After Warick had been taken in by the Belgian authorities, the next twenty-four hours were a whirl of activity. Christine and I were interviewed separately, then debriefed together, asked to sign statement after statement, and even to hand over our guns for examination. We were both exhausted, having spent days hunting Al-Farook, then Warick, and now that he was in custody, it felt like all the adrenaline had left our systems and we were suddenly drained.

Christine wanted to get back to London as soon as possible, to update Billman, she told me, but I think she really wanted the familiarity of home. This investigation had been hard on both of us.

On the flight back to Heathrow, I had wanted to talk, but Christine had fallen asleep almost as soon as she took her seat, her head slumped on my shoulder, her soft hair tickling my cheek. I didn’t have the heart to wake her.

Christine headed back to MI5, while I headed to the hotel room I had left only the day before. It seemed like a lifetime ago since I had last been here.

I took a long shower and checked in with my handler, Thompson. We talked for a few minutes about the mistakes that had been made in the investigation—and the successes. I arranged to take some time off, and said I would report back to the New York office in ten days. I’d earned it.

I called the MI5 office, looking for Christine, but got put through to Billman instead.

“Christine’s already gone home, Agent Kern.” Billman told me. “She was determined to stay at her desk and finish off the paperwork, but I’m afraid she was dozing off at her computer. I sent her back to her flat.”

I hesitated. I had really wanted to speak to Christine; I felt there was still so much we needed to discuss.

“You could always pop round and see her?” Billman suggested, and gave me the address of a flat in somewhere she called Bethnal Green and instructions on how to get there.

I arrived about half an hour later outside a little terraced house, which had been split into an upstairs and a downstairs flat. Christine had scribbled her name on a piece of paper stuck to the bottom buzzer. I took a deep breath and pressed the button.

After a couple of seconds, I heard footsteps in the hall and the front door swung open. Christine was wearing leggings and an oversize woolly sweater and she had some sort of fluffy rabbit slippers on her feet. She looked stunned and mildly embarrassed to see me waiting on her doorstep.

“Can I come in?” I asked with a smile.

“Of course,” she said, blushing.

Her flat was small but cozy. There was a tiny sofa and the TV was on in the corner, playing some trashy talent show. I smiled to myself. I don’t think this was how Agent Christine Simmons would want to be seen by her colleagues…

“Have you come to say goodbye?” Christine asked shyly.

“Well, not exactly,” I told her, taking a seat on the sofa. Christine perched on the arm next to me. “I’ve actually come to tell you I’m staying in London. At least for another ten days.”

Christine smiled. “Agent Kern is taking a vacation?”

“Well, maybe it’s about time,” I replied, returning her smile. “I was hoping we might be able to spend some time together?”

Christine slid off the arm of her sofa and onto the cushion next to me, laying her head on my shoulder, just as she had on the plane. “I’d like that,” she murmured in my ear.

I lifted her head off my shoulder and held it in my two hands. She seemed so fragile and pure; as if all the evil we had encountered in the last few days had simply washed away.

I moved closer and kissed her tenderly, her lips parting to allow our tongues to touch. I pulled her whole body closer, allowing her to climb 3astride my knees. I knew she would be able to feel my hardness in that position; I wanted her to feel it. I wanted her to know how much I wanted to be inside her.

We were kissing deeply now, almost ravenous. I slipped the sweater over her head, and she was naked underneath, allowing me to move my mouth down to her nipples. She gasped with pleasure, a tiny noise that made my cock swell even more.

She was more confident than she had been on the plane, lifting my own shirt over my head, and tracing her fingers over my chest while we kissed. I moved around her, laying her down on the sofa.

“Not quite like the private jet,” she whispered in my ear with a giggle. I slipped her leggings and panties off in one movement, and fumbled with my own trousers. The longing I felt for her was like an ache now, an itch that had to be scratched. As I slid myself inside her, it felt as if everything we had been through was nothing more than a bad dream.

I could stay here forever, I thought to myself. If she’d let me.

* * *