She wasn’t a dream. She wasn’t a hallucination brought on by stress—she was real. But it wasn’t until he had her grasped tight in his arms, with his lips firmly pressed to hers, that he actually believed it.

Lydia was back.

The lovely creature he’d lost his heart to—his dream woman—was actually here. She was standing in his house with her arms wrapped around him.

“So you are glad to see me. From the way you looked at the door, I wondered. But whatever you think, I’ve missed you, Tom Calladine, missed you like crazy. No word from you, nothing, for weeks—not even a text.” She slapped his arm.

“You could have rung me. It’s not all one-sided, you know.”

“You’d think I was chasing you! Can’t have that, can we, Detective? You’ll get all big-headed and start thinking you’re God’s gift.”

“Stupid woman. You know I’ve only got eyes for you …” And he kissed her again. “It really is good to see you, Lydia. I was beginning to think you’d never come back, not after what happened to you.”

“I’ve had to work on that, believe me, Tom. What that man did to me left mental scars—but I’m dealing with them, and not doing too bad either. The key is work, work, work then more work. I immersed myself and it’s sorted my head out.”

“It should never have happened.” He traced his fingers down her cheek. “Another instance of Jones’s penny-pinching stupidity. You should have had someone watching you.”

“Let’s not rake all that up now. It’s in its place.” She tapped her head. “It’s dealt with, and that’s that. I take risks; it comes with the job, so I have to live with the consequences.”

“So what are you doing here? I thought you’d gone for good, and I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

“Like I said, I went off and licked my wounds, but now I’m back and raring to go. The job I took in Edinburgh wasn’t right for me and, anyway, Scotland’s too cold. I’ve got a new job now, so here I am.”

“Are you back with the Echo?”

“What—that rag? No fear—that’s small fry. No, Detective. I’ve had a sniff of the big time, and now I want more. Investigative journalism—that’s where my future is. I wrote a piece for one of nationals after the Handy Man case and the fee was amazing. Since then I’ve done a few more—chased up on all the juicy cases I could find. Robberies mostly. I investigated the goings on behind that big jewellery robbery in London last month.”

“So why Leesworth?”

“Because of you. I can see from the look on your face that you don’t believe me, but it’s true, every word. I’m not spinning you a yarn, Detective. I’ve really missed you, and I reached the point where I just had to come back and catch up.”

“I’m flattered, Lydia, I really am. But there is an angle, isn’t there? With you, there’s got to be. I’m flattered, but I’m not that stupid. I mean—look at you, then take a real good look at me.” He shook his head. He was feeling it again—that slightly ill at ease

‘what’s she up to’ feeling. Investigative journalism…She needed him for something.

“That hurts, it really does. I like you, Tom. You know I do, and I wouldn’t use you. I’m not that sort of woman.”

“Lydia, you’re exactly that sort of woman.” He chuckled. “But right now I just don’t care. It’s so good to have you back, to see you standing in front of me looking wonderful, still so very lovely.”

“You’ll have me blushing. Let’s not get into the whys and wherefores right now. Let’s eat and talk and have a real good catch up.”

“We’ll do that later. First tell me what it is you’re investigating round here.”

“Can’t that wait, Tom? If I tell you, then you’ll just get annoyed, and bang goes our wonderful evening.”

“Just tell me what you want, Lydia. I’m a busy man and I don’t have time to let you run circles around me.”

“Can I just say that I will need your help, Detective? I simply don’t know enough about the person I’m chasing.”

Why did that send a cold shiver down his spine?

“So you do want something—and you know I won’t approve.”

“Yes, but all I want is a few pointers; clarification on one or two things—that’s all. Oh and Tom, I’d like to stay here too.”

“Here? With me?”

“Well yes. You do live here, don’t you?”

“Yes I do, but I’m not here alone anymore.”

“You have another woman in your life—yes, I know, and I have to say I’m surprised, so soon after me …”

“There is another woman, but it’s not what you think.”

“She’s very pretty, and young too. Is this her?” Lydia took out a sheaf of photos from her briefcase.

“Yes, that’s me and Zoe.” He blinked, not quite taking in what it was she was showing him. “Where did you get these? That’s my mother’s funeral. Why would you want photos of that?” He thought for a moment, and then realised. “You must have been there, watching—but why? And why not come and speak to me?”

“It didn’t seem the right thing to do, Tom.” She pointed to Zoe, who was holding his hand in one of the pictures. “So who’s the woman then?”

“My daughter, Zoe.”

“You have a daughter?” She sounded incredulous. “A grown-up daughter? Where did she come from? You certainly didn’t have her last time I saw you.”

“It’s a long story, but she is mine—mine and Rachel’s. She came looking for me when her mum died.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Are you okay with her living here?”

“Yep. It suits me just fine.” He looked a little closer at the images, trying to work out why she’d taken them. Then it hit him—like a brick between the eyes.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” He pointed at the image of his cousin. “You’re bloody well investigating him!”

The perfectly shaped eyebrows rose a little, and those baby blue eyes flashed with annoyance.

“He’s big news, Detective—or he will be once you lot get your fingers out and slap the cuffs on him.”

What on earth was she up to? Whatever it was it had to stop.

She obviously had no idea what she was getting into. If Fallon got the merest whiff that Lydia was about to dish the dirt on him, he’d retaliate. She’d simply disappear. He’d have her killed and Calladine would never be able to find out how or where.

“Keep away, Lydia. Fallon is bad news. Michael Morpeth was a pussycat in comparison to my damn cousin.”

“Don’t be like that.” She rubbed his arm. “It’s all going to come out about him soon. He’s started making mistakes. And with me doing the story, you can be kept out of it.”

“I’m not involved.” Now he was really angry. What did she think he was? “Since we reached adulthood I’ve had nothing to do with the bastard. And, like I keep telling people, neither should anyone else.”

“So. You won’t help me?” Lydia Holden stood glowering at him with her hands on her hips—those delicate, manicured hands of hers that could be so gentle, so giving.

“No, I won’t help you, because I would be signing your death warrant. You’ll get hurt, Lydia—you’ll be picked up by one of his thugs so fast your feet won’t touch. We’d never find your body.

We’d never find anything.”

“Then you need to up your game, Detective.”

“Smart-assed comments won’t get you anywhere either, Lydia.”

He still couldn’t believe it. Lydia Holden here, in his sitting room, calling the shots and looking so damn sexy he was helpless. He wanted her. He wanted her so badly it hurt.

“Well, if this is how you’re going to be, if you’re going to be all tight-lipped about Fallon, then I’ll go ask elsewhere. But I have to say, you surprise me, Detective. I thought you, of all people, would be only too happy to dish the dirt on your errant kin.”

“Look, Lydia, I don’t have time to stand here and argue with you now—”

“Well, come to bed and argue with me there instead. Come on, Detective, I know you want to.” She moved forward, and nuzzled in close. She was a siren, a weakness he couldn’t resist. “Don’t play hard to get, Detective. We both know it’s not your style.”