Ah, the sweet smell of coffee in the morning. Nothing to beat it.

Although, Rick considered, on thinking about it, he was wrong. There were plenty of perfumes that came higher on his sniff-o-meter. A new-born baby, although that might just have been Alexis. Central Park after it rained. First copy of a new book. Cherries.

Okay, that way madness lay. Good old Will Shakespeare: he knew a thing or two. Rick, on the other hand, knew he should never have watched that late night film of Lear, however appropriate. But he was awake now, so better to just get on with the first fix of the day.

"Damn." He'd missed. Now the floor was going to be gritty until someone swept it up. He half-smiled, just a tilt of the lips. He knew it was going to have to be him – but he was trying to put it off as long as possible.

Like thinking about … no. Not going there. Despite the dreams.

He made a mental note to get out the brush, then maybe carry on and tidy up. The takeaway boxes, at least. Couldn't have Alexis coming home from her sleepover to a crappy house. Or did sixteen year olds have sleepovers any more? Another note to have to ask before adding the eventual information into his mental filing cabinets.

If there was space.

Someone once said they were afraid to learn something new in case there was only a finite amount of room in their mind, and anything new would displace something old. Which could be awkward if he learned how to make a brilliant cappuccino but forgot how to walk.

Scraping up the grounds still on the counter he dropped them into the filter, pushing the jug into place, even as he admitted – to himself, at least – that he saw his brain as a series of rooms, filled with wall to wall drawers, overflowing with scraps of paper covered in his untidy but surprisingly legible handwriting. Millions of useless facts.

Like what happens when someone drowns. Although technically that wasn't useless since he'd used the details in A Skull at Midnight. Still, it was cluttering up the filing right now.

As the percolator started to … perc … he let his mind continue in the same vein. There were some things he wouldn't mind forgetting, of course. His second marriage, for a start. The incident with the chickens. A certain Robbery detective.

He heaved a sigh that should by rights have been heard in Brooklyn.

Tom Demming. If he wasn't such a nice guy, if he couldn't make Kate smile quite so easily … well, Rick knew several cons, ex or otherwise, who'd do the job for pin money.

Rick leaned on the counter, then stood straight, brushing stray coffee from his palms. His mind still whirling, he walked around to the sofa and dropped into its supple softness, his head falling back.

He didn't know what it was. Maybe it was just a case of dog in the manger – he didn't want her, but nobody else could have her either. But that suggested he didn't want her … that wasn't the case, was it?

No, he did. He really did want her. But for how long was another matter. Kate said once that she was a one time only girl, meaning marriage, for better or worse. And he most obviously wasn't a one time kind of a guy. Oh, it wasn't that he'd gone into his marriages believing they'd fail, but he had to admit he'd never really contemplated them lasting forever. Maybe expecting the worst brought it about. Kate, though …

Was it just for the chase, then? He'd had plenty of opportunities to make a move, and even if she shot him down he'd never worried about that before, and more often than not he'd been successful – the notches on his bedpost attested to that. So what was different about Kate?

Proximity, maybe. If he tried and she said no, it would be difficult to keep working with her, and that could mean Nikki Heat was … No. He couldn't believe he was as mercenary as that. Besides Derrick Storm never had a direct inspiration, and more than a dozen books later he was still going strong. At least, until Rick killed him.

Was it that? The fact that Kate's job could be very dangerous – she'd been shot at, attacked, bombed for God's sake … was he was scared to take a chance in case he ended up dead? Watching her die?

No. He knew what it was. He wasn't grown up enough. Ever since that first best seller, when he had the money to do what he wanted, he'd done it. The evidence lay around the apartment, from top of the line laser tags to strange kitchen equipment that still languished in the cupboards, not even taken out of the box. And what was worse, it made him happy. Being able to buy things, and not having to work for it or count the cost.

Only he couldn't buy Kate. He'd tried, in a roundabout way, with the espresso machine. It had made him popular with the other cops, but he was pretty sure Kate had seen it for what it was. Like an eight year old offering his sweets to the prettiest girl in the class and ignoring the rest.

So, pretty childish, then. Except she was the one putting up walls, not him. Only … damn it, yes, that 'only'. He'd fucked it up before, on a right royal scale, and she'd let him back in, let down her walls. Only he hadn't had the guts to go inside, and maybe now it was too late.

If it wouldn't hurt quite so much, he'd kick himself.

The door to the apartment opened, and Alexis slid in, glancing up towards the bedrooms but not noticing him sitting on the sofa.

"Hey, kiddo."

"Dad." She jumped, then gathered herself. "I didn't think you'd be awake yet."

"Occasionally I see the sun come up."

"Couldn't sleep?"

"Not … no."

"Bad dreams?"

He shook his head. "Just … complicated."

"Kate?"

"Damn, but you know me too well. And you're still only sixteen – should you be asking your old dad things like that?"

"One of us has to be a grown up."

He almost started as she echoed his thoughts of a few minutes before. "I could say it's none of your business."

"You are my business." She put her head onto one side. "You'll lose her."

He wanted to protest, but instead said, "I never had her, sweetheart."

"Yes, you do. As a friend. And if you keep on like this, you'll push her away."

"Keep on like what?"

"Trying to beat Demming."

His eyes closed for a moment. "Is that what I'm doing?"

"You know it is." She sighed lightly. "She's an adult, Dad. She makes her own decisions. And if that means someone else in her life, in her bed …" She had to smile at the expression on his face. "… then that's up to her. And you have to support her."

"I do!"

"Then better. More. Like you do with Gram and me."

"Your grandmother doesn't need my support. She's got Chet."

"And she still finds excuses to come over. Of course she needs you." She paused a heartbeat. "Just like I do."

He pulled her into his arms. "Hey, I'm not going anywhere."

"Good." Her voice was slightly muffled. "Because I'd hate that. And lately I've not been sure if it's you or some clone."

"A clone?"

"We were discussing them in biology," she admitted.

"I definitely pay too much for your education." He grinned as he rubbed his hand up and down her back. "And I'm not a clone. Stupid, maybe. But not a clone."

"I don't think you're stupid. Blinkered might be a better word."

He laughed, a low, deep chuckle in his chest. "Okay, I'll give you that. And I'll be there for Kate too."

"Even better." She looked up into his blue eyes. "Thanks, Dad."

"What for?"

"Being you again."

"No problem."

She pulled away, and his arms felt empty. "Now, I'm going to go take a shower. Paige and I are going shopping."

"You just spent the night together!" he objected, then grimaced. "And that came out wrong."

"Ew, Dad." She stood up. "And Gram said she was coming over for breakfast."

"Ah. My family." He got to his feet. "I'd better make more coffee."

She grinned widely and ran off up the stairs.

He sighed. Alexis was right. No matter what he felt, or thought Kate would or should be, he was her friend. And he'd be there for her, through thick and thin. Sunshine and snow. Bouquets and brickbats.

Demming, on the other hand …