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Delicate: #17 Khz

#17 - Kilohertz
Waking The Dead//Frankie/Boyd//For 30kisses



A huge bang tore through the department: a door slammed hard enough to rattle the windows in their frames – announcing the return of Mel, Spence and the slammer of the door – Boyd.

The noise drew Frankie and Grace from their seats in the office, and they both choked back laughter at the sight of the returning team members. Or more specifically their boss who – looking apoplectic with rage – had acquired a soft silver halo, as every single hair on his head stood to attention.

'Wh…what ha…ha…happened?' Grace finally managed to get out, whilst Frankie rubbed her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket.

Mel and Spence – crippled by their own amusement – tried to explain but can't get the breath between laughing to form more than 'He' 'grabbed' and 'then'.

'I was booby trapped. That BASTARD had rigged an electric fence around his house.'

'B…Boyd just gr…grabb..bbed it and it thr…threw him off.' Mel dissolved once more into giggles.

Laughter conquered by her maternal instinct Grace casts a worried eye over him. 'Are you alright though?'

'Yes I am. Thank you for asking as apparently no one else cares that I could have been KILLED!'

Like a group of school children, the other three continued to giggle: every time one managed to calm down they would catch the eye of another and that would set them off again.

With her professionalism fighting her amusement Frankie asked through her laughter 'But did you manage to get the bag?'

'Luckily for you…' Boyd reached into his pocket and pulled out a plastic evidence bag, containing a heavy duty leather travel bag. 'Yes. And I want a result on this, Frankie.' He placed the bag onto Mel's desk and retreated into his office, as Spence set her and Mel team off again with a well chosen sentence.

'Because now it's personal'.

***

A few hours later Frankie returned, a sheet of paper clasped in her hand and a triumphant grin on her face. 'Boyd!' She didn't bother knock before she threw the door open. 'I have a match. In fact, I have two matches. Hair caught in the Velcro – some hers, some his.'

Boyd rose to his feet, and practically ripped the paper from her hands. He scanned it eagerly, his eyes glittering with vengeful joy and a smile slowly curving his lips. In the blink of an eye his hands were on her cheeks, and his face was only inches from hers – too quick even for shock to register his lips had brushed hers. It was a second of contact, and only the glint in his eyes told her that it actually happened. He released her just as quickly, and her astonishment left her unsteady: she fell against the door.

And as if she had only just entered the room he gave her a wicked smile.

'Sometimes Frankie, I could kiss you!'