Jesse led us still further down the narrow street, as the sun dipped lower in the sky; summer was coming to an end and the nights were slowly starting to draw in. The wide stretches of gardens between each small cottage allowed the dying rays of sunlight to pour through in large shafts, stretching shadows out, elongated and deformed, casting the street into a strange darkness in spite of the sunset.

Suddenly we took another left turn onto, what could only be classed as a dirt track, just wide enough for a single car to pass down. The trees on either side of the road had grown together, their tops arching over to form a tunnel of green through which we headed; the apprehension growing stronger in my stomach with every step.

This was on 'road' I had missed on my first tour of the village. I trusted even less where Jesse was trying to lead me and what he might have planned once we got there, and I was growing sick of following him without question – well, it had to have been about ten minutes since I last questioned him anyway.

“Is it much further?” I asked, stopping in my tracks suddenly and dropping my hand from his. The exasperation was clear in my voice but I, somehow, managed to conceal the anxiety it was coupled with.

“No.” Jesse laughed at the expression that crossed my face then, I was sure I'd heard him say that before. “Honestly, just over there in fact. See the lights on through the hedge?”

I peered through the dark foliage in the direction that he had pointed and shook my head. I couldn't see anything besides tall trees and overgrown hedges, that now looked more black than green in the dying light. This certainly didn't make me feel any better about the whole situation, having good night vision might not necessarily be a plus if I still couldn't see where it was we were headed.

Jesse laughed again and ran a hand through his messy brown hair. “Yeah, I guess my gardening skills aren't exactly up to scratch.”

“Your gardening skills? Why would...” I paused mid-sentence when a light suddenly burst on in my head, “we're going to your house? For dinner?”

Why hadn't I considered that possibility before? The idea had never even crossed my mind, but if that was our intended destination it was another ounce of information that could help me solve this case and lead Jesse to his corruption. I wouldn't get the job done in one night, I was resigned to that fact, but if I knew where he lived I wouldn't have to keep waiting for him to show his face in the pub to get things done. The anxiety in my chest eased slightly and I found it somewhat easier to breathe, the danger of being in his company wasn't lessened any, it never was, but a brightly lit house held more promise and comforts than a deserted field, or darkened forest. It was all about your mindset, and I had to stop letting the emotional, human side of me run away with itself.

“Yeah, we are. Somewhere quiet, relaxing, completely unlike the pub. I cooked...and you don't look very enthusiastic about the idea.”

I'd lost myself in my own thoughts for a moment, kicking myself for my stupidity and irrational fears. It wasn't like I had any choice but to go with him, no matter where it was we ended up. The fear was unwarranted and would do nothing but get in the way. In the same way, the relief I felt at finally knowing where it was we were going was bizarrely comforting. I had to get a handle on myself before the end of the night or I was going to royally screw things up.

“No,” I said, the words Jesse had spoken finally registering in my brain, along with the disappointment that came through in his tone, “No, I'm just surprised is all, it's not what I was expecting. I mean, come on, most men don't set themselves up to be judged quite so intimately right from the off.”

The dark and scary images that had been forming in my mind of Jesse were suddenly softened. Would a hardened criminal really invite someone he barely knew round for a home-cooked meal? Well, quite possibly, but I imaged them to be far more suave and confident than he had proven to be. Still, I would never forget that look I had seen in his eyes, if a killing was what would lead to his corruption, I sure as hell was not going to be the victim.

“You cooked?” I asked simply, needing to distract myself with the conversation to stop my mind from working overtime.

“Yes, I cooked,” Jesse reiterated with amusement, once again, bright in his voice. I chuckled and shook my head. “What? Why is that such a surprise?” he asked.

“I don't know,” I admitted with a shrug, holding back the chuckles. The relief I felt had hit me with a wave of euphoria, and my previous fears felt almost comical. “I suppose I just didn't think you were the type to cook.”

He laughed again, louder, a sound that seemed to echo down the narrow track. “I'm thirty-two years old, I've lived alone for the best part of a decade, Heather. Eventually I had to learn to cook, believe it or not, takeaways can actually get old really quickly.”

“Okay, I', sorry. I never considered that angle before. And I promise not to judge you too harshly. In fact I'll give you some bonus points for effort, don't think a man has ever actually cooked for me before. Well, not one who wasn't being paid to anyway.”

“Then, clearly, you know the wrong kind of men,” Jesse said airily as he slipped an arm around my shoulder. The contact, again, felt rather forward, but I managed not to flinch this time, starting to realise that Jesse was probably just one of those kinds of people.

“Yeah, you're probably right about that one,” I replied, softly.

Jesse led me a few more metres down the path until we reached an arched gateway set in the privet hedge, barred only by a small and rusty wrought iron gate that squeaked loudly as he pushed it open.

“Home, sweet home,” Jesse muttered.

We made our slow progress down the garden path, gravel crunched loudly beneath our footsteps as we headed for the front door, and I took a few moments to look around and take in the appearance of Jesse's home. A quaint country cottage it was, and a nice enough place, but it hardly screamed bachelor pad. I got the distinct impression that it might have once belonged to his parents. The village didn't strike me as the sort of place a guy like Jesse would choose to move to, it had to have been the place he grew up. His family had moved on, but he had stayed for one reason or another – at least that was my best guess.

The garden path led straight from the gate, through the small front garden and up three paved steps to the dark blue front door, peeling paint and all. The path was edged on either side with narrow flower beds, both of which had grown thick and wild with weeds. Jesse had been true in his words, he wasn't much of a gardener.

At the door, the gravel path angled right and continued around the side of the house into the backyard. I spied an old greenhouse beside the boarder fence, very true to its name as the panes of glass were green with mildew, the once white structure, rusted and all but ready to give way. The garden may once have been someone's pride and joy, but Jesse obviously did not share the same enthusiasm for tending it. I had to wonder what his parents thought when they came to visit – if they ever came to visit.

I frowned to myself, thinking perhaps too much and able only to make assumptions. Assumptions weren't what I needed, I needed answers and Jesse had to be the one to give them too me. So caught up in my own thoughts though, I didn't even hear him when he spoke.

“Heather!” he snapped, loudly, right next to my ear.

The trouble with an alias name, let your mind wander for but a moment and you forget completely what your name is supposed to be.

“What? Sorry, I was miles away. What did you say?”

“I was asking how you liked the place?”

Wasn't it a little premature to be asking me that sort of question? I hadn't even been inside yet, and if I was going to go off of first impressions of the overgrown, untended garden, I had to be honest it wouldn't be a good response.

“I think you were right in saying that your gardening skills aren't up to much,” I responded with a smile to soften the words, though I thought to make my tone playful and teasing, I was really more deadpan and sarcastic in nature and that was how it came across. “What on earth does your mother think of the state of this place?” I asked, taking a wild stab in the dark that she had been the green-fingered one in the family.

“My Mum probably wouldn't say anything, she used to make a bit of an effort with it all, but I think she knew it wasn't really my thing. I'll cut the grass, but that's about all I'm up to. My grandmother, on the other hand, would probably murder me if she was alive to see her previous garden in this state. She was so obsessive with her flowers, I used to live in fear as a child of accidentally trampling them, or crushing some with a stray football. Think that's partly why I've let it get so wild.”

I let out a small, harsh bark of laughter. “Ahh, this is the inner child's way of getting revenge then?”

“Something like that.”

“So this was your grandmother's house?” I asked, drawing the conclusion from his words.

Jesse nodded, “Yeah, we all moved in with her when my Grandad died. The house was too big for her to take care of alone, and her arthritis was awful, she had such trouble with her hands. This place was bigger than ours, so we came here rather than move her in with us.”

At the top of the steps, Jesse rooted around in his pocket for a bunch of keys. The lock on the door looked old and stiff, but the silver key turned smoothly and the hinges didn't let out so much as a creek when he pushed open the door. Of course, hardly a man alive in this century would be without a can of WD40 somewhere in his home, or car. Though why he'd not thought to treat the hinges on the gate the same I didn't know.

“Come in, I'll give you the grand tour.”

The tour was short and sweet, despite the fairly large size of the cottage. The whole place was nicely laid out and tastefully decorated – quite recently too it would appear. There were four bedrooms, or what had once been bedrooms. Two were fairly untouched and empty but for the bare minimum of bedroom furniture; guest rooms he said. One was his own bedroom, though Jesse simply gestured towards a closed door and never let me take a glimpse inside. He was either a very private person, or it was a mess; my bet was on the latter.

The final bedroom, however, had been the most transformed. It was a male paradise, a games room kitted out with a massive wide-screen TV, games consoles, black leather armchairs and a matching three-seater sofa. There was even a mini-fridge in the corner, what more could he possibly require?

That was the only room we paused in for any length of time. Jesse seemed very proud of his work in that room, he looked to me for approval so I smiled and nodded my head. I understood the appeal of all these gadgets, but I was relatively clueless about them beyond what they looked like. It wasn't like I had the time for such things.

After Jesse tore himself away from his most comfortable room, we passed the bathroom, which appeared to be a modern addition before heading to the living room, which was a odd blip of traditional country cottage amongst all of the modernisations Jesse had made to the rest of the place, as though he had never found the time, or the heart to update it.

“So, you've lived here, by yourself, for nearly ten years?” I asked, looking around at the dark wood and red upholstered furniture around the living room; my eyes coming to rest on the wide open fireplace that, though empty, still smelled strongly of ash and smoke, the mantle piece was littered with family photos from varying generations.

“No, I've only been here for three years now, since my parents moved further North. Before that, me and Nick rented a place, quite close to the pub actually,” Hmm, whoever would have guessed, I chuckled to myself. “We lived there for about five years until he moved in with Lucy, his girlfriend. I couldn't really afford the rent by myself, but then I hear that this place is going to be going empty so I decide to move back in. Saves me some cash and the house gets to stay in the family.”

“Oh right,” I replied, pleased with how much Jesse was already talking, and especially pleased with how much his family were featuring in his words. They were a big and important part of his life, judging by all of the pictures that still adorned the house, and I was still entirely convinced that they were the key to his corruption.

“So why did they decide to move up North? This seems like a nice sort of village to settle down and retire in and stuff; don't people normally come to places like this rather than leave them?”

Jesse chuckled, “Yeah, you're right they do. They probably wouldn't admit the truth, at least not to my face anyway, but I know they moved up that way to be closer to my sister. She went to uni up there and decided to stay once she'd finished. She got married, and I think my Mum was hopeful that there would be grandchildren along sometime soon. Wanted to be close so she could help out and that.”

'Was hopeful'? So, no grandchildren yet then? Or am I missing a bigger piece of this puzzle?

“Oh, I see. That must have been very hard on you though? First your sister moving away and then your mum and dad too.”

“It was, me and Jenny were pretty close. Mum always had me watch out for her, which I think used to annoy Jenny from time to time, her big brother always on her back, but I know there were times when she appreciated it.” Jesse let out a sigh as his smile slipped and some shadows of the melancholy demeanour I'd seen the previous night started to creep back to his face.

“That was the hardest part, not being able to watch over her, not being able to protect her...”

It felt like he wanted to continue, to let slip something he'd been holding in, and I wanted him to go on. My stomach clench in anticipation, this was going to lead to something that would help me, I was so certain. Jesse took a breath and opened his mouth to speak when a loud buzzing cut through the air. The sound made me jump and grabbed all of Jesse's attention.

“Oven timer,” he mumbled, “I better go check on that, don't want it to burn.”

He hurried out of the door towards the kitchen and I sighed in frustration, glad for a moment that he wasn't in the room to physically see the disappointment I felt. I'd been so close, so sure he'd been on the verge of telling me something useful, perhaps even the key to blowing my whole case wide open and it had been snatched right out from my grasp once again.

There was a clatter of pans and the sound of the oven door slamming coming from the only room I had yet to see, so I followed the sound towards the large kitchen-diner.

“Hey, can I get you a drink, Heather?” Jesse shouted to me, just as I reached the kitchen door. He had his head in the open fridge and didn't see me appear in the room. He physically jumped when I replied from so nearby.

“Please. What do you have?”

The fridge door snapped shut in his surprise, “I'd have brought your drink out to you, y'know.”

I shrugged, “That's okay, I figured we'd be eating out here as there's no table in the lounge, so thought I might as well come see what you're up to. Check you're not cheating and making me something pre-packaged when you've already raved about your cooking skills.”

He chuckled, setting a bottle of wine down on the long breakfast bar that divided the surprisingly modern kitchen from the more traditional country cottage style dining area; complete with large, scrubbed pine dining table.

“No cheating going on here, I promise. I made it all myself.” He uncorked the bottle and handed me an elegant glass of golden white wine. “Oh, sorry, is white okay?” he added, realising he hadn't enquired in my taste in wine before pouring.

“Yeah, it's fine, thanks. I'll drink most things to be honest. So, what are we having to eat then? It smells good, whatever it is.” And it certainly did, I hadn't realised quite how hungry I was until the rich, warm smell of cooking tomatoes and garlic had flooded my nostrils.

“Nothing fancy I'm afraid, just a lasagne. But I did make it all myself, so I hope you like it.”

Pulling on a battered old pair of flowery oven gloves that I suspected his mother might have left behind, Jesse pulled a ceramic dish out of the oven, full to the brim with white sauce and molten, bubbling cheese; beneath which I knew would be layers of pasta and bolognese style meat sauce. It looked just as good as it smelled.

“Wow, I'm steadily growing more and more impressed. So, where did you learn to cook?”

Jesse grinned, pleased with himself. I knew it never hurt to stroke a man's ego a little when you were aiming to try and charm something out of him, and Jesse's cooking skills seemed to be something he was particularly proud of.

He shrugged, “From books, mum showed me a thing or two, but mostly just a hell of a lot of practice. When I first moved out I could barely make a thing, except maybe toast, so Nick and I lived on fast-food, but after a while we got pretty sick of it. So it was either learn to cook, or say goodbye to my abs forever.”

I had to laugh. It was entirely false to think that some men didn't suffer the same worries and concerns about their bodies as a lot of women; much in the same way, some cared much more than others. Though I suspected, by Jesse's teasing tone and flirtatious smirk, that he made the comment more for my reaction than out of a hangup about body image.

“Well, I think you chose the right path.”

“You referring to my cooking, or my abs?” he asked, arching his eyebrows at me as he pulled warm plates from under the grill and began to dish up the food.

“Can't it be both?” I asked, coyly, meeting the twinkle in his eye with a knowing smirk of my own. “But, considering I haven't actually tasted your cooking yet...”

“You haven't seen my abs yet either,” he pointed out, teasingly.

“True,” I agreed, taking a sip of wine. “Lets just say then that I made an assumption...on both parts. I'll reserve proper judgement for after dinner.”

“Then I hope not to disappoint. Dinner is served.”

Jesse certainly didn't disappoint, with the food anyway. No he hadn't stripped to show off his physique, though I wouldn't have ruled it out entirely, if he got drunk enough.

We ate, we talked and the wine flowed. Jesse appeared to be bright and happy again, a big step away from the lost and broody soul I'd seen glimpses of for a short moment back in the living room. But I was certain that talk of his sister was a touchy subject. I needed to get him to talk about it, but if I pushed too hard he would bolt again.

The tiny phial in my handbag was calling to me, but a part of me didn't want to turn to that so soon. I decided to try and ease him into the subject by asking some leading questions about his childhood, family life, linking it all together into some kind of tapestry in my mind. He'd had a fair bit of wine by that point, so I hoped he might be more susceptible to letting something slip without realising what he was saying.

He certainly made good on the promise he had made me earlier that night, I learned a hell of a lot more about him in those few hours than I had known when we first arrived, and my anxious human side had been appeased even more by this information, coupled with Jesse's show of warmth and friendliness.

“So, where are your parents living now?” I asked, making a point not to mention his sister in the equation even though I knew she must also live close to them.

“Mum and Dad moved to Yorkshire.”

“Wow, that's quite some trek. I take it you don't get to see them very often?” I'd worked enough cases all across the country to know a decent amount about its geography, Jesse and his parents practically lived at opposite ends of the country.

A serious look fell over his face, the smile he'd been wearing melted as quickly as ice cream next to a fire. “no,” He shook his head, dark strands of his messy mop of hair fell to hide his eyes, “nowhere near as often as I should.”

Jesse suddenly rose from the dining table and began to gather up the dirty crockery from our finished meal with a dangerous roughness that I feared might shatter the delicate floral print china. I'd touched on a nerve again.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to bring it up again. Seems like it upsets you,” I said, carefully as I followed him to the black, marble topped divide that separated the kitchen and the dining area; taking my empty wineglass with me, I made a show of refilling it from the second, now almost empty bottle we'd been working through.

I could feel the faint haze of inebriation not too far off in the distance, and knew that continuing to drink could well be a bad idea, but I also had a feeling that if I stopped then the night would be considered over already and I couldn't take that chance, not yet. I considered grabbing the phial out of my bag once again, but as Jesse stashed his wineglass in the dishwasher, along with all the other dirty dishes, I felt even that opportunity had been missed; I could hardly just pour it straight down his throat.

“I suppose I just can't really relate to the whole 'close family' thing. I've no idea how it must feel to miss them like that. It's all a little alien to me, so I guess I just didn't understand quite how strongly you felt about them. Sorry,” I apologised again, hoping I could appease his mood and see if I could encourage him to trust me enough to open up about the subject some more.

Jesse sighed and slowed his frantic loading of the dishwasher. “It's okay. This last month has been awful, really, the worst of my life, and I think it was the first time I realised quite how far away they are. And how, if something happens, I can't do shit about it because I'll always be too damn late.”

He slammed the dishwasher door shut with his last words and pressed his hands onto the cool counter top, standing silently with his back to me for a few, very slow passing moments. In the end I had to break the silence, it felt as if I could have walked out of the house at the moment and he would neither have noticed nor cared where I had gone.

“What exactly happened, Jesse?” I asked, plunging in and biting the bullet. “I know Nick said something had happened, and you had to go and visit your family, but...”

“I don't want to talk about it!” He cut in, petulantly.

“Yeah, I know, and I know it's really not my place to ask. But I keep getting the feeling that you want to let something. You need to talk to someone about it or it's going to eat you alive, or, I dunno, have you go do something stupid.”

The evening had most definitely reached a rocky ending, but I was determined to scratch one last chunk of information out of him before I had to leave. I did not want to head back to that pub quite so empty handed.

Jesse let out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, probably, but what would you care?” His words sounded as if they had come right out of the mouth of a child, and they grated on my nerves for more than one reason.

“Well, that's just it, I do care,” I said, and I meant it too.

Generally speaking I did care about all of my marks, not through any feeling of empathy, but I had to care about what happened to them, because their fate was my job. It was my job to care, and I did not through any real affection for the man – though I had to admit, compared to most people I got to know, he was surprisingly pleasant company and easy to get along with.

“I do care, Jesse, y'know. I don't really know why, admittedly, seeing as I don't know you that well, but you're a good guy, I can tell that much from what I do know. You've got a good heart and I don't get to see that very often.”

The conviction in my words surprised even me, they spoke truth and with far more emotion than I'd ever intended to let loose; perhaps my human side wasn't being quite as quiet as I'd thought, though taking a much more subtle approach than I was used to feeling from her.

“Then you must deal with a whole lot of wankers if you think I'm some sort of saint amongst them.”

Compared to my usual corruption targets, Jesse was far from saint-like, but in comparison with Shane and the other souls I've had to capture over the years he was a veritable mother Teresa. Even compared with those purest souls I've had to corrupt over time, Jesse's case was proving much more difficult. Sometimes the purest of them were the most easy to corrupt – the bigger they are the harder they fall.

“Seriously, you've got no idea. But you don't deserve the same as those guys Jesse, so talk to someone before it kills you.”

I had to bite my tongue a little as I implored him to talk to me. I wasn't sure where the words had come from but I'd been on the verge of spilling far too much about myself – well about my work anyway – things that could have spawned dangerous questions. And again the feeling crept through, I'd meant what I said he didn't deserve the same as the others, did he really deserve what was coming to him? And why the hell was I even asking myself that question?

“What are you talking about?” Jesse eventually asked after a long stretch of silence; his anger all but pushed aside to make room for the confusion that wrinkled his brow.

I forced out a bark of laughter, a frown on my own face to mirror the one that he wore. “I...y'know, I don't really know. Must be the wine messing with my head,” I said, making a show of pushing it away. Then I looked Jesse square in the eye and said, with all seriousness, “all I'm saying is that it would probably do you some good to talk about it. And we might not know each other very well, yet, but I'm here if you feel like you need to get anything off your chest. I'm a good listener, you can trust me.”

Those final words almost choked me as a burning wave of shame washed over my body. He couldn't trust me, of course he couldn't, but I needed him to believe that he could. Why on earth did lying to him suddenly feel so bad? A part of me started to hate the thought of leading Jesse to his own corruption, and watching the calm acceptance that fell over those chocolate brown eyes as he took in my words caused an eruption of an emotion so bizarre I almost couldn't name it.

What in the hell did I have to feel guilty about?