Maddie and Mickey were waiting on a swanky leather sofa in the lobby of Nye's apartment building when I climbed out of the cab.

"Thought we'd got the wrong building for a minute," she said. "You really live here?"

"I can't quite believe it either."

She pulled me into a hug. "I was so worried about you earlier. We all were. And then Warren insisted on going to look for you at Tate's while I checked Lilac Cottage and Mickey waited at the café, and I knew something bad had happened."

"We're okay, that's all that matters."

"Apart from Tate. He got everything he deserved."

He did, although I couldn't help wishing I'd kicked him in the ribs for good measure. "Can we just not talk about it?"

"Of course. What was I thinking? Why don't we go upstairs and I'll cook you a nice dinner?"

"I feel quite bad enough as it is," I said, before clapping my hand over my mouth when I realised what had come out it.

Thankfully, Maddie saw the funny side. "I suppose trying to cook without my recipe book isn't the best idea. Shall I order a pizza?"

Janelle ran out of the lift just as the delivery guy left half an hour later, and she was clutching a bottle of champagne in one hand and a bag from Hotel Chocolat in the other.

"So you can celebrate when Nye comes back," she said, holding them out to me. "I was going to get party poppers as well, but I guessed you'd had enough bangs for one week."

Yes, I had, at least of the noisy variety.

"Do you want to join us for pizza? We've got plenty."

Mickey wanted spicy hot, I'd gone for vegetable, and Maddie had retained her crown as the queen of bad taste and chosen a Hawaiian. Pineapple on pizza made me shudder.

"Why not? Saves making dinner."

Dinner turned into drinks, and I woke up next to Maddie in the early hours, both of us squashed onto one of Nye's luxurious armchairs. Different location, but just like the old days. I tucked blankets over her before heading for the bedroom, looking forward to sharing it with Nye tomorrow.

One advantage to having Janelle with us was her connection to the Blackwood control room. She checked her phone every few minutes, and as I cooked us all breakfast the next morning, she let out a whoop.

"Fenton Palmer's confessed all."

With a good night's sleep under my belt, curiosity got the better of me.

"What did he say?"

"Tate came back from uni for a few days and spent most of the time arguing with his mother. Helena didn't grow up rich, and she hated the sense of entitlement Tate had developed. Fenton claimed to love his wife, but he'd secretly been considering a divorce according to the files we absolutely didn't find on his solicitor's computer."

"You hacked into it?"

"Of course not. That would have been illegal. Anyway, Fenton got back from the pub one night and found Helena dead on the floor and Tate sitting on the sofa, watching an episode of Antiques Roadshow."

"That's...that's..."

"Sick? Warped? Freaky? All of the above?"

"Yes, all of them. I can't believe I went out with that man. Why didn't I see he was a psychopath?"

Janelle patted my hand. "Sociopath. It's different. Half of the people I work with have psychopathic tendencies and they're not all bad. You met Emmy?"

"I did."

"There you go. Her husband's a Grade A candidate too."

"Did you do a degree in psychology or something?"

"A masters. Helps with working at Blackwood, let me tell you. Plenty of quirky personalities there. But to answer your question, Tate was good at hiding his true character. Money and looks blind a lot of people, and it can be difficult to see through that veneer. You had a lucky escape, girl."

It sickened me to think just how close I'd come to getting sucked into Tate's insane world. Instead of making crêpes, I could have been wrapped in plastic and buried in a shallow grave. Those damn prickles made my eyes itch again.

"Hey, hey." Janelle wrapped an arm around my shoulders. "Don't cry. In fact, don't even give that fruitcake another thought. Is there any maple syrup to go with these pancakes?"

More news came after Nye arrived home. Janelle had arranged a car for us to go to the hospital at ten, but he walked through the door at nine with a tired smile and a bag of pills.

"They let you out early?"

"Not exactly."

"Oh, Nye. You discharged yourself?"

"I left a note. Are those pancakes?"

Good grief. I was dating a twenty-seven-year-old child. "For goodness' sakes, sit down. You should be resting."

Before I could form another thought, he'd pinned me against the wall, my arms trapped over my head as he kissed me thoroughly. It seemed several parts of his anatomy didn't agree with my suggestion, but as his fingers walked over my bare stomach, Janelle appeared, phone in hand.

"Oh, you're back. I'll cancel the car. Did you hear the latest?"

"Define latest."

"Zander found Larry Hazell."

"News to me."

Janelle grinned. "I love it when I know more than the boss."

"Just spill it, Jannie."

"Fine. Well, Zander tracked down a couple of the girls in Larry's photo album and put them under surveillance. One of the teams spotted him last night rifling through the bins behind Susie Marsden's house. When they got to him, he was sniffing a sanitary towel."

A little bit of sick came into my mouth, and I was glad I hadn't gone for that fourth crêpe.

"Bloody freak," Nye muttered.

"Right. Susie said the bins had been tampered with a few times before, but she thought it was foxes."

"What have we done with him?"

"Zander had a nice chat, and Larry said he just liked to watch the girls. It was difficult to prove otherwise, but you never know how things are going to escalate, so Emmy had a word with a guy she knows. The only girls Larry's going to be watching for a while are the nurses in the secure hospital we've parked him in."

Nye gave a low groan. "So I owe Emmy another favour now?"

Janelle shrugged. "Larry won't be getting out until she gives the okay."

"How is it possible to lock somebody up like that?" I asked. "Aren't there rules?"

Nye bent to kiss me on the forehead. "Best not to ask. Does it bother you?"

That Larry couldn't prey on more women, "just watching" or not? "Honestly?" I blew out a breath, thinking over how much I'd changed in the last few weeks. "No, it doesn't. I'm glad he's out of the way."

"Good." Nye sniffed the air, bloodhound-like. "Is that food? They tried to make me eat cold toast with jelly this morning." He made a face. "I couldn't stomach it."

"This coming from the man who used to live on Pop-Tarts?"

As he swung me into the air, I shrieked and wrapped my legs around his waist.

"What can I say, babe? My tastes have changed." He leaned in closer and nuzzled my ear. "Do we have any of that cream left?"

"Yes, but Maddie and Mickey are still here."

"Not for long. Jannie, can you take Liv's friends out somewhere?"

She stood up straighter and her eyes took on a devious glint. "Lunch at Le Coeur Noir?"

Well, Janelle sure knew her restaurants, because she'd just picked out the most expensive one in West London.

"You're killing me."

"Three courses and cocktails."

"Two courses and wine, and only if you're out of here in ten minutes."

"We'll be gone in five."

Maddie blew me a kiss as the three of them ran for the lift. "Be bad, Liv."

Alone at last, and despite Nye's brave face, I'd seen him wince when he lifted me up.

"How's your shoulder?" I asked.

"I've got painkillers."

"That's not what I asked."

"The doctors picked out all the pellets. I might end up with a few scars, and it stings like hell, but there shouldn't be any lasting damage." He closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against mine. "Fuck, Liv. I've never been so scared as when I saw him pointing that gun at you."

"That's my line."

"Let's agree to share, okay?"

I blew out a long breath, letting the last of Tate's poison leach out of my body. "It's over now. Tate's dead, Fenton's going to jail, Larry's out of the way, and we've got a whole future to look forward to."

A slow smile crept over Nye's face. Slow and devious. "At the moment, I'm only looking ahead to the next couple of hours. You're wearing far too many clothes."

"What about the crêpes?"

"Later."

"Are you up to this?"

"Oh, I'm up all right."

A quick glance downwards showed the truth in that statement, and I slipped my hand around Nye's waist and squeezed my favourite part of him. There was nothing sexier than a pair of firm buttocks in well-worn jeans. Except possibly those same buttocks out of the jeans. And maybe, just maybe, I'd worn another set of that fancy underwear in anticipation of him tearing it off me.

"Then do your worst, Sherlock."

"Don't call me that, or I'll be forced to spank you."

"Sorry, Sherlock." I cupped a hand behind my ear. "I missed that."

My squeals echoed down the hallway as he chased me to the bedroom. New Olivia wasn't such a good girl anymore.