“I-”

Her body responded on instinct. Before she registered what was happening, she fell to her knees, pulling Tom down with her. The glass shattered beside them, the bang of the shot reaching them almost at the same time. Someone screamed, almost everyone covered their heads.

“Down!” She roared, eyes sweeping the room. To her relief, everyone fell to their knees. “Everyone okay?” She looked at Tom. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He tried to sit up, but she held him down. “I’m good.”

“You jinxed it.” She managed a smirk as she let him go, surveyed the room more fully. “Anyone hurt?”

There was a dissenting murmur. She breathed a sigh of relief.

“Sam?”

“Here.” It came from somewhere near the door.

Slowly, she stood. “Stay down and stay away from the window.” She ordered, voice steel hard. People listened to that voice, always. “Tom, find out where that bullet went.”

She marched outside, Fox on her heels. As soon as he could, he started running.

She was right behind, fumbling with her earpiece. “Aid, get the cops here, fast.”

I hesitated for a moment, unsure, but Carlyle already had his phone out. “Aye.”

They turned a corner and I lost sight of them. Fox sprinted towards a nearby set of bushes, looking over his shoulders to get a view of the windows and almost running into a tree because of it.

“Here.” He said, ducking a branch. “He was here, for sure.”

“Secure it.” She jogged to the window, peered through it, surveyed the jagged edges of the glass. “Don’t contaminate it.”

“I’m not an idiot.” He took a step back, though, and studied the scene from a distance. “Someone’s been laying here for some time.” He looked back at her, “Sniper?”

“Doubt it.” She crouched down to survey the impact. “They missed.”

He looked her way. “Careful with the glass.”

She smirked, “I’m not an idiot.” and stuck her hand through the hole.

Carefully, of course. Shay always does everything carefully. That’s why we have an entire room dedicated to first aid.

She pointed her finger in the direction of the supposed trajectory. “Tom, you read me?”

“Loud and clear.” His head popped up on the far end of the room, his smile relieved. “You want impact?”

“Show me.” She nodded. She strained her finger as he moved, tracking him. As he pointed it out, she closed an eye and aimed. “Am I off?”

“A little.” Someone kneeling beneath the window adjusted her. She stilled. Slowly, carefully, she raised her other hand and followed the line, pointing down at where the bullet had come from.

“Sam, extrapolate.”

He fell to his knees, raising his hands as if shooting a rifle. “Forty feet.” He lowered his hands. “Roughly.”

“Roughly will have to do.” She retracted her hand, walked back to him. “For now.” She looked at him, at the window. “I could take that shot with my eyes closed.”

“Wouldn’t need a rifle, either.” he looked down at his knees. “Should be a shell, here.”

“Keep looking.” She wrestled through the bushes, looking at the spot where their assailant had lain. “What kind of bushes do you think these are?”

“Not a gardener.” He ran his hands through the grass, looked up as he noticed her taking something from her pocket. “You always carry those?”

She snapped on the gloves. “Most of the time.” Carefully, she grabbed a twig, fiddled with it as she studied it. “Thorns.” She fell to her haunches.

“Promising.” He looked over her shoulder. “You have a bag?”

She produced one, and he turned it inside out to pick something off the ground.

“Twig.” He said, disappointed.

“Keep looking.” She pressed herself to the ground to look at the bottom of the bushes. “Flashlight?”

“Torch.” He had one, and he tossed it to her carelessly.

“Watch out!” She grabbed it from mid-air. “Idiot.”

He rolled his eyes.

It took Fox another moment or two, but eventually he found something that wasn’t a twig. He held it up to the light, rolling it between his fingers as it gleamed.

“Nine millimetres.” He pulled a face. “About as generic as it could be.”

She hummed, “Forensics will turn up something.” Her head shot up as sirens came closer. “Ten bucks it’s Davies.”

“Fifteen she’ll yell at you within ten minutes.”

“Hey!” She ducked her head back down under the bush. “I’m perfectly lovely.”

He scoffed. “Davies doesn’t agree.”

“How’d you know, anyway?” She swept the bottom of the bush one last time. “You’re not on the force.” She froze as the light caught something. “You have a knife?”

“People talk.” He handed her his Swiss knife. “Especially Peter.”

“You tell me.” She sawed for a bit, wriggled the supple branch until it gave. “Why do you think I don’t tell him anything?”

“Your past is shrouded in secrets and you’d rather be mysterious than understood?” He watched her as she worked. “Is that a twig?”

“A bloody twig.” She dropped it into a bag. “Trumps your shell, no?”

He shrugged, looked at the road as the sirens were drawing close. “If we run now…”

A patrol car came around the corner, braked as the driver spotted them. She sighed, hauling herself to her feet. “Too late.”

Fox pulled her towards the pavement, grabbed the bag from her hands. “You can still run.”

“Might be a bit suspicious.” She smiled at the officer that exited the car and jogged around it, opening the door for whomever was driving. He didn’t pay her much mind, glancing between them and the broken window before he focussed on his commanding officer.

Fox winched. “Ten quid.” He craned his neck. “And it’s a bad day.”

“We all do, sometimes.” She poked him. “Easy money for you, though.”

DS Davies’ face popped up above the car, surveyed the situation, darkened as she spotted the two on the sidewalk.

(I have met DS Davies. She’s one of those people that walks as if she has an iron rod along her spine, exudes belligerent confidence with every word she speaks. She has the air of someone who’s had to fight to get where she is in life, and she instantly resents anyone who’s had it easier in life.)

(I’m not sure what she has against Shay.)

“There was a report of shots fired.” She drawled, eyes raking over Sam’s form. “You idiots doing target practice?”

“Sam’s not an idiot.” She held out the bags. “We were just securing the scene.”

Davies eyed the bags. “Are you hijacking this already?” She leaned to the side to peer around Sam. “Bold. And without your pet, too.”

Shay took a step forward, waved the bags in her face. “I’m on a private case, actually.” She looked at the window, spotted some people getting helped up by officers. “A vindictive stalker that’s just escalated.” Tom’d moved to the window, was talking to the officer through it when he caught her eye. He glanced at Davies, pulled a face that seemed to mean Need saving?

She rolled her eyes at him. She had this.

“You’ll need to talk to Thomas Donnelly.” She thrusted the bags forward again. “My client. He was standing at the window when the shot was fired, so he’s the most likely target.”

“Not to mention whatever he hired you for.” Begrudgingly, she took the evidence bags.

“Stalking.” She reminded her. “My guess is some self-righteous bigot. Tom was being threatened for an event he’s setting up.”

“Someone without firearms experience, probably.” Fox chipped in, positioning himself at her shoulder. “But with a history of violence, plausibly assault charges.”

“You have his DNA.” Shay gestured at the bags. “It’s from a branch, down here. If he has been charged before, it shouldn’t be too hard to find him.”

“Even for me, you mean?” Davies seemed intent on a fight.

Shay suppressed a groan. It seemed Fox would get his money. “If I’d meant even for you, I’d’ve said even for you.” She glared defiantly. “I’d’ve said that handing an obvious piece of DNA evidence over to a lab assistant and waiting for them to run it through the system is something even you can manage, and I’d’ve added that while you’re sitting twiddling your thumbs letting the smart people think for you, you might as well run that shell casing for markings and fingerprints, just to keep yourself busy.” She shrugged. “But, you know, I didn’t.”

Davies’ glare turned murderous. Shay knew that right behind her, Fox’s face had gone carefully blank.

“Get out.”

Shay smirked. “But you see, my pet’s been raising me to be polite, so I didn’t.”

“Out!” Davies seemed two seconds away from punching her, or arresting her, or maybe, if she pushed a few more buttons, throttling her. Fox didn’t take any chances, though, and pulled her to his car.

He eyed her as they got into the car. “That was on purpose.”

“Only slightly.” She pulled fifteen pounds from her pocket and dropped it into the glovebox. “I’m not having the best day. I just got shot at.”

“They missed.” His eyes flicked over her, searching, the minute frown between his brows in contrast with his light tone. “You’ve had worse.”

“And Tom?” She leaned forward to look at the rear-view mirror. “Think he’ll survive Davies?”

He chuckled as he shifted into gear. “I’m more worried if she’ll survive him.”

Shay huffed, smiling. “She’s had worse.”

When they got home, Peter was waiting for them, unimpressed, phone in hand. I was just on my way out as they came in, but something in the air told me to stay.

“You do realise attempted murder is definitely something they’d call a DI in on?” He tapped the phone against his arm. “Especially when key witnesses just leave.”

“She did tell us to get out.” She eyed the phone. “Everyone else good?”

“Your friend Tom got an earful.” He relaxed, slightly. “Apparently he’s an insufferable parody of man intent on ruining the investigation, her day and possibly her life, in that order.” He softened. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” She grabbed the small stack of mail Carlyle always collects for her, offering Fox a small smile as he made himself scarce. “You taking the case?”

“I got nothing on.” He shrugged. “Davies says she has it in the bag, though.”

“Let her take credit.” She put one letter aside. From my spot, I could just about see the international postage. “There was blood at the scene, so it shouldn't take too much work.”

“Do you know who it is?”

She put the stack down again. “No idea.” a slow, knowing smile spread as she thought. “You should go interview Tom.” She suggested, “Maybe take Aiden, just in case.”

(We did go visit the man, the next day. We met at his house, and Tom managed to break down Peter’s professional facade with about three words, and my I-never-visit-clients nerves with seven. Hi, I’m Tom, and this is Emma.)

(Though Shay would argue it was four.)

Peter made a prediction as we left Tom’s house, staring dramatically to the horizon as he did. “Seven days.” He mumbled ominously, but then turned to me and smirked. “Though probably five, with how fast the labs work when Shay’s involved.” He started the car. “We’ll have this case solved in less than a week.”

“That’s… good.” I nodded. I was still a bit overwhelmed with the amount of energy Tom seemed to exude. “Right?”

“It means Tom can go ahead with his float.” He quirked a brow. “Another party saved by the great Shay Klinger.”

“It was a team effort.” I decided, thinking back to the afternoon I’d spent staring at camera footage. I remember thinking, at the time, that it was probably the worst and most boring part of my job.

(How wrong I was.)

Peter chuckled, “You don’t have to tell me. Who do you think did your job before you come in?”

(It was almost a throwaway question, rhetorical, but somehow, it did stick. Shay had deliberately chosen me, I realised, months later when the sentence was played back by my mind.)