A/N: This story rattled around in my head for about a year before I finally got it down and posted it, with some help from my friend, known as TriStateCopFan over at FFN. It's a different kind of tale, and I loved the premise for it as well as the way it turned out. I dedicate this to Katie, my daughter, because she adores both Bobby Goren and Abraham Lincoln (I never said she was normal, but she certainly is her mother's child). All the usual disclaimers apply; they belong to Mr. Wolf. You'll know which characters are mine. Enjoy!

Chapter 1: Gone

The city never sleeps. That was the first thought that entered Bobby Goren's mind as he half-stumbled from the bar into the spring night, guiding before him a much drunker Mike Logan. Darkness never truly fell on the streets of New York, and he wondered if there had ever been a time that it had. Logan swayed as he looked up and down the street. “Where we goin' now?”“Home, Mike.”

“Home? But the night's still young. And we haven't picked up any girls yet.”

“We're going home, Mike. You don't need to bring a girl home tonight.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because you're not gonna last much past your front door, buddy.”

Logan gave that some thought as they started down the street. “I guess you're right. Wouldn't want to waste a good date, huh?”

“Right.”

“You stayin' at my place?”

“Not tonight. I'll just make sure you get home and then I'll go on to my place.”

“I know my way home,” Logan protested as he turned left at the corner.

Goren grabbed his arm, turned him around and steered him to the curb, checking for traffic and crossing the street in the other direction. “I know you do. Just humor me.”

Logan snorted. “I do a lot of that, you know.”

“Yeah, Mike,” he answered with a smile. “I know.”

Goren wasn't far off. Logan made it through the door to the couch, where he passed out. Goren grabbed a pillow and a blanket from the bedroom, and after sliding the pillow under Logan's head and covering him with the blanket, he left the apartment, locking the door behind him.

He headed for home. He'd had a lot to drink, but he was still able to function. It had been a long week for both him and Logan, and they'd chosen to unwind in the small pub near Logan's place. It had been easy to lose track of drinks and time, and he felt good. Since his mother died, and he'd recovered from the grief of losing her, he found something different inside himself. He noticed bluer skies and brighter days. He slept at night. Granted, his sleep was still troubled by nightmares, and more than one of those involved his mother and the issue of his paternity, but when the sun came up, he was better able to put his dreams behind him and face the day with optimism. Just the other day, Eames had made the comment that he smiled more readily and laughed more. Even his relationship with Ross had improved, although he still resented the man's unwillingness to let go of the preconceptions about him he had arrived with. Eames told him to give the captain time. He would have thought enough time had passed, but Eames had a point that the first year had been more than a little rocky. She also pointed out that he was only just now regaining his stride, getting back his equilibrium. Things would smooth over with Ross. They just needed time.

A noise in a nearby alley drew his attention from his thoughts, the sound of metal clinking against metal, then a match being struck. He saw the tiny blossom of light glow in the depths of the alley's shadows. He fought down his curiosity and kept walking. His instinct told him there was nothing going on in that alley he wanted to know about. He was no longer in narcotics, but it was the narcotics cop in him that was set on edge. He recognized the odor that drifted from the alley. Burning crystal meth...bad news. His best bet was to keep moving and hope they had not noticed him. “Hey, you!”

No such luck. He hesitated midstep, every nerve in his body screaming at him to keep moving. Too late. He was soon surrounded. Five to one. He had never liked those odds, and these guys were high on God only knew what. That made them even more dangerous. He held up his hands, struggling to keep steady. “Hey, guys, I'm not looking for any trouble.”

“On a bit of a bender, eh?”

“Just out with a buddy, on my way home.”

A short stocky man with a joint hanging from his lip moved his arm in a wide, encompassing motion. “You live around here?”

“A few blocks away.” He looked at the faces surrounding him and a knot of apprehension settled in his gut. “Look, guys, I don't want any trouble. I just want to go home.”

A hand reached out and smoothed the lapel of his jacket. “Nice suit.”

“Yeah, and I'd like to keep it that way.”

“You ain't no businessman.”

“Does it matter what I am?”

To his right, another man snarled, “Yeah, it matters, cop.”

He groaned to himself. “What makes you think I'm a cop?”

“I can smell cops.”

“That must be a useful skill.”

Stupid! That was not the thing to say. Funny that it was his partner's voice that sounded in his ears, his voice of reason. Careful to keep his hands in sight, he said, “I told you, I don't want any trouble.”

From behind him, he heard the clink of a length of chain. Oh, Goren, you are so screwed. Never one to go for his weapon first, he continued trying to talk his way out of a rapidly worsening situation. “Look, guys, I don't give a damn what you're doing. You don't have a kid in that alley, so whatever. I just want to go home.”

“I don't think so, man.”

The chain rattled some more. They closed in on him and he went for his gun.

Twenty minutes later, five men ran down the street, leaving behind an unconscious, bleeding cop to die in the alley.

A light rain began to fall over the city that never slept. In the dark recesses of the alley where Goren lay injured, a breeze began to blow. Slowly gaining in strength and speed, the wind continued to whirl, rising from a soft whoosh into a roaring crescendo. A bright light flashed into the night and was gone, and the alley was empty.

Well, this is great! A wonderful start. I'm hooked already. Are you going to post this on FF.net? I hope so. Update soon.

I remember this one too. Like I said, big fan of your writing. I also remember how it ends. Not spoiling.

It's already been posted on ffn. Glad you like it :-)

Thanks for keeping the ending under your hat, cifan. I appreciate that you enjoy my writing. I love to write, and I like keeping my readers happy. It's great stress management for me ;-)

Thank you, Bubba. I hope you enjoy the rest of it.

Just wanted to say that I'm really enjoying this story. I love your writing style, great job. Can't wait to read more

I read this one over on FF.net a while ago. Great story! Thanks for sharing it here for those who may have missed it.

Thank you! I'm glad you like it--Logan figures prominently in the search chapters, so I think you'll like those :0)

This one rattled around in my head for so long, it was a relief to get it down in writing, and it's a favorite of mine. Glad you liked it, too.

Chapter 2: A Disturbing Discovery

As she drove toward Manhattan from her home in Rockaway, Alex Eames reflected on what a beautiful spring morning it was. It had been a busy, happy weekend. Her youngest brother had become a father for the first time and she had another healthy little nephew. Sunday had been spent at her parents' house, holding the new baby, Nicholas, and playing with her other nieces and nephews, including Jacob, the baby she had carried and given birth to four-and-a -half years ago for her sister. She'd gotten home late last night and considered calling her partner to tell him about the newest addition to her ever-growing family, but decided against it. She wanted to see the smile in his eyes that always accompanied news from her family.

Out of long habit, her eyes perused the squad room as she entered, searching for Goren. He was nowhere in sight. Hm, the only time I ever beat him here is when he crashes at Logan's, she reflected as she headed for the break room. He had been spending a lot of time with Logan since his mother died, and she decided that it was a good thing. Her greatest hope was that Goren would calm Logan down and Logan would draw him out of his shell. So far, that seemed to be exactly what was happening. She was thrilled to see a happier, more relaxed Bobby these days. His mother's death had hit him hard, as she knew it would, but once he emerged from the cloud of grief that had enveloped him for much longer than she'd liked, he was a very different man from the one he'd been the year before. The moody, irritable demeanor and unpredictable temper were gone. She still saw many mornings that he bore the aftereffects of a night of poor sleep, but it was no longer every morning. The easy, teasing manner he'd had in the early years of their partnership had returned and as a result she, too, was more at ease. Things had never been better.

Returning to her desk with a cup of fresh coffee she had taken the liberty of making so that it was drinkable, she saw Logan stroll off the elevators, alone. She frowned. “Hey, Logan, did you lose my partner?”

“I didn't know it was my turn to keep an eye on him.”

“Very funny. Have you seen him?”

“Ooh, coffee...”

“Touch it and lose a body part, my choice.”

He snickered but withdrew his hand. “I haven't seen him since Friday night, which, I might add, is pretty much a blur from midnight on.”

“Did he stay at your place?”

“Apparently not. I woke up on the couch. But I think he got me home. If I only made it to the couch, I'd never have grabbed a blanket and pillow.”

“So why didn't he stay?”

“How should I know? I have never tried to figure him out...well, that's not quite true. I tried once but it gave me a headache so I quit that. Now I just accept him. Makes my life easier and my head doesn't hurt from it.”

Eames laughed. “Welcome to my world, Mike.”

She returned to her desk and dialed Goren's home number, hoping he just overslept, which happened, though rarely. No answer. So she tried his cell. Again, no answer. Maybe he was in the subway on his way in. Cellular reception down there was sketchy at best in places. She resolved to wait until he dragged himself in, determined to give him a hard time about it. But when the hands of the clock turned to nine, she was worried.

She approached Logan and Wheeler, who were discussing one last bit of paperwork that needed to be done to complete their latest case. “No way, Logan. I already did my share of the paperwork. This one's yours,” Wheeler insisted as she tossed a folder back onto his desk.

“You tell him, Wheeler,” Eames encouraged as she stopped behind him.

He turned his head to look up at her, letting his gaze drift toward her desk and the empty one butting against it. “He's not here yet?”

“No.”

His brow creased in concern. Tossing the file back at Wheeler, he muttered, “Cover for us, Wheeler. Something's not right. Call me if Goren shows. C'mon, Eames.”

Wheeler started to protest but he was already halfway to the elevators.

Eames pulled out her keys as they approached Goren's apartment, flipping through them to find the one she'd only had to use once before, during the week following his mother's funeral...the last time she had come to this apartment with worry settled like a cold, hard lump in the pit of her stomach.

She opened the door. Back then she had entered a dark, stale apartment, as oppressive as the mood that had enveloped Goren at the time. But with the lifting of his depression, his living space had also undergone a transformation, which she had helped to bring about. The small window over the kitchen sink was open to let in the spring air. The blinds were open, the apartment bright and clean. Several well-tended houseplants lent an air of life to the place. Nothing seemed amiss.

She went down the hall to the bedroom, stopping in the bathroom on her way back. Her brow was drawn into a dark frown when she returned to the living room. “Well?” Logan asked.

“The sink and shower are dry, no wet towel anywhere and I can't find the suit he wore Friday. No strong aftershave scent...he wasn't here this morning.”

Logan ran a hand over his hair and looked around the room. “Uh...well...maybe he got lucky over the weekend...lost track of time. I, um...it's happened to me.”

“We're not talking about you, Logan. This is Bobby and he's late for work.”

Logan shrugged. “Alex, the guy hasn't had a date since his mom was diagnosed with cancer. Maybe he finally...” He left the sentence incomplete at the look on Eames' face. “Okay, maybe not...”

“He would call, Logan, as soon as he realized he was late. It's after 10.” She shook her head. “I don't like this. Not at all.” She rested a hand unconsciously on her stomach to try to settle the sick feeling that had made a home there. “Where did you guys go Friday night?”

“Shanahan's Pub.”

“You said he made sure you got home.”

“I'm pretty sure he did, yes.”

“Would he have taken a cab home?”

“I doubt it. It's, like, twelve blocks. He probably walked.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“You know Bobby. The streets have never scared him. He likes to walk at night.”

“Idiot,” she mumbled as she headed for the door, and he wasn't quite sure who she was referring to, him or Goren—or both of them. “Do you know which way he usually walks?”

“Yeah, I know the way he usually goes. Wait...you don't think...Alex? Hey, wait for me...”

He locked the door and pulled it closed behind him, hesitating to consider if he should remind her about the deadbolt. Screw it... He hurried after her as she shoved open the door to the stairwell and started down to the street.

Logan walked beside her in silence. He'd tried talking to her but two warnings and a solid punch to the shoulder convinced him that he should let her concentrate on looking. He was still leaning toward the idea that his missing buddy had found himself a distraction, but Eames didn't want to hear that theory.

He watched her as she checked alley after alley on the way from Goren's apartment to his. He tried to tell her she was being unnecessarily paranoid, but one threatening glare convinced him he'd better shut up and help her look for...whatever. Somehow he doubted that Ross would frown upon her pistol-whipping him.

The alley was strewn with garbage and drug paraphernalia and still held the lingering burnt odor of crystal meth and pot. “All right, Eames. This has gone far enough. Do you know how many more of these God-forsaken alleys there are between here and...”

He trailed off when she dropped to a knee near an overturned garbage can, studying some of the garbage that littered the ground around it. “This is blood, Logan.”

He looked around again. “There's a shock.”

Something else caught her eye. “Give me your pen.”

“My pen?”

“Now dammit!”

He withdrew a pen from the inner pocket of his suit jacket. Eames snatched it from him and used it to move some of the garbage out of the way. Her heart sank and she looked at Logan. Dirty and smeared with blood, her partner's gold shield lay in the mud and garbage of an alley similar to those he'd frequented during his days with Narcotics. In his succinct manner, Logan neatly summed up what they were both feeling with two words: “Oh, frack.”

I read it there awhile back. You were my FIRST fav author there, and still my fav, altho I don't do shippy very well. This story rox, as does everything you write!

Oh, boy....another great story to keep up with. I may just go over to FF and read it all there.....I'm on the floor in here, too, btw...

Thanks!

Thank you very much, spooky! I ship and I don't ship, whatever my readers ask for. I am settling into a non-preference mode as I can very easily see and write either side. I really do not have a strong opinion either way, which makes for happy readers since I can readily write both. A lot of my stuff on FFN is ship because that's what my readers request the most, but I have a number of non-ship stuff, too. I'll probably post the non-ship stuff here first, since so many members seem to be non-shippers. But if any shippers would like to me to post any of my ship stuff, I'm game for that, too. I like to share :0) I do appreciate everyone who reads and likes what I write. If anybody has any requests, all they have to do is ask. I'm happy to oblige!!

Thanks, flashymom. I really loved writing this story. It was a lot of fun!

I've read this story before on fanfiction.net, but it's great you're posting it here too. I really like Logan in this one, it's sometimes hard to find well written Logan. Good job.

Thanks, Amanda. I enjoy writing Logan, particularly in a friendship with Goren. Major Case's two outcasts...

Chapter 3: Field of Butterflies

Butterflies... There were lots of butterflies in the field behind the barn today. She ran into the field, face turned to the sky to watch her quarry, and she ran and ran...until she tripped, and landed on something too soft to be a rock. She caught her breath in a little gasp as she backed away from the body of a man, laying face down in the grass. He was covered in blood and he let out a soft groan, moved a little and was still again. She stared for another minute before mustering the courage to turn and run. "Momma! Cousin Sarah! Harry!"

Alone once more in the field, with only the butterflies and bees for company, he tried to move again, issued forth another soft groan and lapsed back into unconsciousness.

Annie Mae Cahill looked out the window when she heard her daughter shouting. Drying her hands on a towel, she hurried out onto the porch as the little girl got to the steps. "Momma! Momma!"

"What is it, Abbie?"

"Momma, I found somebody in my butterfly field behind the barn! He's hurt!"

"Go find your brother, sweetheart. I think he's in the barn." As Abbie ran toward the barn, her mother returned to the door and called into the house, "Sarah!"

After a moment, her husband's cousin came into the kitchen. "What is it, Annie?"

"Abbie says she found someone injured in the field behind the barn."

"Where's Harry?"

"I sent her to find him."

"Let's go see who she found, then."

The two women headed quickly from the house. As they passed the barn, the two children came out into the sunny yard. "Momma?" Harry called, pushing his sleeves up from forearms that were beginning to show muscular tone. He had his father's dark hair and eyes and his mother's kind heart.

"Come with us, Harry. You, too, Abbie. Show us where he is."

The little girl ran ahead of them, blonde hair flying off her shoulders, blue eyes dark with concern for a person she did not even know. The women increased their pace as Harry hurried to catch up to his little sister. Arriving just behind the children at the place where the man lay injured, Annie Mae and Sarah dropped to the ground on either side of him, taking an accounting of his injuries. Sarah was the first to speak. "We need to get him to the house. Give us a hand, Harry, and then you have to ride into town and get Dr. Newton."

The boy nodded. At the age of twelve, he was the man of the family, since his father was off fighting in the War. They hadn't heard from him in more than six months, though, and he knew his mother grieved over his absence. He had no idea how to reassure her, so he did everything he could to make life on their cousin's small farm a good one for the women. But he was a boy, filling a man's shoes. After Cousin Sarah's husband, Martin, died following a fall from a horse two years ago, right after the beginning of the War, they came to live with her. It had been a good move. Virginia wasn't as safe as New York. Even so, they kept to themselves as much as possible, minding their own business and avoiding any talk of the War, even among themselves. Abbie had long since stopped asking for Daddy, and that made him sad. Even though she was just seven, she carried within her the sorrow of a much older person. Now, though, the boy studied the injured man and he knew they could not leave him here. He didn't wear the uniform of either army, and they had no way of knowing how he'd been injured, but regardless of what was happening in the world around them, this man needed their help.

His eyes shifted to his sister, who had dropped to her knees near the man's head. Reaching out a small hand, she touched the damp curls at his temple, tracing fingers gently along his hairline. Withdrawing her hand, she looked at the blood on her fingers and released a soft sob, the only indication to any of them that she had been crying at all.

His mother's voice drew him from his reflections. "Harry, go to the barn and get Thunder. We need to put together a stretcher to get him up to the house without hurting him more."

Harry nodded. "I think we got what we need for that, Momma. Come help me, Abbie. You can ride Thunder back."

He held out his hand to his sister, gently wiping the blood from her fingers with his shirt, and they hurried back toward the barn. Sarah looked at Annie Mae. "He's been here at least since last night, Annie. Most of his bleeding has stopped. Look how pale he is." As she talked, she examined a nasty wound on the side of his head. "It looks like he was beaten with something. Bringing him home will be a risk. We have no idea what happened, what kind of man he is..."

"It's your home, Sarah."

"But Abbie and Harry are your children."

"What choice do we have, cousin? He'll die if we don't help him."

"One less Yankee to shoot at your Hank."

Annie Mae smiled sadly. "He doesn't wear a Yankee uniform..."

"Or a Reb one. He could be a prisoner, escaped from jail."

"Or a poor, hapless soul, robbed and beaten..." She sighed. "Whatever he is, Sarah, he is injured and he needs our help. We cannot turn our backs on a soul in need."

Sarah nodded, knowing all along that would have been her cousin's response. Fear had never had a place in Annie Mae's character, or her own, even in these trying times. And it was not in either of them to turn away someone who needed them. She looked up as the children returned with the horse and they set about rigging up something that would help them get this man to the house without further injuring or killing him.

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It took over an hour for them to carefully turn the man over onto several wide strips of cloth which they then secured to two lengths of wood. When they were satisfied with the sling, they attached it to the harness Harry had put on the gentle bay gelding. With Harry leading the horse slowly toward the house, the women walked on either side of the makeshift stretcher while Abbie watched from her perch on Thunder's back.

It took almost as long to get the unconscious man to the house, into the back bedroom and onto the bed as it had to ready him for the move. While Sarah boiled water and tore a bedsheet into long strips to use as bandages, Harry quickly took the harness off Thunder, replacing it with a saddle, and he rode off to get the doctor from town.

Abbie brought the strips of fabric into the bedroom, where her mother was settling a blanket over the man to his waist; his bare chest was bruised and bloodied. Sarah was right behind her with the water and some larger strips of fabric. Gently, the two women worked to clean the blood and dirt from the injured man's wounds as they waited for the doctor to arrive.

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Doctor Newton stepped into the parlor where the women and two children waited for him. "He took quite a beating," he observed. "But I think he'll recover. You ladies did a thorough job of cleaning his wounds. He took a bad hit to the head, though, so watch him. I'll come back to check on him tomorrow. If something happens to worry you in the meantime, send Harry to get me. Do you ladies have any whiskey in the house?"

Sarah nodded. "I still have a few bottles that were Martin's."

"If he wakes, try to get some broth into him and give him the whiskey for pain. I gave him a dose of morphine, and he's resting comfortably right now. I'll be back first thing in the morning."

"Thank you, Dr. Newton."

Annie Mae saw the doctor to the door. Sarah went into the kitchen, pulled a whiskey bottle from an upper cupboard along with a glass and returned to the parlor as Annie Mae came into the room from the front door. "Where is Abbie?" Annie asked.

"I don't know. She was on the sofa when I went into the kitchen."

They headed to the back bedroom, where they found the little girl, kneeling on the bed beside their injured guest. In silence, they watched her take a cloth and set it into the washbowl of water on the nightstand. Squeezing it out as best she could, she dribbled water from the washbowl along his chest to his face, where she smoothed it over his forehead as she had seen her mother and Sarah do. The women looked at each other and smiled, entering the room. Sarah set the whiskey bottle and the glass on the dresser while Annie Mae gathered her little daughter into her arms.

"Is he gonna wake up, Momma?"

"I hope so, Abbie. Dr. Newton seems to think he will. We'll just have to wait and see."

"Can I help you take care of him?"

"Of course you can. But right now, you need to wash up for supper. Go to the barn and ask Harry to help you work the pump."

"Yes, Momma."

She set Abbie down and watched her run from the room. Sarah folded the bloody clothes Annie Mae had removed from him, running her fingers over the cloth. "Odd cloth. Like cotton, but not. He must be well-to-do. I don't think I have ever seen cloth like this."

"I was thinking the same thing."

Sarah sighed. "Let's let him rest, Annie. That's the best thing for him right now."

Annie knew she was right. She headed out of the room, followed by Sarah, who paused to study the stranger's features before pulling the door shut, leaving him to sleep in the dark silence and, hopefully, recover.

Chapter 4: What Now?

When they got back to the squad room, Ross was looking for them. "Eames, where the hell were you and where is your partner?"

She glanced at Logan, who shrugged helplessly. He wasn't any more popular with Ross than Goren was. Ross followed her gaze and his eyes narrowed at Logan. "My office. Both of you." His eyes shifted toward Wheeler. "Are you involved in this?"

She shook her head. "I have no idea what's going on."

With a curt nod, he turned and headed toward his office. Eames cringed and Logan groaned when the office door slammed. "What's going on?" Ross demanded, his tone leaving no room for argument; he wanted answers.

"Goren hasn't come in yet," Eames explained. "I was concerned."

"Because he's late? The world will not stop revolving because Goren is late, Eames."

Swallowing a surge of anger, and mollified by Logan's presence at her side, Eames drew in a deep breath and held up the evidence bag containing her partner's bloody badge. "Something is wrong, captain. We found this in an alley not far from his apartment. He wasn't home last night."

Ross studied her with an odd expression on his face. "And how do you know he wasn't home?"

"She's a detective," Logan snapped, irritated at the tone Ross was using with her. "She can figure things out."

Ross favored him with a glare that delivered a warning he received loud and clear. If he was going to be any help to Eames at all, he knew enough not to piss off the captain any more than he already had. With Goren gone, there was no limelight to share. He was target number one and it was open season. Ross turned his glare back to Eames. "Well?"

"There was no evidence he'd showered this morning or shaved or anything else. No coffee was made, and his plants were dry. There was no sign of the suit he wore Friday. He wasn't home all weekend."

Ross sighed, searching for patience. Ever since Goren lost his mother, Eames had been extremely protective of him, even moreso than she had been before. "Did it occur to you that he had someplace else to go this weekend? Maybe something came up Friday night. He's a big boy, Eames. He doesn't need permission for a sleepover."

"He was with me Friday night, captain," Logan growled. "Wanna make something of that?"

Before the conversation deteriorated any further, Eames stepped in. She was very used to this dance. "Even if he had gone someplace else, captain, explain this."

She indicated the bloody badge. Ross held out his hand and took the evidence bag from her, carefully examining the badge. "That ain't ketchup," Logan pointed out. "He left my place and headed home Friday night. He never made it."

Ross mulled over everything they'd told him. His eyes shifted back to Eames. "How do you remember what he was wearing Friday? I don't remember what I was wearing yesterday."

How could she explain that she always noticed his dark blue suit? It was her favorite. Further along that line of thought, how could she explain that she even had a favorite suit of his without raising speculation that they were anything more than friends? She opted for a reasonable, yet true, explanation. "In certain ways, Goren is a creature of habit. Every Saturday morning, he takes his suits to the cleaners and he picks them up on his way home Monday or Tuesday. Call his cleaners if you want to verify it. There should have been five suits ready to go to the cleaners. There weren't; there were only four."

She looked at Logan, who gave her a nod of encouragement. He wasn't about to admit that he remembered the suit Goren was wearing Friday and open that can of worms in Ross' mind. The only reason he remembered was because of a certain woman who'd hit on his friend that night. She'd made a big deal out of how good he looked in that suit. Logan had spent the rest of the night trying to get an explanation from him for why he'd turned down her advances. The guy had more grace than he'd ever have—he never saw a woman turned down so gently that she failed to even realize he'd said no—and definitely more self-control. Hell, he'd have been all over her, but after his initial appreciation, Goren had not given her a second look. He said she wasn't his type. Logan told him she was every guy's type—she was willing! But Goren had simply laughed at him and told him to go for her if he wanted to. Don't think I'm not considering it, he'd retorted. But he decided to stick with his friend and continue drinking. Now he was berating himself for getting so smashed...he would have convinced Goren to stay at his place if he hadn't hit the couch and passed out. He'd been under the obviously mistaken assumption that Goren had been in a similar state and they were both going to crash at whichever apartment they made it to. The neighborhood between their respective apartments wasn't the best in the city, but nothing about the streets ever intimidated the former narcotics detective now partnered with Eames.

Ross didn't miss the silent interaction between his two detectives. It had always amazed him how Goren and Eames seemed to be able to carry on an entire conversation just by looking at one another. He sensed communication between these two now, though not at that depth. "Words, detectives," he warned. "I want to hear what you're thinking."

"No, you don't," Logan cautioned before his better sense told him to shut up.

Eames shot him a warning glare but it was too late. Already annoyed, that comment was enough to push Ross over the edge. Sometimes, the captain's anger was explosive. More often, however, and more dangerously, it was not. "I have two words for you, Logan," he said, his tone low and angry. "Staten Island."

That really made the detective angry, but since he had already gotten under Ross' skin, he kept his mouth shut and leaned back against the wall where Goren usually stood. That further reinforced her partner's absence in Eames' mind. She turned to Ross and looked him directly in the eye. "Do not preach to me, Captain, and do not presume to tell me what I know. I know my partner. Regardless of where he spent the weekend, he would not be late for work and not call. In nearly seven years he has never just not showed up for work. You may not be each other's favorite person, but Bobby loves his job. Never doubt that. Take a look at that badge and tell me everything is fine."

Ross looked at the badge in his hand as though ready to take her dare, but he didn't. His eyes shifted to Logan. "Did you and Wheeler wrap up that last case?"

"Yes."

"Okay. I will work with her for the time being; you work with Eames." He looked back at Eames and told her exactly what she was waiting to hear. "Find Goren."

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Late that afternoon, a teenaged boy came into the squad room. One of the detectives stopped to talk to him, then pointed him toward Eames and Logan, who was working at Goren's desk. He crossed the short distance to stop near Eames' chair. They both looked at him. His hair was ragged and in need of a cut and his clothes were battered and torn. His red-rimmed eyes and tense but casual manner told their own story. "Can we help you?" Eames asked gently.

His mouth turned up into a small, shy grin. "I dunno. That fella over there said I needed to talk to you. He said you know a guy named Goren."

Eames felt her heart skip a beat and she glanced at Logan, who leaned closer, interested. "Have you seen him?" she asked.

The boy shook his head and reached into his pocket. He pulled out a wallet and set it on the corner of her desk. She recognized it without opening it and her stomach lurched sickeningly at the bloodstains on it. "How did you know to bring this here?"

He shrugged. "There's a cop ID in it. I just hadda ask where this place was. I kinda don' like all the cops around here, so can I go?"

"Everything that was in the wallet...?"

"Everythin' that was in there when I found it is still there. His driver's license, credit cards and all that. There wasn't no cash so don' accuse me a stealin' nothin'."

"Where did you find it?"

"Jus' layin' in the street. I didn' pay no attention to where I was. Can I go now?"

He looked nervously from Eames to Logan and back. Logan asked, "You lose the coin flip, kid?"

The boy nodded. "Yeah."

Logan smiled and looked at Eames, who nodded. Logan said, "You done a good thing, kiddo. Behave yourself, okay?"

"Yeah, sure."

He pulled out his wallet and handed the boy a twenty. "Get a decent meal, will ya? Go on."

They watched him run out the door and disappear into the stairwell. Eames looked at Logan. "Did you see his eyes?"

Logan grinned. "The only way he could force himself to come up here was probably by smoking a joint before he came. But that's all it was. He wasn't taking anything worse than pot, at least not today."

Eames looked at the wallet on the edge of her desk. "Do you think he was being level?"

"Yeah, I do. And I'll bet he found the wallet not too far from where we found Bobby's badge."

"So where did Bobby go?"

Logan picked up the phone. "I'll call the hospitals on the east side. You call the west."

She closed her eyes for a moment, then she picked up the phone.

Chapter 5: Second Thoughts

The lantern atop the dresser cast a warm, golden glow around the room. Abbie sat at the foot of the bed, cross-legged, cradling her worn out baby doll. She had never seen a person sleep for so long or remain so still. Two days had passed without sound or stirring from the injured man. Abbie took every opportunity to spend time in the room, watching him. She was fascinated by the injured stranger. She would climb up onto the bed and sponge his forehead with a cool moist cloth while her mother or Sarah tended to his wounds. After dinner, she would sneak in to check on him before bed. She watched and waited for any sign of consciousness, but there were none.

Just before dinner, her mother attempted to coax him awake in order to feed him some broth, but he did not respond. Abbie didn't understand everything the doctor said, but she did understand that he was worried. When she heard him tell Sarah that the longer he remained unconscious, the greater chances were that he would never waken again, she felt a funny feeling of dread deep in the pit of her stomach. She had never even seen his eyes, but she was attached to him. She found him. She helped bring him home and nurse him. She felt responsible for him, even if her mother didn't think she was big enough to feel that way. Maybe things would be different if she'd gone chasing butterflies after breakfast instead of after lunch. She pulled her old doll closer and gently rocked her. "He'll be all right, Tessie," she whispered to the rag baby her father'd made for her second birthday. It was all she had of him to hold onto, until he came back from the War.

She missed her father. She missed his smile and his laugh, the way his hair always fell over his blue eyes and the way he would lift her and spin her in a circle before he hugged her. She missed the way he could always make her laugh. More than once her mother had said she'd become much too serious since he left. Harry could get her to laugh sometimes, but mostly she just didn't feel like laughing. Mostly, she was just waiting for the day her father would return, so she could be happy again.

She was six when he left. Now she was almost eight, and she struggled to hold tight to her memories of him. It made her heart sad to admit that the sound of his laughter was fading from her mind and the bright spark of happiness in his eyes was slipping from her memory.

Sliding from the bed, she silently left the room and headed for the kitchen, where her mother and Sarah were washing the dinner dishes and straightening the kitchen. She stood in the doorway and waited for them to finish talking.

"Do you really think it's good for her to be in there, Annie?" Sarah asked, concerned.

"I don't know for sure, but you know Abbie. She has her father's stubborn nature."

"And her mother's soft heart. Face it, cousin, we don't know the least thing about this man. He could be a deserter, or worse—a criminal...Suppose he's running from the law..."

Annie rolled her eyes and laughed. "Listen to yourself, Sarah. Every man we see is a scofflaw."

"But we don't know anything about him. And look at his size! We'd never be able to overpower him if he got it in his head to do anything to us. Remember what happened to Effie Marshall last spring..."

"Effie Marshall has a more active imagination than you do. Half the town has doubts there even was a man in her house."

"Be that as it may, Annie Mae. All the stories can't be wrong. These are dangerous times and they give rise to desperate men, and we haven't the slightest clue about this man."

"And yet who was the first one to say we had to get him to the house and treat his injuries?"

Sarah's face colored. Her heart was every bit as soft as Annie's, even if she tried to present a more gruff exterior. She sighed and changed the subject. "We were talking about Abbie, who spends too much of her day sitting in there watching him."

"She's concerned. You know how Abbie is, always bringing home injured and homeless animals."

Sarah nodded, then huffed, "Well, this is definitely the biggest stray she's brought home yet,"

Annie laughed. "You have a point there." Turning, she saw her daughter standing in the doorway, watching them with wide eyes. "What's wrong, Abbie honey?"

"Do you think he could hurt us, Momma?"

"Of course not, darling. He won't be strong enough to do much of anything for awhile."

"But yesterday, the doctor said he may never wake up."

Annie sat in a chair and drew the little girl into her lap. "That's true, Abbie. He may not. But it's not because of anything you, or any of us, did or didn't do. He's hurt badly, and sometimes, all the care in the world can't make bad hurts better."

"He'll get better, Momma. I'll make sure of it."

She kissed her mother's cheek and scrambled from her lap, hurrying back to the stranger's room. He would wake up. He had to...

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Sarah was usually up well before the sun, getting the stove fired up and ready to use for preparing breakfast. Her routine changed a little, though, as she added tending to their guest into her daily ritual. She wasn't certain having him here was the best idea, but she had never been able to tell Annie Mae or Abbie no about anything. Besides she knew exactly where Marty's rifle was and she was not afraid to use it.

Once the fire was steadily burning, she went to the back of the house as the stove heated to cooking temperature. Replacing the water on the bedside stand, she laid out fresh bandages. A soft groan from the bed drew her attention, and she never noticed the door opening and closing. He groaned again, and it seemed that a word was incorporated into his groan. Dipping a fresh cloth into the water basin, she ran it over his forehead and down each cheek. "Alex..." he groaned again, his breathing becoming ragged as his head turned from side to side.

A little blonde head popped up on the other side of the bed, and Sarah looked at her youngest cousin. "Who's Alex?"

"Someone he knows, I imagine. Maybe his brother or his friend. Maybe someone who'd been with him when he was attacked."

"Maybe we can find Alex for him."

"These are uncertain times, Abbie. That may not be possible."

He groaned again, head tossing restlessly and he tried to move, repeating the name Alex. Abbie climbed up onto the bed and soothed him with soft words spoken in the lilting drawl that belied her Southern roots. Another soft groan and he fell silent and still again. Sarah watched tiny fingers gently stroke his rough cheek. "Go wake your brother, Abbie. Tell him we need Dr. Newton."

Abbie slipped from the bed and hurried out the door. Sarah wiped his face again with the cool cloth. "Who are you?" she whispered.

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Doctor Newton had come and gone. The man's restless stirrings were a good sign, he assured them. They just needed to watch him and wait. There was nothing more anyone could do.

The women went about their daily tasks, and Harry went down to the barn, where he tended to the livestock, such that it was: two horses, a cow, four dairy goats and a handful of chickens. He made his way around the kittens who scrambled around his feet. Fortunately there were more than enough mice to sustain the growing population of barn cats. He'd already checked the fields and the large garden back behind the house. He was always very careful when he chased the rabbits from the garden. The last thing he wanted was to traumatize his little sister any more than this damn war already had by taking their father away from them. He'd accidentally killed two of the pesky things, and that would be certain to disturb Abbie. So he quickly butchered them and brought the meat to Sarah for dinner. What Abbie didn't know would put food in her belly.

Back in the house, the stranger stirred again and let out another soft moan. Abbie's eyes watched intently for anything more than his soft groans of pain. He tossed restlessly, again calling for his friend or brother or whoever 'Alex' was. Her heart raced a bit as his eyelids fluttered. She raced from the room to find Sarah or her mother.

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Darkness surrounded him like a warm and welcome cocoon. As the darkness faded and pain began biting into his awareness, he sought to return to the darkness, where there was no pain. Twice he'd succeeded. But now...now he continued to struggle toward consciousness, like seeking the surface of a dark lake that drew him down and sapped his strength. This wasn't much different from fleeing the nightmares that plagued him as he willed himself to waken. But what exactly he had nightmares about was a mystery to him. He just knew that they were there, lingering just below the surface of slumber, waiting to ambush him.

Layer by layer, thin veils of darkness peeled away, like the layers of an onion and he sensed rather than felt awareness returning to him. And with awareness came pain...and a single name broke through the darkness in which his past was mired...Alex...

Slowly, his eyes eased open and he looked around at the stark whitewashed walls of the bedroom. He tried to moisten his lips, but his mouth was dry. An arm slid gently beneath his head and helped him to sit up a little. A glass touched his lips and he drank the water that washed into his mouth. A soft voice cautioned, "Just a little now."

He had trouble forcing both his mind and his vision to focus. His mind remained lost in a dense fog, but slowly, his vision cleared. The soft voice belonged to a woman. He studied her through half-closed eyes. She was unfamiliar, of average height and build with dark hair gathered on top of her head. What struck him most about her, though, was not any measure of her appearance. It was her face. Soft lines were marred with creases that suggested she frowned too much and cried too often, and that touched his heart. He forced his eyes away from her as she turned toward the nightstand. There was a second person in the room, a child. With hair the color of spun gold and eyes as blue as a clear summer sky, she was a small child, beautiful in the pure and innocent way only a child could be. Kneeling beside him on the bed, she reached out without fear and gently touched his cheek. He smiled at her, and his weary eyes slowly closed. He felt himself slip back toward the comfortable darkness. He was still peripherally aware of movement and voices until he let go and finally let himself sleep.

Chapter 6: A Troubling Turn of Events

Logan sat at the conference room table, studying a list on the paper in his hand. He set it down and rubbed his eyes wearily as the door opened. Eames came into the room with several paper bags of Chinese take-out, which she set on the table beside him. "Did I ever tell you I love you?" he asked.

"No, and don't start now."

He laughed as she handed him a white carton. "The egg rolls are in this bag here."

"Thanks."

It was after nine and they were no closer to figuring out what had happened to Goren than they had been that morning when they found his badge in that alley. In silence, Logan ate while Eames forced down half a pint of fried rice as she studied the map of the blocks between Logan's apartment and Goren's. The alley where they'd found his badge was marked with a red tack. Another red tack was placed outside the alley, representing his wallet.

Logan looked at the short list of facts on the paper in front of him. No one they had spoken to had seen or heard from Goren since the week before. Eames had called Lewis and a couple of other people she knew Goren was friends with, and Lewis had also made a few calls. Nothing turned up. Logan had been the last person to see Goren before he vanished.

They'd called every hospital in town, but none of the men that came close to matching Goren's description turned out to be him. They were at an impasse, staring at a dead end that loomed before them. Undaunted, however, they continued to go over the evidence, hoping to find something they both knew was not there.

It was almost ten when Ross came into the room. "Anything?"

Eames shook her head. "Nothing."

Ross sighed heavily, and the look on his face told both detectives that he had something unpleasant to say. Logan braced himself, promising for Eames' sake he would not lose his temper. This was hard enough for her. He had never seen her this worried...not even after her partner had tumbled into a stubborn depression after his mother died. Ross said, "Where is Goren's badge and wallet?"

Eames looked at the table top. "We sent them to the lab so they could type the blood and compare it to what's on file for Bobby."

"Good. What did CSU turn up in that alley?"

Logan swallowed the last bite of his third egg roll. "Drug residue, blood, a length of chain with blood on it that's also being tested. That's about it."

"I want to know what they find out about the blood and I want an analysis of the drug residue. I want to know what it is."

"Fine," Eames answered. "But why?"

Another sigh. His eyes traveled from Eames to Logan and back. "I got a call from the ballistics lab. There was a drug-related shooting over the weekend, and the preliminaries indicate that it was Goren's gun that was used in the shooting."

Logan's eyes narrowed. "So? His gun got lifted with his wallet when he was attacked."

"Good theory, Logan. Now prove it. Either way, we have evidence of drugs and now a drug-related shooting, and Goren is involved."

Logan bristled but it was Eames who spoke first. "No...there is no way he is involved."

Ross' eyes narrowed. "Face it, detective. As a victim or as a suspect, your partner is involved."

He turned and left the room. As a victim or a suspect...he was hoping for the former if Goren had to be involved, but his inclination was to lean toward the latter. He sat at his desk and looked over the report he'd gotten from ballistics, and the information he'd been able to get about the shooting. The formal report was on its way. A knot formed in his stomach. What on earth could have happened to involve him in this?

Logan stared at the closed door. "Suspect? Did he freaking say suspect?" He looked at Eames. "Tell me he's kidding."

Eames' face was a study in fury, and no words would form in her mind that could possibly do justice to how angry she felt at that moment. "Stay here," she finally said.

Logan watched her leave the room, mulling his options over in his mind. Screw it, he decided. If he let her anger do anything to jeopardize her career or her standing in MCS, Goren would kick his ass. They had come to an agreement not long after Bobby's mother died, before the big cop had turned the corner and snapped out of that gray funk Logan had hated seeing him in. Too many beers did nothing to improve a melancholy mood, and Logan had promised that he would take care of Eames if Goren ever proved unable to. Logan had no idea what had happened to his buddy, but this seemed to be one of those times, and he never went back on his word. He left the room and went after Eames.

Eames didn't even bother knocking or closing the door behind her as she entered Ross' office. The captain looked up, surprised, as she came into the room. "Yes, detective?"

"Suspect? Did you say suspect?"

"I did."

"How can you even think that? Captain, this is no street punk. This is my partner. I know this man. He is not capable of what you are suggesting."

She was only vaguely aware of a presence behind her and for a fleeting second she imagined it was Goren, lingering in the background the way he did, backing her up just by being there. Her anger kicked up a notch when the realization that it wasn't hit her. She gave Ross no chance to speak. "You have some nerve, Captain Ross, even thinking Goren could possibly be involved in any kind of illegal activity, but drugs? Have you even bothered to look at his personnel file? Twenty-seven convictions in twenty-seven arrests a narcotics detective. Those statistics speak for themselves. And the six-plus years he's been my partner? You came into this squad filled with preconceived notions and judgments about him, and quite frankly I'm sick of it." Her eyes narrowed. "I am not going to pursue him as a suspect. I'm going to find him and you are going to apologize for even entertaining the thought that he would stray from the law."

As she turned, Ross' sharp voice made her hesitate. "Eames!" When she stopped, he asked, "What kind of guarantee can you give me that your partner is clean?"

She turned, a dark frown on her face. For the first time, Logan spoke. "Clean? You mean drugs?"

"Yes. I mean drugs."

Eames shook her head. "Bobby is not on drugs."

"Think about it, Eames. After everything that happened in his life over the last year, and with a very strong family history of addiction and mental illness, it's not that big a stretch."

Eames looked Ross directly in the eye. "He got past all that. He hit the bottom and was on his way back up. I admit that sometimes alcohol helps him to cope, but drugs? No way. Logan?"

"I'm with her. I've spent a lot of time with him. He's not on drugs."

Ross threw a file onto the desk near her. She read the first few papers, then handed them to Logan. She shook her head. "That alley was smoking with drug residue. I can't guarantee I would be clean after being in it. The blood could have been contaminated after it was shed." Her eyes narrowed. "If Bobby's on drugs, I'll turn in my badge and become a nun. You're barking up the wrong tree."

She left the office. Logan dropped the file on the desk. "Some people jump to conclusions, Captain. You take blind flying leaps. This time you're going to fall flat on your face."

"Goren is not invincible."

"No. But he's tough as hell, and resilient. I admit his mother's death hit him hard, but it didn't hit him any harder than her life did. He stumbled a bit, because she was his mother, but the guy didn't fall. And he bounced back. He wouldn't take a sudden nosedive, not when things were looking up for him and he was feeling good about his life again. You should know what you're talking about before you start, captain. You don't know Goren."

Logan turned to leave, but Ross called him back. "I have ordered a search of his apartment by CSU. If you and Eames want to be there, fine. But don't interfere."

Logan frowned, angry. "You gonna tell them they're looking for drugs?"

"Not specifically, no. But if they find any..."

"They won't."

He left the office and returned to the conference room, where he found Eames pacing and muttering incoherently to herself. "Now he's got you talking to yourself."

"Is he for real?" she demanded, anger placing a tremor in her voice.

"I'm afraid so, sweetheart, and you're really not gonna like this next turn of events."

"Why? What happened?"

"He's got CSU searching Bobby's apartment."

"No. Tell me he doesn't."

Logan nodded. "He said we can be there, but he's warned us not to interfere."

She swore, slapped their scant files together and ran out of the room. He hurried after her.

Ross watched the two detectives leave and he once again marveled at the loyalty Eames had for her partner. Even Logan was sticking up for Goren, which he found telling. The man inspired loyalty in his friends. Strong loyalty. He looked down at the toxicology report in front of him. If he'd had the chance to place a bet, he would have bet with Eames and Logan, that Goren was clean. This blood matched his type, which in itself was not proof it was his blood, but it was on his badge and his wallet. If it wasn't his blood, he was close to the source of it, and that tossed up a red flag that screamed suspect. A number of scenarios worked their way through his head. The blood was not fresh, which supported Eames' and Logan's contention that something happened on his way home from Logan's Friday night. He could have been jumped by dealers or junkies in that neighborhood. He was not ruling out that possibility. But he had read Goren's file. The man knew the streets. He had a hard time buying this as a mugging. It was a much easier sell to classify this as a drug deal gone sour. Either way, the man had a lot of explaining to do—to all of them.

Chapter 7: A Stranger Even to Himself

The pain came first again, followed by the name from the fog of his past. He struggled to bring himself to full consciousness, but when he opened his eyes, there was no light. That didn't seem right to him. Somehow, he thought there should have been light somewhere. The total darkness seemed wrong, misplaced. He tried to sit up, but a sharp pain in his chest forced him back onto soft pillows. As the pain subsided, he eased out his breath in a soft groan. His head was pounding and he sensed that the room was spinning, though he couldn't see anything to be certain. His eyes tried to penetrate the encumbering darkness. He could vaguely make out a shape across the room...a window. But he didn't have the strength to get up, and trying to see through the darkness made his head hurt worse. With another groan, he closed his eyes and returned once more to the pain-free solitude of unconsciousness.

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Abbie finished her breakfast and her morning chores, then hurried down the hall to the back bedroom where the stranger still slept. She opened the door and slipped into the dim room. Every night, her mother opened the curtains to let in the night air. It was good for him, she insisted. Every morning, Sarah pulled the curtains closed, to keep out the sunlight, which was not good for him. She walked to the side of the bed, stopping dead in her tracks when he moved.

He shifted on the bed with a soft groan, then turned his head toward her. She gasped softly when she saw that his eyes were half-open. A soft smile spread across his face. "Hi," he whispered.

She smiled back. "Hi."

He turned onto his side and groaned again, closing his eyes for a moment until the pain eased. Then he looked once again at the pretty little girl. "What's your name?" he asked, his voice hoarse and quiet, but kind, like his dark eyes.

She stepped closer, reaching out a tentative hand to touch the scruff on his cheek. He closed his eyes and wondered what it was that was familiar about that touch. It took more effort to open them this time. In a soft little voice, she answered, "I'm Abbie."

"That's...a pretty name."

"What's your name?"

He opened his mouth to answer, but stopped. What was his name? He struggled to find it in the foggy void that filled his mind where memories should be. Why couldn't he remember? His name...something fundamental to his being... After a brief struggle, it finally slid through. "Uh, Bobby...I'm Bobby."

She gave him a sweet smile and continued to gently stroke his cheek. In a quiet whisper, she said, "I'll be right back."

She disappeared through the door like a little rabbit. He smiled again. She looked familiar, though he had no idea why. He closed his eyes against the pounding in his head, which was worsened by the effort to remember his name.

He was roused by quiet voices. He heard the little girl's voice. The other two voices were vaguely familiar though he could not place them. He forced his eyes open again. The child jumped toward the bed with a ready smile. "Hi," she said, her voice quiet.

"Hi again," he answered, forcing a weak smile in reply to her obvious struggle to contain happy enthusiasm.

His eyes shifted toward movement in the shadows of the room, off to the side of the little girl. The woman who entered his line of vision looked familiar, though he could not place from where. His eyes followed her as she poured a pitcher of water into a basin on the nightstand beside the bed. He was struck by the careworn face, the sad eyes, the almost imperceptible droop to her shoulders. Some tragedy touched her young life, and she bore the weight of Atlas on her shoulders. Just watching her made him want to ease her burden, particularly after she found it inside her to give him a warm smile.

He returned her smile, reluctantly looking toward the source of the other voice, which came from somewhere near the door. He waited a moment for his vision to focus on her, another woman, blonde with gray eyes and a lighter bearing. "Abbie, don't get in the way."

"I'm not, Momma."

He could see the resemblance between the child and her mother. His attention was drawn back to the first woman, who smoothed a moist cloth across his forehead. When he looked back at her, she asked, "Do you think you could handle some broth?"

He took a quick mental survey of his stomach and gave her a brief nod, which sent his throbbing head spinning. He groaned softly and closed his eyes against the nauseating movement of the room. He heard the woman address the child's mother as Annie, asking her to prepare some broth. Annie bustled from the room. At the familiar touch of small fingers, he forced his eyes open and looked at Abbie. "My brother went to get the doctor," she informed him.

He moved his hand to lightly touch Abbie's fingers, which caressed his cheek. She gripped his hand, which he settled over the quilt that covered his abdomen. The woman continued to sponge the sweat from his face, and he found it soothing. His headache had begun to ease a little. His eyes shifted to her face when she spoke. "My name is Sarah Cahill."

"I'm...Bobby."

He searched for a surname but there was none. Her head tilted curiously. "Just Bobby?"

"Sorry...that's...that's all I can...remember."

She nodded understanding. "That's all right," she assured him. "Do you remember what happened to you?"

She watched his eyes as he searched through the fog, seeking a memory that just was not there. Slowly he shook his head. "I have no idea."

Abbie's hand tightened around his fingers. "Who's Alex?"

The familiarity of the name struck him, but no memories accompanied the strong sense that he should know the person associated with the name. "I...I don't know..."

Sensing his growing agitation and frustration, Sarah said quietly, "Enough questions, Abbie. He needs to rest."

Abbie nodded obediently and fell silent. Bobby studied her. "You can still...talk to me," he encouraged her, smiling weakly when her face lit up.

She released his hand and scrambled up onto the bed. He held out a hand to steady her, so she wouldn't fall. Gently settling securely on the bed, she leaned back against his side and took his hand, placing it in her lap and holding firmly onto it. "Dr. Newton said you took a bad beating. We think maybe you got robbed. You didn't have a wallet or any cash or anything."

"I suppose...it's possible." He turned the conversation away from himself with his next question. "How old are you, Abbie?"

"Seven. But I'll be eight in a couple of weeks."

"Big girl..."

"I try to be, but sometimes it's hard. I miss my daddy."

"Where is he?"

"Fighting in the war, of course."

"W-war?"

"Yes. He's with General Lee back in Virginia. But it's been a long time since Momma heard from him."

Sarah spoke up before he found a reply. "All right, Abbie. Enough. Go see how your mother is coming with the broth."

Abbie looked at Bobby, who released her hand and gently touched her cheek. With a smile, she slid from the bed and left the room. "If she troubled you..." Sarah began.

He shook his head briefly, frustrated by the continued dizziness that assaulted him every time he moved his head. "She's fine. I...I don't mind...talking to her."

"It's hard for her and her family, living here with Hank off fighting in the south."

He looked confused. "Uh, just...where is here?"

"You're in New York."

New York...that sounded...right. Somehow he knew intuitively that New York was where he was supposed to be. "S-So Abbie...isn't your daughter?"

"No. She and her brother came here with their mother when their father joined the Army of Northern Virginia two years ago. Annie Mae's husband Hank and my husband Marty are cousins. Their fathers were brothers."

"Family...is important," he muttered, not certain where the unsettled sense of bitterness deep inside came from.

"Especially these days."

"Your husband...is off fighting, too?"

He didn't think it possible for her eyes to hold more sorrow. "No. Marty died after a fall from a horse two years ago, just before Annie and the children came to live here. But if he hadn't died, he would have joined the Union Army. Brother against brother, cousin against cousin, father against son...It's just horrible."

She sponged more sweat from his face. Unexpectedly, he reached a hand up to touch her chin, running a light finger along her jawline. "I am sorry..." he said softly, with sincerity.

His touch was unexpected, as was the expression of sympathy and the warmth in his eyes. She laid a hand over his as she studied his face. Her attention was drawn from him by the sound of horses' hooves in the yard and he withdrew his hand as she said, "Harry must be back with the doctor. Abbie will let us know..."

As if in answer to her comment, Abbie came through the door. "Harry's back with Dr. Newton," she announced.

Sarah laughed, looking at Bobby, who watched the happy child with an amused smile. She bounced over to the bed and grabbed his hand again as her mother came into the room with a bowl of broth, followed by a young boy and an older man carrying a black bag.

Annie Mae set the bowl on the dresser and the boy stood off in the corner. "Come here, Abbie," he said quietly.

Abbie smiled at Bobby before releasing his hand and trotting over to her brother, who kept her out of the way. The doctor's face was tired but kind. "How do you feel, son?"

Bobby gave it some thought. "I hurt all over, and every time I move my head, the room spins."

"Any sickness to you stomach?"

"Yes...and a bad headache."

"Let me start by listening to your heart.."

He pulled out his stethoscope and began his examination. By the time he was done, Bobby was unconscious again. Leaving Abbie behind to call them when he woke, the two women and Harry left the room with the doctor.

"What do we owe you, Dr. Newton?" Sarah asked as he sat at the table and Annie placed a mug of hot coffee in front of him.

"Did I see that several of your hens had babies?"

"Yes, they did."

"Then just give me a chicken and we'll be even."

Harry asked, "For eatin' or for layin', Doc?"

"For laying, Harry."

"I'll be right back."

Sarah and Annie sat down with the doctor. "How is he?" Sarah asked.

The doctor sighed. "I think he's going to be all right."

"Is it normal that he cannot remember anything?"

He nodded. "He had a serious head injury. I am not surprised he cannot remember things. As time passes, he may regain his memory. Just give him time to heal. I don't think you'll need me any more, but if something happens that concerns you, send Harry for me."

"Thank you, Dr. Newton."

As he headed for the door, he said, "Start with broth for a day or so, and if his stomach can tolerate that, move up to potatoes and gravy before you start him back on a full diet. Just give him what his system can handle. By this time next week, he should be back to normal. His ribs will hurt; just keep them bound with cloth until the pain is gone. His headaches will linger, but that's part of the healing process. Give him whiskey for the pain. If that's not strong enough, send Harry to me and I'll give you something else, but I don't think that will be necessary. Thank you for the coffee, ladies."

Harry met them on the porch. "I tied her and put her in the back of your buggy, Doc."

The doctor ruffled the boy's hair. "You're quite a man, Harry. Thank you. Say good-bye to Abbie for me."

They watched the doctor leave and returned to the kitchen. Annie retrieved the broth and poured it into the pot that simmered on the stove. "He's still sleeping. When he wakes, we'll try the broth. He hasn't eaten in a few days; he'll be hungry. Abbie will let us know when he wakes. She's content to sit in there and look at a book while he sleeps."

Harry was frowning. "I'm not sure I like that, Momma."

"Why not?"

"We don't know anything about him...who he is...what he's done..."

"He doesn't even know that, Harry," Sarah said. "But he seems to be developing a genuine fondness for Abbie, and he's gentle. He has a kind face. I got no bad feeling from talking to him."

Harry knew that Sarah was an excellent judge of character, but he was still cautious. "Suppose he just doesn't remember that he's a bad person?"

Sarah and Annie both laughed. Sarah answered, "Good or bad isn't a choice, Harry. It's who you are deep inside. Sometimes good people make bad choices, but they can't change the kind of person they are deep inside. It's a lot easier for a good person to fake at being bad than it is for a bad person to fake at being good. But he's been badly hurt. He's not faking anything."

Harry's frown did not subside. "It's your decision, cousin," he said unhappily. "But if he hurts anyone, I'll shoot him. I swear I will."

He pushed away from the wall he was leaning against and left the house. Annie got up from the table and went to the window, watching him kick at rocks as he crossed the yard toward the barn.

Sarah joined her. "He's become so serious."

"He has taken to heart the job his father left to him. He's had to grow up so fast under the weight of being man of the house."

"You should be proud of him...of them both, Annie."

Annie smiled at Sarah. "I am. Is Harry heading out to the field today?"

"Yes. He said he was going to finish the planting. I'll go out and help him."

"No. You stay here with Abbie and take care of our guest. I'll help Harry. I need to talk to him."

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. Someone needs to stay here. I'll get my hat and gloves."

Annie left the kitchen. Sarah sighed. It wasn't a large field to be planted, just enough to feed the livestock with some left over to sell. There were farmers who planted fields much larger, but this one was about all they could handle. Marty had managed it on his own for years, and now Harry was managing it well for a boy of twelve, with only occasional help from her and Annie. Annie was right that someone needed to stay to keep an eye on the injured man. Abbie should not be left alone in the house with him until they knew he was trustworthy, and right now all they knew about him was his first name. After talking to him, seeing into his eyes and watching him interact so gently with Abbie, her initial reservations were gone. This was no criminal they had taken into their home. She set about cleaning the kitchen as she waited for him to waken.

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He did not waken again until just after lunch. After finishing her soup, Abbie did her chores and returned to the bedroom, to continue her vigil. While she waited, she worked on her lessons, even though school was out for the planting season. Harry wasn't as interested in learning, but he had a lot of responsibility around the small farm. He took care of the animals, and she helped him with that. She loved feeding them. Thunder, in particular, was always happy to see her come into the barn, nickering to her and waiting for the sugar cube or carrot she always brought him as a treat. When he wasn't taking care of the animals, Harry was out in the fields or working around the house to repair things. He had even helped Josiah Tucker patch the leaky part of the barn roof. Reading and writing took a back seat to being the only man on the farm. But she had the luxury of being able to continue with her learning. Momma and Sarah helped her when they had time, but mostly she sat and read or did her sums by herself. Right now she was happy to have an important job to do by keeping an eye on their injured guest. She liked him. He had a nice smile and a gentle touch. Not like Simon Weatherby back in Virginia. He was a mean man. She'd seen him kick his dog, and when she'd scolded him for it, he'd kicked her. Daddy hadn't liked that at all. She didn't know what he did to old Simon, but when she came home crying and told him what had happened, his face got purple-mad and he left. The next time she saw old Simon, he had a leg in a cast so he wasn't able to kick his dog, or anyone else, for a long time.

She was sitting by the window in her rocker, which Harry'd brought into the room so she didn't have to sit on the bed, when she heard him groan. Setting her book aside, she walked over to the bed. He started to breathe harder, tossing and turning like he was having a nightmare. Afraid he was going to hurt himself, she ran out of the room to get Sarah, who was in the kitchen cleaning up after lunch. Momma had gone back out to the planting field with Harry.

Sarah hurried after the little girl into the bedroom. He was sitting up, holding his head and breathing hard. Not knowing if he was awake or asleep, Sarah approached him cautiously. "Bobby?"

His breathing was easing as she touched his shoulder tentatively. Slowly he turned his head to look at her. His eyes were bright with pain and he pressed one hand firmly against his temple. She gently coaxed him to lay back and offered him a drink of water, which he accepted. "Let's get some broth into you before I give you any whiskey for that pain, all right?"

He barely inclined his head in agreement. Sarah looked down at Abbie. "Stay with him, Abbie. I'll be right back."

"Yes, Sarah."

He watched the little girl step up to his side and look at him with worried blue eyes. He slid a thumb lightly down her cheek. "I..I'm sorry...if I frightened you, Abbie."

"I thought you'd hurt yourself."

He shifted over a little on the bed. "Sit down," he said softly.

She climbed onto the bed and sat beside him, resting her hand gently over the cloth bindings that wrapped his injured ribs. "You really don't know who hurt you?"

"No...I don't."

"Do you know where you're from?"

Again he searched his mind for missing memories. This time, one came forth. "I...grew up in New York...in Brooklyn."

"Really? You live there now?"

"Not in Brooklyn. I, uh, I live in Manhattan."

He was relieved that something had come back to him, but he was still deeply troubled that he could not remember his full name, or much of his past, or the person named Alex who he called out for in his delirium. Her small hand rubbed his skin just below the bindings. "What do you do in New York?"

Another struggle...but nothing would come. "I'm not sure..."

He closed his eyes against the pounding in his skull. He didn't even feel Abbie move, but she scrambled lightly to the head of the bed and squeezed out the wet cloth. Sweat had beaded on his forehead and began to roll into his hair. Gently, she swiped the cloth over his forehead and face. Forcing his eyes open, he gave her a small smile. It was all he could muster. "You'll get better," she promised with the pure, untarnished faith of a child.

The door opened and Sarah returned with a bowl of broth. She set it down and moved a chair closer to the bed. "Let's try to get this into you, all right?"

"I'll try," he answered.

It took some encouragement from both the woman and the child, but he managed to finish the bowl. The effort sapped what strength he'd had, though. Sarah brought him a glass half-filled with whiskey. "This will help with your pain," she promised, helping him up onto an elbow.

The whiskey burned, but he didn't care. It was barely a discomfort compared to the throbbing pain everywhere else in his body. He finished the glass and dropped back onto the pillows, feeling the warmth of the alcohol spread from his stomach to the rest of his body. Sarah watched him relax as the pain began to ease under the whiskey's effects. The room slowly steadied and he drifted off to sleep.

"Did he pass out again, Sarah?" Abbie asked, concerned.

"No, Abbie. He's sleeping now. He needs to rest. Why don't you come help me in the kitchen for a little while while he sleeps?"

"All right. He'll be okay?"

"Yes. He'll be fine."

Sarah closed the door behind her and they left him calm and quiet in the arms of a healing sleep.

Chapter 8: A Fatal Complication in Jersey


Eames and Logan got out of the car at Goren's apartment building. The CSU van was already there. Eames had called them to let them know she was on her way to let them in, and they were waiting for her in the hallway. "Hello, detective," the lead tech smiled at her.

"Hi, Kenny."

He looked puzzled. "Why are we searching Goren's apartment?"

She pulled out her keys and searched for the right one, to give herself time to compose her emotions and her response. "Because he's gone missing. We're hoping you guys can turn up some clue to what happened to him."

He studied her for a moment. "Is that why we were combing that alley earlier?"

She nodded. "We found his shield in the alley, covered with blood."

"Damn...Why didn't you tell us?"

"Because we didn't want you going in with any preconceived notions, Kenny. We had to know exactly what was in that alley. Now we need to know whatever you turn up here."

"You think he's in trouble."

It wasn't a question. She felt more shaken by his assertion than she had allowed herself to feel all day, and she couldn't bring herself to speak, so she nodded. Logan touched her elbow and leaned closer. "It'll be all right, Alex. We'll find him."

She watched the techs file into the neat apartment before she looked at Logan. "And what if we don't, Mike?"

The corner of his mouth turned up a bit and he said, "That's not an option."

A soft smile flitted across her face. How often had Goren told her that when they'd had a difficult case, one she questioned their ability to solve? He never took defeat gracefully, so for him it was never an option. Of course, that made it all the more difficult when things went wrong, but they managed to get past their few failures. That never meant he accepted them well, but they got past them.

Eames and Logan watched the crime scene techs search the apartment with care. For all his eccentricities, they liked Goren, and they respected his skill as an investigator. He was observant and thorough, but most of all, he thought outside the box and noticed things even seasoned techs passed by.

Two hours into the search, Eames' phone rang. She groaned at the sight of the captain's name on her caller ID and toyed with the idea of ignoring it, until Logan said, "You have to take it, Alex."

With a heavy sigh, she flipped open the phone. "Eames."

"Have they found anything?"

"No, Captain, they haven't."

"Does Goren have any ties to Jersey?"

"What kind of ties?"

"Any kind."

"Not that I know."

"Maybe you don't know him as well as you think you do, Eames. There was another shooting this morning, another drug deal gone bad, and ballistics returned another match to his weapon. This time, the victim died with your partner's bullet in his heart."

Eames counted to ten. Noticing the sudden tension in her bearing, Logan brought his hand to rest on her back, between her shoulders. She couldn't keep the accusation from her tone. "So have you put out an APB on him?"

"Not yet. Tell the CSU techs we have a warrant to look for drugs. I'm no longer treating this as a missing person case, Eames. First thing in the morning, you and Logan head across the river and talk to the Hudson County DA. Find out what he has on Goren. If he can be placed at the scene, then it's out of our hands."

Eames trembled with rage and looked at Logan as she closed the phone. "He's on the verge of going after Bobby. There was another shooting with his weapon, a fatality. If they can place Bobby at the scene, Ross is washing his hands of him and leaving him to the wolves. He's writing him off as a cop gone bad." She took an uneven breath, still shaking with poorly contained fury. "And he got a warrant, Mike."

"For this place?"

"Yes. For drugs."

"If Bobby's involved in this, I'll give up my pension," he grumbled.

"You know he's not as well as I do. But how can we prove it?"

Logan sighed. "We hit the streets, sweetheart. We find the gun and the son of a bitch who has it, and we beat a damn confession out of him."

"Except for the beating part, it sounds like a plan to me." She found Kenny and asked, "Have you found anything, Kenny?"

"Not a thing."

She braced herself to deliver the next words she had to say. "Ross has a warrant now, Ken. He wants you guys to look for drugs."

Kenny gave her a look of disbelief. "Are you serious?"

"As a heart attack."

"Goren? Mixed up with drugs?"

She shook her head slowly. "Just look, and let Logan and me know what you find."

The search of Goren's apartment turned up exactly what Eames and Logan knew it would: nothing. With a powerful feeling of vindication, she called Ross. "Goren's place is clean, except for some aspirin and cold medicine in his medicine cabinet and an open bottle of scotch in the kitchen."

"Your partner is smart, Eames. I never expected this to be easy."

"Captain, you're wrong."

"Then prove me wrong. I'll welcome it. Report to me after you talk to the DA. You're a good, honest cop, and I know Goren is your partner. But if this turns out differently than you expect..."

"If he's involved, I'll arrest him myself."

"That's what I wanted to hear."

"I said 'if', captain. That doesn't mean I think he is."

"Keep an open mind, detective."

"Only if you do the same."

"Good night, Eames."

She closed the phone and looked at Logan. "He challenged us to prove him wrong...and he wants us to keep an open mind."

"Oh? Like the bear trap he's closed on Goren's guilt?"

"Pretty much."

Logan shook his head. "Forget him, Alex. Look, it's late. Why don't you crash at my place and we can get an early start, before the DA has his first case in the morning?"

Too tired to think any more, she just nodded. Her gut churned with worry. She knew deep down that something was very wrong. Where could Goren be?

Chapter 9: First Steps Toward Recovery

He woke with a start from a troubled dream. As his eyes flickered open, he heard the sound of a match head scraping on wood, and a small flame burst to life on the other side of the room. Moments later, the soft glow of a lamp illuminated the woman named Sarah, casting its light about the room to chase the darkness into the corners, along with the remnants of his nightmare.

She approached the bed and smiled when she saw his eyes. It was a genuine, if haunted, smile. "Well, hello."

"Hi," he replied, his voice still hoarse. His eyes searched the room. "Abbie?"

"It's late. She's in bed." She studied him. "Are you hungry?"

He took a mental accounting of his body, struggling to push aside the pain, and he nodded. He could stand to eat something, since his stomach was no longer churning. She sat lightly on the edge of the bed. "Think maybe you can get up?"

He gave that some thought as well. "I...I can try."

"I will help you."

He studied her. "Th-thank you."

Slowly, with patience and gentle encouragement, she helped him to sit up. Once he was at the edge of the bed, she sat beside him. "You look about Marty's size. I'll bet his clothes will fit you. If you feel up to moving, we can get you cleaned up and into clean clothes. While you eat, I'll change these sweaty sheets."

He just nodded. She did not rush him and she did not leave his side. Her hand on his arm steadied him when he faltered. He was confused as they left the house and walked to a pump in the yard. Looking around the moonlit yard, he frowned deeply at the unfamiliar surroundings. Everything seemed... wrong, but he couldn't place just how. Watching her prime the pump, he felt guilty, but he was uncertain. So he watched everything she did, committing it to memory so she would never have to do this particular task for him again. Once the water was flowing, she helped him wash up, again triggering a wave of guilt that she needed to help him with something so basic. But she offered no complaint.

Once they were back in the kitchen, she left him seated at the table to retrieve clean clothes for him. Returning, she set the clothes on the chair beside him, dropping a pair of boots to the floor near the chair. "Let me get the stove fired up and I can help you get dressed."

"Thank you, but I-I can manage."

"Do you want me to help you back to your room?"

He shook his head, reassured when the room didn't tilt at an odd angle. "I can make it."

"You call me if you need me."

"I-I will."

She watched him struggle to his feet, fighting back an urge to help him. She got the feeling he was an independent man, not used to relying on anyone's help with anything. Once he was gone from the room, she turned to the stove to fix him a hot, light meal.

Once back in the more familiar surroundings of the room he'd woken in, he set the clothes on the bed and proceeded to change, letting his mind wander. It didn't go very far before it encountered a black void beyond which he would find the answers to his questions. But he could not penetrate the darkness., and no answers were forthcoming. It didn't help that he remembered so little from his previous forays into consciousness. He remembered the little girl, Abbie. She was sweet and she had a gentle, soothing touch. He remembered Sarah and her equally gentle manner, and Abbie's mother...uh, Annie...that was it. He also remembered a boy, though vaguely...and...an older man...a doctor...but that was it. He had no memory of how he'd come to be injured, or where he was from, or any other part of his life. His name was Bobby, that much he knew. The other name that made it through the fog, Alex, belonged to someone he felt he should know, but he couldn't draw forth any memories associated with the name.

His head was beginning to throb from the effort to recall his past and he sat heavily on the side of the bed, holding his head. He heard the door open, but didn't move. Sarah sat beside him and gently rubbed his back. "How are you feeling?"

"O-okay...just...my head hurts. I-I can't remember much...of anything."

"Doctor Newton says it will take time for your memory to return."

"I-it's more than just my past. Everything seems...wrong...somehow. I don't belong here."

"Nonsense. You are welcome to stay for as long as you need to."

"No, that's not what I meant."

"Then what?"

"I-I'm not sure."

"Well, never you mind about it now. Come and try to eat something. You need time to heal and things will fall into place for you." As he stood, she looked him over, smiling sadly. "Those clothes looked just as good on Marty."

"I am sorry," he said softly.

"For what?"

"For your loss. You're still sad."

"I think I will always be sad."

They walked down the hall, through the parlor and into the kitchen. As he sat down at the table, he asked, "How long were you married?"

"Almost thirteen years."

"No children?"

She shook her head. "I had a fever when I was a child. I can't have children."

"Again, I'm sorry."

She touched his hand. "Don't be. I have Annie Mae and the children. They bring comfort and joy to my life."

"I'm glad to hear that."

He watched her bustle about, warming a thick vegetable stew left over from dinner. "Sorry we don't have any meat right now. Harry will go hunting tomorrow."

She spooned the stew into a bowl and set it in front of him with a roll she'd also warmed. "Eat what you can. I'll be right back."

"Thank you."

Since she'd gotten him up and he'd begun moving around, some of the pain in his body had faded, replaced by a degree of muscle stiffness he found preferable to the pain of inactivity. As he ate, some of the fuzziness cleared from his mind, though his memories remained trapped behind a dark, dense fog. First, he would work on physical recovery. Then he would worry about restoring the memories lost in his mind.

As the hollow emptiness in his stomach was filled, a weariness descended on him. He still had a way to go before his strength and stamina returned, but he'd taken the first steps.

Sarah returned as he pushed away the empty bowl. "Feel better?"

He nodded as she sat across from him. "I needed that," he said with a weary smile.

"I'm sure you did. You should go back to bed. You still need rest and it is late."

He didn't argue. "Thank you for staying up."

"It's not a problem. I don't sleep much these days anyway."

She walked with him back to the bedroom. He took off his shirt and the boots she'd given him. Making certain he was comfortable in the clean bed, she said, "I'll bring more clothes in here for you tomorrow, and put them in the dresser."

He gave her a shy smile. "Thank you, Sarah."

"You're welcome, Bobby. Sleep well."

She stopped in the doorway and looked back. He was already sleeping. She smiled and left the room.

Chapter 10: We Have A Missing Officer


Eames was sitting on the couch when Logan showed the last tech to the door. He sat on the couch beside her. "We'll find him, Alex. I promise."

"How can you be so certain, Mike? You saw the blood in that alley. Someone got the jump on him. He could be in the river by now."

Logan was quiet for a moment. "I guess it's partly my fault he got jumped. Maybe I didn't try hard enough to get him to stay at my place. But you know Bobby. He had no reservations about being in any part of town at any hour."

"He thinks he's invincible."

"Yeah, kinda. And when he's had a few too many...well, he can get careless. I'm willing to bet he said the wrong thing to the wrong mutt this time. He'll be kicking himself for letting them take his gun. We'll find him...and I'll kick his ass for scaring us like this. Okay?"

She gave him a small smile but it didn't reassure him. Rising from the couch, she walked down the hall to the bedroom, returning with a change of clothes. Logan said nothing, but he raised a curious eyebrow. She gave him another smile. "It's not what you think. Two weeks ago we got caught in a bad storm as we were finishing up at a scene. We came back here and he gave me a t-shirt to change into while my clothes dried. I got mad at him, for something stupid, and I left in his shirt and went home." She nodded at the clothes in her arms. "He had them cleaned."

Logan grinned. "I'd have given them to you at work the next day in a paper bag."

She smacked his shoulder as they headed for the door. She felt reassured having Logan there with her, believing as she did, that her partner was innocent and they would find him. She once again refused to consider how empty her life would be if Bobby was taken from it. Turning, she looked around the neat apartment once more time before closing and locking the door.

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Eames sat at the small table in Logan's apartment, dressed in one of his t-shirts, nursing a cup of coffee. His apartment wasn't as nice as Bobby's was, or as big, but to her surprise, it was neat and almost cozy. She heard movement in the hall and looked up as he emerged, hair disheveled, wearing only a pair of pajama bottoms. He caught her eye and looked down at his state of half-dress. "What? I'm decent."

She smiled. "Yes, Mike. You are."

He raised an eyebrow, confused. "You spend too much damn time with Goren. It's too damn early to play word games with me."

He went into the kitchen and rummaged around, returning with a cup of coffee and a bowl of cereal. She looked with interest into the bowl. "Frosted Flakes?"

"I need my morning shot of sugar and putting it in my coffee makes my stomach ill. You want a bowl?"

"No thanks. I'm not hungry. I take my sugar in here." She indicated the cup in front of her.

He pointed his spoon at her. "Look, Alex. Remember when I said I was going to beat your partner for scaring us?"

"Yes."

"Well, he'll beat me if I don't take care of you right. You need to eat."

She studied him for a long moment before finally conceding. Before she could get up, he waved a hand at her. "I'll get it. Frosted Flakes or Froot Loops?"

She laughed quietly. "Frosted Flakes. Thanks, Mike."

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The ride across the river was a quiet one. They were both anticipating a dead end and they were not disappointed. The Hudson County ADA they spoke with had little to offer, beyond the assertion that no one matching Goren's description had been reported at the scene of the drug deal. In particular, the man who had fired the fatal bullet with Goren's gun looked nothing like the missing detective. It was with a feeling of vindication that the two detectives returned to the squad room.

Eames stormed into Ross' office with Logan right behind her. The captain looked up. "Been to New Jersey?"

"Yes, captain. We have. We now know for certain that someone else has Goren's gun. The shooter looks nothing like Bobby."

"Which means he is either incapacitated or dead."

Eames stiffened at the words but nodded her head. "Exactly."

Ross leaned back in his chair and lost himself in thought for a few moments. When he looked back at Eames and Logan he said, "I apologize for upsetting you. But we had to know that he wasn't involved." He lifted a folder from his desk, dropping it back as he said, "The blood on the wallet matched the blood on the badge, and it's a type match for Goren."

"Did they find any drug residue in the blood on his wallet?"

"No. And the preliminary report is in from his apartment. They turned up nothing."

Eames crossed her arms over her chest and waited. "So what are you thinking now?"

"That you were right and something bad happened to your partner. So now we have a missing officer. Let's find him."

Eames didn't move and she didn't take her steady gaze from the captain's face. Ross sighed wearily. "Eames, I'm sorry for playing devil's advocate. But I knew you would back him regardless of what the evidence showed. I wanted you to look at the big picture. Good cops have gone bad before."

"Not Goren. Captain, you don't understand. I know him. He has had a hard life and the last year was hell for both of us, but Logan is exactly right. He is on his way back from a dark place, and things are looking up for him. He is feeling good about his life now. He wouldn't take a sudden turn like that. Something happened to him, and we are going to find out what."

"Just keep me informed," the captain said, no longer inclined to argue with her. He was worried about his missing detective, and so far, everything he was seeing in the evidence they turned up left a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. Like Logan, Goren was sometimes difficult, but both mavericks got good results. Granted, Goren was less inclined toward physical aggression, and sometimes that made Logan a bigger headache. He was finding lately that Goren's psychological tactics, while unconventional, were often amusing and always effective. He was surprised to find that he didn't want to lose his star detective, no matter how much of a headache he proved to be.

The two detectives left the office and headed toward Eames' desk. Logan dropped into Goren's chair. "News flash: we have a missing officer."

Eames leaned back in her chair. "He wouldn't just not come in to work, Mike. He hasn't called anyone. He hasn't been taken to any area hospitals. He hasn't been to his apartment. He has to be somewhere..."

"We know he was in that alley, and that he got hurt there. This may not be the brightest suggestion in the world, but I think we should start with the alley. Let's see if we can get some information from the guys that hang out there."

Eames stared at him. "You and Goren are two peas in a pod. Are you serious?"

"You want to find him? We need to talk to the people who saw him last. His trail ends at that alley. So that's where we start."

Slowly she nodded. "Okay, then. We go and talk to the drug addicts who beat the crap out of my six-foot-four partner. Good plan, Logan."

"Come on. I'll take care of you." She raised an eyebrow at him and he gave her a grin. "Your partner will pound the ever-lovin' crap out of me if I don't."

Her face relaxed into a brief smile and she sighed. "As long as we have back-up standing by."

"Of course."

But she could tell that thought hadn't crossed his mind. "You guys would be lost without me," she grumbled as she got up from her desk and headed for the elevators.

Another grin. "You know it, baby."

When he joined her at the elevator, she smacked his shoulder. "I'm not your baby."

"You prefer 'doll' or 'honey'? You said I couldn't call you sweetheart..."

"Use my name, Logan. That's why I have one."

Following her into the elevator, he said, "Okay, dear...Ow!"

The elevator doors closed as he laughed.

Chapter 11: Up and About

When he woke the next morning, he was alone in the room. With care, he sat up and took stock of his pain. It was constant, but not unbearable. Slowly, he got up and crossed to the dresser. As she had promised, Sarah had filled the drawers with clothes for him: trousers made of wool or cotton, a few of heavier denim, and mostly cotton shirts. Set on top of the dresser were two sporting caps, one brown and one black, and a brown slouch hat. In the top drawer he found socks and unionsuits. As he pulled out clothes for the day, he again searched his memory for some reasonable explanation for why he felt so...out of sorts. It had nothing to do with his injuries, which were healing. He simply felt an overwhelming restlessness, a sense that something was fundamentally wrong with him, though he had no clue what it could be.

He sat at the foot of the bed and studied the washstand that sat in the corner of the room for a moment. There was a washcloth and towel hanging off the rack on its side and fresh water in a pitcher to the left of the basin. A small bar of soap was sitting in a dish near the basin. Sitting alongside the basin was a shaving cup with shaving soap inside it alongside a shaving brush and a straight razor, a toothbrush with a small container of toothpowder, and a comb. Moving slowly and carefully, he half-dressed then washed and shaved. Carefully pulling on a shirt, he left the bedroom.

The parlor and the kitchen were empty. He went outside, finding his way to the outhouse and back without difficulty. He stopped at the pump to wash up again and get a drink of water. Wearily, he made his way back to the house, opening the door and stepping into the kitchen.

Sarah was alone in the kitchen. When she turned from the stove and saw him coming through the door, her face brightened. "Look at you," she said with approval. "You must be feeling better."

"I can get around. Thank you...for the clothes and things."

"You're welcome. Sit down and I'll fix you something to eat. How does oatmeal sound?"

"I'll try it."

"The soup I gave you last night didn't upset your stomach, did it?"

"No."

"Then you should be able to handle the oatmeal."

"Uh, where is everyone?"

"Harry is working in the barn and Abbie went with Annie Mae into town."

He nodded and propped his head on a hand, not feeling so well. Sarah crossed to the table while the oatmeal cooked and sat beside him. "Bobby?"

He nodded. "I-I'm all right."

She reached a tentative hand toward him, resting it against his forehead, where beads of sweat had broken out. She was relieved to find that the fever had not returned. He closed his eyes when her fingers touched his forehead. "You need to take it easy," she said as she withdrew her hand.

A brief smile touched his lips. "I haven't done anything. I shouldn't have to recover from getting dressed and shaving."

She returned his smile. "Your strength will return," she promised. "Don't push it."

"I don't want to be a burden to your family. I-I'll earn my keep..."

"We'll discuss that later. There are lots of things you can do around here to help Harry. But you need to recover first."

She returned to the stove and he watched her attend to his breakfast. There was nothing remarkable about her. But he was drawn to the sorrow that seemed to weigh her down and the kindness that shone through that sorrow. "S-so where is Annie's husband?"

"We aren't exactly sure. He's fighting with the Army of Northern Virginia. We haven't heard from him since Fredericksburg in December. It's so hard to get any news from the south."

He looked confused. "Um...what's today's date?"

"May 3."

He swallowed. "An-and the year?"

She set a bowl in front of him, along with a cup of coffee. "1863."

Somehow, that just didn't feel right to him. 1863? His head began to pound as he searched for exactly what was wrong with the date. He pressed his hand to a throbbing temple, and Sarah bustled about, returning to the table to press a glass into his hand. "Here," she whispered.

Her hand was cool against his forehead, gently brushing his hair back. Her other hand rested on his arm and she watched as he downed the contents of the glass she'd given him. He rubbed his temples as she continued to caress his forehead. Gradually the pain began to subside and he no longer felt like vomiting. "I-I'm sorry..." he managed.

"Shh. Don't apologize. You were badly hurt. You can't expect to recover overnight. It will take time."

He had little patience for being at less than his best, and he wasn't certain just why. He couldn't remember how he'd come to be injured, or whether he had been at fault or not, but he hated how easily he fatigued and how readily pain cropped up to take him down. On the other hand, he wasn't about to chase Sarah away. She had a gentle hand and soothing touch. The slamming pain in his head was subsiding and he could feel his body begin to relax.

He offered no resistance as Sarah coaxed him to his feet and gently steered him back to his room. He laid back on the bed and a familiar fog drew in around him, followed by a darkness he could not chase away.

Sarah watched him for a moment as his breathing became even and deepened. She gently pulled off his boots and drew a sheet over him before she left him to sleep.

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He wasn't sure how