A/N Ta muchly to Firebird, Feebee and Kit for the reviews (v. pleased to know there is a Suzie fan out there!) ... and now, still keeping reality firmly suspended ...

"Guv!" Mickey called across the room to Max as he walked back in with Neil from meeting Meadows.

"Yeah, what is it?" both men replied simultaneously before exchanging awkward glances with each other.

"Um, yeah," Mickey's eyes flitted between the two as if unsure who it was wise to address directly. Manson was undoubtedly senior of course, but he had to deal with Carter every day. There was no contest, he gave his full attention to Max. "Lesley just called. She's been digging around Georgie's office while there was no one about. She says he keeps a cabinet of keys for a few properties he owns, not many so she knows what they are all for. But there's one set missing for an old storage unit round the back of the Larkmead estate. Apparently Georgie planned to sell it but the market has been so bad that he couldn't get the price he wanted. It's been empty for months."

"Maybe Georgie has the keys?" suggested Max.

"Nah, at least she doesn't think so. She said he would have told her. Lesley ain't no ordinary bar manager, she's been like his right hand for years. But I suppose we should ask him. It might not be anything, but maybe Barsukov isn't using any of his properties at all, maybe he's using Georgie's? Have we got anyone over at his place now?"

"Yeah, Inspector Smith sent Roger down there," Max paused, mulling over whether to go back to Fleischmann himself, if only for the opportunity to vent some of his frustration. Slowly he became aware that Mickey and Neil were waiting for his next command. "Mickey, get Roger to check with Fleischmann, but in the meantime think we should get down to. I'll call in CO19."

-ooOoo-

There was something about summer in London that made the traffic seem worse than ever. Having been holed up in an office for so long had made Suzie unaccustomed to the sheer boredom of crawling at a snail's pace for mile after mile.

"Are they digging up every road round here?" she muttered irritably.

"It seems that way," replied Tommy languidly.

"Doesn't anything ever rile you?" she asked, his apparent effortless cool was a constant source of frustration. "There must be something."

"There probably is, Suzie." He smiled, shifting the car into third gear for only the second time in the last half hour.

She sat back into her seat, annoyance gripping her that he always had the upper hand, always niggling below the surface to find her weaknesses, or at least that's how it felt. But there had been something she said that had wound him up, something about his father. She smiled inwardly as she remembered how he had lost some of that cool. "So, what made you join the Met?" she asked nonchalantly, studying her nails. He looked sideways at her for a brief moment, snapping his attention back to the road ahead. "I mean, it must have been a big deal to come over here from Northern Ireland, leaving friends and family behind." He didn't answer but she noticed with triumph that a muscle in his cheek clenched and his knuckles whitened against the dark steering wheel. Silence hung between them while Suzie stared out of the window, deliberately provoking him to respond.

"It was no hardship to leave home," he mumbled eventually.

"Why was that?" she asked with all innocence.

The car ahead came to a sudden stop, forcing Tommy to slam on the breaks albeit with possibly more aggression than was necessary. He turned back to Suzie and stared with narrowed eyes. Suzie began to rather regret her previous desire to rattle him as he had been rattling her since they first met. There was something so hard in him, his laconic aura suddenly gone. "Why are you so interested?" he demanded.

"I – I ... just curious, that's all," she finished weakly.

He regarded her for a moment longer before setting the car back into first gear and on their journey with a little laugh that set her nerves further on edge. "You know, for a smart woman you can be surprisingly dumb sometimes. You only had to put my name into google to find out what you want to know."

"What?" She chose to ignore the jibe.

He sighed. "I left Ulster because I couldn't l live with what my father was, with what he had done."

"What had he done?" she asked, aghast at having joked the day before that Leighton senior may have been a serial killer.

"Thomas Leighton," they were back into third gear again, "was a fundraiser for the IRA. Actually he was an accountant but that was only to hide what he was really doing, for the cause." Suzie's mouth jaw dropped, she couldn't believe that she didn't know. In fact she was furious with herself for not knowing, having always taken pride in her near encyclopaedic knowledge of the Met's most interesting characters. He glanced to the side and laughed. "Yeah, that's how most people react when they find out."

"But ... but ... how ... why did you join the police? I wouldn't have thought doing that would have gone down well."

"That's exactly why I did. My father disgusted me. The idea that it is acceptable to sacrifice the lives of innocent people in the name of a united Ireland disgusts me. The worst thing I could have done to him was to betray his ideals, so that's what I did. There was no way I could get into the RUC, and I wouldn't have wanted to anyway, so I left home when I was eighteen, got a job here and eventually a place at Hendon. The day that I told him that I had passed and joined the Met was the best of my life."

"Bloody hell," swore Suzie softly. "What about your mother? What did she think?"

He shook his head. "She would never choose me over my father. Love being blind and all that," he snorted derisively. "Well there you go, that's the short version anyway. Satisfied?" he concluded as once again he pulled up outside the fish and chip shop in Stanhope Lane.

"Umm, yeah, I guess," answered Suzie slowly, "for now," she added as she got out of the car and followed him up to the door of number 37a. Tommy glanced back at Suzie over his shoulder as he pressed the doorbell. Plenty of people knew his story, he was used to that, but he had rarely told it himself, never being particularly interested in righting the misconceptions that may have caused by rumour and gossip. What had started out as the desire to damage his father had long since faded as he found that he loved the job and the purpose it gave his existence. He preferred not to think that perhaps it was a trait he shared with his father. Telling Suzie felt cathartic, getting the words out hadn't been so difficult after all. And besides, she did look particularly cute in shock.

Mrs Austin answered the doorbell almost immediately, which came as no surprise to Tommy and Suzie. Her principle activity each day appeared to be watching the world go by, in and out of the chip shop, from her armchair in the front room.

"Sergeant Leighton," she gushed, patently ignoring Suzie next to him. "Please come in," she stood to the side welcoming him into the house, giving Suzie only the merest of glances. "What can I do for you?"

Tommy sat on the sofa closest to the armchair, his most charming smile radiating at the older woman. Suzie marvelled at him, only moments ago he had been filled with bitterness. Not a trace of that remained.

"Mrs Austin, the truth is, we need your help," he said earnestly.

"Oh, really?" she asked with girlish excitement. "Of course, anything. But first I think we need a nice cup of tea." The charming smile faded from Tommy's lips as she busied herself out of the room, the sound of the kettle boiling and cups clanking onto a tray from the kitchen beyond. Suzie took the opportunity to study the family photographs littered among the crucifixes, Madonnas and aging fake flowers cluttering almost every surface. She winced at the awkwardness, the unattractiveness of this family but had to feel sorry at the point in young David's life where three had become just two. She looked across at Tommy, suddenly realising that he had spoken of his father in the past tense. Her thoughts however were interrupted before she could give them voice by Mrs Austin returning to the room, balancing a tray laden with teapot, cups and a large variety of cheap sugary biscuits. Tommy leapt to his feet, gallantly taking the tray from her hands and carefully laying it on a table between the armchair and sofa, encouraging her to sit in the chair next to him. With seemingly practised ease he began to pour, having checked her preference for tea or milk first. Mrs Austin smiled at him over her cup.

"So, how is it that I can help you?"

"It's David," he watched as her smile faltered for a moment. "I'm sorry, Mrs Austin, but we believe that he ... he may have been taken advantage of. You said yesterday that he is a good lad and we believe you," he glanced up at Suzie who nodded in a non-committal manner. She knew her response didn't matter, Mrs Austin had only eyes for the darkly good-looking man in her front room. "But, the man he has been working for, Kiril Barsukov, is someone we know to be involved in criminal activities. We believe that that he is behind the abduction of two women." Mrs Austin visibly bristled prompting Tommy to continue swiftly, "and that if he is, then he may have taken advantage of David's good nature and be using him to do his dirty work."

"No!" she exclaimed hotly. "No! My Davey would never-"

"Your Davey probably didn't even know what he was getting into until it was too late," soothed Tommy. "I know you've only ever done the very best you can for him, and I know it must have been hard for you to bring up the boy alone." Suzie had to turn away at the butteryness of his tone, flattering every fibre of this woman's being but she couldn't deny that it was the only tactic likely to work. "You've done a fine job, and I'm sure you've had to pull him back on to the straight and narrow plenty of times. Boys will be boys," he added cheekily drawing the smile back to her lips.

"Well, yes, it has been hard sometimes. I'm sure your Ma had to do the same with you." Suzie looked across sharply but found herself almost disappointed to see no reaction from him, his features gave away nothing.

"Perhaps this is one of those times? Perhaps you need to step in and pull him back into line."

Mrs Austin looked uncertain, setting down her cup and saucer with shaking fingers. "I don't know," she said quietly. "He doesn't listen to me so much these days," she finished with sad reluctance.

"We need to get him away from Barsukov, before something terrible happens. Before he gets himself into trouble that you can't get him out of."

"What would I have to do?"

"Just call him. Tell him that he needs to come home urgently."

"How?"

Tommy appeared to think seriously, although Suzie knew he had everything planned before they had even left the station. "Tell him that you've been threatened. That you're scared and that the police won't do anything. Do you think that would work?"

"I don't know. I don't know if I should. Sometimes he gets ... quite angry with me."

"But he's a good boy at heart, isn't he? If he believes you are frightened he'll come home to his Ma, any decent son would."

"But when he finds out-"

"Sure he might not be so happy at first, but we'll explain to him that this is for his own good, that you are looking out for him as any mother would. We don't want to see a nice lad led astray by a nasty piece of work like Barsukov. He'll understand," he reassured her.

Mrs Austin gazed at Tommy. Suzie felt quite unnerved by the faith the woman seemed to put in his words. He was certainly good at making women fall for him she mused, hoping that it wasn't happening to her as well.

Less than half an hour later, Suzie and Tommy were back in the car. This time he had tossed the keys to her before getting in the passenger side and settling back into his seat, eyes closed. "Tommy?" she asked softly.

"Not now Suzie. When this is all over, I promise you can ask your questions then. Although," he wriggled into a more comfortable position, "I'll not guarantee to answer."

-ooOoo-

"Millie? It's me."

She took a sharp breath and paused before replying quietly. "Hi. Is there any news?" she asked flatly, not daring to hope.

"Some. We've found where Carly was being held but there's no sign of either her or Sondra."

"How ... how do you know it's where Carly was?" she fought to keep her voice level.

"Her hair, there's still some left on the floor." He didn't go into the details. The filth of the room, the disgusting mattress on which she must have slept, the stench of the bucket left behind and kicked over by accident by one pair of very careless CO19 size nines. He didn't want her to know about that. It was enough that he was wondering if Sondra was being held in such similar conditions, he wouldn't have Millie thinking the same thing.

"Right."

"We've started talking to local residents," he carried on quickly, "not that there are many of them, but so far we have a report of a white van with blacked out windows leaving the building sometime yesterday evening. We might be able to pick it up on CCTV although I suspect the route out of here was planned so that they avoided the cameras on the main roads and stuck to the back streets. But maybe ..." he trailed off. He faltered, unable to conjure up the usual confidence he had when talking to a victim's family. It had been almost easy to detach back at the station, but talking to Millie made it real. "How are things?" he asked finally.

Millie felt her eyes burn. She blinked furiously. She wanted him to be with her, to hold her and tell her that everything was going to be okay but his earlier deception had made that impossible. He had betrayed her trust in him and unleashed a myriad of latent insecurities. His arms could no longer promise her the safety she so desperately craved. At least here, in her family home, she had thought she would feel safe from what he could do to her, even if there was a terrifying hole at the heart of the house. She looked around the kitchen, Sondra's place of work at the helm of her organisation. Her food fuelled and her love gave strength to all she cared for. It was empty without her, and cold.

"We're fine," she stated sharply, shutting him out, dissuading him from further entreaty. She had neither the energy nor the wits to figure out his motives right now, it was easier to keep him away until this was over. A shudder ran through her, the prospect that this might not end with her mother's safe return never far enough away. She wished she could be as naive as so many thought her to be.

"I'll come over, later perhaps?"

"No. There's no need. I think Dad ... he's really struggling, it's better if we are alone together."

That stung. Max had come to believe that he was one of them, that he had a place inside this family but Millie was shutting him out. "I see," he took a deep breath. "Is Tara there?"

"Yes."

"And Guy?"

"Yes."

So Guy was allowed to stay, but he wasn't. The fact that Guy had nowhere else to go didn't figure large in his thoughts only that the newcomer was allowed his place but Max wasn't.

"Where was Carly held?" asked Millie into the silence.

"An old storage unit that belongs to Georgie. His bar manager alerted us to it, she noticed a set of keys were missing from his office."

Millie winced. For Carly to be held at a property belonging to her father felt like a carefully planned, malicious strike at him. "And Barsukov?"

"Still nothing to bring him in on. We're working on the rest of the property portfolio but I doubt he is stupid enough to use one of them. We need to find Austin. He's our only link. Tommy and Suzie are working on that right now but I doubt we'll track him down until the morning."

"The morning?" echoed Millie weakly.

Her quiet anguish cut into him. "Please, Millie, let me-"

"Millie! Who's that?"

Max could make out Richard's familiar voice in the background although it sounded unusually subdued.

"Dad, it's Max ... look Max, I've got to go-"

"No! Millie, wait. I want-"

"I've got to go," her voice cracked.

"Please, I-" he pleaded, but it was too late, she had already disconnected the call.

-ooOoo-

The rest of the day passed by in a timeless blur for Millie, only noticeable from the movement of the sun casting increasing shadows across the garden until eventually the dusk claimed what little light remained and swiftly plunged the kitchen into darkness. She had barely moved from the small sofa in the kitchen, wrapped in her mother's finest cashmere. No matter how she had tried to make her father comfortable, it was clear that she wasn't helping by being there. More than once she had seen the bitter disappointment in his eyes when she had gone into his study with offers of coffee or tea. It was obvious that at first he had seen her mother, the resemblance so striking, only to have his hope crushed. Millie stopped going into him, sending Tara instead. Even Guy was more use than she was, having expertly whipped up an array of dishes from the leftovers in the fridge, much to Millie's surprise. Normally everything would have been devoured, but nobody except Guy had much appetite today. She hugged her knees closer to her chest and shivered beneath the wrap, not that it was cold. She was tired, but her mind still raced, sleep wouldn't come without help. She knew that. She knew that she needed to rest but the thought that she might miss that vital call kept her awake, albeit groggily.

Numbly she unfurled her legs and pushed herself up to stand and climb the stairs to her parent's bedroom. Tara had earlier made up a bed for Richard in his study after he had emotionally refused to sleep in their bed surrounded by the possessions and smell of his missing wife. The cabinet in their bathroom contained those magic little pills, essential in times of trauma. She held the small bottle and read the instructions carefully even though she knew exactly what they were, seeking any reason to delay sleep, just in case the phone rang. One or two? Or just half? Millie pondered. Just half, just in case that call came. She didn't want to be too out of it to respond. Just enough to stop the whirring in her mind and the aching loneliness in her heart. Was this how she was going to have to go on? If both of them left her life?

By the time she reached her own room, Millie was already beginning to feel the effects, although it might simply have been natural exhaustion taking hold. Slumping to her bed, her eyes fell on the telephone on the nightstand. Gingerly she picked up the handset, trying to figure out what she wanted to say, what she wanted to hear from him. Her fingers curled around it, but then, gradually, her grip loosened as she drifted away from consciousness.

-ooOoo-

Max knew the flat was going to be empty but it still felt unnatural to walk in knowing that Millie wasn't there because she didn't want to be with him. He'd worked late, poring over every file, reading every scrap of paperwork that was connected to the disappearance of the two women. There had to be a mistake or an oversight somewhere and he was fixated on finding it. But, if there was a discrepancy his tired mind was unable to locate it and shortly after midnight he had conceded defeat for the night. The remains of Sondra's shopping were still on the counter next to the fridge and mechanically he began to stack it away, barely registering the range of perfectly ready prepared vegetables that she had bought with their busy lives, and Millie's limited culinary skills, in mind. He deliberated over whether to crack open a beer and before common sense took hold he grabbed a bottle from the bottom of the fridge, reaching into the drawer to the left for a bottle opener.

Turning as he prised off the top he caught sight of the pencil drawing on the wall. It was as if she was in the room, staring at him over her shoulder, accusing him. Normally he found the portrait seductive, often arousing after a drink or two, but not now. He longed to reach out and stroke her naked spine, to bury his face into her cascading hair, to beg for her understanding. Not for forgiveness though, still certain that he would do it all again. But she wasn't here and she had refused to let him join her, locking him out and withdrawing her affection. It felt familiar, horribly familiar. Back to being a little boy, craving warmth but always shut out in the cold or in the dark. He took a long inward breath and squeezed his eyes shut. There was nothing more to be done now until the daylight of the morning came and sleep was the only way he could hasten its arrival.