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really a surprise to him. He’d seen it coming. Even understood her feelings of insecurity and frustration. But the bottom line was, that neither of them could, would, or even should change their personality to try and suit the other. He was too long in the tooth to fool himself that he would be happy to walk away from his chosen profession. You can’t be what you’re not. Being a murder cop was not just what he did for a living, it was who he was and somehow defined him. As she went out through the door of the unit, he felt an emptiness. It was the beginning of a new chapter for both of them. To all intents and purposes he was back on his own again. It was bittersweet. Not having the heavy responsibility for someone else’s happiness was, in a way, liberating. He was an individual, and not the easiest of men to be around. Linda needed more than he could give. She would be far happier with a nine-to-five homebody; some guy who could share her interests and aspirations. That didn’t stop him feeling a deep sense of failure, though. And yet another part of him reviled her for not being able to adjust. Christ, she’d known what he did from the word go. He hadn’t tried to be anything but what he was.
    After being moved from the ICU to a private room with an armed officer outside the door, Matt determined to be out of the joint in less than a week. He felt driven, and every second seemed a small eternity. He was channelled, with only one goal. He would not sit idle for long. Santini and his paid assassin had unwittingly thrown down the gauntlet to a man who would not be averse to stepping outside the law if necessary to exact justice by any means, fair or foul.
     
     
     
     

CHAPTER FIVE

 
    MARION sipped her tea and averted her eyes from Gary’s crotch. She had wanted him for months and found it difficult to keep up the facade of detached professionalism. Most of her patients were, to say the least, odd. Many of them were pathetic and confused individuals, barely able to function if not dosed up with medication. Gary was different. He wasn’t a problem patient. He accepted his condition, understood it, and complied readily with all requirements of his care plan. The sporadic self-mutilation was the only ongoing problem, which she attributed to be a physical manifestation of frustration; a symbolic cry for love and affection, which he found difficult to express.
    Jesus! He crossed his ankles and shifted forward on the seat. His ‘lunch box’ appeared even more pronounced. She could see the shape of everything he’d got under the tight denim, and it made her damp and tingly. A part of her wanted to take advantage of being alone with the enigmatic, single young man. Her sex life consisted of manual stimulation once or twice a week, as she conjured up images of Russell Crowe, George Clooney or Brad Pitt naked, their bodies glistening with baby oil. She was almost squirming; could feel the sweat running down the middle of her back and feeding into the deep crack between her buttocks.
    Marion Peterson was thirty-one, unmarried, and at least five stone overweight at a conservative estimate. She had given up weighing herself. It was a depressing, humiliating procedure, standing bare-arsed on the bathroom scales, only able to see the glowing red readout if she leaned forward to peer down over pendulous breasts that rested on her swollen belly. She was a blimp, and knew it. Inside was a Kate Moss trying to get out; a slim attractive, sexy-looking chick. By contrast, she was a plump caterpillar, waiting to pupate and burst free from a chrysalis, to be transformed into a beautiful butterfly. It wasn’t her fault she was so fat. It was glandular, or in her genes. She didn’t eat too much; hardly ever pigged out these days, or raided the fridge in the middle of the night. Her mother, Glenda, had been obese, and dropped dead at the ripe old age of fifty-four, just two years ago. It had been a massive stroke, and Marion knew