Nye leaned back in his chair and glared at his laptop screen. This was the part of the job he hated. The admin. Jannie did her best, but there were always things left over that he had to deal with, especially when he took a couple of weeks off at the last minute.

For years, he'd resisted promotion to a managerial post, preferring the challenges of being in the field, but the directors had kept asking him, and in the end they'd come to a compromise—he'd take the job, but he'd have an assistant and a big enough team that he didn't spend his whole time stuck behind a desk.

He had to admit the role had grown on him, and being Head of Investigations for Blackwood's London office was a good career move. Even his mother had been grudgingly impressed by the title.

The screen full of emails in front of him was a worthy trade-off for what he'd gained in the last fortnight. Sure, he'd missed out on a hell of a lot of sleep and had to flee a burning building, but that was nothing compared to his past escapades.

And now he had Olivia.

He took out his phone and snuck a glance at the last photo he'd taken of her, blonde hair spread out over his pillow as she'd slept beside him. That was exactly where he wanted her to stay. She wouldn't be moving back to Upper Foxford, not if he could help it, but there was still so much she didn't know about him. How would she react when she found out?

No, he didn't want to think about that, not at the moment.

Instead, he shoved his chair back and headed to the kitchen. The coffee machine was burbling away as Max wandered in, whistling a remarkably tuneful version of "Love is in the Air."

"Knock it off, would you?"

Max shrugged. "Tell me it's not true."

Nye couldn't, not when Liv had taken over his heart and mind. "You wait. It'll happen to you one day."

"Not likely. I've got enough on my plate with work and house renovations."

"Fifty quid says I'm right."

Max held out his hand, and they shook.

"Easy money," he said as he disappeared with an apple.

One meeting left until Nye could escape for the rest of the day. If it had been anything but the monthly conference for all the heads of department, he'd have sent his apologies and gone to find Liv already, but one of the directors was in the UK, and an excuse wouldn't work with her.

Back at his desk with an espresso, he wondered how the hell to tell Liv how he felt. He'd never declared his love for anything more than a prime beef burger with bacon and extra cheese, and that only happened after a few beers.

Should he buy her flowers? Chocolates? Jewellery? His previous girlfriends had liked those things, but Liv was different. The vacuous socialites had been pretty on his arm but not so pretty inside, while Liv was real and beautiful to her core.

He pressed the intercom on his desk. "Did you confirm the reservations for tonight?"

"For the third time, yes." Jannie's voice came through loud and clear and just a little bit peeved. She hated it when he questioned her efficiency. "Quiet table for two, candles, music, the works."

For his first proper date with Liv, Nye had chosen a mid-range Italian place that served excellent food without being overly pretentious. Unlike most of the women he'd dated, Liv actually liked to eat. His hand strayed to his lap. Yeah, she definitely liked to eat. He'd hit the fucking jackpot with that woman.

Twelve thirty. Finally! He could get the meeting over with and finish up the rest at home. Blackwood allowed staff to work flexibly, and he'd done enough overtime during the past nine years to justify a couple of easy days.

In the conference room, the table was stacked with snacks. Apple slices, pita bread with houmous, celery sticks—where was the proper food? He picked up a chicken satay and bit into it. Yuck. What the hell was this?

"Sorry. It's tofu," Emmy said from behind him. "Toby flew over with me."

That explained it. As Special Projects Director, Emmy had to stay in tip-top shape and often brought her nutritionist when she came to the UK. So now they all had to eat weird shit.

The man himself bustled in carrying a plate of pineapple pieces. "And if you even think of bringing biscuits into this meeting, I'll put decaf in all the coffee machines."

Emmy clenched her teeth. "You wouldn't."

"Watch me."

"For fuck's sake... Guys, we need to hurry this up so I can go and find cake."

Despite Emmy rattling through the agenda, Nye was still fidgeting by the end of the meeting. Had Liv finished up at Lilac Cottage yet? He'd seen the charges from Agent Provocateur on his credit card statement, and he kept his fingers crossed she'd be trying out one of those skimpy outfits tonight.

Finally, Emmy finished up. "Anything else?"

Everyone shook their heads, thank goodness. Nye would have cracked a tooth if he'd clamped his jaws any harder.

"What's up with you?" Emmy asked as she followed him out. "Didn't you get enough last night?"

Oh, if only she knew. Liv may have been inexperienced, but she was an excellent pupil and made up for it with enthusiasm. The fact that Nye had been late for work was a testament to that.

"I got plenty."

"Are you coming out for pizza?" one of their colleagues asked.

Emmy shook her head. "I've got mayhem to plan. But if you can sneak me a deep-pan pepperoni past Toby, I'd be eternally grateful."

"Nye?"

"Not today, sorry."

Three o'clock. Liv should be on her way back by now, which would give them time for a quick trip to the bedroom before dinner. He just needed to pick up the gift he'd ordered for her on the way back. A pair of oven mitts, go figure. She'd mentioned wanting them.

He'd got one arm in his jacket sleeve when the phone on his desk rang. Sod it—Jannie could answer.

"Nye, wait a second," she called.

He paused, halfway through the door. Dammit. "What is it?"

"Inspector Carling from Hertfordshire Constabulary is on the phone. You know, the guy dealing with the mess in Upper Foxford? He says it's important."

Nye huffed, but he couldn't ditch work in favour of visiting a bakeware shop. "Transfer it through, will you?"

He stomped back into his office and perched on the edge of his desk. A second later, the phone beeped.

"Nye Holmes."

"Rory Carling. We met briefly the other night."

"Yes, I remember." Nye wished he'd get to the point.

"We've got a problem here, and I wanted to bounce it off you, if you've got a few minutes?"

Nye didn't want problems. He wanted sex, a chilled Peroni, and pizza. In that order. "What kind of problem?"

"Well, we've got Fenton Palmer in custody, and we've got a statement, a body, and a murder weapon. But forensics just called, and the fingerprints on the knife don't match the suspect."

"You're kidding me? No way the lab could have screwed up?"

"They've checked it twice. There's one set of prints, in blood, and they don't belong to Fenton Palmer."

"Have you run them through the database?"

"We did that right away, but we didn't get any hits."

Shit. What the fuck was Ronnie playing at?

"Can you send a copy of the prints over? And a set of Fenton's? I'll get our tech guys to take a look too."

"On their way. I'm going down to talk to Palmer next, but he's been hiding behind his lawyer so far."

"Has he said anything at all?"

"Not a dicky bird."

Nye thumped his fist down on the desk then yanked his chair out. It looked as if he wouldn't be going home yet after all. And what was he supposed to tell Liv?

Nothing. He'd tell her nothing for the moment. She'd only get worried.

He fired off a quick message.

Nye: Something's come up at work. Do you want to go home with Maddie and I'll meet you there when I'm done?

"Everything okay?" Jannie asked.

"Not really. I'll be in the lab if anyone needs me."

An hour later, Test-tube confirmed what Carling had already told them—the fingerprints weren't Fenton's.

"Then who the hell left them on that knife?" Nye growled.

"If the police database hasn't found anything, it's not someone with a criminal record, at least in the UK. I'll run them through Interpol just in case."

The call-waiting light flashed, and Nye jabbed at the button to switch to the other line. Today was turning into a nightmare. He'd need to move the restaurant booking and call Liv to apologise.

"Carling here again. I've spoken with Fenton Palmer."

"And?"

"He's giving us some bull about walking in and finding his wife dead on the floor. Now he's claiming a mystery man broke in and killed her."

"You believe him?"

"Not in the slightest. He's shifty as hell. But his lawyer's got wind of the letter from Ronnie, and he's trying to pin everything on him."

Bloody lawyers. Always trying to twist the facts to suit them and their guilty-as-hell clients.

"I take it you've compared the prints on the knife to Ronnie's? He's in the system already."

"That was the second thing we did. No match."

Nye kicked at his desk leg. "This is crazy. Why'd Fenton bury the body if he just walked in and found her like that? That alone says he's guilty."

"It just doesn't make sense."

"Any chance the prints could belong to the wife?"

"It's possible, I suppose, but checking will be difficult. She's been dead for years, and you saw the condition the body was in."

Yeah, Nye did, and he could still smell it. Time hadn't been kind.

"Try anyway."

"We will. I'll keep in touch."

Nye began pacing. It helped him to think, except when the rubbish bin got in his way. He gave it a kick. What he needed was a bigger office.

Fenton Palmer had to be responsible. Had to be. The man radiated guilt, and the police had found leather gloves in his hall closet next to a pair of muddy boots with rosemary sprigs stuck in the treads. His gardener confirmed a can of petrol had gone missing from the shed, and his internet history showed a search for Molotov cocktails. Plus, he had no alibi for any of Olivia's night-time visits.

There was only one explanation, and not a palatable one: Fenton Palmer wasn't working alone.

The phone rang again, the display flashing with Test-tube's name. Nye snatched it up.

"What?"

"Good afternoon to you too."

"Sorry. No time for pleasantries."

"Well, the good news is we've identified the prints."

Thank goodness. Nye sagged with relief. Maybe now they could put this nightmare to rest once and for all. "Interpol?"

"Our own database, actually."

"Ours?" Blackwood had a tendency to skirt the rules that bound the police on occasion. They kept prints that might be useful on file, even if a person hadn't been convicted. "Who the fuck do they belong to?"

"One Tate Palmer. He was part of the sweep we did for the Lower Foxford kidnapping case a couple of years ago."

The details clicked into place. Fuck. Carol had said Tate was at university when his mother disappeared, but he must have come back for a visit. If Fenton Palmer was going to cover for anyone, it would be his son. A son who'd been involved with Olivia before Nye came onto the scene. Was that why he'd been sniffing around? So he could get into Lilac Cottage and find the missing evidence?

He needed to let her know what was going on, and that would be better done in the privacy of his apartment. They could go out another night. Nye wanted their first date to be perfect, not overshadowed by the asshole who'd tried to ruin her life.

Was she back in town yet? He checked his phone, but she hadn't replied to his earlier message. Busy gabbing with Maddie, no doubt. He dialled her number, but it went straight to voicemail.

"Babe, there've been a few developments here. Can you call me? I want to know you're safe."

Nye's next call went to Inspector Carling to give him the good news.

"We'll pick the Palmer boy up as soon as we can, but we'll have to be careful with the paperwork seeing as you're not supposed to have those prints."

Damn the law and its finicky rules. "Whatever you do, don't let him walk on a technicality."

"We won't. Don't you worry about that."

"And try not to leave it too long. Tate must be feeling the heat by now, and we don't want him to do anything stupid."

"Understood. Can you send Blackwood's report over?"

Nye did so right away then tried Liv again, but she still didn't answer. Where was she? He called his apartment just in case she'd gone back there already. Nothing. Now what? He needed to get hold of Maddie, but he didn't know her surname, only where she lived. Time for the research department to earn their money.

Jannie buzzed through. "Madonna's on the line for you."

"Is that a joke?"

"No joke. She says she's a friend of Olivia's."

Madonna... Maddie? Suddenly, Nye felt sick. His gut ached worse than after he'd eaten her liver mousse. "Put her through."

"Nye?" came Maddie's voice.

"It's me. Is Liv okay?"

"I don't know. I can't get hold of her. Tate stopped by and said he needed to talk, so they went for a drive. She said she'd only be thirty minutes, but that was over an hour ago, and she's not answering her phone."

Fuck! That bastard had the only woman he'd ever truly wanted.

"Where are you?"

"At Daisy's café in Upper Foxford."

"Stay there. I'm on my way."