Just for xLaramiex...

In her hospital bed, Harry was restless. Spikings had been and gone, having questioned her closely. She told him everything she could remember, tried to give a detailed description of the man. She was ashamed to find that the memories from the car were somewhat hazy, a combination of the bang on the head and the shock and trauma.

Spikings appeared somewhat sheepish; Harry guessed he felt guilty about allowing her to go undercover in the first place. She was glad Dempsey was absent by then – she had sensed his suppressed anger earlier, and while she knew he felt unable to attack her directly after what she had been through, she imagined he wouldn't extend the same courtesy to the Chief.

They had dosed her with painkillers, but there wasn't really anything else they could do. She wanted to go home as soon as possible, but they were keeping her in for a few more hours 'just for observation.' "I'm not concussed," she'd complained, but the nurse held firm.

Now she looked around at the dismal off-white walls. Nothing happening – only her thoughts for company. She didn't really want to go back there - to last night – but it was hard to stay away. Did Tina know what had happened? Harry hoped against hope that she wouldn't be out on the streets tonight. It was desperate, the choice these women faced. No choice at all. It made her so angry. I should be out there looking for him again. This isn't over yet.

She'd been unlucky, of course she had. Still, her mind kept slipping back to her disagreement with Dempsey yesterday. She had been so adamant that she wanted to go undercover, despite the fact that she knew it was risky. Lately, she had been behaving increasingly recklessly, almost as though she wanted to deliberately push herself into ever more dangerous situations.

She stared through the small window of her hospital room. The only view was of a concrete wall, but she didn't see it. She was deep in thought.

Since the kidnap in Buckinghamshire and the face-off with Delaney, she felt out of control. Something had changed that day, Dempsey was right. She had looked death in the face and once the euphoria of survival wore off, she was left with the realisation that her old, unshakeable self-confidence was shattered. She had begun to question whether she was really cut out for the job, but she was terrified to admit that – to herself, much less to anyone else – so instead she dealt with it by tackling everything head-on, trying to erase what had happened and prove herself again.

Last night was a classic example, and look where it had got her – back to square one, and worse. She'd been inches from a killer, and what had she done? Frozen. Her cheeks coloured with shame and hurt.

And what about Dempsey? She shut him out and kept him at arm's length, never letting him get close. Why? Because thinking about their night together reminded her of what preceded it? Or was it something else, something deeper – her own fear of getting hurt? He was the only person she could imagine being honest with about her feelings; about the recurring nightmares that woke her in the small hours, dry-mouthed and terrified. About how she kept putting herself on the line because she desperately needed to take back some control - to do something good and put the memory of Delaney to rest once and for all.

She was angry. She had to acknowledge it to herself. Stop taking it out on Dempsey. You always hurt the ones you love came the small voice in her head. "Is that right, Harriet?" she said aloud, and smiled a small, wry smile.

She would talk to him. She owed her partner that. Open up, and try not to shy away from whatever that might lead to. You can get in a car with a stranger who is quite possibly – and actually was – a maniac, but letting someone who cares for you into your life seems to scare you more. Crazy.

In the meantime, lying here helplessly was driving her insane. Spikings had reluctantly left the Suitor case files at her request, and they sat in a thick pile on the bedside table. Now she picked them up and began at the beginning.

An hour later, she was still pouring over them, unaware of the passage of time. She hadn't lingered for long on the crime scene photographs; they were seared into her memory anyway; but she looked again and again at the maps of body locations and the details of how they were left, searching for a pattern.

When she reached the middle of the file, her eyes fell on the note about the rings in Chas's neat handwriting. Pasted under it was the address of the toyshop that presumably, Dempsey had gone to check out. Bojangles, she read. Based in East Finchley. Sells primarily toys, and paraphernalia for children's' parties. Specialises in handmade goods, especially wooden toys imported from Norway. Stockist of designer crackers containing rings of same make as perp deposits on body. Recommend speaking with owner re purchase history.

Harry scanned down the page quickly. East Finchley, she thought idly – it's on the Northern line, just like King's Cross. North London again. She went to turn the page, but something stopped her. She read the item again more slowly. Specialises in handmade goods, especially wooden toys… why did that sentence niggle? Something about…

She rubbed her aching head, shut her eyes and reluctantly took herself back to last night and York Way. Getting into the man's car. The sweet smell. Unconsciously, her breathing quickened as she remembered the casual way he had glanced at her. As they had pulled away, she had looked at the back seat, and what had she seen? Wooden animals. Wooden toys. Could be a coincidence – could it?

"Damn it!" she shouted into the empty room. In seconds, she was out of bed. Thank God Dempsey had thought to bring her clothes to the hospital. She had to get out of here – the nurses would just have to deal with that.