Thanks as always to my favourite reviewer, Jess! The story continues, and you might find Kirsty has a bit more she should be saying...

Kirsty didn't sleep that night, and like Andrea, she didn't go down for dinner either. She watched as the sky lightened, twisted in her bedcovers. She wasn't sure if she had dropped off and had nightmares, or had just had some horrible visions of watching Kit carry out his threat. She could still do it; she could run. Take Olly and disappear, how could he follow? Surely he wasn't handing around outside all hours of the day? She closed her eyes. No, she couldn't. She'd been running for ten years, it was time to finally stop and face what she was.

It hadn't seemed such a big deal back then, everybody did a bit of drugs. Well, everybody but Andrea anyway, and it had been rife around South America. She's only done it recreationally at first, but then Kit and all the money he'd made entered the equation. She'd wanted in, and it hadn't seemed to surprise him at all. He'd probably seen through her from the start, he knew how stupid, how greedy, how jealous she was. And now it was coming back to bite her.

She had to tell the police, she knew that, and also knew she couldn't be charged for it, at least not here, but what about in Venezuela? If everything else came out, the reason she'd decided to turn Kit in to save her own skin, she could be in real big trouble. She could be extradited, charged, tried, jailed, and in honesty, the thought of that terrified her more than anything Kit had in store for her.

There had been one girl, only seventeen at the most, an airhead, she'd thought, travelling the world on daddy's money. If she was stupid enough to spend it on drugs that was only Kirsty's gain. That was what she'd thought. But it had gone wrong, so horribly wrong, something in the drugs had been dirty and the girl had died. Kirsty had found her convulsing, writing as she struggled to breathe, her lips turning blue. And she'd done nothing. She'd watched as the girl's convulsions stopped, then she stilled, her eyes wide open. Later, she'd tell herself it was fear that stopped her from calling for help, but knew now it wasn't that; it was cowardice. The fear had been for herself, for what would happen to her if she called for help. That was when she'd wanted out, and Kit had just laughed at that.

"There is no out, Kirsty."

So she'd thrown him under the bus, saved herself, engineered Andrea catching her dealing. It was just a bonus for her that she'd seen his violent side at the same time, and then, that night at the fall, he'd hissed the words at her whilst they were struggling.

"I go down, you're going right down with me."

She'd been telling the truth when she'd said she hadn't meant to push him as hard as she had, but when he'd fallen, she'd seen it as the chance for him to be out of her life and Andrea's for good, but had forgotten the golden rule of leaving someone for dead; make sure they were actually dead. Then, to top it off, just the final tug of the tiger's tail, she'd stolen his money. There was a knock at her door and Kirsty jumped, grabbing her pillow as if that would defend her.

"Kirst? Are you coming to breakfast?"

Kirsty for up and crossed to the door, opening it. Andrea's eyes widened.

"Are you okay? You don't look so good."

"No," Kirsty said and made herself look into Andrea's concerned eyes. "I didn't sleep very well last night. I just kept thinking about everything. I think I'll give it a miss, AJ, sorry. Try and get a few more hours sleep, maybe give Olly a call. I'll come and find you for lunch?"

Andrea nodded, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

"I thought I might give Angus a call. See if he needs help with anything. I need something to keep busy, so if you can't find me…"

"Yeah, of course," Kirsty said, her eyes welling. "I'll call you."

Andrea walked away and Kirsty closed her door; leaning her head against it before she let the tears trickle down her face. There was Andrea, scared senseless herself, but still finding it in her to think of the brother of the man Kit had so brutally killed. And her? All she could think about was how much trouble she'd be in if – no, when – the truth about her involvement came out. Maybe that was what her parents had meant, when they'd told her she should be more like Andrea. Maybe they hadn't been talking about her academic achievements, though she suspected they hoped some of it would rub off on her. Maybe they'd meant be someone with a bit of impulse control, empathy, sense, and somewhere along the line, the jealousy she'd felt for her friend had turned to hatred, even though she still loved her. She'd just wanted, for once, to not be overshadowed by her, do something she couldn't. And she'd certainly done that, hadn't she? Dealt drugs, stood back and watch a mere girl die because she'd been too concerned with her own skin to get her help.

Kirsty wiped her eyes with her frayed pyjama sleeve and took a breath. Kit had said two days, but she couldn't wait for that. She couldn't wait and see if he'd carry out his threat; they both knew he would. And too many innocent people had already gotten hurt. The question was; who did she seek out first? Him or the police?

"Anyone sitting there?"

Andrea, wiping the toast in the bean sauce, glanced up distractedly before recognition of the voice sunk in. Smithy laughed and pulled out the chair, sitting down and took a piece of toast from the rack.

"Don't mind if I do."

"What're you doing here?"

"I was just passing," he deadpanned, buttering himself the toast awkwardly, glaring at the cast on his arm. "Forgot my way home. This damn concussion."

In spite of herself, she laughed. He did know how to make light of a situation.

"Do I need a reason?" he asked. "I just wanted to see you. I'm at a bit of a loose end myself."

He must be itching to get back on the streets, he was such a dedicated police officer. She gave him a guilty look and he put a hand on hers.

"Not your fault," he said firmly. "Sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel bad."

"Have they said how long? Before you can go back?"

"Probably be a few weeks with this concussion," he said. "Anyway, it's not like I could catch anyone with this."

He waved his broken arm, glaring at the cast again as if it had been alone responsible for breaking his arm.

"So, that's me at a loose end," he said. "And, well…" He reddened a bit. "I don't like the thought of leaving you alone."

"Kirsty is here," she reminded him. "I'm hardly alone."

"I know that, but…" he looked away. "Look, Andrea. I know what you said, and I don't want you to feel like I'm pressuring you, but I don't want…I…" He sighed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come here."

"Wait," she said, catching his sleeve. "Don't go. I…I'm glad you're here, Smithy."

He clutched her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"Where is she? Kirsty?"

"She didn't sleep very well," Andrea said. "She wanted to stay in bed. Did…uh…anyone manage to call Bill's daughter? Um, Linda?"

"Lydia. Yes. She's making her way over sometime this afternoon. She's very upset obviously, and we've told her as much as we can. She's angry with him, with Kit. Not with you."

"If I could have seen," she said, "back then, all the trouble he'd cause…"

"I know. You wouldn't have gone near him. No rational person would."

"Obviously my judgement is way off. Him, Marc, I can't half pick some bad men." Andrea saw Smithy's face fall and hastily said; "present company excluded, of course. Unless you're about to turn Hyde on me?"

"Never," he said and helped himself to more toast. "Anything on the agenda for today?"

"I thought I might give Angus a call," she said tentatively. "See if he needs help with anything. You know, the funeral, or…"

"That's nice of you," Smithy said. "Think he'd appreciate another pair of hands? Well, another hand. Just, like I said, I'm at a loose end too, so…"

"Maybe," Andrea said. "Let's see if he actually wants mine first."

"You need to stop this," he said. "You need to stop feeling so guilty. How were you to know the man you had a summer romance with when you were little more than a child yourself was a complete psychopath?"

"I know," she said. "But he's hurt so many people."

"And that's his own choice," he said. "He could have sought out only Kirsty if he really only wanted his money. He wants you to feel scared, guilty, alone. Don't let him win."

"I don't deserve you," she said. "You're so good, Smithy."

"And I want you," he said quietly. "Whoever and whatever you are."

She clutched at his warm hand, feeling the strength in his hold. He pressed his lips to her cold skin.

"I can't do my job," he said, "protecting the public. So I'm protecting you. Say what you like, Andrea, I'm not going away."

"I doubt I could make you if I tried," she said. "And I don't want to."

The relief in his face was clear, and he said; "come on. Let's go and check in with Angus."

Angus had been grateful for the call and even more so for the offer of help. Andrea tentatively rang the doorbell of Bruce's house and waited until Angus opened it.

"Thank you," he said, offering her his hand. "It's so kind of you to come and help." He looked past Andrea's shoulder at Smithy. "Hello, have we met?"

"No," Smithy said, offering his hand. "Dale Smith. Smithy. I'm from Sun Hill."

Angus took in Smithy's fading bruising and nodded. "I see."

Smithy felt awkward for a moment, wondering if coming was a mistake. He, unintentionally or not, had survived Kit's wrath.

"Well, thank you for coming too," Angus said and stood back to allow them entry. "I appreciate the help."

Andrea stepped over the threshold, feeling Smithy's comforting hand on her back. She looked around the house; she'd been here only once before when they'd had a staff party. Now, it seemed ten times bigger. She pushed her hands into her pocket, trying for an air of nonchalance.

"What do you need us to do?"

"Well, I was just starting to box things up," he said. "There's not much I can take back with me to Oz, and I still have a few family calls to make, so if it's okay…"

"Of course," she said. "Where do you want me to start?"

He nodded at the sitting room. "I'll be in the office upstairs if there's anything…"

"Sure," Andrea said and watched Angus go back upstairs, his step heavy. She turned into the sitting room. Angus must have been working through the night; half of the bookshelves were already empty. Squaring her shoulders, she went to the bookshelves and continued filling the boxes with their contents. Smithy came to her side after a moment and helped, taking the books from her, and arranging them neatly into the box. Andrea came to a photograph, but stared at it instead of giving it to him. He got up, and looked at it over her shoulder. It was a group picture, her standing close to Bruce, his arm slung around her shoulders.

"His birthday," she said, sensing his presence. "His fortieth. Not long after I joined."

"He obviously liked you a lot."

"Everyone used to say that," Andrea said and handed him the picture. "I always thought they were just winding me up."

"Do you think that's part of the reason Kit attacked him? That Lockwood said he thought he'd…get more thanks from you or something."

"I don't know," Andrea said. "Maybe."

She cleared some more books from the shelves and turned to hand them to him. He took them, but didn't put them in the box.

"That night at the waterfall," he said. "Was that the first time he'd hurt you?"

"No," Andrea said, and looked down. "I think I blocked a lot of things out. I didn't even think about this until Kirsty mentioned something that happened in a nightclub."

"Go on," he said softly.

"Someone was talking to me," Andrea said. "Another man, I don't think he was even trying to chat me up, just having conversation. I think he said he'd just arrived in town, was asking about good spots. Kit didn't see it like that, though, he practically threw the poor guy to the other side of the room. He got kicked out by the bouncers, shouting and swearing. Should have been my first clue he was a sandwich short of a picnic."

She went to take some more things from the shelves, and Smithy, recognising the stalling, caught her arm. She could feel him trembling with anger, but knew it wasn't at her.

"Finish," he said.

"I was really angry with him," she said. "He'd ruined the night, so I went back to the hotel early. I didn't want to see him, but he came to find me. He was shouting at me, calling me a whore and a slut. It happened so quickly. It was just a slap."

"Just a slap?" he said, incredulous. "Andrea…"

"I don't mean to trivialise it," Andrea said. "Actually, it was more of a backhander. I just mean that compared to what happened later, it was small. It should have been my first sign to run and not look back."

"Why…"

"Why didn't I?" She gave him a rueful smile. "Same reason we've all heard a million times before. Immediate apologies, telling me he didn't mean it, even getting some ice so it wouldn't swell. He was in tears apologising. Blaming the drink. He should have been an actor, really. He'd be shortlisted for the Oscars every year. Well, it did bruise anyway and Kirsty asked me what happened, but you know the excuses. The doors got in my way, I was drunk, blah, blah, blah."

"Did he know about the baby? Then?"

"No. I did though. I'd found out that day but he must've picked up on something. Accused me of being secretive and moody. I could see him getting angry again and the way his hands were clenching into fists….I thought he was going to…I just blurted it out. I didn't know what to do, Smithy. Nobody I knew had been violent. It just wasn't something I'd ever dealt with.

"What did he say? When you told him?"

"It was almost like he changed right before my eyes. Hugging me and smiling, so excited. Talking about our future. We were lucky to have travelled when we did, because it wouldn't have been an option for eighteen years."

She scoffed a laugh.

"I almost believed him. Stupid."

"You were eighteen yourself," he said softly. "Barely into adulthood."

"Ever wish you could go back? Not be so…"

"Every day," he said. "You were right what you said in the hospital. I did regret not telling Kerry how I felt. I still do. But we can't change things. We can only not repeat the same mistakes."

He put his good arm around her.

"That's why I won't go, Andrea, even if you'd asked me to. With Kerry, all I saw was the drama, her accusation against me, taking part in that armed robbery. Obviously if I'd known why…I would have handled things differently."

Andrea was silent. Kerry, and all of her suspicions about Gabriel and what he might've done, her theories about her involvement with the sniper shootings, it all seemed so long ago now. She hadn't thought about any of it since her expose. Smithy had told her to leave it and she thought he remembered that, for he hurried on.

"But we can learn. What she did, what she accused me of, that really hurt me, you know that. But I couldn't just push my feelings for her aside, and believe me, I tried. Maybe all this with Kit, the trauma…"

"Smithy, don't make excuses for me," Andrea said. "I knew what I was doing when I went in undercover."

"But you didn't know his real motivation for wanting you to, did you?"

"No. But I didn't have to give in to his pressure."

"Well, we can talk about it," Smithy said. "When this all calms down. If that's what you want."

"You know I do," she said and looked up at him. "But I want you to want it to, for yourself. Not because of any sense of…"

"There's no obligation," he said. "I want it, I want you."

He kissed her hair, holding her to him. After a moment, her arms snaked around his waist, holding him tightly. Then she let go, and gave him a watery smile

"Come on. This stuff won't pack itself up."

When Angus came back down from the office two hours later, the shelves were empty. He found Andrea sitting at the cabinet, carefully wrapping glassware in bubble wrap and handing them to Smithy to box.

"Thank you so much," he said. "It's one less thing that I have to think about."

He ran a hand down his tired, drawn face and Andrea suspected it didn't have as much to do with jetlag as it might emotional exhaustion.

"How were the calls?" Andrea said tentatively, sitting back on her heels.

"Well there weren't many," he said. "An aunt and uncle, some cousins, but saying the same thing over and over and having to explain. At the end, I asked my closest cousin to call some other relatives."

Andrea got up, putting a hand on Angus' shoulder. "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault," he said and caught her hand giving it a small squeeze. "I'm really grateful for your help. You as well."

He nodded at Smithy who nodded back. Andrea hadn't moved her hand and he hadn't let go. He wasn't jealous, though, just sad. This poor man, coming halfway across the world for something like this.

"What about your own family?" Smithy asked. "Is there any? In Oz?"

"I have a wife, Isla. We have two kids, twins. Olivia and Oscar."

He let go of Andrea's hand and reached into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. He opened it and held it out to Andrea. She took it and Smithy leant up to look over her arm. A family picture on a beautiful beach, Angus, his wife and their children beaming for the camera.

"You have a lovely family," she said, giving the wallet back.

"Thank you," he said, looking down at the picture. "It was taken a few years ago, so the kids are a bit older now. A bit too cool for family beach days with mum and dad."

"And how are they?" Andrea asked tentatively. "About…what's happened? They know, right?"

"Of course. They're sad, for sure. They only met Bruce a few times, what with them being born in Oz, but he never missed a birthday or Christmas, wrote long letters for that. I just wish things hadn't been so hard between us."

"I think he did too," Andrea said quietly. "You know Bruce, he'd never admit to how he really felt, but reading between the lines…"

"Yeah," Angus said and stared into the box of Bruce's belongings miserably. "It wasn't true, you know. Our parents, they didn't favour me just because I became the surgeon and moved to Australia. They were proud of Bruce too."

"Sometimes it's really hard to see beyond your own truth."

"Yeah," Angus said and looked at Smithy. "You're going to throw the book at this asshole right? Not only for what he's done to my brother, for what he did to you, that old man, to Andrea."

"We will," Smithy said. "You've got my word on that."

"I believe that," Angus said. "Now, will you let me make both of you some lunch? Just as a thank you. And eating alone is wearing on me, even if it's only been a few days."

"Thanks," Andrea said. "That's kind of you. I'm just going to the bathroom."

She got up and left, leaving Smithy with Angus. Angus waited until he heard the bathroom door close, then looked at Smithy.

"That's a good lass there. Look after her, won't you?"

"I will," he said.

Kirsty exited the walk-in centre and stared at the prescription paper in her hand. The tears had dried on her face, but they weren't for show, at least not all of them. The doctor had been sympathetic to her, listening patiently like a counsellor would, as she explained how her boyfriend had recently left her for another woman, how she was struggling with being a single mother to a little boy, how she was struggling to sleep at night. Not exactly untrue, but as with her, there were ulterior motives. The story of her life. And one would think she'd have learned her lesson from messing with drugs, especially as that was what had gotten her into this mess in the first place. He'd honoured her request for a prescription for something to help her sleep, though he'd insisted on a lighter medicine, an antihistamine, just to see if it would help before they tried anything heavier. Kirsty's hands shook as she looked down at the paper, and for a moment she considered ripping it up and throwing it in the bin.

What was she thinking? Was this really her solution, instead of going straight to Sam Nixon and confessing to what she'd done? Was her answer really to even consider eliminating Kit for good and hoping that was the end of it? It was a prescription for antihistamines, for God's sake, it probably wouldn't do him any real damage. And this was Kit; he'd probably see what she was trying to do a mile off. She should be at Sun Hill, confessing, she should be telling Andrea everything, even though she knew how livid she would be that not only had she known Kit was involved with drugs long before she did, she was just as complicit in his dealing, and had essentially thrown him under the bus when she'd wanted out. Now, because of her, two innocent people were dead, a third had nearly been, and if she didn't do something, anything, someone else would be too, and it would be someone she'd only just gotten back. Her relationship with Andrea was fraught, at best, and she knew they were a long way off from ever being friends again, but she had a chance, and if Andrea knew what she'd done in Venezuela, that chance would be gone in an instant. She thought about the look on Andrea's face when she'd caught her with Marc and how she'd felt remembering later on, not only the hurt, but the betrayal and the rage too. She couldn't bear to have her look at her like that again, even if she deserved it then and now.

And then there was Olly, the light of her life, and the only thing good to come out of one of the many poor decisions she'd made in her life. She thought of his enormous brown eyes, his gummy little smile and the hilarious things he'd come out with, like the time he was watching her get dressed in the morning, and cheerfully announced that when he was a big boy, he'd put on his bra just like her. When she'd told him he was a boy, and wouldn't be doing that, he wouldn't have 'boobies,' as he called them, he'd given her a confused look and asked why his daddy had boobies. Daddy hadn't been too impressed when he'd heard, but Kirsty had thought it was hysterical. If she was jailed all the way in South America, who knew how long for, she'd never see her child again for who knew how long. She'd miss him grow, miss his milestones, the simple things, like him losing his first baby tooth and the ever important first day of school. By the time she made it home, he might be too grown to even know who she was, that was if she ever made it home. And what would he tell people about where she was? She wanted her son to be proud of her, not ashamed. What child would want to tell his friends that his mother was in jail?

Kirsty looked down again at the bit of paper in her hand. This was madness. Drugs, even if they were legal, had caused her enough problems, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Who was to say that even if she got Kit his money that he wouldn't carry out his threat anyway? It was Andrea or Kit, or, by extension, her or Kit and Kirsty was honest enough to admit she'd always choose herself. She looked around her, her eyes narrowed, at the people going about their business, wondering if, somewhere among them, was Kit.

"Come and get me, Kit," she said softly. "I dare you."