She had thought about it since leaving the club that night and being driven home, whilst she got ready for bed and once she had lain down next to Stewart, who was clearly ignoring her. She'd thought that she might not be able to sleep at all for it going round and round in her head, but the exhaustion of the task quickly overtook her, and it was after lunch by the time she awoke. It still ran through her head as she showered, made herself something to eat and sat in the quiet of the kitchen contemplating not only the night ahead, but the briefing at the station beforehand. Driscoll would most likely want to know what progress she had made and whilst the truth was, little, she was more concerned about how else she was feeling and how she might tactfully bring it up. Though she knew she couldn't speak to him about it, she almost wished Stewart had been there, simply for her to suggest a hypothetic situation to and see how he would respond. But, given his current attitude, she wasn't even sure he would be of any help.

She pottered around for the rest of the day doing meaningless tasks around the house before slipping into her, by now, familiar attire and waiting for Ritchie. As she watched out of the window, she couldn't help but wonder what the neighbours would think if they saw her going out dressed as she was, despite the long coat. Most of them knew that she and Stewart were police officers and she wondered if they had any concept of the fact that either of them might, at some point, be required to do undercover work.

Ritchie was early, given the detour to the station, and as she went inside and hurried up the stairs to the CID office, she hoped that she would be there before Driscoll aware that, if she was, she could share her suspicions with someone she trusted more than she trusted him. Someone like Frank. Unfortunately, she wasn't to be rewarded, finding Driscoll already ensconced in Frank's office, a broad smile lighting up his face when he saw her.

"Well, if it isn't our little mole," he greeted her. "How are you, darling?"

The word set her teeth on edge, but she simply smiled, closing the door behind her. "Fine sir. Where's DI Burnside?"

"Oh, he just nipped out for a minute to speak to your guvnor. I said I'd keep an eye out for you." He looked her up and down. "Becoming second nature yet?"

"What?"

"Dressing like a slag."

It was the same word Stewart had used and she fought down the urge to bite back, moving past him to stand at the far wall facing the door. "I'm not complaining."

"No, I can see that." He got to his feet and stepped towards her. "I imagine you've made quite the impression on our Mr Patterson." His eyes flickered over her face. "How has your old man taken to you being undercover?"

"Oh, uh, well…" she found herself stepping back. "He's…he's fine about it, if a little annoyed I can't give him all the details."

"Really? I can't say I'd be too pleased at my wife going out looking like you and being leered at by a bunch of sleazy blokes every night." He was crowding her space now, her back pressed against the wall and she glanced quickly through the window into the main office, dismayed to find it empty. Her brain was yelling at her to ask him to move back, push him, kick him, anything to let him know she didn't appreciate how close to her he was standing. And yet, he was a senior officer one that, despite everything, part of her still wanted to impress. Perhaps it was all part of the job. "Or…maybe he gets off on it."

"I…" The sound of the door opening caused Driscoll to suddenly step back and, over his shoulder to her relief, she saw Frank watching them. "Guv."

"Everything all right?" he asked, his tone measured, his gaze moving between them.

"Fine," Driscoll replied. "Christina was just about to tell us how things have been going." He sat back down in the chair opposite Frank's desk and grinned up at her, "Weren't you, love?"

"Yes…" she stepped away from the wall, "well…I spoke to some of the girls last night and they all claimed to be eighteen, but it's clear they're not. Anyone could tell that just by looking at them."

"Did you get a look at any identification? Passports or the like?"

"No."

Driscoll's brows knitted. "Why not? Surely that would be the optimum evidence? I take it there is somewhere the whores keep their coats and bags?"

"Well yes, in the main office, but I'm hardly ever away from the bar. I only managed to talk to the girls last night on a quick break." She paused on his look of annoyance and realised she was coming up short. "I can try to have a look tonight."

"Try hard," he replied. "I heard you were a good officer. Someone with initiative. That's why I chose you for this job. Not so as you can stand around, sticking your tits in men's' faces and pocketing cash on the side."

"That is not what I'm doing!" she retorted angrily. "But I'm trying not to make myself look suspicious. These girls don't know me, don't trust me and I'm just in the door. I don't want to be seen to be asking too many questions or acting strangely, no matter how desperate you might be for information."

"Don't answer me back girl," Driscoll replied, pointing at her. "Better than you have tried it and come off worse."

"That's enough," Frank interjected. "Remember you're talking to one of my officers, Billy."

"Well, you want to teach her some manners then, Frank, don't you?" he got to his feet and straightened his jacket. "I want results here, darling, and I want them quickly. I want to be able to nick Patterson and his rich cronies this weekend with hard evidence that he's running underage girls and they're shagging them. That shouldn't be too difficult, should it?"

She opened her mouth, poised to divulge what she was thinking, when she saw Frank shake his head imperceptibly out of the corner of her eye, and closed it again. "Yes sir."

"Good. I'll see you back here Friday then. Don't let me down, darling. I'm counting on you. Frank." With that, Driscoll swept out of the office, banging the door behind him.

"Dickhead," she said before she could stop herself, Frank's eyebrows raising in surprise. "I'm sorry Guv, but he is. He should be less concerned about a job I've been doing for all of two days and more concerned about the job his man's been doing for the last year."

"How do you mean?"

"There's something about that Ryan bloke," she shook his head. "The girls warned me off him, said that he was bad news, someone to watch out for. I don't like the way he looks at me, not in a sexual way but just…I don't know…"

"You think he's gone over the side?"

"Well, he's been there all this time and he hasn't been able to get anything to help Driscoll nail Patterson? If it was as easy as looking at some identification, why hasn't he done that long before now? Why does he need me in there doing it? I don't know, there's just something…off about him." She sat down in the recently vacated chair. "Sorry, I shouldn't have called Driscoll a dickhead."

"Don't worry about it, you were only speaking the truth." He sat back in his chair and regarded her steadily. "Do you think the girls might open up to you more? Give you some inside information on Ryan?"

"I don't know. They already think I'm old enough to be their granny. Besides, I'm not there to dig up dirt on Ryan, am I?"

"No, I suppose not." He looked at her again, and she could tell what he was saying, without really saying it. "Are you all right to go back?"

"Yes."

"It's all right if you're not. If you've got a bad feeling about the place or you're worried about your safety, say something now. I told you before there would be no comeback."

"Thanks," she smiled gratefully. "But I want to see it through if I can. It's only until the weekend and if all he really wants is some identification, then I should be able to do that." She shook her head. "I suppose I should have thought about going through the girls' bags rather than him having to suggest it to me. I guess I'm not really doing as well on this job as I would have hoped." She waited for him to make some kind of cutting remark but, when it didn't come, she looked up again to find him watching her.

"You're doing fine," he replied after a long moment. "You think it's easy being undercover? I know it isn't. Even something like this. It's never easy. Especially if you feel as though you've got no support. From any quarter." She looked away, thinking on the irritation and indifference embedded in her own home at the present time. "But you do have support, all right? You've got everyone in this nick behind you, if needed. You've got me." Looking up once more, she met his gaze. "I'm your guvnor. The only person you need to be concerned about impressing on a day-to-day basis is me, not Driscoll and not your husband, understand?"

She nodded, feeling a sudden lump come into her throat and tears smart her eyes. Shit…shit…shit…the last thing she wanted was to give him the impression that she was upset over something as innocuous as playing the role of a barmaid. Christ, it wasn't as if she was being asked to spread her legs, was it? But it was the fact that he had homed in on what was really bothering her, namely the lack of support in so many ways from the one person who was meant to give it unconditionally and the fact that it was abundantly clear he was less concerned about her safety and more concerned about her being seen as in any way superior to himself. Getting to her feet, she turned to look out into the empty office, swallowing hard and willing her eyes to dry quickly.

"You all right?"

"Yes," she replied, eventually turning back to face him. "I'm fine, thank you."

"Right then, off you go, and remember…"

"I can always call you," she finished for him.

"Exactly."

"Thanks Guv."

"You're welcome."

She left then, closing the door behind her, and made her way down the stairs and outside to where Ritchie was waiting wondering, not for the first time, how things could have been so very different.

XXXX

He knew she had been upset, it had been obvious in her whole demeanour, not to mention the slight reddening of her eyes when she had last looked at him before leaving to go to the club. He also knew that it had little to do with Billy Driscoll and everything to do with her husband, git that he was. By rights, he knew he shouldn't care so much. What happened in her marriage was her own business, not something that should be affecting her work. But in some ways, given that she was the only woman in CID, he felt as though his duty of care was bigger, more important, than it would be towards anyone else, whether that was appropriate or not.

"What's the matter with you? You've been miles away ever since we started this conversation, and it was you who started it. I told you I wanted to get away, not spend my evening talking about an investigation into a car-ringing scam that's going nowhere."

Ted's voice jolted him back to reality and he looked up to meet the other man's gaze. "I'm sorry. I've got a lot on my mind right now, that's all."

"Is it something to do with Christina and whatever mysterious job she's doing?" He tried to arrange his expression into one that screamed 'of course not, don't be stupid' but it was easier said than done and the other man nodded knowingly. "I thought as much."

"Well, I'm obviously concerned about her."

"Because you don't have any control over what she's doing or…?" Ted raised his eyebrows questioningly.

"Or what?" Frank looked at him.

"Nothing."

"She's a WDC under my command. If I wasn't concerned about her being undercover, there would be something wrong."

"She's also a good-looking woman who left here dressed in very little. Enough to turn any man's head."

"If you say so."

"What's she doing anyway?"

"You know I can't tell you."

"I won't tell anyone, you know that."

"Oh yeah, you and your big mouth, Ted, don't give us it."

"Not when it comes to something like this. Not when a fellow officer is putting herself on the line," the other man looked at him indignantly. "You know me, Frank."

Frank paused for a moment. Driscoll would probably have his head for sharing the information, but he found himself disinclined to care. "She's working undercover for Vice at a club in Hackney."

"What club?"

"The Red Club. She…"

Ted's expression suddenly changed, and he straightened up in his chair. "Not Rod Patterson's place?"

"Yeah," Frank looked at him. "You know him?"

"Not personally, but I've got a few mates over that way. He's a bad bloke, Frank, a very bad bloke. What the hell is she doing working undercover for him?"

"Vice say that he runs underage girls out of his clubs."

"Yeah, and the rest."

"What do you mean?"

"He doesn't just run them, he hurts them, sometimes kills them…allegedly."

Frank stared at him, "What?"

"The way I hear it, there's been a number of girls who have worked for him over the years that have ended up beaten, raped, mutilated…only they're all too scared to press charges. Not to mention the fact that he's AMIP's prime suspect in the murder of at least three girls dating back to 1985, not that they've been able to find any hard evidence to prove it." Ted paused. "Who's the SIO on this?"

"Billy Driscoll. We worked together a few years ago."

"And he didn't tell you any of this?"

"No," Frank replied angrily, reaching for the phone, "no he bloody well didn't." Punching in the number Driscoll had left him, he waited, only to be confronted by the endless ringing of the phone at the other end. "Doesn't anyone answer the bloody phone over there?!"

"Can you pull her out?" Ted asked, as he replaced the receiver. "Frank?"

"I'm thinking."

"She could be in real danger, especially if Patterson twigs who she is. I doubt he'd have any compunction at all in doing away with a female officer."

The memory of what Christina had said earlier came flooding back to him, the suspicion she had about Driscoll's man, Ryan. If he was playing the two-headed spy, then he was perfectly placed to sabotage the whole operation, not to mention the fact that Driscoll had been so keen to use her…

"What?" Ted asked, staring at him. "What is it?"

He got to his feet, decisive action striking him before sense could. "Get your wallet. You and I are going for a few drinks."

XXXX

She had tried twice to make an excuse to go to the office on a quest to find out information, only to be thwarted on each occasion by how busy the club was. Ryan stood like a bouncer at the far end of the bar, his gaze constantly on her, making it even more difficult for her to try and arrange to sneak away and when she had taken a break to go to the bathroom, he had been hanging around outside when she emerged. If she hadn't known that he was one of her own, she would have thought he was suspicious of her, but his behaviour continued to unnerve her.

It didn't help that John, the overfriendly customer from the night before, had also returned to the club and chosen a table directly in her eyeline. Every time she glanced up, he appeared to be watching her and it was making her supremely self-conscious. At one point, he gestured to Ryan and appeared to be discussing her with him, their gazes continually moving over her, to the point where she was starting to feel slightly nauseous.

As she was finishing serving another customer, she became aware of a shadow falling over her and, looking up, came face to face with Ryan. He leaned across the bar towards her, his expression serious, his eyes dark in the dim light. "You all right?"

"Fine," she replied as brightly as she could. "Bit of a headache, that's all."

"Hmmm…." he regarded her carefully. "You need a break?"

"I'm not due one yet."

"Maybe you should take some time out, sit in the office for a bit, get a breather."

She met his gaze, her mind working overtime. Did he know what she was supposed to do? Had Driscoll briefed him that she was meant to get into the office and look for identification and, if so, was this his way of subtly giving her the excuse to do so? "I…"

"Any chance of some service here, darling?"

The sound of a familiar voice broke into her thoughts and as she looked down the bar saw to her astonishment, Frank and Ted standing watching her. For a moment she simply gaped at them before turning back to face Ryan. "I should maybe serve them first, then take my break?"

"All right," he shrugged. "Makes no difference to me. I'll be back." Seemingly without a hint of suspicion, he turned and disappeared into the throng of customers leaving her to decide how best to deal with what was in front of her.

"What can I get you?" she asked pleasantly, coming to stand in front of them.

"Vodka tonic and a large scotch please love," Frank replied.

"Coming up," she nodded, turning to retrieve glasses and ice. "I…haven't seen you in here before."

"No, first time. I'm Frank and this is Ted."

She almost found herself laughing at the absurdity of the exchange but managed to catch herself in time. "Tina," she said, placing the glasses on the bar. "What do you think of the place?"

"Very nice," Frank replied.

"Lots of nice things to look at," Ted chimed in. "Have you worked here long?"

"No, just this week. We've only just opened."

"We'll have to add it to our list of regular haunts, won't we Ted? Especially if all the girls here are as pretty as you, darling." She paused and looked at him, searching for ridicule, malice or even anger in his expression, but finding nothing. "Busy place." She finished pouring the drinks and took the money from him. "Have one for yourself."

"Thanks, I'll have one at the end of my shift. Do you…?" she broke off suddenly as John approached the bar and leaned across it towards her. "A bottle of champagne please darling, and two glasses." He glanced briefly at the other two men. "I hope these two aren't bothering you."

"No, not at all," she replied, turning to the fridge to retrieve a bottle. As she placed it back on the bar and started unwinding the paper surround, Ryan came around the bar and moved closely into her.

"I reckon it's about time you took that break now, Tina, don't you?"