasperation.

He grasped her wrist and nudged her behind a particularly tall osmanthus shrub. Once adequately hidden, he pulled her close and pressed a kiss to her fringe. "I think we'll only complicate things more by trying to put a name to things before we even know ourselves what our intentions are. Let them wonder. When we're ready to make things official, if we ever are, that is...then we'll sit everyone down and have a grand talk. Otherwise let things continue as usual. All they know for sure is that you spent time at my house. Knowing how little you care for propriety, they will eventually pass this off as Phryne being Phryne and assume everything is as it has always been. All of this is so new, I feel as if we would be preempting things by sitting them all down for an extravagant conversation. Let's let it marinate for a bit, and then we'll decide."

She nodded in agreement, taking a step closer to him and tucking her head beneath his chin. They stood like that for several quiet moments, listening to the sounds of the birds chattering around them and breathing in the diverse garden aromas. Jack felt pleasantly weak at the sensation of her heart beating against him, the faint vibration just discernible through their layers of clothes.

"I do have one question for you, Jack," she murmured, lifting her chin to speak against his ear, grasping the lapels of his coat in her fingers. "Just a little something that has been bothering me."

"Yes?" he invited her to continue, somewhat nervously.

"First, I'll admit to eavesdropping on this one, an activity that should not surprise you, but...a while back, when Mrs. Bolkonsky advised you to pursue your greatest passion, which she indicated was close at hand...you told her you had no intention of doing so. And yet, well...here we are."

"Oh. Oh!" replied Jack, a chuckle spreading over his face. "You thought she meant you?"

Phryne pulled back a little, looking somewhat abashed, her lovely eyes hidden beneath long lashes. "Ah, I had thought...you—she—did not mean me?"

He looked thoughtful. "Perhaps she did. I was too stubborn at the time to even allow myself to think that way. I thought she meant my musical career, a fancy which I decidedly abandoned upon returning from the war. It remains among my greatest passions, music, but I spoke the truth that day...I have absolutely no intention of pursuing it."

"Well, hell," sighed Phryne with a touch of chagrin. "That is a relief. You said it so positively, that you had no intention of pursuing it, and I though both of you meant me...I had believed at the time I had no chance of winning you. A musical career! Jack Robinson, you deny that you have hidden depths, but I have now found you guilty not only of being a failed actor, but a failed musician as well!"

He laughed at her. "Failed! That is harsh, my dear. But acting was never my talent, and music could have been my path, had the war not derailed me."

"You would have made a rather captivating singer," she encouraged, sweeping her fingers over his forehead and down his clean-shaven cheek. "I would have bought tickets to see you perform. But I must say I'm selfishly glad to have your performances all to myself."

"I can see that," he replied, pressing a long, warm kiss to the hinge of her jaw. She gave a sigh of perfect happiness against his neck, and he shivered at the way her breath feathered over the sensitive hairs of his nape.

The tender moment was interrupted by Hugh's eager voice coming round the corner. "Miss Fisher! Inspector? Where are you? They're just putting on the finishing touches, you may want to come in and have look."

Phryne smoothed a hand over her still-perfect bob and untangled herself from Jack, coming out from behind the hedge to reply to Hugh before he got suspicious. "Here we come. Is Jane satisfied with the likeness?"

"I believe so, Miss. She says it looks quite like Dr. Jones."

They entered the drawing room a few steps in front of Dot, who followed them with a tray of warm lemon cakes and tea. Once everyone had helped themselves to refreshments, Laurent, who had been adding a few final flicks of charcoal to the paper, passed the sketch to Jack.

It was a little frightening, even for Jack, to look upon the face of the man who had inflicted such depravities on poor little Marjorie Hyde. He had delicate features to match the description witnesses had given of him being a petite man; a small nose and mouth, the upper lip of which was indeed tugged slightly upward by a cleft lip scar. His eyes were dark and dead-looking—Jack could not tell if it was his imagination or if Laurent was talented enough to insert the emotions of a cold-blooded killer into the drawing itself. The man's black hair was slicked back and shiny, as Jane had described. For all this, it was a stodgy, insignificant face, a face that would easily disappear in a crowd. Jack sensed he would have trouble getting the casual observer to remember a face like that.

Frustrated, though he wasn't entirely sure why, he passed the drawing over to Hugh, who subsequently passed it on to Phryne, both examining it in turn. Dot, who was mixing a lump of sugar into her tea, stood to peek over her mistress's shoulder at the man she had watched Jane speak onto paper all morning.

Jack watched helplessly as, almost in slow motion, a look of shock widened Dot's eyes and made her hands loose and weak, causing her cup of tea and saucer to fall crashing to her feet.

"Ouch!" cried Dot, jumping back as the hot liquid soaked her ankles. Mr. Butler rushed forward to dab at Dot's scalded legs with a towel and both Hugh and Phryne hurried to Dot's side, looking deeply concerned.

"Dot! Good gracious, are you all right?" Phryne asked her shaken companion, grasping Dot by the hand.

Dot's shook her head. Her hands were trembling, along with her voice, as she spoke. "The portrait. The man," she half-whispered, her face white. "I know him. And so do you, Miss."

Thanks for your continued comments and support! Please don't hesitate if you find any inaccuracies, I'm not solid on some of the details from the show so if you see something incorrect please tell me! As always, thanks so much for reading!