Thank you to everyone for reading! Extra special thanks to the lovely reviewers. Happy place, happy place ...

"Can I help you? Sir?" The pretty girl on reception positively purred at Max. Second one today, he thought. Why didn't this happen to me when I was single?

"Yeah. Is Charlie Hammond about?"

"I'm not sure. Who's asking for him?" She leaned forward, not as well endowed as Carly's mate, but not bad.

Max flashed his warrant card. "Detective Inspector Carter." The girl's face fell in disappointment, not enough money for her, he decided with an inward smile, she's probably hanging out for a footballer. With her charm dissolving by the second she picked up the phone and turned away, mumbling into the handset. It evidently took her by surprise that he would be a welcome visitor and she turned back to Max with the surly expression of one who had wasted her quota of smiles for the day on a worthless specimen.

"He'll be down in a minute, take a seat." She waved at a crimson covered sofa to the side of the room and resumed her occupation to her nails. Max looked around. He'd been in here before, once or twice, only to ask questions of staff in connection with other investigations but he'd never paid much attention to the décor. It gave the aura of opulence, persuading its guests that they were indeed winners, that their lucky streak would come well and truly good tonight, even if it didn't seem that way at first. Max could never understand the appeal of gambling, never so much as a pound each way on the Grand National. But gambling with something far more precious than money, that was different, he was an expert in that field and so far his luck had held.

"Mr Carter! Twice in twenty-four hours, I am honoured," the boom of a familiar voice interrupted his thoughts. Max narrowed his eyes, he loathed this man's theatrics. "Always so serious, you should learn to to … what's that word Heidi?" he asked over his shoulder.

"Chillax," she muttered sullenly.

"Yes, that's it. Chillax!"

Max regarded him coolly, which only seemed to further amuse the older man and irritate Max even more. "I assume you haven't heard about Carly Fleischmann then?"

"Carly? Why, what's happened to her? Who has she laid into this time?" he asked humorously. "She's quite a handful. And a spoilt one at that."

"She disappeared yesterday. We have reason to believe she has been abducted, her car was found earlier this morning, burnt out."

Hammond's joviality vanished in an instant. "You'd better come with me," he turned and Max followed him along a dimly lit corridor and through a heavy dark stained wooden door into his private office. Max shut the door behind him, watching as Charlie rounded his desk, dragging one finger along the highly polished cherry wood. "How is he coping? Georgie?"

"He's bearing up. I have an officer with him."

"His Goddaughter by any chance?" nodding with understanding as Max's silence answered his question. "Those two families, they go back a long way. I'll bet the mother is on hand as well." He gave a little dry laugh at Max's obvious discomfort at being so personally involved. "I don't have any kids, so I won't say I know what he must be going through, but I do feel for the man."

"But you don't like him?"

"I don't have to like him to feel human compassion for him," Charlie snapped back. "Maybe that's something else you could learn." Max raised his eyebrows at the outburst which was enough for his opponent to fall back into character. "Do you have any idea why she has been abducted, or by whom?"

Still convinced that Austin was only a foot soldier in this game, Max decided against muddying the waters, he wanted whoever was really behind all of this. "What do you know about Kiril Barsukov?" he countered, ignoring Hammond's own question.

Charlie stared at Max, clearly surprised at the mention of his name. "Kiril? Not much. Pleasant enough but he keeps a low profile. Likes to be clean as a whistle, although …"

"Although what?"

"He isn't, obviously."

"Obviously?"

"He's Russian mafia, might as well have it written along the side of his car, his black Mercedes with his blacked out windows. He arrived in town one day, out of the blue, a couple of years back and started buying up anything and everything that was going cheap. But of course, he needed London contacts to keep it going, to legitimise himself and Georgie was more than willing to oblige."

"Not you? Did he approach you?"

"Oh, I met with him. But I've got everything I want right here. My place, I've spent most of my life building it and I'm not about to let anyone else come in with promises of riches and threaten to ruin it all. Barsukov is a member, I wouldn't refuse him that, but as for anything else? Well, he doesn't ask anymore."

"Why?"

Charlie sighed and eyed him wearily. "You don't listen much do you Mr Carter. I'm not greedy enough to interest them. Unlike some, I can say no and have always been able to. These people," he waved a hand, "these people depend on the greed of others to do things that they wouldn't ordinarily do."

"What do you mean? Are you saying that Fleischmann is in business with Barsukov?

Charlie shrugged his shoulders which Max took as silent acquiescence. "What do you think they are up to?"

"I couldn't say."

"Guns? Drugs? Prostitution? Money laundering?"

"Like I said, I couldn't tell you, but Georgie is a squeamish one so I doubt he'd have been interested in anything messy. Not to begin with anyway, but I suppose greed can change a man. If I had to choose, I'd say laundering, cleaning up Barsukov's dirty money through his enterprises. It would explain Barsukov's expansion of late. Especially his latest purchase, from what I hear."

"What's that?"

"A boat. Don't know why. Of everywhere that he could choose to live in London, he lives on a boat. Told me himself that the rocking motion helps him sleep better. Like being in his beloved mother's arms, if you can believe it! I suspect it's because he can leave whenever he wants."

"And where is this boat?"

"Moored in St. Katharine's Dock, very nice I understand. Close to the City, views of Tower Bridge."

"Do you know what it's called, the boat?"

"Yeah, and come to think of it, that is odd."

"What is?"

"It's called 'La Sondra II'. Didn't think to ask why, should have done. Quite a coincidence, don't you agree?"

Max felt his blood chill, surely it was too much of a coincidence that Barsukov's boat was named the same as Millie's mother. He didn't like it one bit, the seemingly unconnected strands were joining together in a way he could never have imagined only forty-eight hours ago. He took a deep breath.

"Nikolai Antonov."

"What?"

"Nikolai Antonov."

"Yes, I thought that's what you said," Charlie reached into a wooden box and took out a cigar. "I presume you don't?" he asked, gesturing at Max with it. Max shook his head. "Now there's a name I haven't heard in years. Must be thirty years, maybe more."

"What do you know?"

"I knew him, we all did, me, Georgie, Dickie Brown, at the back end of the seventies it was. He was something junior in the Russian Embassy but he liked the high life and was always ready for a party and a quick buck. He and Georgie were up to something, I don't know exactly what, but then Niko disappeared one day, presumably sent back to Mother Russia, and Georgie went inside for a bit."

"Have you heard anything of him since?"

"No, he's probably long gone. Why, do you think there's a connection?"

Max paused, wondering just how trustworthy Hammond was likely to be. He decided to play it safe. "Nah, it's just a name that came up in a file. Look, thanks for your help."

"Sure. And for what it's worth, I hope Carly is okay. She's not a bad kid, not really."

-ooOoo-

Millie slowly walked back into the house, holding the packet by its edges even though she was pretty sure whoever was behind this wasn't likely to have left any trace. Still, Eddie was bound to go on about corrupting evidence if she didn't at least try. As she walked she deliberated over who to call first. Georgie or Max. It was addressed to Georgie, so by rights he should be the one to open it. She couldn't deny him that, but the prospect of picking up the telephone and talking to him after the way he had stormed out wasn't appealing. How much easier it would be to call Max and have him take care of it. To make that call and take over everything. Yet by the time she climbed the steps and reached the door, her courage had been revived.

"Georgie? It's me. I think you should come home. Something has arrived, addressed to you. It's important." She replaced the handset, slightly ashamed at her relief that he had not answered his phone and instead had been able to hide behind voicemail.

"What have you got there?" asked Sondra quietly from the doorway to the kitchen, making Millie jump.

"I don't know," she replied hesitantly. "It's for Georgie, but look," she held the parcel up to her mother, "Carly has written the address. I don't understand. Maybe she has gone of her own accord, but I can't believe that." Millie shuddered, "I can't help wondering if she … she might have been forced …"

"Have you called Max?"

"No, not yet. I've left a message for Georgie to come home. He should be the one to open it." Sondra looked uncertain prompting Millie to continue, "He wouldn't thank me for not telling him first. You know that, not after how he was earlier."

"No, I suppose not. Tea?"

Millie smiled and nodded. Tea. When didn't a cup of tea make everything seem that little bit better, even if it was just to pass the time. While her mother moved around the kitchen as if it was her own, Millie hit redial on her mobile, Max answered immediately.
"Hey."

"Hey."

"What's up? You okay?"

"Something has arrived for Georgie by courier, or at least I thought he was a courier. A guy on a motorbike but he rode off before I got to the gate."

"And?"

"It's from Carly, or at least the address is in her handwriting."

"Really? What is it?"

"I don't know, it's a jiffy bag. Puffy, really light. No sound or smell. I've left a message for Georgie to come home. He should be the one to open it."

"Yeah, I guess. Look, I've got to get back to the nick but I can swing by if you want?"

"Not until after Georgie has opened it. I don't think it will help if you-"

"Are around him," Max finished for her. "It's okay, I understand. Call me when you're ready."

The minutes dragged by with only Millie and Sondra in the kitchen, both women staring at the parcel laid almost reverentially on the table. Out of bounds until Georgie's return. It felt like hours but could only have been around fifteen minutes, their mugs of tea still warm, untouched. A scraping at the lock on the front door first alerted Millie, followed by urgent footsteps.

"What is it? What-" He stopped in his tracks, his eyes locked on the yellow packet, dominating the room.

"Georgie, this came for you. It looks like Carly sent it. Her handwriting-"

Georgie snatched it up, his face stricken with fear and panic, the colour draining from skin beneath the south of France tan. He held the packet, his eyes wide, nostrils flared as he stared at the writing incomprehensibly. Sharing the same confusion as Millie and Sondra but with a deeper dread of what might be inside. Millie watched him for what seemed to be several minutes but she knew was only a matter of seconds, vaguely aware of time creeping by like a ticking clock punctuating the silence. His fingers twitched around the parcel, unwilling to rip it apart, the fear of what it might contain fighting with the need to find anything that might tell him where his daughter was.

"Do you want …?"

Her quiet offer was enough to propel Georgie forward, he turned the parcel over to grasp the tab and ripped it apart. He stopped, staring into the open end and began to stagger, his legs giving way. Millie leapt up from her chair to garb his arm and steady him, but he was a big man, a bear of a man and her strength wasn't enough. He stumbled forward towards the table, taking her with him and banging her hip against the corner painfully. She gasped but kept her hold as Sondra came to her aid. Both women looked down to his hands, one still holding the jiffy bag, the other holding a long tumbling locks of bleached blonde hair. The bag fell to the floor, its contents spilling like a glinting golden puddle, as he collapsed into a chair, his face contorted with grief.

"Who is doing this, Georgie? You have to tell me, now!"

But he wasn't there.

-ooOoo-

"So, nothing else in the bag?" Max peered into it, looking distastefully at the tangled mass of hair inside. "No ransom, no demand?"

"No, nothing. It's like … it's like it's a message in itself. Don't you think? Something he is meant to understand."

"Do you think he does?"

"I have no idea. He's gone. I mean he's still here, but he won't say anything," Millie fiddled with the end of her belt. "Oh I wish I knew what do say or do!" she wailed suddenly with frustration. "I wish I could get through to him. There has to be a reason he isn't talking."

Max sat down on the wall next to her and with his fingertips under the point of her chin pulled her face to round to his. "Just stay with him. It might take time and I still think you were right earlier, there's no one else he's likely to respond to. And there's no one else who knows him well enough."

Millie frowned. "But why? Well enough for what? What is it you think he's going to tell me? I don't understand." Max's eyes dropped nervously to her lips, wondering if he was going to have to derail her line of questioning with a kiss. He hoped she wouldn't notice and felt a guilty pang of relief when she continued. "What I really don't understand is why he won't tell me anything voluntarily about this Kiril guy."

"Oh, er, don't worry about that. I'm, er, going to have a word with him now anyway."

"Really? Shall I come with you?"

"No!" he jumped up quickly, "I mean, no. You need to stay here, call me if anything happens, I'll take this back to the nick for Eddie. He might get something from it," Max added doubtfully sealing it in an evidence bag and throwing it casually onto the passenger seat of his car before reaching into the footwell. "Here," he turned back to her with a purple box, "I thought you might need these, to keep you going."

Millie gave a little laugh as she instantly recognised the chocolate finger biscuit box and fell against the comfort of his body, taking strength from the arms that closed around her. "Thanks, whatever would I do without you?"