Time seemed to slow down somewhat, the edges of her vision blurring, the sounds around her muffled as though she were underwater. Abdul's gaze was locked on her, the lighter still waving around in his hand, the smell of petrol almost overpowering. She could hear her heart thudding slowly in her chest, as though it too had slowed faced with such terrible danger. Glancing at John again, and seeing the barely concealed fear on his face, she felt a sudden rush and time quickly returned to normal speed as the correct sequence of events flooded her brain and took her back to New Year's Eve 1989.

"Ok Abdul," she said, trying desperately to keep her voice calm and measured. "We can talk about this, but I don't think that everyone here needs to be here, do they?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well, DC Boulton, for example. John. I mean, you don't need the two of us in here, do you? And I'm the senior officer out of the pair of us." He said nothing. "And then there's Mrs Patel…"

"No!"

"But you've already got Mr Patel upstairs, haven't you? I'm betting that he's the one you're angry at, not his wife. Maybe…maybe you could think about letting John and Mrs Patel go and I'll stay." She could sense John's unease at her words but, to his credit, he said nothing. She wondered if he was thinking what Frank had been thinking three years earlier. Not anything romantic, but rather that men were programmed to protect women. "What do you think?"

"I can't."

"Yes, you can, you know you can." She took a step towards him, palms forwards in appeasement whilst, out of the corner of her eye, she suddenly became aware of a flashing light from outside the house. Glancing quickly to the window, she found herself unsure as to whether she was pleased or dismayed to recognise the light of a panda car.

Abdul followed her gaze, his breathing growing heavier as a sense of panic and anger appeared to overtake him. "No, you called your friends, no!"

"We didn't call anyone," John said. "How could we, we've been in here the whole time!"

"You did, you must have!"

"No…Abdul…" she stepped towards him again. "John's right, we haven't called anyone. Perhaps one of your neighbours called."

"No, no…" he shook his head wildly. "This isn't what was supposed to happen!"

"We can talk about that, Abdul, we can. You and me. We can talk about it, and you can tell me what you think I need to know but…but Mrs Patel's really frightened and perhaps…perhaps it might be the kind thing to do to let her go. John can take her out and then you and I can talk, yeah? Just us."

"You can't stop me! I came here to do this!" he waved the lighter towards her again.

"Yeah, I get that. But there's obviously a part of you that isn't sure that it's the right thing to do, isn't there? We can talk about that. Perhaps think about whether there might be another solution here, yeah?" She stepped forwards again, corralling him towards the living room door and away from John and Mrs Patel. "But I really think it might be better if we let some people go first, ok?"

His eyes took on a wild expression and he lunged towards her, the lighter outheld, causing Mrs Patel to scream. "We aren't doing anything! I'm in charge here! This is my thing!"

"Ok…" she moved backwards, cursing herself for the wrong choice of word. "Ok, you're right. You're in charge here, not me."

"On the couch, both of you, now!"

Dutifully, she lowered herself onto the couch, John following suit as Mrs Patel continued to sob in the corner, wishing with all her heart that the Met had seen fit to send them all on negotiating courses.

XXXX

Even the Barton Street building annoyed him. It had a strange smell, different from that of Sun Hill. An unpleasant smell, as though every member of the great unwashed had walked its corridors and left behind their fetid stench.

"Can I help you?" the desk officer asked as he approached.

"I'm here to see your DI," he replied, flashing his warrant card.

"Right sir, if you'll just…"

"Don't worry, I know the way." Leaving the desk officer slightly open-mouthed, he moved towards the stairs and climbed them, grateful with each step that he didn't work in such a shithole, yet mindful that she did. It would be strange, seeing her in another nick, and he wondered if she knew that Peter had asked him to come over. If she did, he couldn't help but muse as to how she would have taken it. Would she be annoyed that he was there, invading her new territory, or would she find it a turn on? He feared the former but, naturally, hoped for the latter.

As he approached the CID office, he could sense that there was an atmosphere in the air, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, and when he pushed open the door, could instantly feel the tension, like a hand around his throat. The room was empty, save for one lone female officer on a phone in the corner, her rough Scottish brogue cutting through the air at a high pitch. At the far end, he could see Peter in his office, talking to others whom, he could only assume, were other CID officers, but there was no sign of Christina. Not one to stand on ceremony, he strode through the office, the Scottish woman pausing as he did so, and knocked sharply on Peter's door.

"Can anyone join this Barton Street party?" he asked, pushing open the door open. The silence that met him was deafening, everyone turning to look at him, nobody showing any sign of welcome. "Christ, who died?"

"Right, everyone, you know what to do. Minds on the job in hand." Peter said dismissively, as they all filed out past him, none of them meeting his eye. "Frank, thanks for coming."

"Well, I'm pleased to see you run a happy and harmonious ship here, Peter. Everyone looks positively thrilled to be at work today."

"Please, sit down," Peter said, gesturing to the chair opposite his desk.

"Don't mind if I do. You want to explain why you've dragged me all the way over here?"

"Like I said on the phone, we've got a situation on our hands…"

"Yeah, your firebug, wanting to blow a household to kingdom come. I got that much from you earlier. Now whilst I pride myself on being an experienced and capable officer in such situations, I'm not completely blind to the fact that you are too. So, with all due respect, I hope you haven't forced me to take time out of my very busy day to simply be bedazzled by that hideously shiny suit you're wearing."

Peter sighed heavily, the smear appearing to have no effect on him. "The…firebug, as you call him, hasn't just got the rival family members held hostage in the house. There are two police officers inside too. They stumbled upon the situation when they went to question the householder about a spate of recent arson attacks and…well…there they are."

"Nasty business, particularly when it's your own."

"Yes, and they're both mine. One of them is DC John Boulton…"

"I think I might have heard his name mentioned once or twice. Touch of arrogance about him, by all accounts."

Peter paused. "I'm sorry Frank."

"Sorry about what?"

"Chris is in there too."

"In where?"

"The house."

For a moment, he wasn't sure he had heard correctly.

"You what?"

"Chris and John went to the house to speak to the householder and, well, they appear to have stumbled on the situation quite by chance. We don't really know anything about the suspect at the moment…"

The words appeared to pitter out in the air around him as a buzzing noise started in his head. He stared at the other man, watching his lips moving as he, somewhat dispassionately, relayed the information and quickly realised that he hadn't taken in a word of it. "You're telling me that my wife is trapped in a house with some bloke who's doused the place in petrol?"

"Frank…"

"And you dragged me all the way over here to tell me this rather than just spit it out on the phone?!" he was on his feet now, Peter rising to meet him.

"If I had told you on the phone, Frank, Lord only knows what you might have done. I wanted you here where I could explain the situation to you, and we could work on dealing with it together…Frank!" He threw open the office door, only for Peter to move more quickly than he would have given him credit for and appear in front of him. "Just stop!"

"Get out of my way."

"Listen to me…"

"No!"

"We have to deal with this professionally!" Peter took hold of his arm. "I could have kept you out of the loop entirely on this and let you find out about it on the news, but I didn't. I trusted that you could be told and remain detached about it!"

"Detached…?!"

"Frank…" Peter moved in closer to him. "You know as well as I do that family members losing their heads and barrelling into these situations mean they never end well. I know you want to go down there all guns blazing and save her. I would too if it was my wife, but you're smarter and far more experienced than that."

The other man was right, he knew that. Wouldn't he have said the same thing to any one of his own officers? Hadn't he, in fact, said the same thing to Tosh years earlier when his Muriel had been threatened by a scumbag and he had wanted blood for it? But he'd been able to say it then without knowing or experiencing that crushing feeling of anger and helplessness that was coursing through him at that very moment. Over Peter's shoulder, he could see the rest of the team looking at him, judging him no doubt by what they knew about him, and he felt himself take a deep breath.

"Ok?" Peter asked, and he felt himself nod. "Right, we've got officers down there at the moment, a trained negotiator is on his way, along with the fire service and you and I can head down there and assess the situation for ourselves."

Surprised, he met the other man's gaze, "I wouldn't think you'd want me anywhere near the scene."

"Normally I wouldn't but, well, I've got a wife too." Peter raised his eyebrows. "We've got an understanding, yes?"

He knew what that meant. He was being allowed access that another man in his position wouldn't be and yet he was being trusted to act as professionally as he could whilst all the time all he wanted to do was…

"Yeah," he nodded, trying to push every devastating thought from his mind. "We've got an understanding."

"Good," Peter smiled and clapped him gently on the shoulder. "Let's go then."

XXXX

She wasn't sure how long they had been there, trapped in the house, the strong smell of petrol wedged in her nostrils. Abdul showed little sign of calming himself, darting back and forth from the window as though he expected a sniper to take him out at any moment, the lighter still waving around in his hand. One spark, one tiny spark, and it could all be over. Glancing over at John, she could see that he was equally discomfited, and a thousand ideas rushed around in her brain, from making a run for it, to attempting to disarm Abdul of the lighter. Each one appeared to have its merits, but also its massive pitfalls. Her rational brain told her that limiting the number of hostages would surely still be the best way of dealing with the situation and every time she considered her position, she found herself wondering what Frank would do.

"There's hundreds of them out there!" Abdul exclaimed, peering furtively though the net curtains. "Hundreds!"

"There won't be hundreds, Abdul," she said, unsure whether disagreeing with him was the best choice or not. "There's probably only one or two units at the moment."

"At the moment?"

"Well, the longer we're all in here, the more people they're going to send down." She paused. "Of course, none of them out there know what's going on in here, do they? They don't know who's in here, who you are, what you want…it might be better if John and Mrs Patel were to go outside and then they could explain." He looked at her but said nothing. "This is about the arson attacks, isn't it? We know that there's been a family feud."

"What do you know?" he frowned.

"Well, we know that there's a relationship ongoing between Mrs Patel's son and the daughter of another local man, Mr Mahmood. That's right, isn't it?" Abdul paused, and then nodded. "So, are you connected to Mr Mahmood in some way?"

"He's my dad. My sister's been in bed with her dickhead of a son!" he leered towards Mrs Patel who visibly shrank back. "It's a disgrace!"

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why is it a disgrace?"

He turned back to look at her. "You wouldn't understand."

"Try me."

"You're white. You don't get it."

"Ok, so it's a race thing then? A class thing?"

"They're scum!" Abdul declared. "My family wouldn't wipe their shoes on them and now my sister…" he broke off and shook his head. "She's brought shame on us and yet my dad was willing to try and work things out. He spoke to her husband to try and sort it and then…our shop gets done over!"

"And you…"

"And they were responsible!"

"Ok…"

"So, we took revenge."

"By torching Mr Patel's shop."

He paused. "I'm not admitting to nothing."

"Fine, but both shops were torched and then…"

"And then Danesh gets his place done over too!"

"Danesh Aziz?"

"Yeah, my dad's cousin and they did it!" Abdul looked once more at Mrs Patel.

"And you're here to take revenge again?"

"No more shops."

"What about your sister?"

"What about her?"

"Well, if she loves Mr Patel's son…"

"She's an idiot. Stupid bitch opened her legs and look where it got her. She's up the duff! Shamed by her scumbag of a son!" Mrs Patel screeched as he moved towards her again.

"Ok," she got to her feet and moved towards him. "Abdul, I need you to calm down…"

"Calm down? How can I calm down? You think any of this is making me calm?!"

"What I think…" she tried to slow her voice down, hoping that he wouldn't pick up on her own fear, "is that it really would be best if we let John and Mrs Patel go. You'll still have me and Mr Patel's still upstairs, isn't he?" Abdul looked to the ceiling as though only just remembering. "Then the officers outside will know what's going on and they'll have a better idea of how to deal with it, won't they?"

"So they can shoot me?"

An image of Johnno Smith suddenly flashed through her mind. It certainly hadn't been the outcome Frank had wanted, even if he had always refused to discuss it in any great detail.

"No-one's going to shoot you Abdul. I give you my word." She nodded reassuringly on his look of disbelief. "It's the right thing to do."

His gaze flitted between John and Mrs Patel and then he nodded. "Right, get out." Mrs Patel scrambled from her seat and hurried towards the back door. John rose from the couch and paused. "Didn't you hear me?" Abdul said, advancing on him holding up the lighter.

"Sarge…"

"Go," she said, "it's fine."

"But…"

It was all so reminiscent of the past. "Go John. There's going to be people out there who want to talk to you." She could only hope that he understood the look in her eyes, that she was telling him to talk to Frank. If he'd heard about it, he would almost certainly be there.

He nodded and then cast a final look at Abdul, before following Mrs Patel's path to the back door.

"Right then," she said brightly once they were alone, well aware that the next step was to try and get the injured Mr Patel out. "Let's talk."

XXXX

The time spent in the car seemed like hours rather than the mere ten minutes it took to get to the scene. Peter was talking banalities in the seat beside him, but he couldn't take the words in. All he could think about was her. Eighteen months earlier, he had been on his way to another house, worried about what he might find when he got there, and the sight was still burned into his brain. Her slumped on the kitchen floor, the blood, the fear.

When they rounded the corner into the street, he could see there were already two panda cars and a fire engine in attendance with a number of locals clearly nosily interested in what was going on. It wasn't his show, he knew that, and yet all he wanted to do as he opened the car door and stepped out, was bark orders to those standing around. That and, of course, get inside the house. A second CID car drew up behind them and a number of the other officers he had seen at Barton Street also got out.

"Right," Peter said to one of the uniformed officers there. "What do we know so far?"

"The house is owned by Mr and Mrs Patel. Neighbours say they've lived here for about fifteen years, three kids, none of whom still live at home. The Patels' have a grocery shop which was torched last month in an arson attack…"

"Yeah, we know all that. What do we know about what's going on inside?"

"Not a lot, sir. The neighbour on this side heard a lot of shouting and screaming at one point, but he initially thought Mr and Mrs Patel were having a domestic. Then he said that a car turned up and two people went to the front door. We think that was WDS Lewis and DC Boulton. Seems they spoke to Mrs Patel and then disappeared round the back. Car's still here. Neighbour heard some more shouting and called us."

"And?"

"It was logged as a call for officers to attend when free and then CAD received another call from inside the house."

"Who from?"

"He identified himself as the homeowner, Mr Patel, said he was injured and that there was a man in the house who had slung petrol all around and was threatening to burn the place down."

"Do we know who all is inside?"

"Mr and Mrs Patel, the two officers and the unidentified hostage taker."

The very words made his blood run cold. Hostage taker. He turned his attention to the house itself, trying to imagine whereabouts she was, what she was doing, what she was thinking.

"Do we know how badly he's injured?"

"No sir, but we've requested an ambulance to attend."

"Ok, the negotiator's on his way, but I'd like to try and establish contact with the house now, if we can."

"Sir."

Peter turned back to him. "You ok?"

"I should be in there."

"I know, but it wouldn't help. We need less hostages, not more."

"She mentioned something about arson attacks the other day," he said, drawing the memory back into his mind. "Is this to do with the same matter?"

Peter nodded. "She's been investigating them, her and John. They…" He broke off suddenly as a shout went out from further down the street, and they all turned in time to see a woman hurrying around from the back of the houses, sobbing and screaming, a man in hot pursuit. The woman collapsed into the arms of a nearby female uniformed officer whilst the man hurried to approach them.

"John, thank God," Peter said. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine Guv."

"Where's Christina?!" he demanded before he could stop himself. "Why isn't she with you?!"

John glanced quickly at Peter, "DI Burnside?"

"Where is she?!" he asked again, ignoring the attempt at introduction.

"She's still inside the house. She persuaded Abdul to let Mrs Patel and myself leave…

"And you left her there?!"

"Frank…"

"She was the senior officer…"

"Senior officer?!" Before he could stop himself, he took hold of the other man's jacket, shaking him violently whilst Peter tried to pry him off. "What sort of man are you, leaving a woman in a situation like that?!"

"Frank! This isn't helping!"

"I didn't want to leave!" John shouted in response. "I would have stayed but…but she wanted me to leave so that I could give you some information about what's going on in there! She knew you'd be here! She wanted…she wanted me to tell you that she was all right."

"She said that?!"

"No, not in so many words, but I could tell. She's a bloody good sergeant doing her job!" John shook himself free and he could tell the other man was gearing up to throw some sort of slur at him before Peter stepped between them.

"Frank, don't make me regret bringing you down here."

He met the other man's gaze and tried to bring himself under control. He was right, they all were. He had to be professional and yet…

"Fine. I can be professional. But I swear to God, Peter, if anything happens to her, I'll take you all down."

"Yeah," Peter clapped him on the shoulder. "I believe you would."