While her dealings with Sam over the past six months had seen her question a number of things, from her trust of her superiors to the very badge she stood for, one she never questioned was her gut.
Something was wrong.
She knew it.
A residual guilt still lingered in her mind the following morning. Matt Allison had been the perfect gentleman, charming in some ways and although under different circumstances their union would have been just as unlikely, she felt bad for stringing him along. Not only was it cruel to offer him hope of progressing his clear attraction to her, but it also undermined her stern stance that her gender had no effect on her ability to solve a case.
Using the potential allure of sex to garner information made her feel sick to her stomach and when she’d arrived back at her flat later that night, she had a stiff whisky and went to bed. A night of restless sleep followed, and she found herself at the coffee machine at half five the following morning, yearning for the caffeine boost as much as the truth.
By eight o’clock, she was at her desk in the New Scotland Yard building, gazing out of the windows over the glorious River Thames. A few boats were slowly passing through and she cast her gaze out to the wider city.
A city in chaos.
To its inhabitants, it was a booming city, filled with shops, businesses, and bars, the epicentre of the British economy. Whatever street you walked down, there was always a buzz of activity, with tourists, shoppers, and workers weaving in and out of each other’s way like a strange dance.
To those walking the streets, it was a place of wonder.
To those protecting the very same streets, it was haunting.
Before her life intertwined with Sam’s, Singh had already seen the worst of humanity. She’d worked diligently on Project Yewtree, hunting down the necessary evidence to ensure that when they hauled the vile paedophiles off the streets, they stayed off them,
She’d burst into drug dens, armed and flanked by her team, engaging in gunfights with drug lords.
She’d shot people.
Critically injured them.
But she’d never killed.
Since then Sam Pope had consumed her career. As soon as she’d been assigned as the head of the task force, he’d taken a permanent residence in her mind. But as the hunt drew out, and the lines began to blur, he’d consumed her thoughts for other reasons.
The pain he’d been through.
The war he’d raged to save innocent children.
The sacrifices he made to bring down one of the most notorious global terrorists.
The risks he took to save her life.
That kiss.
She could feel her fingers tightening around the coffee cup, only for her thoughts to be disturbed by a familiar voice.
‘Singh. You’re here early this morning.’
It wasn’t so much a question as a statement of fact, but Singh could hear the surprise in Deputy Commissioner Ashton’s voice. Turning away from the grey sky that hung over the capital like a grim warning, Singh offered her superior a smile.
‘Just wanted to get ahead of a few things, that’s all.’
‘Good to hear.’ Ashton nodded curtly, removing her hat and revealing her greying blonde hair, which was tied back in her usual bun. As she marched towards her office, Singh placed down her coffee mug and followed, whipping her blazer off the back of her chair and sliding it over her crisp white shirt. As Ashton circled her desk, she looked up with surprise as Singh knocked on the door and effectively let herself in.
‘Can I have a quick word, ma’am?’
‘Quickly.’ Ashton sighed, half rolling her eyes as she made to look busy, shuffling some papers on her desk. ‘I have a meeting with the Home Secretary in thirty minutes.’
‘Fun,’ Singh replied dryly, regretting it as soon as Ashton shot her a furious glance.
‘What do you want, Singh?’ Ashton took her seat as Singh approached the desk.
‘Ma’am, I think something has happened to Sam Pope.’
‘You are right. Something has happened to him,’ Ashton replied, without looking up from her papers.
‘Ma’am?’
‘Justice.’ Ashton looked up smugly. ‘The man committed countless crimes, killed numerous people including a senior government official, and engaged in a gun fight with our own men. Now he is behind bars and you would do well, Singh, to leave it at that. Dragging up the past will only impede your future.’
Ashton returned her eyes to her paperwork, signalling the end of the conversation. It was a silent request that Singh ignored.
‘Ma’am, I have reason to believe that Sam Pope’s transfer to HMS Pentonville either went array or didn’t happen. Is there any way we can look at the transfer logs and…’
‘Singh, your job is to catch the criminals. One that you’re very good at,’ Ashton said, rubbing her temple in frustration. ‘But in the interest of keeping this relationship amicable, I can tell you in the strictest of confidence that moments before Sam’s incarceration, I received approval from Commissioner Stout on my request to have Sam moved to somewhere more befitting his crimes.’
Singh clutched the back of the chair opposite Ashton’s desk until her knuckles whitened.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean I made good on my promise. I told him I was going to bury him in the deepest, darkest hole I could find. I didn’t expect Stout to sign off on it, but with his impending departure I guess he thought it was a fitting conclusion to a job well done.’
Very rarely was Singh lost for words, but the revelation that Sam had been swept off the radar hit her like a freight train. A cocktail of fury and fear shook inside her and she took a long, deep breath. Ashton peered up
