It had been one of the longest, and saddest, days of her life Jo decided. The funeral had been difficult enough, but concealing her true feelings from the others and in front of his family; that had really hurt worst of all.

She changed out of her suit, pulling on her favourite silk pyjamas. The material soft, like a caress against her skin. A caress from him. Their little secret had gone to the grave with him. They had been close, everyone had known that; even though no one had really understood why or how. On the surface, it made little sense that two such disparate people should be friends.

No one had actually known how close they really were. The something between them had existed for some time, but they'd never acted on it until one night almost two months ago. She'd told him her innermost secret, the thing that still possessed her mind. They'd been a little drunk; or at least that was what she told herself. He'd looked at her with perfect solemnity and suggested that they try. She had looked at him, and a little bell had gone off in her head. A last chance sort of bell.

He'd put his hand under her chin, and tilted her face up. They'd looked at each other for a moment, because this was something momentous between them. Then he'd kissed her. As his lips touched hers, and the gentle, tentative probing of his tongue against hers, she'd reached a decision. She pulled back gently, and got to her feet. He'd watched her, uncertainty written on his face, then she'd held out her hand.

Jo didn't do men. But for the maybe chance for a baby, and the closest relationship she had had with a human being over nearly two years, she had taken Stuart to her bed and into her heart. He'd dropped his final defences, and loved her with a passion that was real and heartfelt.

Now he was gone. Taken from her. Dead at 34, by a twist of fate that had put him in that room at that time. She'd been thirty feet away, it was dark, the two figures had merged together, but only one had walked away. If she closed her eyes now she could replay in her mind the moment as he fell backwards, and the horror that had ripped through her. She'd known, even as she was racing to his side, that his injury was fatal. The darkness of his blood, leaking from the wound. She'd tried to stop the bleeding, begging him to hold on, to stay, the look in his eyes had told her he loved her. Even as he was dying, he tried to tell her he loved her. She held him in her arms, as he died. Planting a gentle kiss on his forehead unseen by their colleagues, as he slipped away.

She'd held him as long as humanly possible. She didn't want to let go, even though she knew it was hopeless. She cradled her dead lover in her arms, and pretended that he was just a colleague of whom she was very fond. She kept their secret, held it jealously to herself. It had been hard. There were times that she wanted to reveal it all. In the week since his death, as she prepared for his funeral, she'd listened to her colleagues, and talked with his family, and helped with the arrangements. Deep down her heart was screaming.

She picked up the order of service from the bed where she'd dropped it. Gently running her fingers over his picture on the cover. She was glad they'd chosen that one, a happy, carefree Stuart, smiling for the camera, that teasing spark in his brown eyes; the spark that always lifted something in her, made her heart lighter.

Tears rolled slowly down her cheeks, and she slipped the order of service into the drawer. Her tears gathered and fell, as she recalled the shock of hearing his will. Apart from a few bequests, to his sister, and his nieces, Stuart Turner had left her all his worldly possessions, including his flat. Somehow she'd expected something like this last quixotic gesture from him; even as she was trying to think of a way to say it was too much, his sister had turned to her and told her that he'd changed his will almost a year before. Some how she had managed to nod and smile, and get through the reading of the will, and through the wake. She'd left as soon as decently possible. She wanted to be alone to mourn him.

She padded down to the kitchen. Sleep was a long lost distant memory, a pair of brown eyes, and a wicked, teasing smile had seen to that. She decided on a cocoa. Perhaps the warm, chocolatey drink would help ease her dreams, seeking comfort in the familiar.

She thought about the will, as she waited for the milk to boil, "It's too much, Stu. You shouldn't have done that."

"Why not? It was mine to give." his voice was in her head. The Stu she knew and loved would have said that.

She answered him. "Because I was just your friend, Stu. You have family, they should have come first."

It was as though he was with her, in the kitchen, she could hear his voice so clearly, "You were the only family I really had, Jo. I did it for you."

"But..." she turned around, wanting to remonstrate with him, just as they had talked and argued in life.

He was there. Five feet away. Exactly as she had seen him that last day. Her sergeant; her best friend, lover and colleague. The closest human contact in her life. The shock was too great, and she reeled. He stepped forward, and in that instant she knew it wasn't a dream or in her head, he was there.

"Jo, it's really me."

"You're dead, you shouldn't be here." she muttered, too stunned to think of anything else to say.

"I couldn't just leave you, darling Jo." he stepped forward again, so close that she put her hand out to touch him, his hand curved around hers. She watched as his fingers almost passed through hers, and she felt a tingling sensation. "You're everything to me."

She fought for control, the tears gushing down her face, "you died in my arms," she choked "I thought you were gone forever, and that I would never see you again."

"The man who killed me is still out there, Jo. He's still a danger."

"But.... you can't be here."

"I came back for you, Jo. Only you can see me."

"Why? Isn't there a better place for you to be?" She was having an existentialist conversation with the ghost of her dead lover. It was a dream, it had to be.

"Not without you, Jo. There's no better place without you." he moved right up close, and she could feel the tingling all over. "I can help you. I saw my killer."

"Is that why you're here?"

"I'm here for you, Jo... and only you." He looked away for a second, "I love you, you see."

She turned back to the milk pan, poured the cocoa out. Picked up the mug. "It worked you know," she said, the flatness of her voice betraying her emotions "I got the results yesterday."

"Our little secret."

"It won't be a secret for very much longer." she said drily, and wondered if she was hormonally imbalanced, which would account for why the ghost of Stuart Turner was beaming from ear to ear. Why she was seeing him at all. The father of her unborn child.