This will be a sort-of-one-shot: Alex and Gene get caught up in the climax of a murder investigation.

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"Get ya hands up in the air now unless you wanna see this tom swinging from the rafters!"

The balaclava-clad speaker swung his gun round to point in turn at DCI Hunt, DI Drake, DS Carling, and DC Skelton, as they edged back against the wall, exchanging worried glances.

"Right, no sudden moves, team," Gene whispered sotto voce to Alex, "We may be dealin' with a psycho." She conceded with barely a nod of the head, and passed the message along.

"Guns on the floor." The next order came.

One by one, the four placed their weapons in front of them, and at another gesture, kicked them away. Glancing at each other, they felt the tension in the room raised up another notch.

They had spent the last week investigating a series of particularly gruesome murders; the corpses of three women had been found hanging from belts in various warehouses across London. They had been pretty hard to identify, as the killer had taken great pains to mutilate his victims; faces and breasts had been slashed and ripped so horribly that the victims were practically unrecognisable. Chris had been the one to pick up on the clues; a boot-print here; a cuff-link there. They had eventually tracked down the murderer to a small out-house at the dock-yard, only to find that he had with him yet another prospective victim.

"What do we do now?" Alex breathed in Gene's direction.

"I dunno yet – need more time!" She could tell that Hunt was agitated; indeed he had good reason to be – none of them had a plan, and if they didn't act soon, they would all soon be witness to at least one more murder.

"Why did you do it? All those women?" Alex couldn't help herself; her undaunted curiosity and inquisitive mind needed some answers. "Was it because of your father? We've done some pretty thorough background checks, and I know about your dad. Domestic abuse is always terrible, but that doesn't give you a reason to follow in his footsteps, does it?"

She stepped forward slightly, unable to override the urge to reason with the felon.

"Are you angry at your mother for being weak? Is it because you feel you need to live up to your father? Is this what happens when someone gets too close for comfort? There is help, you know. If you let her go, we can get you some help, someone to talk to. I can-"

But whatever it was that Alex Drake had been about to suggest, she was cut-short when a warning shot ricocheted off the wall only feet from her. Backing against the wall with a cry, she grabbed Hunt's wrist, but when he looked round at her with narrowed eyes, she quickly let him go.

"Right now, you lot - here's your choice – I suggest you listen. I want the bird for this slag." The gunman interrupted her thoughts abruptly.

"You what?" Ray voiced everyone's feelings.

"Simple," the man growled. "I get the bird," he gestured at Alex, "You get the prossie." He prodded the cowering girl in the ribs with the pistol. "You then have four hours to get the ransom money to me, or she gets it in the neck."

"YOU WHAT?" Gene echoed Ray's words and stepped forward menacingly, ignoring the barrel of the gun.

"Gene!" Alex grabbed his arm and pulled him down to the ground, just as a stray bullet ricocheted overhead, hitting the spot where Hunt's head had been mere moments ago. Showered in plaster and dust, they spluttered and rose to their feet again, as the gunman gestured once more with his weapon.

"Right, last chance. Make your choice." There was no detectable weakness in his stance or voice.

"Ok, Ok." Alex stepped forward, "We'll make the swap."

"Get back here you dozy bitch, what the hell do you think ya playin' at?" Gene grabbed her roughly by the elbow.

Meeting his stare and lowering her voice, she reminded him, "We need more time – I can buy us that."

He stared straight back at her, weighing up the options. On one hand, they did need time and he couldn't risk another potential murder; on the other, he couldn't risk losing a colleague on the job – Drake wasn't exactly known for being cool-headed. There was another reason too, but he didn't particularly want to think too much on that right now.

"Alright, Drake," he relaxed his grip on her arm, "but no heroics."

With a brief half-smile in his direction, Alex turned around to face her future captor. Leering at her from under his mask, he shoved his trembling hostage away and quick as a whip, fastened his vice-like fingers around her forearm. In one movement, he had her pressed up against his sweaty, dirty shirt; his arm wrapped tightly around her; stale breath against her neck.

The frightened ex-hostage fell into Chris' arms, and with an urgent "Go!" from Hunt, both hurried from the building to raise the alarm and radio for back-up.

"I must say, I do prefer this model," the gunman snarled lecherously into Alex's ear, all the time keeping his eyes on Gene, as he raised the hand holding the gun to her temple. Still watching Gene like a hawk, he trailed the tip of the pistol lasciviously down her jaw, and traced the outline of one breast. "Delicious," he whispered, and Alex shivered visibly.

Gene Hunt curled his fingers into a fist so tight, that he heard the bones creak.

"I wonder if you like this," the convict continued his dubious explorations as he trailed the gun barrel down Alex's waist, her stomach, her thigh, and further...

Not being able to stand the abuse any longer, Alex snapped. The fiery DI suddenly twisted one hand free, and used it to punch her hostage-taker with all the force and anger she could muster. The sound of the contact echoed forebodingly in the empty room. Everything else was silent.

When he had recovered from the shock, her captor turned his head slowly back around to look at her, his eyes burning. His face was bright red where her fist had made contact, and his mouth slid into an ugly sneer.

"You shouldn't 'av done that, bitch," his voice was like steel cutting through the air, like a sword about to impact.

Pulling her roughly to him, he thrust the gun back against her temple, and in one swift movement he pounced, forcing his mouth upon hers, and thrusting his lithe tongue down her throat. Alex tried in vain to push him off her, but he was too strong. His grip on her arms; the smell of stale beer and sweat; his rough, dank mouth on hers – it was all too much for her.

Apparently, it was all too much for DCI Gene Hunt too, and with one roar of anger, he had hurled himself at the pair.

There was a gunshot.

Someone cried out in pain.

The blood began to flow.

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To Be Continued...

R & R – What do you think?