A/N: Thank you so much to everyone who has read, reviewed and put this story on alert – I really appreciate it!

Chapter 5

Keats's eyes darted nervously from the TV to Evan and back again as he watched the news report. His heart was pounding and his palms were sweating so much that he could practically have drowned in his own perspiration. He felt his limbs shaking a little as the newsreader continued.

"Earlier this morning Arthur Layton, who had been on the run for two and a half years following the shooting of Detective Inspector Alex Drake, attacked two guards and a doctor before fleeing the building and attacking another man, then stealing his clothes and his car."

Keats swallowed as a picture of Layton in all his grungy glory appeared on the screen. It made Keats retch and shudder to know that's what people saw when they looked at him. A great disguise it might have been but living in that skin was a dreadful feeling.

"The public are warned that Mister Layton should be considered highly dangerous and are told not to approach him. If you believe you have seen Mister Layton please contact the police immediately. Layton was caught after a car chase involving his former victim DI Drake and police Chief Inspector Robin Shoebury-Thomas."

"Robin," Keats hissed, almost cursing at the thought of him. He felt almost as much venom toward Robin as he did to Simon. Robin was the lone person who had completely resisted temptation. He hadn't taken the bait when Keats approached him in 1995 with promises of home. It made Keats's blood boil to think of him.

"Just before the chase, a former detective had been shot by Mister Layton. It is thought both she and Chief Inspector Shoebury-Thomas are currently trying to trace the escaped man."

On the screen, two pictures appeared side by side. One was Robin, a little outdated, with his old insignia and a slightly shorter fringe. The other was a woman with long dark hair. The peripheries were different but her features were so familiar that they sent a shower of butterflies flying through Keats's stomach. Involuntarily he gasped and took a step backwards. He knew that face. He knew her well.

"Kimberly."

Not Kimberly, Kim, his mind told him, but he blocked that voice out.

He stared at the image on the screen. In reality it was only up there for a few seconds but his mind slowed down time to the point at which he felt like he was staring at her forever. He felt his heart beating so fast that he wasn't sure Layton's clapped out body could handle it.

Kim. That's where things had started going so badly wrong. Something happened…

Keats used sex. He always had. Sex was a way to get what he wanted. He also had a great deal of carnal desires and needed to quench them any way he was able to. He supposed that by its very definition his job meant that he was working his way through the 7 deadly sins. Lust was his personal favourite. But still, sex was just sex. He didn't much care who with – whomever he could get his hands on. It was also a tool to manipulate other people to doing his dirty work. Either the promise o the threat of sex, the gift of blackmail – the list went on. There were so many things that sex was useful for in the eyes of Keats but that's all it ever was. Sex. Never making love, never intimacy, just sex.

Something went very badly wrong when he met Kim. Horribly, terribly, crushingly wrong.

His mouth moved a little as the image of Kim burned itself into his retinas and his memory. No, he told himself firmly, it doesn't do to think this way. She was a pawn, that was all. Just a pawn.

"Sex is a means to an end!" he announced quite out of the blue and noted a look of panic and alarm on Evan's face. "Oh, relax, Beardy," he sighed. "I wasn't talking about you." He looked scathingly at him, "I don't fancy the whisker burn," he said, flinching a little at the thought.

He tried to push all thoughts of Kim from his mind, That wasn't going to help matters, he was fairly sure of that. It was time to concentrate. If Kim and Robin, amongst others, were on his trail then he was going to need to move on quickly. Evan was only ever going to be a stop-gap. Refuelling, that's what he was doing. He held the knife an inch from Evan's face.

"I need clothes," he spat, "show me where you keep your flashy gear."

He grasped Evan's arm and hauled him to his feet, then held the knife to his neck as Evan led him up the stairs and into his bedroom.

"Sit over there," Keats gave him a heavy shove toward the far side of the room where his back made heavy contact with the radiator and gave a hefty clang. He opened the doors to a rather large closet and pulled out a crisp, smart shirt.

"Yes, this is more like it," he said, quickly shedding the horrific jumper he'd 'borrowed'. He heard Evan give a pained cry at the sight of Layton's shrivelled body and ignored him. The feeling of the cool material over his arms helped to ground him and bring him back to reality. As he fastened the buttons he recalled his own smart attire back in the nineties. Clean, pressed and starched. Evan's wasn't a bad second best.

To Evan's further horror Keats shed the baggy trousers he'd been barely keeping up, completely oblivious to the fact that he was still commando and gave the poor bearded one a long flash of Layton's miniature tackle and hairy bottom. He pulled a pair of trousers from Evan's closet and slipped them on.

"Oh, these are much better!" he said with relief and some approval. With a belt they were a near perfect fit. However, as he stared on the mirror it was still Arthur Layton staring back. The sunken features, the scraggly hair. He turned to Evan. "I need a razor."

"Do I look like a man who owns a razor?" he cried in horror.

"Anything. Clippers? Scissors? Beard trimmer?" Keats barked, the knife flashing in the light.

"Beard trimmer's on my bedside table!" Evan cried desperately.

"Ahh, perfect," Keats told him, walking across to find it. A book lying beside it caught his eye and he lifted it, then turned to Evan and raised one eyebrow in amusement. "Lady Chatterley's Lover?"

Evan gulped.

"I'm surprised you can even read," he said a little bravely but soon regretted it as he found the book flying towards him through the air where it struck him in the nose. "Ow!"

Keats grabbed the beard trimmer and switched it on. It whirred and buzzed. He wasn't sure it was up to the job but it was all he had, so he took hold of a lump of the horrid, straggly hair on his head and pulled it taught, then ran the beard trimmer into it. As he felt the hair go slack in his hand and dropped it to the floor a smile spread across his face.

"Perfect," he whispered.

Handful by handful he grasped the hair and each lump befell the same fate. Within a few minutes the straggly hair was laying on a heap in the floor and the hair on his head was… well, approximately the same length as Evans beard.

"You'll blunt my beard trimmer!" Evan wept.

"I'll blunt your tackle in a minute," Keats threatened, holding up the knife again and making sure Evan knew he wasn;' bluffing, "back on your feet." Evan did as he was told and soon found Keats grasping his arm. "Back downstairs. I need your car keys."

"Oh, not my car!" Evan wept, "please, that's all I have left!"

Keats hassled Evan down the stairs, all the time holding his knife just to the side of Evans field of vision.

"Now, where are the keys?"

"No…"

"Where are the keys?" As they reached the bottom of the stairs Keats grasped Evan firmly by his shirt and pushed him up against the wall. He held the knife against the side of his face and pressed it against his flesh, not quite hard enough to cut him but a moment away from doing so. "It's give me the car keys or get an impromptu shave."

"By the door," Evan gasped, "the bowl by the door."

Dragging Evan by the beard, Keats made his way to the wicker bowl and lifted out a set of keys. There was a shiny silver keyring attached, moulded in the shape of Evan's beard.

"God, you're a vain idiot, aren'tbyou?" Keats mocked him.

"Please, you've got my car, you're wearing my clothes, you've eaten my food," Evan could feel tears starting to roll down his cheeks now but he was too terrified to care, "just go! There's nothing else here for you."

"Not enjoying my company?" asked Keats as he dragged him back through to the kitchen and pushed him to the ground. "I'm not quiet finished yet." He knelt beside him and reached into Evan's pocket which caused the bearded one to scream and retreat. "Oh shut that flapping trap," Keats was growing tired of Evan, "I'm not fondling you, I'm only stealing your wallet!" He pulled a leather-bound wallet from his pocket and opened it up. "Even I have standards, you know." He glared into the almost empty item. "Thirty pounds?" he raised an eyebrow.

"I told you, I've got nothing!" Evan cried, "I've been suspended, my assets are frozen, all I have is in that wallet!"

Keats sighed and tucked it into his own pocket.

"Well it's a start," he said. He felt his stomach rumbling again as the snack had only taken the edge off his appetite and decided to take a packed lunch with him for the next leg of his journey. He grabbed some more bread a few other items from the fridge and cupboards before glancing around and spotting Evan's monogrammed briefcase. "Nice lunchbox," he commented, "beats a Transformers one any day!" he flipped open the catch and dumped out what looked like a lot of important paperwork and also a couple of lollipops. "Oh, Evan," Keats picked them up and turned to him with a mocking smile, "how old are you? Or are these for hanging around outside of schools and luring small children into your car?"

"Just go," Evan begged.

"Now now, that's not a nice way to talk to your guest," Keats admonished, "let me just catch up on the latest news headlines first," he said turning to the TV set which was still showing an image of Layton.

"…Police would like to remind the public not to approach this man," the newsreader told him.

"Unfortunately some people have no choice," Keats laughed as he turned to Evan, "do they?"

Before Evan could start blubbering again or to beg him to leave, a very fast and hard knocking was heard at the door. Keats stood bolt-upright, looking like a wild animal about to be stalked by something creeping through the undergrowth.

"Evan?" a young female voice called his name, "Evan, it's me. Please open the door!"

Keats turned to Evan, his eyes wide.

"You stay silent," he hissed.

"That's my goddaughter, Molly," Evan wept, "please, she'll know there's something wrong…"

"I said stay silent!" cried Keats.

"Evan, I know you're in, your car's outside!" Molly's voice called through the letterbox.

"Stay silent. Wait for her to leave," Keats spat.

"Evan, it's important, please! I'm worried about you! I've been watching the news, they said –"

Her voice went silent and Keats held his breath. It seemed as though she had given up, but to his dismay the sound of a key in the lock followed the moments of quiet.

"She's got a fucking key?"

"She used to live with me," Evan wept quietly.

Keats grasped Evan and pulled him across the other side of the room as Molly let herself in, so that they could remain out of sight as long as possible.

"Evan, they've let Layton escape," Molly's worried voice called out, "Come on, Evan, you've got to be home, your telly's on!"

As the young girl appeared in the doorway she found one arm around her neck and a hand holding a knife against her skin. She gave a shriek but quickly dropped her voice as Keats warned,

"You make one noise and this slices right through your throat." He turned to Evan. "And you do or say a thing and your goddaughter finds herself on a fast-track to the grave.

"OK, OK, don't hurt her," Evan begged, "please, just don't hurt her."

Keats glared at him.

"How did you end up with another goddaughter living with you anyway?" he asked, "Make a habit of this, do you? Taking in little girls when their parents bite the bullet?" he laughed at his own joke but found to his horror that Molly wasn't going to take his presence lightly as she gave his shin a hard kick. "Oh, you silly little girl," Keats spat. He withdrew his arm, drew it back quickly and slammed it into the front of her head, knocking her backwards where her head struck the doorpost with force and she slid, unconscious to the floor.

"Molly!" Evan cried.

"Oh, shut your beard, she'd just taking a nap," spat Keats as he took the girl's scarf from around her shoulders and began tying it around her face to act a gag. As he worked, the likeness between Molly and her mother struck him deeply. It was uncanny. It gave him a strange shudder down his spine. He didn't dwell on it for very long though. He knew it was even more important to get away now. "Trousers," he barked at Evan"

Evan's face was a beautiful picture of alarm. He wasn't sure if this was some kind of horrible word association game or if Keats had just given him an unusual new nickname.

"I'm sorry?

"Take your trousers off!"

Evan's mouth dropped open as terror rose again.

"No," he said as firmly as he dared.

"Take them off, beardy," Keas was tiring of him by now, "Come on, look lively!"

"They're my trousers and I am exercising my right to wear them!"

"Right," Keats approached with the knife, "I'll have to cut them off then."

"What?" screamed Evan as Keats began to grab at the material. He scrambled to his feet. "Alright! Alright! I'll take them off!" he cried, hastily unfastening them and letting them drop to the floor.

Keats began to chuckle.

"Oh Evan," he sneered, "Y-fronts? No wonder you're single!"

Evan blushed and tried to cover up his underwear but his attention was caught by the terrifying sight of Keats holding his knife to his trousers and ripping away long sections of material.

"What the hell are you doing?" he cried, "they have a matching jacket!"

Keats point-blank ignored him and concentrated instead on grabbing his hands firmly and pulling them behind his back where he tied them together with a length of trouser materials.

"Oh, I can't say this has been a pleasure," he said as he began tying his legs as well, "but nevertheless I must leave. What a shame I couldn't stay longer. Still, I am certain we'll be seeing more of each other." He jammed a bread roll in Evan's mouth then began tying up Molly's arms and legs. "And get some more fashionable underpants, MisterWhite." As though it was all part of a day's work he paced through the hallway, briefcase in hand and out to the car where he opened the boot and returned a moment later for the girl. Molly was still out cold. She was a little slip of a girl, slim and petite and it took little strength to lift her and carry her out to the car.

As he loaded up his cargo and started to engine he gave a broad smile.

"Without your assets you still managed to provide me with a valuable item, Mister White," he said before he drove away, leaving a trouserless Evan behind. He knew he had to keep out of sight and there was one place that came to mind, one place where, he was fairly sure, there was nobody home.

"You can't be tracking me and settling in for an afternoon at home, Robin," he whispered as he left Evan's driveway and began the next leg of his journey.