Knife Edge

11.22 A.M.

As Doyle approached the door he slowed his pace, listening for any sound from inside the room.

There was none.

He eased the handle down gently and stepped in.

Julie Neville was sitting close to the bed where her daughter slept.

To Doyle it looked as if both of them were in the same position as when he'd first entered the room. As if his conversation with Julie had never happened. As if a moment of time had been acted out and simply discarded.

This time when she turned towards him, she smiled.

A wide, bright smile.

Welcoming.

The counter terrorist said nothing, crossed to the bed and looked down at the sleeping form of Lisa Neville.

The long honey-blonde hair, one small hand gripping an edge of the sheet which was pulled up to her neck.

Doyle reached out and touched that small hand.

Julie watched him, a mixture of bewilderment and surprise on her face.

She studied the scars on his face. Deep scars.

She wondered how he'd got them.

There was even one on the hand which had reached out to touch her daughter.

'She looks like you,' Doyle said quietly, his eyes never leaving the child.

'You never had kids then?' Julie asked.

Doyle smiled. 'No need,' he said. 'No need, no time, no inclination.'

One more person to worry about. One more to lose.

'What about your girlfriend? The one that was killed, didn't she…'

'I never found out if she had much of a maternal streak,' he said bitterly.

'You said you worked together, was she in the same line of work? Counter terrorist?'

He nodded. 'She was the best I ever worked with,' he said softly.

Right. That's enough of the bullshit.

He ran a hand through his long hair as if the gesture was designed to wrench him from this mood.

Get a fucking grip.

'Neville loved her, didn't he?' Doyle said nodding towards Lisa who stirred slightly in her sleep.

'More than anything.'

'More than you?'

She looked shocked.

'After all, you were the one he strapped the bomb to, not her,' Doyle said.

'He would have done anything for Lisa.'

Doyle reached for his cigarettes, lit one, then offered the packet to Julie.

She declined.

'What did he say to you when he was holding you hostage? What did he talk about?'

'He was angry.'

'I figured that out myself.'

'Angry with the army,' Julie snapped. 'With the Government, with the public. With everyone. He thought he'd got a raw deal from the army. He kept on about having been trained to kill but then being discarded. He was mad because no one wanted him any more.'

'Including you?'

'It had been over between us for a couple of years. I put up with it as long as I could, for Lisa's sake. I suppose it was the last straw for him, me telling him I was going to leave him and take Lisa with me.'

'Did you think he was crazy?'

'I didn't know what to think. His moods changed like the bloody weather.'

'He never hit you or Lisa?'

'He wouldn't do that. It wasn't his style.' She smiled humourlessly. 'He'd never have slapped me.'

'Just wired you up with explosive. I'd rather have been slapped.'

'What do you want to hear, Doyle? That he was a maniac, that I was terrified of him? That I hated him?'

'Did you?'

'I felt sorry for him.'

'That's worse.'

'Fuck you,' she hissed.

They locked stares, then Doyle glanced at his watch.

'I've got to make a phone call,' he said, moving towards the door.

Julie watched him go.

'You're a bastard, Doyle,' she said as he opened the door.

'Who's arguing?' he shrugged.

It was as he stepped out into the corridor that he saw DI Calloway heading towards him.