Terry Thorne stepped out of the first class exit of the British Airways 767 that had just landed from Singapore en route from Australia. He had flown straight through with just a two-hour wait at Changi and he was fucked. He had slept a little but rather uneasily, unusual for him. Things on his mind. Oz had unsettled him. First time he had worked there in years and it had felt good to be back and in the groove. For once he had had time to catch up with family and old friends. Now he had the niggling feeling that he should have stayed behind. After all what was for him in London? He had his new firm but - Christ, maybe there really was more to life than work? But if he left, he would see even less of Henry. On the other hand, maybe not - he might actually make more effort to get over to his son a couple of times a year if he made the move; and a holiday for Henry in Oz might just break through the wall that still lay between them.

Turning the corner towards the arrivals Hall, striding along the carpeted bunker-like corridor with its hanging exposed wires (would they ever finish the Heathrow renovations?) he made his way grim-faced towards the exit, the carry-on and laptop his only luggage. He was dressed in his usual urbane fashion: expensive well-cut grey suit, silk tie and dark grey wool and cashmere overcoat, thrown over his arm, ready to brave the early November cold. Anyone viewing him would see a tired, harassed executive on the way back to his family from a long haul business trip. Anyone who was a very bad judge of character, that is.

Approaching the meeting area, Terry observed a group of dark-suited men trying to look inconspicuous but clearly checking for someone disembarking. They didn't fool Terry - they were plain clothes' flatfoots ( probably CID or MI5) some bad guy about to get the hand on the shoulder and ' Would you like to step this way, sir?' treatment.

Terry felt a hand on his left shoulder. 

"Would you like to step this way, sir?"

He spun round to find himself staring at one of the suits and sensed the others closing in. His laptop and luggage were pried from his grasp.

"That's right, sir. Nice and quietly, if you please. No need to make a scene."

Terry frowned but said nothing. But he watched and he listened. Following the speaker he was led into an interview room just off the passageway and asked to sit down and wait. He complied. His captors left the room.

For about fifteen minutes, Terry sat back in the chair, scanning the small room and then fixing the observation panel with a stare. There was no obvious sign of it being a two-way but he knew that it was. After a while, he waved and then blew a kiss. Stupid really, it would only wind them up, but he was fucked if he was going to play Mr. Nice Guy. There was nothing wrong with his credentials or passport and the Plods had fucked up big time.

Just then the door opened. A young dapper-looking man with a slick, oiled, career-jumping air about him entered; he was clearly over confident, pleased with himself to have caught a big fish in his net and Terry wanted to pound his fist into the cocky little bastard's face.

"Good morning, Mr...Thorne, is it?" he was reading from a dossier. "Ah, yes. Australian national. British PR. How d'you get that, I wonder? Oh, British wife... divorced some years ago. Marriage of convenience? One child. Might as well slip her one while you were there, hey, Mr. Thorne?"

Terry did not move a muscle. "SAS. They usually let you stay when you risk your life undercover in N. Ireland. But you wouldn't know about that now, would you, son?" Terry replied.

"Hmmm. SAS captain. Decorated for bravery under fire. You've met Her Majesty, have you, then?" Cocky Bastard added with a raised eyebrow.

"Yeah, slipped her one as well, mate. What's this about? Treason? Having it away with the sovereign?" Terry spoke jauntily but his eyes were still expressionless.

"Joker, eh? It's rather dangerous to joke with me, Mr. Thorne. I'm not famed for my sense of humour." Cocky little Bastard was pacing around trying to look threatening, pounding the fist of one hand into the palm of the other. Terry sneered inwardly. Who did Cocky little Bastard think he was? Bud White?

"You don't say?" Terry responded tartly.

"Whatever you used to be, you are now some sort of mercenary, or so we believe. Hire yourself to the highest bidder - sort of international trouble-shooter. Seems you have been a bit of a naughty boy recently." CB stated smarmily.

"I'm a hostage negotiator and security expert. Until earlier this year I worked for Luthan Risk- they will vouch for me- and I have since started my own company in partnership with an American colleague. I am not a gun for hire." Terry spoke firmly but there was a clear note of anger in his tone. This was the last reasonable answer that they were likely to get from Mr. Thorne

"But you are carrying arms into this country." The man acted as though that was checkmate.

"I have the authority."

"It has expired. You no longer have the authority. This makes it very serious, Mr Thorne."

"Look, mate, stop arsing about. It has not expired or else I couldn't have fucking boarded the plane in Sydney, you snotty-nosed wanker! Now get me someone with the authority to sort this fucking mess out. I don't deal with arse-wipes like you!" Terry's usual glacial calm was letting him down. He was tired, he was hungry, he was mad. Not Terry at his best.

"I'd calm down if I were you, sir."

Just then several more suits entered. "We're ready for him now, Pete."

"Ready?" Terry inquired.

"Just follow us, sir."

He was led along a corridor, down a flight of stairs and then to another corridor where he was shown into a small examination room. It had barred windows; no doubt a cell.

"We'll leave you here, sir. Just remove your clothes and hand them to us. There is a blanket on the bed. Use that if you feel cold - or shy." Pete, the Cocky Little Bastard, smirked again.

"What the fuck is this about?" Terry demanded. "I want a lawyer."

"All in good time, sir. But under Immigration law as it stands we have the right to demand a full body search and examination if we regard it as necessary- without prior permission. Your clothes please, sir, or we will have to restrain you and remove them on your behalf. A rather unpleasant experience, I assure you."

Terry threw down his overcoat and shrugged off his jacket. He handed them to one of the attendant goons. " Watch these, mate. They cost more than your monthly wage."

Dragging on his silk tie and throwing it on the pile, he unbuttoned his cufflinks and his shirt and eased it off. Sitting down, he unfastened the laces of his shoes and pulled off his socks and then he stood facing the audience and unzipped his pants letting them drop to his ankles where he stepped out of them and let one of the boys gather them up.

"And the rest, sir." Pete indicated.

"You sure you can stand the competition, mate?" Terry smiled crudely and yanked down his boxers, standing naked before them, his hands on his hips. He registered the look on the other men's eyes as they tried not to stare at the impressive genitalia on display.

"Nothing else there, mate, only me." Terry added, looking down. One of the men passed him the blanket but he shook his head. "Me - I'm hot enough, mate. And that looks a bit rough. Wouldn't like to chafe anything now, would I? And maybe there are some ladies behind the mirror who are enjoying the view as much as you boys are. He rotated his hips and laughed. The men coughed or looked embarrassed and slipped out of the room with his clothes. Pete threw his cigarettes and matches at him.

"Not much else to do in here, is there, sir? Unless you want to entertain the ladies further, that is." Pete sneered and gave Terry the universally- recognised clenched fist shake that says 'wanker' and he also exited.

Terry threw himself back in the chair and growled in frustration. Snatching up the cigarettes, he lit one and began pacing the room, running his hand through his hair and raking his brain to try and understand what could have caused this farce.

The door opened. A nurse entered. Terry sat down and attempted to cover his groin, a challenge even for his large hand, especially with a cigarette in the other.

"If you could just lie over the examination bed, sir and spread your legs. I need to perform a search."

"You are not going up my arse, love." Terry dragged on his cigarette as she slipped on a pair of gloves.

"I'm afraid I am, sir. Rectal examination is required." She smiled sweetly. Terry noticed that she was a pretty dark-haired girl. But she didn't seem to be remotely interested in chat.

"How are you going to make me? I've a few pounds on you, love." Terry grinned, slightly flexing his shoulder muscles.

"Don't be shy, Mr. Thorne. I've seen it all before. And I'm afraid they will restrain you if you don't comply willingly and then it will really hurt. Bring tears to your eyes. We'll make sure of that," she added, rather coldly.

"No!" Terry said and pursed his lips. He'd fucking have a few of them before they restrained him and that would be worth it. His blood was really up now.

"As you wish." The nurse turned and walked out. Terry stubbed out the cigarette and waited, adrenalin beginning to pump in anticipation.

The door opened and Terry looked at the floor, mentally calming himself before he moved. He saw a pair of elegant stilettos, on slender shapely legs and a navy, well tailored knee length skirt. He sniggered.

"Sent you in to wrestle with me, have they, love?"

"Wouldn't be the first time we'd been locked it mortal combat now would it, Tezza, me old mate?"

Terry's head shot up and he groaned. He should have guessed. She'd fucking had him there. Fallen for it hook, line and...

"Briony Evans, you fucking cheeky little bugger!" Terry's face cracked into a wide grin. "How the fuck did you arrange this?"

Briony held her hands up. "Mr. Thorne, steady on now. You need to cover your modesty. Try two hands - you might get close. It's Detective Sergeant Evans to you and you are in big trouble, boy. Seems CID want to talk to you. This is not a set up, mate. Well, the rest of it isn't. They just don't happen to know that I've faked the tip off." She smiled knowingly at him.

"Briony, you will lose your job if you are found out." Terry growled.

"You better play ball then. Rectal exam?"

Terry groaned. "Fuck off, Briony. That's beyond a joke."

"Ooh, Terry, doesn't like that, does he? He only likes to give it out, not take it. Here's the deal. Full cooperation and I'll give you your pants back. Mind you, you are a sight for sore eyes. I had almost forgotten what a treat you were packing."

Terry ignored her. "Full cooperation? What the fuck does that mean?"

Briony made a sharp intake of breath. "Sex, lunch, more sex, dinner, a lot more sex, some sleep, a morning session and then a nice long soak. Followed by...well, you know the routine. I mean... the usual routine."

"Briony. That smacks of police corruption." Terry responded, his face stony.

"Corruption? I'm talking complete depravity. Lust. Gratuitous sex. Never mind corruption."

Terry stood up and looked at her. The elegant severe suit clung to her shapely curves and the top button of her jacket looked as if it was losing the battle against the forward thrust of her cleavage. Her hair was longer; chin length now and in a sleek, shiny golden bob. Terry took in her baby blue eyes, the little turned up nose and those bee- stung lips, now subtly coloured in a warm red lipstick.

"Fuck me, Bri- but you are on!" He laughed.

Briony retorted. "Do you know your dick works faster than your brain? I've already had your answer." He looked down to see the responding rise from the member in question.

"Get my clothes quick or I'll be giving you a fucking rectal on that bed! That little nurse too if she comes back in," he threatened with a growl.

Briony responded with a giggle and an "Ooh, promises, promises!" as she turned on her heel and slammed the door behind her.

Outside, in the office, Detective Peter Clayton was waiting for his boss. He hated having a woman on top. Well, he rather liked having a woman on top, actually, but only where it was appropriate. Like in the bedroom. Over the cooker. Not in the work place. Peter Clayton was a typical London policeman - narrow minded, bitter and unwilling to see a woman or a member of any significant minority group promoted above him. It was all about quotas. Evans was just lucky that she had tits at a time when females were required in more senior positions. He could do her job with his eyes closed. But he'd shaft her one of these days. The thought of shafting DS Evans brought a smile to his lips. He wouldn't fancy getting in her pants. The only difference between Evans and a Rottweiler was red lipstick. She was probably a dyke anyway.

"Right, Pete. Ring the boys. Give him his trousers back. Thorne's not our man." DS Evans burst into the room with her usual bustling air of school prefect bossiness.

"What's that, Sarge? Thought this was rock solid."

Briony shrugged. "Seems he's bona fide. Bit of a tough guy but on the side of the angels. Got Ministry connections- don't get him any angrier than he is at the moment." She busied herself loading files into her briefcase. "OK. I'm going to get off. Don't get too near to Mr. Thorne. He's an expert in several methods of self defence and could, probably has, broken many necks with just his bare hands. And your neck is at the top of his list at the moment!" She grinned, a rare occurrence, and breezed off out of the room.

Terry finished dressing and viewed himself in the small mirror. Looked OK. Better get home and a few hours kip before Briony descended on him. He shook himself at the memory of their week in Columbia eight months before. And the weekend in Paris in the summer. And the cottage in the Lake District just before he went to Oz. He felt himself break out in a slight sweat. He had better get his strength up for Bri. She seemed to get hotter and hotter. Maybe coming back was a better idea than he had imagined. Briony was almost beginning to feel like a relationship - he almost thought of her as a girlfriend.

How weird was that? She was the first woman who seemed to relish his lifestyle and enjoy his absences so that she could concentrate on her own career but then was willing to give herself to him completely whenever he came to call. Yes, it was becoming like a relationship of sorts - because they did talk. Every so often they had a real heart-to-heart. Coughed out all their secrets. Listened to each other's intimate problems. Talked about their vulnerabilities, regrets and longings. But mostly they fucked. All over the place. Every position known to the Kama Sutra and then some. Played games. Dangerous ones. Nearly got caught a few times. Still had a scar near his left nipple where she had...now that had hurt. But he'd got her back. Wonder if she had had to get the tooth replaced?

But this was the first time she had sought him out herself. Usually he just turned up at her door with an expensive bunch of flowers and a bottle of Puligny- Montrachet and that was it. She would scream with delight, ring in sick and they would hibernate in her bed for a couple of days. Today was interesting. She must have been tracking his movements. Wonder why she had gone to all this trouble?

Briony rested her head back on the cushioned leather of her Rover. As she negotiated the London traffic, she thought of Terry Thorne. She tried to tell herself that this had been just a lark, a bit of fun, like when they had been playing darts in the pub in Kendal and she had accidentally stuck one in his left pec. Mind you, he had raised his head so quickly with shock that he had struck her mouth and loosened one of her teeth. Bri was sure he had nutted her on purpose although it had looked accidental enough. They had both been bleeding profusely but somehow it had made them even hornier than ever. This game-playing that they indulged in was a lot of fun but Briony had a feeling that it was masking something else. They were finding in each other something more than simply an appealing fuck buddy. Or at least she was. Terry was on her mind a lot of the time. She wondered if he ever thought of her when he was away - and she didn't just mean as a masturbatory fantasy when he was stuck in a hotel room somewhere on his own. Did he ever really think about her at all?

It was one o'clock when Briony entered the exclusive restaurant. She never knew how Terry managed to get reservations at places like this at a moment's notice. He had cried off an earlier meeting and she hadn't blamed him. Long haul from Australia was a bugger and she wanted him rested, showered and relaxed. Food first this time was a good idea. Terry hungry was not always an appealing person to have around as she had discovered. He could be quite cantankerous when his tummy was rumbling.

But he was never late. She liked that about him. If he said he would be there, then he was there. He would never let her down without a genuine reason. First bloke she had ever known who didn't treat her like a comfortable shoe that he could slip into when he fancied a bit. Terry always treated her like a lady. He was leaning on the small bar, sipping a glass of beer and chatting to the barman. Briony observed him for a few moments, hidden by a large faux - marble column. He was bronzed but seemed tired, slight grey rings beneath his eyes. Physically, he was in tip-top shape. He looked a little leaner, had probably been very active in Australia, lapping up the outdoor life and the sport. She had never laid eyes on a man who entranced her quite as much as Terry did and she could have stood there drooling over him all day long.

"Hi, Terry. Am I late?" Briony strode forward and slipped onto a stool next to where he was leaning. He leant in and kissed her softly on her lips. Her mouth trembled with recognition at his touch.

"No, Briony. I was early. Eager to see you," he spoke quietly but his low tone hit home. The usual vibration shivered through her clitoris at the timbre of his voice. He pushed over a glass of white wine. "Good to see you, babes," he whispered.

"Terry? I have to be back at the office in two hours. Just a short meeting. Then I'm free until Monday. Arranged the weekend off. Is that OK with you?"

He nodded. "Not a problem. I'll tag along for the ride. Then you can drive me home." He smiled, his eyes hooded and full of sexual promise, his tongue peeking out slightly to rest on his upper lip as he looked at her. "And stay."

"No car?" 

He shook his head. "Took a cab. This fucking traffic. Nowhere to park. I don't have a police badge like you," he tilted his head in that sexy little way he had; it was almost too much pheromone overload for Briony. She wished they could skip the food and have a quick one, unsure how she could keep her hands off him for much longer.

The waiter led them to their table and they browsed through the menu.

"Oysters?" Terry suggested with a grin.

"Jesus, Terry, do you remember Bogota? I can't believe I let you do that to me in a restaurant," Briony giggled.

"What about when you sucked me off in that cinema in Paris! The man behind asked me to come more quietly. I just coughed and said 'I'll try'."

"In a rather high pitched voice as I remember."

"You stuck your finger up my bum just as I opened my mouth," he replied. They laughed at the memory.

"What will we get up to this time, Tez?" Briony put her elbows on the table and rested her head in her hands.

"I'll think of something. In fact, I've had a few ideas on the way in..." The waiter arrived with the first course and they set to eating, both eager to get the meal out of the way.

"How was Oz?"

"Fantastic. First time in three years."

"And the job?"

"Difficult. It's over now." Terry shut down a little. He would tell her when he was ready if he wanted to. " How's CID?"

Briony grinned. "Hard work. Long hours. Little jumped-up shits like Clayton baying at my heels. I kind of hoped you might lose it with him and give him good going over."

Terry giggled. "I fucking nearly did. Must have been jet lag- Christ it was 5.30 am! Just didn't see it coming. Good one, though, Bri. But you know you'll get yours. I will get you big time for that," he warned her with an arrogant swagger.

She leaned across the table, aware that a few buttons of her blouse were open and her breasts hoved into his view. "Anytime, big boy. Give me mine anytime." Her eyes sparkled and her nostrils flared. Terry had the urge to throw her over the table and rip the severe suit from her. He blinked to clear the image.

He tried to speak and had to clear his throat; his voice was still husky when he tried again. "Briony? Are you hungry?"

She stopped mid forkful of her salad entrée. She swallowed, licked her lips and took a sip of wine. "Let's go."

He pulled out his wallet and saw that it was full of Aussie dollars and only twenty quid in sterling. "Lend us some money, Bri."

"Use your card."

"It'll take too long." 

Briony grabbed her purse and stuffed a handful of notes on the table. They moved quickly through the restaurant and out onto the street.

"Where?" Briony asked.

Terry looked around. "There."

He took her hand and pulled her down a street adjacent and into the grounds of a once fine town house in a large plot of land. It now housed a private nursing home. Terry slipped to the back of the property and led her to the far corner of the grounds behind some hedging that skirted a pathway round the gardens. Here he stopped at the old perimeter wall and pushed her against it.

"Here?" Briony gasped.

"Yeah." Terry ran his hands under her jacket and ripped the buttons open to get to her breasts. He flipped the front fastener of her low cut lace bra and grabbed her breasts, kneading them roughly as he kissed her. Briony pulled away.

"Why here?"

Terry pushed her back again and began to pull her skirt above her waist, groaning when he realised she was wearing stockings and suspenders.

"'Cos I can't wait another fucking second." 

At that he unzipped his pants, tore aside her knickers, hoisted her in his hands and rammed her against the uneven stonework. Briony felt herself suspended in the air, banged against the wall and then he simply hilted himself in her. She cried out at the speed and force with which he took her. His head was dropped to her shoulder, sucking on her tender skin; his fingers were squeezing her butt so tight it hurt, and he was thrusting himself with such vigour that she thought he would knock her out.

Briony anchored herself around his neck and raised her head from the wall. It was all she could do. He was too strong, too far gone and too damned horny to slow down. So Briony just let him go. Terry rarely lost it like this. Even when he seemed to be out of control he never actually was. Perhaps he wasn't really now - but he seemed pretty close. She whimpered as his cock continued its pounding rhythm, felt him slide slickly up her moist passage, gasped when he pulled back only to hit her g spot as he thrust again, his hips rotating and his buttocks clenched as he rose back and forth. Neither of them spoke. They simply grunted, he with effort, she with the force of his rough lovemaking.

Suddenly he groaned and came, Briony felt the surge, and responded with her own frantic orgasm. As she bucked and he humped, they both cried out meaningless phrases into each other's ear. Slowly Terry began to calm down; his movements now smooth and gentle. Warm semen seeped from her and ran down her thighs. She heard his panting breath and realised she was panting too. Raising his head, Terry kissed her with a tender pressure, all signs of the violent hunger gone, now replaced by warmth and gratitude.

"Christ, Briony. I just couldn't stand it. My cock was so hard. My balls were hurting. I've been hard since you walked in the door." He shook his head and began to lower her slowly to the floor. Briony realised that she had been hidden beneath his wool overcoat; even in his desperate need, he had pulled that around them to hide her nakedness. It was typical of him.

"I've never seen you quite like that before. Has it been a long time, sweetie?" Briony slipped her hands round his waist and leant against his solid chest. Terry grinned, a little shyly.

"Not since the last time. Yeah, a long time."

Briony looked up startled. "Last time? You mean, the last time with me? Surely not? What about Oz? All those sexy laid back Aussie girls...?"

Terry shrugged. "I was busy. Just didn't happen for me." He didn't tell her he hadn't found anyone quite as much fun to be with as Briony herself. " What about you? Who's kept you warm at night, Bri?" Terry asked. They never pretended. He always told her about the other women and she always told him of any men that she had been with.

"My winter warmth pyjamas trousers and an old shirt of yours."

His turn to seem surprised. "Really? How come?"

"I was busy. Just didn't happen for me." She repeated his words and he smiled. It felt good to know he had been the only one.

Terry zipped himself up and Briony found some tissues in her bag to mop herself up. She was a mess. Her knickers were torn and she was damp and sticky. "I can't go into a meeting like this!" she giggled.

Stepping out of the panties, she tossed them into the bushes and pulled her skirt down. 

"Sorry, love. I should have..." Terry wasn't sure what to say. The whole incident had shocked him a little and he wondered if he had hurt her. "Are you OK?" His voice was hesitant.

Briony grinned widely. "OK? Course I am. A bit messed up and my back's a bit sore but...Terry, you are the best fantasy a girl can have. I'm not made of porcelain. And, as you know, I like a bit of rough. I like it with you anyway. I wouldn't let most other blokes within a mile of doing what you've just done. But with you, it's like being with a bloody force of nature. Unstoppable. Immoveable. Incredible." They kissed and he swung her round suddenly a little overcome by events.

"Hey, Terry. I'm running late. Let's have a look on the high street. See if there is a knicker shop and a Boots Chemist. I want wipes."

Back to reality. They held hands and ran across the grounds, surprising a nurse who was wheeling an old gentleman in a chair. "This is private property. Can I be of assistance?" The nurse inquired rather suspiciously.

Terry gave her one of his fetching smiles and then turned to the old fellow in the chair. "She's great this nurse of mine. I was ninety and bed bound when I came in here, mate, and look at me now. First time I've had it against a wall in years."

Briony snorted and the nurse's mouth fell open. The old chap grinned. He might have lost the use of his legs but his faculties were all there.

"Nurse Bradley- I want some of what he's on!" He chortled as she hurried him away and Terry and Briony ran out onto the main road.

They popped into Boots and Briony made her purchase. Then she spotted a lingerie store further down the street and headed for it.

Browsing through the rails, Terry homed in straight away on some ridiculously expensive satin and lace thongs with a matching deep plunge bra in pale mint and soft beige.

"I'm working, Terry. They will stick up my bum," As ever Briony did not mince her words. 

He asked her size. "34 D and size 8. It's a bugger to get swim wear," she complained. He picked out the sizes.

Briony helped herself to a packet of 3 white cotton panties. "Now these are what I should be wearing. Sensible knickers."

Terry pulled a face. "Fucking passion killers," he retorted.

Briony reached up to him out of the earshot of the hovering saleswoman. "You just fucked my brains out against a wall on private property. The colour and shape of my knickers was of absolutely no significance to your performance. I could have been wearing a pair of my grannie's bloomers and you would not have not have been daunted. So white cotton it is. But if you want to treat me to the others..." She slipped away to pay for her pack of sensible panties.

"Excuse me. Could I use your changing room?" Briony asked the woman behind the counter.

"Certainly, madam." 

Briony slipped through the curtain and began her repair job. A short while later, Terry joined her. "Try these on."

He was holding an ivory silk peignoir trimmed in guipure lace under which went a matching basque and a pair of silk shorts. "The shorts come with it. But I don't think they're really necessary. Just the top bit and the over thingy would look great." Terry suggested, waving his hands about.

"Didn't know you were a fashion consultant as well, Terry. You really have all the terminology off pat don't you? Top bit and over thingy. You mean naked from the waist down with a see through negligee, you pervert. Have you seen the price of these? Buy them and I'll wear them." Briony added with a flourish.

"With five inch stilettos." Terry added.

"And bright red lipstick."

"And those white stockings that hold themselves up..."

"Have you quite finished, mate? You'll talk yourself into another tent in your pants in a minute. So, it's tart for dessert tonight, is it?"

Terry inhaled. "French courtesan, I think. Sort of Louis XIVth period. Your bosom will heave over the edge of that thing so sweetly."

"It's called a basque not a thing, Terry."

"Whatever." She smoothed down her skirt and pulled back the curtain.

"Aren't you trying them on then?"

Briony shook her head. "You have to wait to see me in these. They will fit. A bit tight won't bother will it, you pervert?"

He grinned. "No, tight is good. Overspill." He raised his eyebrows at the thought of Briony's bosom.

The woman behind the till was delighted at the sale. It amounted to a whole day's takings. While Terry was signing the credit card slip, Briony leant over and whispered in his ear.

"So what's my treat?"

He shot her a glance as he returned the chit. " Me."

Briony snorted. " You are not getting away with that! I'm getting dressed up like a dog's dinner for you. I demand something different."

Terry exhaled sharply. " I'm not dressing up!"

"I didn't expect that. But can't you be at bit imaginative?" She whined.

"Imaginative? What do you think a fucking French courtesan is?"

"That's for you. What about me?"

"Your call. Tell me and I'll think about it." Terry pocketed his wallet and held the door open for her as they left the shop.

"It would be really nice if you would surprise me..."

"Yeah, like you surprised me this morning?" he teased. And then he got an idea.

"Have you seen the time, Briony? Where d'ya park your car?" Neat change of subject.

Briony threw Terry the keys and he revved the engine to annoy her and then shot off into the traffic in a squeal of tyres. "Suppose you think that's funny?" Briony retorted, feigning annoyance.

"So the little traffic policeman stops us and you flash your warrant card and he wets his little pants for upsetting CID...you'd love it." He was right. She always loved pulling rank on the boys.

Reaching the Metropolitan Police headquarters at New Scotland Yard, Briony jumped out. "Where'll you be?"

"I'll park it and go for a pie and a pint. I'm hungry." Terry answered, rubbing his stomach.

"Should have eaten your lunch then!" she giggled back. "I'll ring you when I've finished."

Terry watched her run up the stairs to the entrance, her butt bouncing up and down in its tight fitting skirt. He smiled and ran the car down the ramp to the assigned parking bays. Finding the one with her number, he parked and stepped out, clicking the remote to secure the lock and alarm. Thrusting his hands in the pockets of his overcoat, he strolled off whistling, and planning his little surprise for Briony.

Peter Clayton had noticed DS Evans getting out of her car as he returned from lunch in the pub. Then the car drove past him and to his surprise he recognised the driver- it was the Australian hostage negotiator of this morning. Leaning against the wall, he observed Thorne park and pocket the keys, striding off towards the pub that he himself had just left. Clayton smiled to himself. What was this about? Either Thorne already knew Evans and this morning she had let him off the hook on the strength of that or he had turned on the charm and she had fallen for his big dick and macho man looks. So, she wasn't a dyke after all. But she was a bent copper. Clayton rubbed his hands at the thought of bringing her down. This was better than he had ever anticipated...