Chapter 1: A New Case

Danny Ross sat at his desk, staring at the notes on the pad in front of him. Angelo Moretti...Andy... There was a name he hadn't heard in a long time, not since the divorce. He wondered how difficult this was going to be.

Rising to his feet, he went to the door and motioned to Eames, who was bored and looking his way, probably hoping for a case. Be careful what you wish for, he thought. "Your partner, too," he called, returning to his desk.

When Eames was seated in front of him, with Goren lingering in the background as he usually did, he said, "We have a detective from Queens coming in with a new case he's going to work with the two of you. Orders from upstairs. His name is Andy Moretti. He's a ten year vet, but he's only been a homicide detective for a year-and-a-half. He's a detective second grade with a good head on his shoulders. Be nice to him."

Neither detective showed any reaction to the news, so he went on. "Moretti caught a case, a young woman strangled in a one bedroom walk-up in Ridgewood. This kid's sharp, and he remembered a similar case sometime last year, so he went looking. He found another one from Queens, in Bayside, and three more: two in the Bronx and one in Manhattan, all in the last eighteen months. The casefiles are on their way from their prospective precincts. Any questions?"

When neither detective spoke, he gave them a curt nod and turned to his desk, indicating he was done. They left the office and returned to their desks. Eames watched her partner, waiting for him to speak, but when he said nothing, she spoke up. "Well?"

He looked up from his open binder. "'Well' what?"

"What do you think?"

"I'll let you know after we look through the files."

"Not about the case. About Moretti."

He shrugged. "I don't know. If Ross wants him to follow us around, that's fine, I guess."

She frowned when he turned back to his binder. She was worried about him. Since his brother's funeral, he'd been even more withdrawn than usual, and she wondered if Gage had anything to do with it. So she went fishing. "You've been to see Gage," she said, stating it as a fact rather than a question.

He looked surprised. "Uh...yes."

"Why, Bobby? Hasn't he done enough harm?"

He was quiet, fiddling with the pen in his hands. "I need...information from him."

"Information?" Before she could ask what information Gage could possibly have that he wanted, a flash of insight gave her the answer. "Wallace," she said, her voice as full of venom as it was when she spoke Gage's name. "Can't you let her go? She's dead."

He had come to accept that. What he struggled with was the cascade of emotion that came with that acceptance. He had no idea how to even start discussing it with Eames. How would she react if she knew he stayed in the squad room late at night, replaying the Wallace interview tapes? What would she say if she knew he was trying to get Gage to tell him where her body was, so he could give her a proper burial, something he knew Gage had not provided for her? She wouldn't understand. He knew she wouldn't, and he didn't want to fight with her any more. He closed his binder, rose and walked away.

She watched him go and made no move to follow him. She was tired of chasing after him. She remained at her desk and clenched her fists in frustration.

Goren returned to the squad room within the hour and placed a cup of hot coffee from the coffee shop down the street on the desk in front of her. She looked up at him and her anger melted away. With a sigh of resignation, she wrapped her hands around the cup. "Can't you just let her go?"

He eased himself into his chair and answered, "It's not about that. It's about...closure. About finally saying goodbye and knowing that's it. It's about..." He closed his eyes for a moment. Then, he opened them and said softly, "Resolution."

She met his eyes and held his gaze. "It's about knowing beyond all doubt that it's finally over," she said gently.

"Yes...and letting myself grieve over it."

"Over her."

Again, he nodded. "Then I'll be able to let her go, once and for all."

She sighed. She didn't understand, but she accepted what he needed. She had never understood his relationship with Wallace. Eames knew that her psychopathology fascinated him, but she also knew there was more to it than that. Had circumstances been different, had Bobby been a criminal instead of a cop, she had no doubt that he would have been the one partner, the one lover, Wallace would never have disposed of. "Let me know if I can help," she offered finally.

He relaxed. "Thank you, Eames."
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Just before lunch, a young man approached their desks. "Detectives Goren and Eames?"

"Yes," Eames answered.

"I'm Andy Moretti."

He was tall and thin, his dark hair cropped close to his head. He had dark eyes that smiled even when he didn't and a midrange suit that fit him as though it had been made for him. What drew Eames' eye, and made Goren smile, was the fact that his tie was adorned by Mickey Mouse. He noticed their surprise and amusement, and he grinned a little sheepishly. "It was a gift from my nephew."

Eames held out her hand. "I'm Alex Eames," she said. "This is my partner, Bobby Goren."

Moretti shook his hand, studying him intently with a wary expression. He pulled a couple of folders from under his arm. "I, uh, I brought the files for the two Queens cases with me...crime scene photos, reports, everything we have."

"Good," Eames answered, sounding annoyed. "Let's take it to a conference room."

As they walked across the squad room, Eames stepped to Moretti's side and leaned close, speaking softly but sharply. "You'll get along with us a lot better if you don't treat my partner like a circus freak."

Embarrassed, Moretti looked at the ground. Like most of the department, he'd heard the rumors about the renegade detective from Major Case, how it was only a matter of time before the guy snapped. That made him a bit uneasy at the prospect of working with him and his partner. Of course, he'd also heard the rumors about him and Eames. As long as Eames was around, Goren would be all right. He'd made up his mind to decide for himself, but he was still nervous, and he must have showed it.

"Sorry," he muttered.

Goren opened the conference room door and watched Moretti enter the room. As Eames stepped to the doorway, he leaned toward her and whispered, "Circus freak?"

She turned her head to look at him, surprised and mildly embarrassed that he'd heard. "It was the first thing that came to mind."

"I see."

He smiled, amused, and she elbowed him in the stomach as she moved past him. He laughed quietly, closing the door behind him.

They set up the conference room, knowing more cases would arrive in the morning. Goren pinned the crime scene photos to the wall, grouping them by case. Then he studied them while Eames spread out the reports. Moretti leaned toward her and asked, "What's he doing?"

"He's thinking," she replied.

"He can hear you," Goren muttered absently.

Eames smiled. He was having fun with the nervous detective who had absolutely no idea what to make of him. She shifted two reports and said, "You get used to him."

Goren looked over his shoulder at her. "Is that what you tell people now?"

"I can think of worse things to say," she said.

"No, that's all right."

He turned back to the photos to hide the small smile on his face.

Eames watched him lose himself in the photos and she knew she would never get him away for lunch. "Pizza or Chinese?" she asked.

"It's your turn to decide," he replied absently, reaching out to touch a photo of one of the victims.

"Pizza, then," she decided. "You're buying."

"Pepperoni and mushroom," he answered without missing a beat.

"Got it. Come on, Moretti."

Moretti did not hesitate to follow Eames from the room.

Ross approached as Eames sat at her desk, ordering their lunch. "Andy," he said.

Moretti turned. "Danny," he responded with a smile. "Long time, no see."

The men shook hands. "Any problems?"

"Not at all."

Eames looked up, surprised by the familiarity between the two men. She covered the receiver and said, "He doesn't know what to make of Goren."

Ross laughed. "Neither did I for awhile."

Moretti grinned, then said, "The boys told me you're doing well. Jeremy and I went fishing last weekend when Sean went on that camping trip with his scout troop. He said you were tied up."

"This squad keeps me busy. I'll pick them up this weekend."

"Good. They wish they saw more of you."

"It's a mutual feeling." He clapped his hand on Moretti's shoulder. "Let me know if you have any problems, Andy."

He gave Eames a knowing look and walked away. Eames set the phone in its cradle and looked at Moretti curiously. "You know the captain?"

"Uh, yeah. He didn't tell you? His ex-wife is my sister."

"No. That little tidbit kind of escaped him."

Goren was going to love this. She stood up and called to one of the other detectives. "Ethan, pizza's ours when it gets here. We're in conference 2."

"You got it, Alex."

Moretti followed her back to the conference room.

Goren was sitting by the table, his hand against his mouth, studying the pictures.

"Forty minutes," Eames said as they reentered the room.

He nodded, then pointed to the pictures."What did the ME in Queens say about these marks on their abdomens?"

Eames shuffled through the reports. "Uhm, they're burns."

"That's it?"

"That's it...except that they're postmortem and they appear to be letters."

"We need Rodgers to look at these bodies."

Moretti commented, "The first one has already been buried."

Goren looked at him. "So we unbury her."

"Doesn't that take a court order?"

"Yes."

"So who gets the court order?"

Eames was surprised at her partner's patience as he answered, "We call our ADA and she gets the order. Rodgers gets the body and we get the report."

Eames added, "Unless he wants a playdate with the ME."

Moretti looked uncomfortable. "Then what?"

"Then we get to watch my partner poke and prod a body." Eames could swear the newcomer lost a few shades of color. "You have worked homicides, haven't you?"

"Well, yeah...but my partner takes the lead. I don't have to, uh, interact with the victims. I get to process the scene. You know, talk to folks who are still breathing."

Goren was back at the pictures, studying the burn marks on the victims' abdomens, but he murmured, "They don't have nearly as much to say."

Moretti looked confused. "The dead don't talk."

"No, but they speak volumes." He leaned in close to one of the pictures. "Eames?"

She stepped up to his side and followed the path of his fingers over the marks. "R-I-P."

"Initials?" Moretti offered, eager to be an active part of the team.

"Maybe," Goren answered vaguely.

He sat down again, thinking. Suddenly, he cocked his head and returned to the pictures, looking closely at one victim, then the other. Returning to the table, he shuffled through the reports, pulling out the ones he wanted. "Here, Eames. There was a mark on each woman's hand, and another on her arm, near the elbow. They're identified as burns."

She waited, knowing there was more, a greater significance that he was getting to. "They're not burns?" she offered.

"No, they are burns...electrical burns." He shuffled through the papers again. "I really need Rogers to look at these victims. These woman were electrocuted, either just before or just after they were strangled."

"Overkill?"

"I don't think so. I think he was experimenting, with euthanasia."

"He was looking for a humane way to murder? That's a new one."

Goren grabbed his binder and began to write.

a serial murder case.....something I am really looking forward to reading!
Great job you two....where's the next chapter???

Just for you Goddess

Chapter 2: Unwelcome News

Eames watched her partner spin in circles all afternoon, moving from the reports to the pictures and back, trying to tie everything together and make sense of it. She knew a fledgling profile was beginning to take root in his mind, and he would share it when he was ready.

Moretti finished a slice of cold pizza and watched Goren pick up a report and wander away from the table, leaning close to examine something on one of the pictures. Goren brought up the report in his hand, and looked from it to the picture and back before shaking his head. Eames seemed to pay her partner no mind, forming her own set of opinions about each scene and its victim.

Moretti leaned toward her. "Is there anything I can do?"

She shook her head. "Not right now. These are the preliminaries. My partner is going to be lost in his head while he tries to bring everything together in his mind."

"How long will that take?"

Moretti was surprised when Goren answered, "As long as it takes."

Goren walked to the table and glanced at his watch. "I, um, I need to go. Before I can do much else, I have to have Rodgers' input, anyway."

Eames studied him. There had to be a very strong pull from something to draw him away from the evidence of a new case. "You're going to see Gage," she stated. When he nodded reluctantly, she swallowed the emotions that flared at his admission. "Bobby..."

"Eames..."

With a slow, sad shake of her head, she waved her hand at him. "I'll see you in the morning."

Once Goren was gone from the room, Moretti asked, "Is there a problem?"

"No. No problem," she replied, but she could not hide her concern.

"He's not doing something he shouldn't, is he?"

"That depends on what you mean by that. Is he doing something wrong? No. Is he doing something I wish he wouldn't? Yes. He is. You can head on home, Moretti. We'll see you in the morning."

Moretti hesitated, on the verge of asking another question, but he changed his mind and moved away from the table. "All right. Good night, Detective Eames."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When Eames arrived at the squad room the next morning, she knew that her partner was already there. His portfolio was in the middle of his desk with his tie, his suit jacket draped over the back of his chair. What she couldn't tell was how long he had been there.

She found him in one of the AV screening rooms, still dressed in the clothes he'd been wearing the day before. Leaning back in a chair with his feet propped up, he was sleeping. The video remote was resting in his lap but the screen was blue.

She took the remote and pressed 'play', not surprised when their first interrogation with Nicole Wallace came onto the screen. "How old were you when you first learned that your mommy wasn't like all the other mommies?"

She hit 'stop' and turned off the monitor. Turning to look at her sleeping partner, she sadly reflected that, even though she was dead, Nicole Wallace had not yet released her grip on Goren. She tossed the remote onto the cart and softly kicked her partner's chair. "Bobby, wake up."

She tried to keep her irritation from her tone but she was not entirely successful. He shifted and dropped his feet to the floor, rubbing his eyes. "Eames?" Then he realized that she knew what he'd been doing all night. "Uh, Eames...I...uhm..."

"Forget it, Goren." She shook her head trying to shake off her frustration. "Do you have a clean suit in your locker?"

"Uh, yes..."

"Go shower and change before Ross gets here."

"Eames..." He wanted to explain.

She shook her head. "Nothing you could possibly say will explain this to me, Bobby, so don't waste your breath. Just go get changed."

She left the room and he sat forward, scrubbing his face with his hands. Damn. He shuffled off to the locker room.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When Goren returned from the locker room, he found Eames and Moretti in the conference room. They were pouring over the contents of one of three folders in front of them. "Are those the other cases?" he asked.

Eames held out a folder to him as Moretti answered, "Yeah. They just got here."

He glanced at his partner as he sat down with the file. She didn't look up. With a soft sigh of frustration, he flipped the folder open and pulled out the crime scene photos. He always started with the pictures, to get a feel for the case and form his own opinion about what happened before he read the interpretations of others.

While he was busy tacking up the photos from the three cases, Eames left the room to take a call from the ME. When she returned, Goren was still engrossed in the photos. He looked up. "She get both victims?"

"Yes. Let's just say we're not flavor of the month with her today."

He turned and shuffled the reports on the table into their respective folders and said, "Let's go have a look."

Eames followed him out of the conference room with Moretti close behind her. "Are you sure you want to do this?" she asked Goren as he walked away from her toward the elevators, recalling his last encounter with Rodgers, after she'd told Ross about his DNA paternity request.

"This is work," he replied, his voice tight as he jabbed the 'down' button on the wall.

Eames let it go, knowing it would not take much to irritate him this morning. He had to be stiff from sleeping in that chair, but she refused to feel bad for him. She could feel him slipping sideways. She could not understand his need to see Gage; she could not get her head around his inability to let go of Wallace. He didn't seem to have the same trouble laying Frank to rest.

Who are you going to miss more: your brother or Nicole? It occurred to her that he had never answered Gage's question, and she was afraid she knew the answer.

Glancing toward him as they stepped into the elevator, she wondered why his obsession with Wallace bothered her so much. Why? Because she had been there for every encounter. She had seen his initial attraction to the intelligent and articulate professor, an attraction that morphed into a morbid fascination but nonetheless remained as a tie between them. She had seen first hand what Wallace did to him, how she took a piece of him with her after every encounter, and the thing between them became like a noose around his neck. Gage had ended it all, or so he thought. Eames wondered if Gage had not simply tightened the noose.

She was drawn from her thoughts when he moved away from her half a second before the elevator doors opened and they entered the domain of the medical examiner.

While Eames dealt with the pleasantries, Goren stepped up to the freshly exhumed body of the first victim and bent close to examine her right arm and elbow. Then he moved to the more recent victim, repeating his examination.

"Excuse me, detective," Elizabeth Rodgers followed him and inserted herself between the big detective and the body on the slab. She cut him a sideways glare silently warning him to stop touching the deceased.

"This, right here..." Goren reached out his left hand as if to touch the victim's elbow. "This burn mark…"

"Detective, I have eyes," Rodgers intercepted Goren's outstretched hand by changing her position in front of him. "And, if you give me a chance I will use them and send you my report. These bodies have just arrived, so give me a chance to do my job."

She remained standing between Goren and the dead victim on the exam table. Moretti stood in the doorway, trying to breathe in some of the fresh air from the hallway. The exam room was close, and with Goren's hulking frame fighting Rodgers for space, Moretti rationalized that he probably did not need to be leaning over the body as well...not that he had a burning desire to lean over any dead body. Eames lingered in the far corner. He wondered if that was her usual spot. She was casually watching the familiar exchange between Goren and Rodgers.

"Before or after the strangulation?" Goren voiced his question.

"Give me a chance to look at it, will you, Goren?" Rodgers made no attempt to hide her irritation. "But my first impression, based on the appearance of the wounds, would be that it is a premortem burn. The amount of electrical current that would cause wounds like these," Rodgers gestured to the hand and the wound near the elbow, "would stun the victim into near unconsciousness."

"Why stun them first, and then strangle them?" Moretti asked. Goren shook his head almost imperceptibly. Moretti had unintentionally interrupted the flow of the examination. Eames remained quiet, and pinned Moretti with a look suggesting he do the same.

She was relieved to see that Rodgers did not seem to be holding any sort of grudge against her partner, after what had happened between them following his brother's death and the murder of Nicole Wallace. Goren could be an intimidating man, but the fury he'd set loose on the medical examiner after Ross confronted him about his paternity had shaken Rodgers. To see her handle him with the same annoyed confidence she always had was reassuring.

Goren snapped off his gloves and started toward the door. He didn't say anything further to Rodgers; he was lost in his own thoughts and simply pushed quietly past Moretti.

"Thanks," Eames paused for a moment by the exam table and quietly spoke with Rodgers. "We still need to grab that cup of coffee," she offered, referring to her promise the week before of treating the ME to coffee.

"Any time, detective." Rodgers replied, and even though she allowed herself a small smile, her eyes never left the victim on the table. Just like Goren, Rodgers was lost in thought, connecting patterns of evidence across the victims. "I'll get back to you ASAP," she muttered.

"Thanks, Liz," Eames said, hoping Rodgers would understand the underlying meaning of her gratitude.

"You were friendly with her," Moretti observed as he walked with Eames down the hallway.

"We are friends," Eames allowed, then added, "It never hurts to be friendly, Moretti."

Sometimes Goren could get so consumed in the evidence he could lose track of that. As she followed her partner down the hall, she wondered if Goren and Rodgers had talked about what had happened between them. This case was about to bring them full force together again. Eames wondered if it would be enough to precipitate their addressing what had happened.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He grabbed her up out of the chair by her shoulders and slammed her backward across the table. She was crying and trembling. He could see the bruise across her cheek darkening from where she had made him strike her earlier.

He leaned his weight over top of her, his hands pressing down on her shoulders, his face very close to hers.

"Open your eyes," his voice betrayed him, he sounded weak, boyish, almost begging. She kept her face turned away, her eyes clenched closed. He needed to see her eyes. He leaned on her harder, feeling the bones in her shoulders against the palms of his hands. "Open your eyes," he commanded, his voice now full of anger and strength.

He shifted one of his hands onto her chin and forcefully moved her face to his. He applied pressure to her jaw and finally, slowly, she opened her eyes. They were watery with her tears, dilated with fear. But, they were perfect, in color, in shape, with their dark lashes.

For a moment he was lost, looking into her eyes. But then she started to squirm, to try to twist away from him. He let go of her face and she snapped her eyes shut and turned back away from him. He reached over and threw a switch, grabbing two cords, sending the electrical current into her left arm. He watched her jerk and shudder and collapse still against the table. He threw the switch back off and set the cords aside.

Standing over her, he continued to watch her. Slowly he unbuttoned her blouse, baring her torso. And, there it was, breathing, she was still breathing, just as he knew she would be. He reached out with his hands, around her neck. He could feel her heart beating in her carotid. Her life in his hands. He would release that life, just a bit of pressure, and he would send her to be with the angels. It was mercy, really. He was sending her to a better place. He wrapped the electrical cord around her neck and watched her slip away.

When he was done he pulled out his switchblade, his father's switchblade, and held it over a flame until the blade was so hot he could feel the burn of the conducted heat on the handle of the knife in the palm of his hand. He swiftly branded his mark over her womb, took his trophy, and left her body there on the table. He had already set her soul free, he would dispose of the body later.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ross slammed down his phone and massaged both temples. It always rubbed him the wrong way when Moran used him as a convenient target for an anger he could not express any other way. A dull headache pounded behind his eyes. His detectives had accepted working with Moretti without a fuss, but Moretti was one of their own. This was very different and it was not going to go over well with them. He didn't know whose reaction he dreaded more: Goren's or Eames'.

Wearily, he got to his feet and walked toward the conference room, dreading every step. Entering the room, he looked around at the pictures on the wall, the reports scattered across the table. Eames was reading a report; Goren was studying the pictures on the wall. Moretti was studying Goren. Ross almost smiled. Goren definitely took some getting used to.

When he cleared his throat, all three detectives looked his way. "I have news for you, and you're not going to like it," he announced to the three of them. "Your little party here is about to get more crowded."

Suspicious, Eames asked, "What do you mean?"

"I mean the dots have been connected and the Feds have a picture of a serial killer who has been at large for at least a decade. His MO matches yours to a T. They have victims in every state from Maine to New Jersey. Since the New York office has caught the case, their agents are going to join your investigation."

"No..." Goren groaned.

"I'm afraid so. The FBI wants your case but the chief refuses to relinquish it. Expect Agents Nugent and Malicek in the morning. Sorry, detectives, but at least you get to keep your case."

He turned and left the room. Goren and Eames exchanged looks. Moretti asked, "Is this a problem?"

Eames answered, "This could become a turf war. It all depends on how receptive the agents are to working with us. Some investigators get very territorial and they resent any interference from anyone."

Goren added, "The Bureau has not been very cooperative with us in the past. I don't expect much to have changed."

Moretti looked at the partners. "What about you guys? Where do you fall on the spectrum?"

Goren shrugged. "I don't care, as long as they are concerned with solving the case."

Eames elaborated, "Our only concern is with solving the case and finding justice for the victims, closure for the families. We don't care who helps us do that or who gets the credit for it."

Losing interest in the conversation, Goren turned his attention back to the pictures on the wall. As he looked from one victim to the next, a single question echoed through his head. Who did this to you?

Ahhh, the plot thickens......nice to see the interaction between Goren and Rodgers, makes me want to see Season 8 even more.
I'm interested in everything with this story......how will the FBI be to work with? Will Gage finally give up the location of Nicole's body? Inquiring minds want to know!

Chapter 3: The Teams Meet

The five files were spread out on the table; two walls were covered with crimes scene and autopsy photos. Goren was methodically studying the photos and mentally comparing the images to what he had read in the reports. Eames and Moretti sat together at a large table, trying to keep pace with Goren by reading the details of the crime scene reports. There were definitely more similarities than differences among the scenes.

Reaching out as if to touch an image of one of the victims, Goren asked, "Do you think we could get three more exhumation orders?"

Eames raised her eyebrows. "You can't be serious."

"Unfortunately, I am."

"Please tell me this isn't your way of getting back at Rodgers." Eames rubbed her temples a bit with her forefingers. When he scowled at her, she smiled and said, "Sorry. Bad joke. I'll go make a phone call."

"Thank you, Eames."

She pointed a finger at him. "If Kent starts playing twenty questions, I'm coming back in here to get you."

He shrugged. "Sorry. I didn't take these pictures and neither did our guys. I really need to see the bodies, and I'd feel better if Rodgers had a look at them as well."

She sighed and pushed herself off from the table as she stood. He watched her leave the room before turning back to the pictures. Moretti approached him cautiously. "Uh, do you mind if I ask you something?"

Goren raised his head to look at the man, who shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny. Moretti was a lot more comfortable with Eames. Goren tried to lighten his tone, "Go ahead - ask."

"I was just wondering how a body exhumed after a year and a half could tell you more than photos that were taken at a fresh crime scene." Moretti watched Goren step back from the photos to provide a better view as he pointed at several of the photos from the first two crime scenes.

"The shots that were taken of the victims' arms, there....and there... are not clear enough to distinguish the lesions. These may be burn marks like the other victims, but it's impossible to tell, and the autopsy reports give them only a passing mention. That's not good enough. If the bodies were properly embalmed, Rodgers will be able to tell what's there and what's not."

Moretti walked back to the table with purpose in his steps and began shuffling through the cases. "None of these vics were ID'd, detective. They'd have been buried as Jane Does. There's no telling what kind of job the morticians did on them, but I know that a lot of them put minimal effort into public cases that the city pushes off on them."

He didn't like the dark look that settled on Goren's face, though he had to realize the truth in what he said. But whether he did or didn't, Goren said no more as he turned back to the pictures. Moretti didn't know what to make of his reaction so he didn't say anything more.

Eames returned to the room fifteen minutes later, and she pointed at her partner when he looked at her. "You owe me, Goren," she said. "I had to do a whole song and dance routine to get Kent to agree to seek the order for three more exhumations. And I think I'll let you break the news to Rodgers. She still likes me."

"Don't let her fool you, Eames. She likes the challenge."

"I think she's busy enough without your challenges, Bobby."

He shrugged and tapped a finger on the closest picture. "I need to see these victims," he insisted.

She gave him a smile. "I have no doubt that you do. We should have the order by the end of the day and a not-so-happy ME in the morning." She picked up a file and added in an offhand manner, "I'd wear my vest to the morgue tomorrow if I were you."

Goren smiled before he turned his attention back to the pictures. Even though he seemed frustrated because many of the pictures were not up to the quality he was used to, Eames was glad to see the smile. She sat down with the file she had been working with and Moretti joined her. The fourth time he glanced toward Goren, Eames asked, "Do you have a problem, Moretti?"

Moretti shook his head and forced his attention to the file in front of him. From the far side of the room, Goren said, "Go ahead and tell her."

Moretti shrugged. "I just pointed out that these vics are still unidentified. The morticians who got stuck with them might not have done a bang-up job on the bodies before they were interred. John and Jane Does don't get A-list treatment." He looked toward Goren again. "I, uh, I'm not sure what to make of your partner's reaction."

"So ask him."

Looking over at Moretti, Goren spared him the stress of trying to figure out how to phrase his question. "You really can't believe all the things you hear, Moretti." He waved his hand at the pictures on the wall. "I know how the morticians are about bodies destined for Potter's Field. But these women met an untimely and violent end. They may not have lived on Park Avenue or frequented Lincoln Center and the Met, but they were important to somebody. Somebody loved them, and they deserve justice. Their families deserve to know what happened to them. But more than that, they deserve to be treated with respect, identified or not."

Moretti nodded his agreement. "You'll get no argument from me there, detective. I just told you how it is. I never meant to convey any sort of agreement with the practice."

Goren's expression changed, his voice softened. "My anger wasn't directed toward you. I'm sorry if I unsettled you."

Moretti watched Goren return to his scrutiny of the pictures, but there was a shift in his thoughts and opinions where Goren was concerned. He was getting a very different picture of the rogue detective than the ones painted by the rumor mill.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Just before lunch, Eames closed the folder on the table in front of her. "All right, Bobby, what do you have?"

Sitting across the table from her, reports scattered around the table in front of him, Goren looked up. He blinked a couple of times, caught off guard by her question. "Uh, what?"

"I know you've got some kind of preliminary profile in mind and some sort of opinion about these crimes. It's time to share with the class." Eames watched him quietly, letting him organize his thoughts.

"Uh, he's careful. He hasn't left behind any trace. The victims have no defensive wounds. The only sign that they put up a struggle is the depth and width of the ligature marks on their wrists and ankles."

"This wasn't a power thing," she observed. "He didn't rape them."

"No. He...idolizes them, worships them. He won't...defile them."

"And yet he burns his initials in them. Signing his work?"

He shook his head slowly. "No. I don't get that kind of sense of arrogance from him. I think...there's a deeper meaning to the letters. An expression of regret, maybe."

"A reluctant killer who kills with mercy and regret?"

He shrugged. "I don't know. I'm still trying to get a handle on him."

She left him alone about the profile after that and sent Moretti to pick up sandwiches for their lunch. While he was gone, she addressed her partner again. "There's an interesting little fact about Moretti that you should probably know."

Goren didn't look up. "Oh? What's that?"

"He's the captain's ex-brother-in-law."

That made him look up at her, his face filled with interest instead of the wary apprehension Eames expected. "Really?"

"That's all you have to say?"

He shrugged. "What? I like him. That 'interesting little fact' doesn't change what I think. I still don't have a problem with him working with us."

She smiled. "I'm glad to hear that. I like him, too."

He returned her smile and resumed his study of the reports in front of him.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Eames arrived a few minutes early the next morning, not surprised to find Goren's leather portfolio in the middle of his desk. He was nowhere to be seen. After checking the AV screening room and the conference room, she figured he'd spent the night in the squad room again and was trying to get changed before she came in and realized it. Shaking her head sadly, she went in search of a morning cup of coffee.

Goren found Eames and Moretti in the conference room when he returned to the squad room. They looked up when he came into the room. "You look tired, detective," Moretti observed.

"Another long night?" Eames asked.

"All my nights are long ones," he replied. "Uh, any word from Rodgers yet?"

"Don't worry, Bobby. I'm sure the windows will rattle when she finds out what we've arranged for her."

Goren managed a brief smile at her use of the pronoun 'we'. She let out her frustration on a soft sigh and asked, "Have you had your coffee yet?"

He shook his head. "No. Not yet."

"I suggest you get at least one cup on board before that FBI team gets here."

Moretti snorted. "If what you guys say is true, I think we'll be needing something a lot stronger than coffee before they get here."

Goren laughed. "Good point. How do you take your coffee, Moretti?"

"Black, thanks."

Goren left the conference room and Moretti looked at Eames. "You seem annoyed at him."

She shook her head. "It's nothing. We're coping with the repercussions of a recent case, that's all."

Moretti looked confused. "A case that's closed or unresolved?"

"Both. It's complicated."

She waved a hand dismissively and Moretti let his questions remain unasked. Goren returned with three coffee cups. Setting one in front of Eames, he handed another to Moretti. Walking to the far end of the table, he sat down and turned toward the pictures.

Eames recognized his frustrated restlessness. It cropped up every time his attention was divided. She'd seen it at its worst during the last months of his mother's life. Now, she knew, it was Wallace who kept his full attention from the case, and he was struggling with that. He needed closure, and she hated Gage even more for stringing him along. She could still feel him slipping away and she didn't know how to stop him.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Mid-morning, the three detectives looked up from their work when the conference room door opened. Ross entered, followed by two people, a man and a woman, each carrying a cardboard file box, which they set on the closest edge of the table. "Agents Malicek and Nugent, Detectives Eames, Goren and Moretti."

The male agent stepped forward and extended his hand. "Jeff Nugent," he said, shaking each detective's hand. He was of medium height, well-tanned and muscular. He had sandy hair, neatly trimmed, and intense, gray eyes. From his open manner, the detectives got the impression he would be easy to work with. Nugent motioned toward the other agent. "This is my partner, Corrie Malicek."

Goren lowered himself back into his chair after shaking Nugent's hand and shifted his attention to Malicek. She remained where she was, nodding her greeting. She was tall, with dark hair that she wore pulled back and away from her face. She minimized her femininity with a carefully tailored suit. She did not look at the other detectives in the room. Her eyes were focused on the board of photographs. Goren watched her expression change from carefully neutral to scowling. She stepped forward, drawn by the images of the victims, by the photographs of the scenes and the evidence. Goren noted that her left hand was slightly outstretched, as if she was mentally rearranging his meticulously constructed display. When she became aware of his scrutiny, her scowl deepened. "Don't you have something better to do, detective?"

"Not right this moment, no."

"Find something," she snapped as she continued to examine the photographs .

His eyebrows arched a little and he looked at Eames, who was frowning. He could tell she was on the verge of speaking and he gave his head a slight shake. Reluctantly, Eames held her tongue.

Ross watched the exchange and spoke up. "I don't expect trouble from any of you. Remember we're all on the same team, working toward the same end."

He looked at each officer in turn, lingering on Goren a little longer than the rest. Then he looked again at Eames and left the room. Goren met his partner's eyes for a moment, then shifted his attention to the two agents. Goren was the first to speak. "We were told you have a couple of cases that match the MO of our cases."

Malicek moved back to the box she had carried in with her. She flipped it open. "We have nineteen cases. This guy has been in business since the spring of 1998. I want to put him out of business. What do you have?"

Goren waved a hand toward the pictures on the wall. "You just took a look at what we have. Five cases, the first dating back to last January. Our ME has the two most recent victims in the morgue. We have exhumation orders for the first three, and she's due to receive them sometime today."

Malicek rested her hands on the edges of the box in front of her. "I hope you are not expecting to exhume nineteen more bodies, detective."

Eames recognized the amusement in her partner's eyes as he replied, "Let's see how thorough the local medical examiners were, Agent Malicek."

Her hands tightened on the box. "You are not exhuming a ten-year-old corpse." She'd only been in the room for 5 minutes and she was digging in on the first thing thrown her way.

Nugent interceded, "Let's compare notes and see what we have before we make any assumption about what needs to be done. Corrie, you have the first cases in your box. Why don't you start from the beginning?"

Malicek did as her partner suggested and dug in the box for the file on the earliest case they had. Across the table, Eames took a seat near her partner, who was watching Malicek with anticipation. She didn't quite know what to make of Malicek but something told her it was going to be a very long day.

Ah....so one FBI agent comes in swinging!!
I am really liking this story.....I'm waiting for more.

We're glad you're enjoying it, Goddess :-) Chapter 4 coming!

Chapter 4: A Starting Point

The morning slid by as Malicek verbally sorted through the details of her files for the detectives. Nugent let her do the talking, only rarely interjecting a comment. Goren concentrated intently on the details of each case, polishing his fledgling profile of the killer in his mind. He was also building a profile of the two agents as he watched them interact. When one o'clock rolled around, Eames finally stood up and stretched. Malicek stopped talking and looked at her. "Am I boring you, Detective Eames?"

"Not at all, Agent Malicek, but I need to stretch my muscles and if I don't take a break, something is going to pop. I promise you, it won't be pretty." Eames' double entendre was not lost on Goren. Not only was she headed to the rest room, but her patience with Malicek was probably running pretty thin. As he leaned back in his chair to stretch his back, he laughed quietly to himself. He glanced at Eames and gave her a brief smile.

Before Malicek could respond to Eames, or to Goren's soft laugh, Nugent spoke up. "Look at the time, will you? Why don't we break for lunch?"

Malicek sighed impatiently, standing up from her chair so quickly she almost knocked it over. She crossed her arms over her chest, glowering at the case files laid out in order across the table. Her busy mind never strayed too far from the evidence. "Fine. We'll continue after lunch."

Eames and Moretti wasted no time leaving the room. Nugent followed them after several moments' hesitation, during which he studied Malicek. Goren watched him as he tried to catch his partner's eye, but Malicek did not cut her eyes in Nugent's direction. He found himself wondering which agent was the senior. It seemed that Malicek normally called the shots, but she readily deferred to her partner's suggestions, whether she liked them or not. It was a very familiar dance, even if the motivations were not the same. He wondered if Malicek liked her partner. Then he began to wonder if she liked anybody.

Goren stood from his chair and casually crossed the conference room to look at the board where the New York cases were displayed. These were the victims that came to him at night, pleading for justice. He had not yet formed a connection to the women Malicek had brought into the mix. He turned his attention to the files she had compiled. He and Malicek organized evidence in a similar manner. Her spread on the table echoed his on the board. He turned to watch her tightening up the organization of the array of evidence on the table. Silently, he studied her.

"Do you always do that?" Malicek mumbled almost to herself, not looking at Goren. At first, he wasn't certain she was talking to him. So he remained quiet, forcing her to look in his direction. After a long moment of silence, she turned to face him. When she did, she raised an eyebrow, making it clear she was indeed talking to him and she was irritated with him.

"Do what?" He feigned innocence. He knew full well that his scrutiny was aggravating her.

"Bother people like that."

"Am I bothering you?" He offered a brief shrug, amused. He was still trying to form an opinion of her, and he liked that he was able to bring her attention around to him with his silence. "I like to watch."

"Well, I don't like to be watched," she ground out and moved her eyes back to the evidence. It was clear to Bobby that she liked to do the watching. She was very uncomfortable on the receiving end and that made her irritable.

Goren turned his attention back to the case. He was curious about the FBI's profile. "I assume after all this time you have a working profile of the killer."

"I am not a profiler, but one of the guys out of Quantico worked up a profile for us. What about you? Did you contact Quantico for a profile before we caught on to your cases?"

His shadow of a smile didn't fade. "No. The FBI doesn't have a monopoly on profilers."

"Don't tell me your department employs a profiler."

"Not exclusively, no." He did not reveal his background, his training. He wondered if Malicek and Nugent had taken the time to read up on him and on Eames. It would be easy enough for the FBI to obtain their files.

She turned to face him, bracing her hands on her hips, "Do you have a profile?" She stressed the word you, revealing that she had perhaps taken the time to read his file.

Eames, Moretti, and Nugent interrupted the conversation by returning to the conference room with multiple brown bags from the deli down the block. Bobby was thankful for the reprieve. He was not ready to discuss his profile with the FBI. He wanted to see what they had first. "Lunch," Nugent broke the silence, noticing their arrival did not break the eye contact between Goren and Malicek.

"Great, I'm starved," Goren was the first to speak, but he did not look away until Malicek broke eye contact with him. He smiled to himself as he reached for the bag that Eames was holding out to him. Unmistakably, he could see the – quit it – in Eames' eyes. Her expression told him: Quit playing alpha dog with the FBI agent; she's enough of a pain in the ass without you antagonizing her.

He gave her his best Who me? look, which Eames answered with one that said Don't give me that look.

He sat beside her and she kicked his ankle, a move that gave him a clear message to behave. He leaned close and whispered, "Where's the fun in that?"

"This isn't supposed to be fun."

He smiled and removed his sandwich from the bag. "To each their own, Eames."

Malicek watched the easy interaction between the partners and her look darkened. She didn't know what to make of those two...yet.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
After lunch Goren stole away from the conference room and headed toward the ME's office. The exam rooms were strangely quiet, so he walked further down the hall toward Rodgers' small office.

Liz Rodgers looked up from her computer at the tentative knock on the office door. "Yeah," she called out, granting permission for the person on the other side of the door to enter.

She was surprised when Goren filled the doorway. He did not typically stop to knock. Usually, he simply bolted through the door, his mind two or three steps ahead of the question he was asking.

"I, uhm...." he began in that halting way he had when he wasn't sure exactly how to transform the thoughts in his head into words.

She leaned away from the desk, watching as she waited for him to organize his thoughts.

He shifted uncomfortably. "I wanted to… that is, I uh…" He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, struggling with what to say. He trailed off, uncertain.

Rodgers raised a hand. "Goren...don't."

She had a sense of exactly where he was going as he stumbled over his words and she sought to put him out of his misery. She felt a powerful sense of guilt for betraying his trust. She'd promised confidentiality, and while she had kept that promise by not revealing the results of the DNA test he requested, she had broken it when she told Ross about the test's existence. What she didn't want was another scene with Goren.

"Don't?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "I, uhm, I need to know if you're upset...about the bodies we had exhumed..." He shifted uncomfortably where he stood and fixed his gaze on the floor.

She frowned, uncertain. "Is that all?"

"Well, not exactly."

"Look, Goren, we each played a part in what happened between us. I should not have done what I did."

She meant that on several levels, but he did not have to know that. She questioned whether she should have agreed to run the test in the first place. Once she did agree, and she became bound by a level of confidentiality, she should not have betrayed that when confronted by Ross. She should have gone to Goren first with the captain's request.

He shifted again, still standing in the doorway. "I, uhm, I w-was out of line."

Even though he hadn't said the words, she nodded slowly. "Apology accepted."

"So...we-we're okay?"

"Yes." He seemed to relax as he turned to leave. "Goren," she called him back. He turned, eyebrows raised. "Is it true the five victims are all Jane Does?"

"Uh, yes, they are."

"I have a friend...she's good at identification. She's helped a lot of bodies regain their identities. I can give her a call."

Goren nodded. He met the doctor's eyes. "Thank you," he said.

The brief smile that touched her mouth as she leaned back toward her computer told him she understood the double meaning behind his gratitude. He appreciated the offer of assistance almost as much as her understanding. She could have lodged a formal complaint against him for the rage he'd turned loose on her when he'd trashed her exam room. As a parting comment, she said, "I'll expect to see you once the last body arrives."

He smiled as he stepped out of the doorway. "See you then, doc."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
After seeing Rodgers, Bobby stepped out of the building for a cup of coffee. Sometimes he just needed some outside air to focus his thoughts. He breathed in and out, thinking about the means of strangulation the killer used. An electrical cord...not exactly an opportune weapon, like a rope or even bare hands. Somehow, it had meaning for the killer.

Goren looked back toward One Police Plaza, thinking about rejoining the FBI team working in the conference room. Eames wasn't there. She had mentioned she planned to take Moretti with her to tie up a few loose ends related to one of the cases they were forced to hand off when Ross focused their attentions on the serial killer case. So, only Malicek and Nugent remained, likely going over the evidence compiled related to the New York cases. Goren thought that maybe he should present what they had so far, in the same way Malicek was so meticulously reviewing the FBI files with them. However, he rationalized the agents could read, and he decided to leave them to their own devices. There was some place else that he wanted to be, before visiting hours were over for the day. The timing was perfect. He would not have to offer Eames any explanation for his absence. His mind made up, he bypassed the building and went directly to his car.

Another great chapter, you two!
Hmmmm....methinks Bobby is going to visit Gage, right? Which I can see provoking an argument between Bobby and Alex, and........OMG, I need another chapter!

Chapter 5: Ragged Edges

Goren looked around the empty interrogation room as he waited for the guards to bring Gage to him. His badge gained him access to Gage's physical being. He had yet to find anything that would gain him access to Gage's mind. He looked up when a key engaged the lock and the door opened.

Gage entered the room and his face lit up. "Bobby, my boy. You've come to see me."

Goren stood and stepped into the old man's hug. "Hello, Dec. How do you feel today?"

"Feel? Do I ever feel?" Gage dropped into a chair and Goren took the one across from him. "What is it...to feel?" Gage continued to wonder.

Goren sighed. There was no telling what words would send Gage off on one of his mental tangents. He had no choice but to wait for him to return. That was something he had a lot of practice with, waiting for the mind of another to return to him.

"Bobby boy, Bobby boy, it's been a while," Gage asserted once his mind reached the end of its tangent. He drummed the pads of his fingers erratically on the table top.

"Not so long," Goren answered.

For a moment, Gage looked puzzled. Bobby knew the old man was having difficulty keeping track of time. In Gage's mind time was no longer interval in nature. It jumped and clumped and was as erratic as the man's drumming fingertip beat on the table.

"No matter," Gage replied, waving his hands a bit in the air. "What can I do for you?"

Goren exhaled slowly and leaned back in his chair. He kept his body posture open and watched as Gage fidgeted. Some days when he visited, Gage's thoughts were organized, his motions had rhythm. Other times, his functioning was spotty at best.

"Are you eating?" Goren asked, not knowing what else to say. Gage looked thin, his eyes were shiny and unfocused. A million questions burned in Goren's brain, and Gage held many of the answers. But today, Goren knew that he wasn't going to get very far with Gage like this. Today was not the day to ask about Nicole.

"Yes, mom, I'm eating," Gage responded, his tone patronizing. "Now, Bobby, you didn't come all this way to ask me if I was eating."

"No," Goren responded truthfully.

"So why did you come?" And in that second, Gage stopped drumming his hands on the table and he placed them in his lap. He looked at Goren, lucidity in his eyes.

"I need to know…" Goren started to say, pausing, judging if he should continue.

"What do you need to know, Bobby?" Gage asked, his hands returning to the top of the table, palms flat down, fingers splayed open, but no drumming. Goren placed his hands on the table in much the same way.

"I need…" Goren didn't know what to say; he didn't know how to continue. He needed to know where Nicole's body was. He needed to put her death behind him once and for all. Finding her remains and conclusively identifying them seemed like the key for him to move on. When he buried her, he would bury everything that had once been between them. It would finally be over. Gage had taken so much from him. His brother had died as part of Gage's machinations. Nicole had died without ever being brought to justice for her crimes. Goren thought that death was too easy an escape for Nicole. He just needed to be certain. He had thought her dead before but she always came back to him.

"What do you need from me?" Gage asked, smiling, liking that Bobby was here, liking that Bobby needed something from him.

"I don't need anything from you," Goren said, surprising himself with his words.

When he left, he would request a copy of the security camera tape of this visit, as he had after every visit. Watching his conversations with Gage revealed almost as much as the conversation itself. It provided an opportunity for him to more objectively study Gage's mannerisms and tone, to consider how he might alter his own behavior during his next visit so that he would eventually get what he needed. Goren could see that Gage reveled in the fact that he continued to need something from him, and that he would return to visit because of this need. Maybe if he asserted that he didn't need anything, Gage would give him what he wanted.

"Yes, yes, you do, you do, you do…" Gage said, his fingers returned to drumming an erratic beat on the table top. "You need to know if I'm eating," Gage announced in triumph, nodding. Goren could see Gage's eyes shift out of focus with his thoughts.

Goren stood. "You said you were, you said you were eating," he reminded his former mentor.

"You can ask me next time," Gage said, watching Goren walk toward the door. "You can ask me next time."

Goren shook his head as he walked out of the nearly empty room. He didn't want there to be a next time, but he knew there would be. Until he had his closure, there always would be.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As Goren drove back into Manhattan, his thoughts tumbled and swirled through his head. He remembered Gage at the top of his game, pursuing Sebastian, the orchestrator of his downfall. Wallace followed close behind as he imagined what her last moments might have been like. Tell Bobby he's the only man I ever loved. Love...He never did figure out exactly what translated into love in Nicole's heart. Hell, if he couldn't identify what love meant to him, how could he know what it meant to her? Thoughts of Nicole rounded a sharp curve where they shifted toward Eames. She was not going to be happy when she found out he'd been back to see Gage. Eames had no idea what Gage meant to him. She only knew the man he had become. She had no idea what heights Gage had descended from.

Goren was frightened by the broken, beaten man who still believed he was on his game. He had always identified so closely with Gage and he could not help but wonder if a similar fate awaited him. Taking stock of his life, of all that had happened to him, Goren did recognize differences. Gage did not form connections with regular people; he only connected with killers. Goren had connections, friends; he had Eames. And as long as he had those, he figured he would be all right.

He had not been paying attention to where he was going, but he wasn't surprised to find himself pulling into the parking garage at 1PP. His internal homing beacon was not set to his apartment. It was set to the squad room.

Almost everyone had gone for the day, and he looked at the time. Almost seven. Well, at least it would be quiet and he could get some thinking done. He felt the pull of this killer, an opening of the mind to let him in. He had to take advantage of that, because once it was gone, he would be left spinning with no direction or focus. His foot was in the door; he'd be a fool to pull it out.

He entered the conference room, surprised to find Malicek still there, bent at the waist on the far side of the room as she studied a picture with a magnifying glass. The door clicked shut and she turned her head in his direction. "What are you doing here?"

"I work here."

"I thought you were gone for the day."

"You thought wrong."

She straightened and arched her back to work out the kinks. Dropping the magnifying glass on the table, she waved her hand toward the wall. "Did you notice the burn marks on the abdomens of your victims?"

Did he notice? He noticed everything. "What about them?"

Taking that as a 'yes', she moved on. "I wondered what you made of them."

"They're perimortem burns, placed either right before or right after the victim died. There's no healing, no immune response."

"No bleeding," she commented, watching him closely.

"New burns don't bleed," he replied, knowing she was challenging him. He tipped his head to the left. "What does your profiler make of them?"

She snorted. "The agent who came up with our profile is not part of the case. He gave us the information to work off and moved on. Anything that came after is all Nugent and me."

He could tell she was fishing for information about their profiler, but he wasn't ready to offer that up just yet. "All right, then, what do you and Nugent make of them?"

She hesitated, unwilling to engage in a one way discussion. "I want to know what you make of them."

"You first. You've had a lot more time to think about it than I have."

With an impatient growl of frustration, she answered, "His signature. He's signing his work."

That was what Moretti had suggested as well, that the letters were the killer's initials. Goren walked around the room's perimeter. For every case, he looked first at the shot of the burns and then at the in situ shot of the victim. So similar...interchangeable... "Not initials," he murmured absently. "Not his initials. This guy is modest. He won't broadcast the work as being his. If they are initials, they have deep meaning to him, but they are not his initials."

Malicek swallowed her irritation for a moment. "'If they are initials?' What else could they be?"

"An epitaph."

"As in 'rest in peace'?" She laughed. "How many beers did you have before you came back?"

He turned back to the pictures, amused by her dismissal of his suggestion. She didn't think he was serious and when the entire group was back together tossing around ideas, he got the feeling this was going to become a bone of contention between them. The idea it was an epitaph wasn't as ludicrous as it sounded, not to the profile that was forming in his mind. This killer was intriguing, and he was drawing him in. He could feel the connection beginning to form.

"Goren?" She stepped closer and shoved his shoulder. "Hey, space cadet."

He looked at her and blinked as his mind cleared. Damn it. Eames would never have interrupted him. "What?"

"I said, did you have dinner yet?"

He shook his head. "No. I'm not hungry. You go on. I'll see you tomorrow."

She waved a hand at him and left the room. He turned back to the pictures but the moment had passed and he would have to wait for the next one. Actually, a couple of beers didn't sound like a bad idea. Reluctantly, he left the conference room, turning off the light as he did. Rest in peace...
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Rest in peace...


Those same three words echoed in Goren's brain as he got on the elevator at 1PP the next morning, hungover and tired. He could not remember the last time he had rested in peace. He was surprised to find Malicek already on the elevator. They stood in silence for a moment.

"Get some sleep?" they asked at the exact same time. They looked each other over in the exact same way, neither one commenting on how tired the other appeared. The question hung in the air between them unanswered; words were unnecessary to observant eyes.

When the elevator doors opened, Malicek moved close to him, leaning in to whisper the word initials, referring to the 'RIP', picking up the conversation where they had left off the night before. Goren made a move to reply to her, but he was interrupted by Eames as she approached them from the squad room.

Eames frowned when she saw Goren and Malicek arrive together, both looking a little rough around the edges. She didn't know what to make of it but she didn't like it. "The ME has two of the three bodies. The last one is due this afternoon," she said, her voice cool.

Goren recognized the tone and he wondered what brought it about. Malicek took no notice of Eames' annoyance. She waved her hand dismissively at the two detectives. "If you guys want to play around with year-old corpses, have at it. I'll be in the conference room. I assume Nugent's there?"

"Not yet. He called to say he's running late and he'll be here in ten minutes."

Malicek looked at the clock and continued to the conference room without further comment.

Eames turned on her heel and walked back to her desk. Goren followed her. "Eames..."

She spun suddenly and he almost walked into her. "What the hell are you up to? No, wait...I don't think I want to know." She continued to her desk. "Forget I asked."

He sat down at his desk and rubbed his left temple, willing the headache that throbbed behind his eyes to go away. Eames' angry tone cut into him like a knife. The last thing he wanted to deal with while hungover was an angry Eames. His brain was running a few steps behind his mouth and when he wondered how she found out he'd gone to see Gage, his mouth engaged before he could think the thought through. "I have to find out, Eames, and Gage is the only one with the answers I need."

She stared at him. "You went to see Gage yesterday?"

"Uh...yeah...wait...why are you mad at me if you didn't know I went to see Gage?"

Eames really did not feel like getting into it with him. She took a deep, calming breath, letting it out on a sigh. "Never mind. We have a case to work. Let's get busy."

He watched her walk away and he felt confused and unsettled. This wasn't the morning for any kind of drama. He decided not to do anything more until he had a large, very strong cup of coffee; a walk would do him good. With coffee on his mind, he returned to the elevators.

Twenty minutes later, he entered the conference room with five cups of steaming coffee. Setting the cup carrier on the small table to the side of the room, he took two of the cups. Placing one in front of his partner, he walked around the table, deliberately crossing behind Malicek. Leaning close as he passed her, he whispered, "Epitaph."

He was as certain the letters were an epitaph as Malicek was that they were not. He took a seat near Eames and grabbed up the Rhode Island file. Over the top edge of the folder, he studied Malicek. Her dark hair was again pulled back at the nape of her neck. Today she was wearing dark framed glasses, her eyes probably too tired for contacts. He looked at the set of her jaw and wondered if she ground her teeth when she slept. He smiled to himself, thinking she would probably be grinding her teeth a lot before she came around to the possibility that he was right about the epitaph. It fit much better with the profile he was constructing of the killer. The victims were not defiled or sexually assaulted. He was not asserting power over them by burning his initials across their abdomens. The letters had a greater meaning - a meaning integral to bringing him to justice.

Eames did not fail to notice the circuitous route Goren took to get to his chair, deliberately passing behind Malicek. She watched him lean in to whisper to her, not knowing what to make of the dark look that settled on Malicek's face. Goren continued to his seat and Eames watched him for a moment as he studied Malicek from behind the file in his hands. She felt an all too familiar unease settle deep in her gut. Goren and Malicek went together like fire and gunpowder, and she was afraid they were going to be just as explosive.

hmmm....the plot thickens!!
next chapter, please---I'm really enjoying this story.

Chapter 6: A Media Event

Goren's headache persisted, dull and throbbing, until after lunch. Neither Eames nor Malicek said much to him, for which he was grateful. He was in no mood to deal with his annoyed partner or the difficult FBI agent. Both women left him alone, and he immersed himself in the files that were spread throughout the conference room. Neither Moretti nor Nugent knew him well enough or were comfortable enough with him to disturb him.

He lost track of time, which was nothing unusual, and would have worked right through lunch without eating if Eames hadn't dropped a sandwich in front of him at half-past twelve. He turned to thank her, but she didn't wait for his gratitude. He didn't understand her irritation, and he was in no mood to waste mental energy trying to figure it out.

As he ate, he finished with the New Hampshire file, closed it and grabbed the next one. His eyes scanned the information page. Danbury, Connecticut, May 1999. Not one of the scenes Malicek and Nugent would have processed. Female, mid-thirties to mid-forties, shoulder-length curls, brunette. Same old, same old. He flipped the sheet over, expecting to find the coroner's report. He stared for a moment at the unfamiliar form that met his eyes. A missing person's report. Stephanie Forrester, age thirty-eight. He shuffled through the file until he found the photo of the missing woman and jumped up, strolling across the room to the pictures that were taken at the scene.

He looked over his shoulder when the door opened, a deep frown on his face. “Why didn't you tell me this victim was identified?”

Malicek looked honestly confused. “For one thing, you never asked.”

He drew in a deep breath and counted to ten. “How many of these victims are identified?”

“Seven.”

“All through missing persons?”

“ Yes.”

“Did you run the others through Missing Persons?”

She stared at him for a moment. “Now why didn't we think of that? Do you really think we're that incompetent?”

He leaned against the wall. “Things get overlooked.”

“Not by me.”

He raised his hands and walked back to the table, tossing the picture on top of the file where he was sitting. As he walked toward the door, she asked, “Have you run your vics through Missing Persons' yet?”

He shook his head as he yanked the door open. If the squads who had worked the cases had thought to run them by Missing Persons, they had made no note of it. His bad mood got even worse.

He called Missing Persons and asked them to send him any reports they had for any women matching the description of their victims. He also asked them to coordinate with other offices throughout the northeast and find files for missing women across the region. When the woman he spoke to started to argue about the scope of his request, he'd snapped at her, asking if she would want her body identified if she were one of the victims. She offered no further argument, and he did not look forward to receiving the files he requested.

Next, he called down to the morgue to find out if they'd received all three of the exhumed bodies. As he waited for the tech on the other end to find the answer to his question, Eames got off the elevator with Moretti and Nugent. He watched her laugh as they walked to the conference room, and he began to regret making her angry, even if he had no idea how he'd done it.

After hanging up the phone, he returned to the conference room. “Rodgers has all three bodies,” he announced. “I'll be in the morgue.”

Malicek dropped the file in her hand onto the table. “I'll go with you.”

Eames glared at her as she followed Goren through the door. “Come on, guys. Let's see what Dr. Rodgers can tell us.”
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Rodgers leaned over one of the bodies that had just arrived from Woodlawn Cemetery. She looked up at the sound of voices outside the autopsy room and closed her eyes for a moment, praying for patience. She straightened her back and watched the detectives and the two FBI agents overfill the doorway. Her gaze focused on Goren. “I just got them, Goren. Give me a chance to look at them.”

He came into the room, his eyes riveted to the victim on the table. Rodgers gave a sigh of exaggerated patience and stepped back. Malicek also entered the room, circling to the side of the table opposite Goren. Eames and Nugent advanced to stand near their respective partners while Moretti remained near the door. Eames motioned to him, but he shook his head. "I'm close enough, thanks.”

Actually, pictures were close enough for Moretti. The smell of embalming fluid and decay turned his stomach. Goren leaned over the victim's abdomen and he studied the familiar burn marks in her skin. Malicek examined them from the other side, absently murmuring, “Robert, Richard, Raymond...”

“Rest,” Goren interjected without interrupting his examination. He was not averse to the idea they could be initials, but he was stubbornly opposed to the idea they were the killer's initials. Somewhere within his profiler's brain he knew they were not. If not an epitaph, they were initials that had some deep meaning to their man, but they were not his signature.

Malicek looked up at him. “Obstinate,” she hissed.

He shifted his eyes toward her for a second before returning to the body. “I don't think so. There's no 'O' here.”

Eames stifled a laugh, earning her a hot glare from Malicek, which amused her.

Rodgers, on the other hand, was not in the least bit amused. There were far too many people in her examination room. She was not in the mood for an audience. She needed space, to think, to conduct her examination. "Out," she said the word once and with such authority both Goren and Malicek ceased their bickering and looked at her. She did not repeat herself, she simply gestured toward the door. "You will receive my full report, and once you have it you can contact me if you feel the need to conduct your own examination."

Goren would take her up on that offer; he always did. Glancing at Malicek, he wondered if she would do the same.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When they returned to the conference room, Ross was there, waiting for them. The dark look on his face was an indication that something was up, and it was not good.

“The Chief of D's has scheduled a press conference for five this afternoon,” Ross said without preamble.

Goren stopped short in his tracks, resulting in Eames deftly sidestepping around him. Nugent ran his hand through his hair, trying his best to keep his expression neutral. Malicek’s mouth fell open. Uncertain, Moretti stood by, silently watching events unfold as Ross' words sank in.

Malicek was the first to find her voice. “What? You have to be kidding me.”

“Unfortunately, I'm not, Agent Malicek. I'll need an update by four-thirty."

Ross was clearly not happy. Goren guessed the chief was shoving this down his throat. He hoped they were not going to choke on it.

Malicek exploded. “We’ve kept this case out of the press for 6 years and you people have it for 6 seconds and it becomes a media event!?!”

“Malicek,” Nugent cautioned his partner. This wasn't some random cop she was yelling at; he was the captain of one of NYPD's most elite squads. This man had the mayor's ear when he wanted it, and their boss would not react kindly to another negative report about her temper.

Ross studied her with an air of exaggerated patience that Moretti recognized from watching him deal with his sons. Barely suppressing a smile, Moretti looked around the room at the rest of the team. Eames also realized Ross' patience was wearing thin, but she was relieved that this time it wasn't her partner testing the captain’s limits. Ross motioned a hand at the pictures on the walls. “You have two dozen women here. That's reason enough to put the public on its guard. But you can't really start exhuming bodies and expect the press not to notice.” He placed his hands on the table and leaned forward, his gaze still fixed on Malicek. “They notice things like that. It's their job. We deal with them. That's part of our job. Four-thirty.”

He pushed off the table and left the room. Nugent saw the storm building in his partner and his brain scrambled for a way to head it off. He came up empty and watched helplessly as she turned the full force of her anger on Goren. In her mind, he was the one who drew in the media by insisting on the exhumations.

“You!” Malicek began, thrusting her finger at Goren as she approached him. “You did this!”

She tossed her hands up and let out a growl of frustration as she bore down on the detective, stopping just short of grabbing his jacket in her hands. “You wanted those exhumations! You might as well have rented a billboard announcing to the world we have a serial killer stalking the city!” The ripe emotion in her voice was unmistakable. “You...!”

Her mind ran out of words to throw at him and she offered up another growl before turning on her heel and storming from the room, slamming the door behind her. One of the pictures closest to the door fluttered to the ground.

Goren showed no outward reaction to Malicek’s meltdown. His eyes followed her as she stalked out of the room. Malicek's reaction was not simply one of frustration from being forced to play politics by being party to a press conference. This was something else, something deeper.

Moretti was the first to speak. “Wow. What was that?”

They looked at Nugent for insight into his partner's reaction. He shifted uncomfortably. A dozen explanations popped into his head. They had been working this case for years, and it had taken its toll on Malicek, hijacking her life, consuming her every breath. Nugent knew that Malicek had a binder containing photographs of each and every victim along with the few details about them that they knew. On the second floor of her Brooklyn home she had a small office where one entire wall displayed their evidence, arrayed in chronological order. He worried for her health, knowing that she no longer slept well, and displays of that temper of hers led to disciplinary action and a psych consult for help with better managing her anger in the context of this investigation. He was acutely aware that divulging any one of those things would put their partnership, and their friendship, in grave jeopardy.

Finally, he tapped a finger near the stack of files on the table. “Malicek has a lot invested in this case,” he said lamely, not knowing what else to say. Everyone continued to stare at Nugent, making it clear that his response was sorely lacking.

Eames was the first to speak. "There are a lot of victims here and years of work; we get that. But it doesn't excuse..."

"Please, Detective Eames...” He waved a hand in the air and shook his head. “Excuse me."

Nugent turned sharply and left the room in search of his partner. Goren found that interesting. Clearly the FBI partners had their differences, but when it came down to it, Nugent wasn't going to stand around and listen to anyone say anything disparaging about Malicek. Goren looked at Eames, who had stood by him in the same way for most of the last decade, and he had to respect Nugent for his loyalty. Partners needed to stand together.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When 4:30 rolled around, Goren showed up in Ross's office followed by Eames, Moretti, and Nugent. Malicek was conspicuously missing. Ross looked at Goren. "Our show begins in thirty. What's the party line?"

Uncomfortable as he usually was in Ross' presence, Goren rubbed the back of his neck and advised, “Keep it simple. Assure them that there is an experienced team in place investigating several strangulation deaths that have occurred in the city over the last two years.”

Goren's mind had been churning since Ross dropped the bombshell of the press conference on them and it had not slowed. But he was being very cautious. He was not going to sacrifice their investigation to public curiosity or risk frightening the killer into changing his MO, which would be a huge setback for the team.

“That’s it?” Ross asked, visualizing Moran's reaction to what would be a very short statement. It made his stomach churn.

The door to the office flung open suddenly and Malicek entered, speaking as she did. “We could use the press to help us identify some of the victims.”

Her cooperative tone surprised everyone, and Goren nodded agreement with her suggestion. It was first on his mental list of recommendations. He picked up the ball. “We should get one of the sketch guys to work up a drawing of each of our unidentified victims. I wouldn't recommend releasing crime scene or autopsy photos. We have to inject life into the pictures we release."

"The press will want more than pictures,” Nugent interjected.

“Well, they’re not going to get any more,” Malicek snapped. “We'll just redirect them with the assurance there's a team in place investigating a series of death that have some similarities...”

“The press will want more,” Nugent repeated, cutting his partner off in mid-sentence, mentally flinching at the sense of deja-vu he got from her words as he ignored her annoyed look.

Ross held up his hand before an argument could erupt. “I’ll redirect them. I don’t want to give them any more than we absolutely have to.”

Even though Ross sided with her, Malicek could not resist pointing out, "If it wasn't for your people..." She glared pointedly at Goren. "...this little party wouldn't be necessary."

Ross deflected her accusation. "This press conference is an order from the Chief of Detectives. Your agency does not have a reputation for cooperating with other law enforcement agencies, let alone the press, Agent Malicek. However, my department has a reputation of cooperation with both, and we are not going to damage a relationship we have worked hard to foster. The press will get enough information to keep them satisfied without getting enough to compromise our investigation. Deal with it."

He hated having to do it this way but it was being forced on him and he had to play a tenuous balancing act. But he was not going to teeter on the edge alone. Watching Goren give a curt nod of approval as he started for the door, Ross called him back. “Don't go far, detective. I want you all on hand.”

Goren understood that he meant they were to back him up with their physical presence at the press conference. The press did not intimidate him. Few people in life did. He glanced at Eames, who was still making a point of ignoring him. He felt a rise in tension he could not explain and left the office, suddenly feeling claustrophobic.

Malicek remained in the office with Ross after the others left, speaking quietly to him as he nodded in response. Goren watched her from his desk, gathering from her body language that she was apologizing to Ross or at least trying to explain her earlier behavior. Her sudden about face in regard to the press conference, coupled with her almost submissive apology to the captain, had his head spinning. She really was full of contradictions, and he felt a need to understand her. Eternally busy, his mind began trying to figure her out.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He sat in the diner, drinking a glass of milk while he ate his dinner. The TV in the corner behind the counter was broadcasting the news. He recognized a police press conference when he saw one, and he read the words that scrolled across the screen beneath the man at the podium. NYPD admits possible serial killer at large in city.

He smiled to himself. They were talking about him.

In the background he saw a familiar face: Special Agent Corrine Malicek. His eyes were drawn to her. He liked to watch her every chance he got. Agent Malicek wanted him; he could feel it. When a crowd gathered around the scenes of his handiwork, he watched Malicek as the locals and the FBI secured a scene with almost no forensic evidence and the coroner removed his victim in a heavy black bodybag. He didn’t have the time to stick around at every scene, but if he was nearby sometimes he would blend in with the gathered crowd. Once, he saw the crime scene guys snapping pictures of the crowd. He wondered if Special Agent Malicek later found herself looking at him. The idea of it was exciting.


She was tall, dark haired, always so serious. Today, her eyes were hiding behind a pair of dark sunglasses. Standing beside her was a tall, broad man, also wearing dark sunglasses against the late afternoon sun. He had the bearing of a cop, one of the NYPD detectives working the case with his Agent Malicek. What would it be like to work with Corrine Malicek? He felt a surge of resentment toward the newcomer to the case, to his case. It matched closely with the resentment he felt toward Agent Malicek's partner, what's his name. From time to time, Agent Malicek glanced toward the tall cop, and he could almost see her glowering glare. Things were not going well for the investigators. Things were not going well between this man and woman. He closed his eyes for a moment, the last thought lingering in his mind.

Suddenly, without warning, a voice echoed through his head. “Why? Why can’t you just do as I ask? Why?”

His father’s voice, angry and accusing. Things never went well between his mother and his father. His mind's eye watched them across the dining table as he drank his milk. Any minute now his father would jump up from his chair and grab his mother, by her arm or her hair, maybe by her throat.

“You can go to your room, sweetheart,” his mother said to him, a false sweetness in her voice as she sent him away before the real fighting began. She could feel it coming as well as he could. He finished his milk and left the table as asked. He could not remember the last time he said anything to his parents. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time he said anything at school or after school. Days, a week maybe.

“Can I get you anything else?” The sweet voice of the waitress brought him back from the past to the here and now. He shook his head no and rose to pay his bill. He hadn’t said anything today, except for the 4 words he used to order his sandwich and a glass of milk. He looked at the waitress, shoulder length brown hair, a wide smile. He focused on her eyes, brown and flat with no hint of gold or blue or green. No, her eyes were all wrong. He took his change from her, looked once more at Special Agent Corrine Malicek and left the diner.

Another great chapter, IStar and squarey!!
Hmmmm.....the plot thickens a little more......

Chapter 7: No Going Back

The walk back to the squadroom after the press conference was a slow one. Ross had done a masterful song and dance with the press, sidestepping with ease such difficult questions as "How long has this man been at large?" and "What is NYPD doing that the FBI hasn't?" Although how that reporter knew it was a federal case, too, was still a mystery. What was the NYPD doing? Nothing different. Maybe that was part of the problem.

Goren's mind was churning. There was something about these victims that drew the killer to them. They were all similar in build and coloring, similar hair length and color, similar height and age. But something was nagging at him. He was missing something. Maybe there was something in the photos, something he saw but didn't notice. Perhaps another look at the evidence would unlock something. He thought about asking Malicek about it, but he could envision her reaction and it was not a pretty one. So he made up his mind to corner Nugent at the first opportunity.

His opportunity came much sooner than he expected. Malicek retreated to the conference room immediately without talking to anyone. Goren cornered Nugent at the coffee machine.

Before they left for the day, both Goren and Nugent made phone calls and the evidence was on its way to the lab at 1PP, or it would be the next morning.

Goren gathered his casenotes, his mind not quite ready to call it a day. Malicek had not spoken to anyone after the press conference and she left without saying good night. Nugent muttered an apology on her behalf before he left. Eames noticed Moretti getting on the elevator with Ross. She grabbed her bag, surprised to reach the elevators at the same time as her partner.

Neither of them spoke on the ride to the parking garage, but when the elevator doors opened at the garage level, Goren didn't move. Eames stopped in front of the doors. "Staying in the elevators tonight?"

He shook his head. "I took the train in."

She wasn't surprised, given his rough appearance that morning. "Come on. I'll give you a lift."

"It's out of your way, Eames..."

"It's not any further out of my way than it ever was." She looked at him for a long moment. "Just come on, Bobby; let me give you a ride home."

With an almost imperceptible nod, he followed her out of the elevator.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ross and Moretti walked into a pub near the headquarters building. It was almost seven and the place was busy. It catered mostly to police and court clientele, and the day was over. The suits outnumbered the uniforms, but that wasn't unusual at that time of day.

They found adjacent barstools at the far end of the bar. Moretti started the conversation. "So how are you and my sister getting along these days?"

Ross shrugged. "You know how it goes. We have good days and bad ones. Lately, it hasn't been too bad. We don't argue in front of the boys, so they try not to leave us alone together."

"Smart kids," Moretti said with a laugh. "I remember thinking that way when my folks divorced. They just took it someplace else. I think they liked to fight and it was stressful for them to pretend to get along, even for our sake."

Ross nodded in agreement. "My parents were married for fifty years and I never once heard them argue. I was a teenager when I found out they were the exception and not the rule. I was at my best friend's house when his parents got into an argument, which really disturbed me. I began looking into it, and then I worried that there was something wrong with my parents. That was an interesting discussion."

Moretti laughed softly. "I'm sure it was." He grabbed a handful of beernuts and crunched on them thoughtfully. "There's got to be a balance," Moretti mumbled, rinsing down the nuts with a sip of his beer.

Ross segued that into asking about the case. "How's the case going?"

"Not bad."

"And the feds? How are you getting along with them?"

Ross noticed that Malicek and Goren were not exactly balancing each other out. In fact, they were more alike than not, although Malicek was even more explosive than Goren. Ross understood that it took passion to do the job, but he also understood the importance of knowing when to reign it in. Eames helped Goren with that, and he listened to her most of the time. He wasn't sure anyone could reign in Malicek.

"I get along fine with them," Moretti said.

"And my detectives?"

"I like Eames," he answered without hesitation. Then he added, "I think I like Goren, too."

Ross understood what he meant. It was much harder to get a handle on Goren and how to feel toward him. "Procedurally?"

"Eames and Goren, they're good police," Moretti assured him, remaining neutral. He was uncomfortable discussing the case with Ross. In as much as Ross was family, he was also a Captain. Moretti knew enough to know not to step too far out of bounds in terms of discussing an active case with his superior without the presence of the other senior officers involved.

"Yeah, yeah they are," Ross agreed. "What's your opinion of the feds?"

"They're dedicated, I'll give them that," Moretti replied, dodging the obvious nature of the question and purposefully not commenting on any friction between Malicek and Ross' detectives.

"Right," Ross said with a smile, appreciating that Moretti seemed to have formed an alliance with the detectives and agents working the case. Effective teams always had each other's backs, and he was happy that Andy was one of the team...at least, one of his team. He wondered if anyone had formed any kind of true alliance with the federal team. Malicek seemed averse to teamwork outside the confines of the Bureau.

Moretti finished his beer and slid off his stool. "Thanks for the beer, Danny. I'd better take off. I get the feeling that tomorrow is going to be another long day."

Ross nodded. "They're all long days, Andy."

He watched the younger man leave and turned back to the bar.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Goren and Eames were silent as she made her way around to the bridge. She was concentrating on the remnants of the end-of-the-work-day traffic and he was staring out the window, lost in his mind. Once she was established in the traffic flow across the bridge, she said, "Rough night last night?"

He shrugged. "They're all rough nights."

"You don't normally look like something the cat dragged in the next morning." He answered her with silence. She decided to push a little harder. "I'm not sure about Malicek. She rubs me the wrong way."

"You get along fine with Nugent and Moretti. You can handle Malicek." He was looking out the window, only half-attending to what she was saying.

She wasn't sure what he meant by that and it irritated her. "You seem to handle her without a problem."

"I don't let her bother me," he said in an off-hand manner, but he was getting agitated. He didn't like the drift of the conversation. "Like Nugent said, she has a lot invested in this case. I understand that."

"This man is her Nicole Wallace."

His tension level shot through the roof at the mention of Wallace's name. A six year case...and the way it ended still did not sit right with him. Gage had taken away his brother, but with Nicole he had taken away more. He'd taken something intangible, something he never understood, never accepted, though he knew it was there. He was still at a loss over how to define it, even in his mind, but it left him feeling incomplete and the only way he would ever resolve it was to find her body and give it a burial, something fundamental that he felt every person deserved. That was why he'd made arrangements for John Tagman after his death. Eames never knew, never would. He wasn't sure she would understand.

"You're good at politics, Eames. You can handle Malicek," he replied, shifting the conversation away from himself and back onto Eames.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel and she cut him a sideways glare.

He didn't feel like getting into it. "Nothing."

She deftly turned the conversation back around. "Have you seen Gage lately?"

"Yesterday."

That explained a lot. She wasn't certain which she preferred, waking him up in the media room after he'd spent the night watching tapes of Wallace or watching him drag himself into work, hungover and irritable. She was certain that she didn't like either option, but what else did he have? His coping mechanisms were not the healthiest, and he didn't have many.

She tried to let it go, but she was still boiling over his comment about playing politics and knew it wasn't limited to dealing with Malicek. It was a thinly veiled reference to her participation in the investigation of him as a suspect in his brother's death. "I had to do what Ross asked, Bobby. I had to clear your name. I know you had no involvement in the death of Nicole Wallace or with what happened to Frank…"

"Leave it alone," he replied, again looking out the window. He felt he had everything to do with what happened to Frank. He was the common denominator.

"Leave it alone? Bobby..." she repeated his words, exasperation in her voice.

"I know..." He looked at her. "I know what you did, the way you investigated me...I know that was to help clear me."

She was pulling up in front of his building at that point. He was relieved. He had the door open before she came to a complete stop. She was looking at him, as if she wanted to say something else. He sensed that she wanted to bring the conversation back to Malicek. He did not want to go there. So, he cut her off. "Thanks for the ride. See you tomorrow." He got out of the car and slammed the door shut behind him.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Goren spent most of the next day in the conference room. Nugent had called Ross to say that he and Malicek had to report into the FBI offices for the day. Goren was relieved. This meant he could spend some hard core time going over the FBI files without interruption and without Malicek breathing over his shoulder.

It was late in the afternoon, and Goren stood before the crime scene photos, running his fingers over his lips, lost in thought as he looked from picture to picture. Twenty-four crime scenes, two dozen women screaming in his head for justice. Behind him at the table, Eames was looking over the FBI lab reports with Moretti. When the door slammed open, the two detectives looked up and Goren turned from the board. Malicek entered the room, her face a mask of fury. Nugent was hot on her heels, unable to stop her. She pointed at Goren. "You..." she snarled furiously, "...you called in all our evidence to your lab, and you never said a word to me! How dare you! The Bureau has one of the best crime labs in the nation! Other agencies come to us for second opinions!" No one said a word. Malicek waved a hand at him. "Say something!"

Eames watched her partner stare down the furious agent, never flinching. She knew him well enough to see the amusement flicker in his eyes and she almost smiled. When he spoke, his voice was calm. "You'll get no argument from me about the quality of work that comes out of the Bureau's lab, but I know what our lab can do and I trust the techs who work there. A second set of eyes never hurt anyone, Malicek."

"You're wasting time and resources," she growled.

He shrugged. "That's your opinion. If they don't find anything, nothing is lost. But if they pick up on something your lab missed, then it will pay off. We have to stop this guy, and you've been spinning your wheels for six years. Where has it gotten you? I don't see anything that brings us closer to solving this case as a waste of time."

Moretti swore he saw smoke curling from Malicek's ears, and he was suddenly very uncomfortable. "I think I need a little break," he whispered to Eames and Nugent.

Nugent nodded. "Excellent idea." He touched Eames' arm. "Come on, Alex. Let's get some coffee."

When she hesitated, he leaned closer. "Trust me. Come on."

Eames rose, looking toward Goren. His attention was fully fixed on Malicek. As he extended to his full height in preparation for a confrontation, she decided that maybe Nugent was right. She followed him from the room.

Neither Goren nor Malicek noticed that everyone had gone as they stared each other down. After a moment, Malicek looked toward Nugent for support, expecting him to back her and share her anger at the bold interference of the local detectives. She was surprised to find him, and everyone else, gone. She and Goren were alone.

She turned her attention back to Goren. "It's my evidence," she said, punctuating the air with her finger. "You should have asked me!"

Given her level of anger, Goren was reticent to tell her he had talked to Nugent and gotten the go-ahead from him. "So you could shoot down the idea? What are you afraid we'll find, Malicek?"

That was the last straw. She advanced on him, slamming her hands into the center of his chest and shoving him hard until he hit the wall. Her hands formed fists, which she pressed into his chest. "I have been on this case for six years. Do not question my dedication to finding this killer, you smug bastard."

Eyes blazing, she continued to glare at him, and she was surprised to find no trace of intimidation in his expression. He was amused. She caught a flicker of something else in his eyes, something that was gone as quickly as it appeared. She was at a loss to identify it, but the effect it had on her was undeniable. "Damn you, Goren," she snarled.

When her mouth crashed into his, he was caught entirely off guard. His head spun and his senses went into overload; he closed his eyes and returned the hard kiss. Her hands, still fisted against his chest, slid toward his head. His hands came to rest on her hips and he slowly ran them up her sides to her ribcage.

She stepped back suddenly and his hands fell away from her. He slowly opened his eyes as his tongue found a split on the inside of his upper lip. She stared at him, confused and uncertain. It was the first time he had seen anything other than arrogant self-assurance on her face. Turning quickly, she left the room.

He struggled to focus in the wake of her departure. He pulled his handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the blood from the corner of his mouth. Shoving the cloth back into his pocket, he struggled to calm down and make some sense of Malicek. As he sat at the table, wondering what the hell had just happened, his breathing and heart rate had almost returned to normal.

When the door swung open, he looked up, surprised to see Eames in the doorway. Grabbing a file, not caring which one it was, he tried to divert his attention from his racing thoughts, but nothing in front of him registered. She let the door close behind her. "Are you all right?"

He didn't look up. "I'm fine."

"What...?" Eames started to ask, but she didn't quite know what to ask.

"Nothing, Eames." Finally trusting himself, he raised his eyes from the file to look at her, hoping she would see only what he wanted her to see on his face. "She, uh, she was unhappy with my request to have the evidence transferred for another look, that's all."

She watched him for a moment, noting his failed attempt to return his attention to the file in front of him. She noticed the fresh blood that seeped out the corner of his mouth before he wiped it away with an absent swipe of his knuckle. Carefully hiding her reaction, she said nothing as she turned and left the room.

Malicek was sitting at Goren's desk, which only fed Eames' anger. Ignoring Moretti and Nugent, she moved to stand next to Malicek. "Leave my partner alone," she warned in a low voice that only the other woman could hear.

Malicek studied her dismissively. "Take that up with your partner," the agent responded cryptically, as though Goren had done something to warrant her assault.

Eames glared at her. "You heard me," she reiterated with venom, knowing that whatever had just happened, Malicek had initiated it--not Goren.

As Eames stormed off, Nugent and Moretti looked at each other. The FBI agent let out a low whistle. "You sure got on the wrong side of her, Corrie."

Malicek dismissed his observation with a wave of her hand. "Forget it," she said. "I'm sure she'll get over it."

But it was clear to both men that Malicek was unsettled by something, and neither was surprised when she rose from the desk and left the squadroom.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Malicek stood in the stairwell, trembling. After the scene in the conference room, followed by the confrontation with Detective Eames, she figured she needed the physical exertion of running the stairs to work off the rest of whatever it was she was feeling. But once she got into the stairwell, she found she couldn't stop shaking. She began charging up the stairs two at a time.

The physical exertion helped, but it could not turn off her mind. The past few days had been a roller coaster ride. When she got word that New York had cases that fit the MO of her serial killer and that she had to make friends, yet again, with the locals, she felt sick. She simply wanted to catch this guy. He'd become her obsession. She wasn't accustomed to working the same case for such a long stretch of time. In spite of how she'd been acting lately, she and Nugent were an effective team. The majority of their cases were resolved relatively quickly. Outside of this one, their longest investigation had been 6 months. That was nothing next to the 6 years of her life she had invested in the serial electrocution and strangulation murders.

She inhaled sharply; her lungs were burning. She felt light headed, as if she were hyperventilating. She stopped at the top of the stairwell before it continued to the roof. Reaching up with trembling fingers, she touched her lips. The whole thing seemed rather surreal now. She closed her eyes, reliving the moment she snapped, charging him and then crushing her lips violently against his. He had returned the kiss, his fingers playing up her ribcage. That sent her mind spinning.

She sat down hard on the cement steps and placed her forehead against her knees. What the hell was she thinking? She realized she hadn't been thinking at all. She had problems thinking when she was around him. All she could do was feel. She was mad that he was on this case. She had studied his personnel file cover to cover and her gut twisted with the knowledge that he was a trained and respected profiler and that he had expert opinions about the killer that he seemed unwilling to share. Why? This was her case! She wanted to shake the information out of him. She wanted to grab him by the shirt and push him against the wall...then run her hands down his chest...down...down...and... AAH! She stopped the direction of her thoughts.

With great effort, she refocused herself. She wanted to catch this killer. She wanted her life back. She wanted to go home and take a long, hot bath and forget about the fact that she took out the past few days of pent up hostility by slamming her mouth against Detective Goren's. Most of all, she wanted to forget how that kiss had affected her. She wanted to go back to hating the man. But something had changed between them, something fundamental, and there was no use pretending she could go back.

WOWIE!!! ::fanning self::..........great chapter!
Yanno, I watched Deranged last night on Investigation Discovery. The show was about Ted Bundy.....and this reminds me a little, a little, about his case.

Chapter 8: Horses, Not Zebras

As Goren sat in the secure visiting area, waiting for Declan Gage to be escorted in, he ran his tongue across the split on the inside of his lip. Another sleepless night of his life had slipped by, undaunted by his fatigue. His mind was spinning from the case, from Gage, and now, Malicek. He could no longer taste blood, but his lip was mildly swollen.

"What d'you have there?" Gage asked before he even sat down in the chair across from Goren.

"Truffles," Goren replied, thinking Gage's attention was focused on the small golden box of chocolate truffles. He'd brought the candy as a bargaining chip, hoping to coax the location of Nicole's body from his former mentor with the offering.

"No, your lip," Gage said, pointing at his own face, circling his index finger around his lip to mirror Goren's injury. This morning, Gage seemed completely lucid, and his attention had been immediately caught by the one small thing about Goren that was different.

"How are you today, Dec?" Goren asked, choosing not to answer the query.

Gage leaned in closer to look at Goren's lip. "Someone punch you?" he asked, not answering Goren's question. Goren shook his head no. "It looks like someone punched you," Gage concluded with a nod, sitting back in his chair while keeping his eyes on Goren's face.

"Not punched. Kissed." Goren surprised himself with the admission.

"Hard," Gage replied with a smile and an approving nod. Goren wasn't quite sure what he was approving, the kiss or his honesty.

"Hard," Goren confirmed, touching his lips with the tips of his fingers.

"Not our intrepid Detective Eames, was it?" Gage smiled, his tone taunting.

"No, not Eames," Goren answered, not taking the bait. Changing the subject, and taking advantage of Gage's lucidity, he got right to the point of his visit. "Where is Nicole Wallace, Dec?"

"She's dead," Gage responded, his eyes drifting down to the gold box for the first time.

"I have to know what you did with her remains," Goren pressed, not wanting to waste the moment, knowing it could pass at any time.

"I sent them to you," Gage insisted, reaching toward the box.

"You sent me her...heart..." He paused for a moment, recalling Gage's words, mimicking Nicole's accent: Tell Bobby he's the only man I ever loved. So Gage had sent him her heart, the only part of her he had ever truly possessed, without ever realizing it. He shuddered involuntarily. "What did you do with the rest of her body, Declan?" he asked as he moved the box beyond Gage's reach.

"Tell me what's in the box," Gage insisted, with the excitement of a small child.

"You first," Goren insisted, tipping his head to catch Gage's eyes.

"I don't think so," Gage answered, his voice rising in pitch as he avoided Goren's eyes. "You won't bring me candy any more."

The moment was passed. Frustrated, Goren pushed the box toward Gage, but he gave it one last try. "Now, Dec. Tell me."

"I knew it," Gage said with an uncharacteristic giggle in his voice. "You didn't have to tell me. I knew what was in the box." He shoved a truffle in his mouth and sucked on a finger. "So I don't have to tell you."

His patience worn thin, Goren shoved his chair back and rose to leave. Gage's voice followed with a question, nestled within the tone of a child demanding to be told a secret. "Who kissed you, Bobby?"

Goren knocked on the door, waiting for the guard to open it. As he grasped its edge to step out into the corridor, he glanced back over his shoulder. "I don't have to tell you," he parroted, letting the door close with a slam behind him before Gage could respond.

It had been a big mistake, coming out to see Gage. He had hoped that Gage would be more lucid first thing in the morning, and he'd been right, but the moment passed too quickly. In addition to that, he was distracted, too distracted to fully concentrate on dealing with Gage. Half of his mind was on the case; the other half was on Malicek. He needed his whole mind to be engaged if he was going to manipulate Gage.

He felt an overwhelming desire to go back home and crawl into bed, to sleep for a few hours, maybe start the whole damn day over again. But he was out of time. He was due into the squad by noon, and he was already cutting it a bit too close.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As he walked to his desk, Goren looked around the squad room, searching for his partner or Malicek. Neither was in sight. As he turned toward the conference room, he spotted a thick brown envelope on his desk. Crossing over to it, he picked up the envelope and read the address in the upper left corner. Missing Persons. Great. Judging from the thickness of the large envelope, he wasn't ready for this, but he'd asked for it. He changed his mind about going to the conference room and sat at his desk. He opened the envelope.

The cover letter was hand written in a woman's careful, elegant script. Detective Goren, it began. I apologize for my shortness with you the other day. As you can imagine, we are understaffed and overworked. I gave careful thought to the question you asked me and I thought that if anything I could do would bring closure to just one family, it would be well worth the effort on my part. I did the research you requested myself. Here are the missing persons' reports of women meeting the description you gave me for the areas of the Northeast you requested. I hope you find what you are looking for. Melody Cavanaugh.

He leaned back in his chair and rubbed his temple. He regretted his show of temper even more now. Damn it. Setting the letter aside, he looked at the first report.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Eames crossed the squad room toward the break room, surprised to find her partner sitting at his desk. She was struck by how exhausted he looked. Just when she thought he couldn't look worse, somehow he did. She altered her course and sat at her desk. He was engrossed in the thick stack of papers in front of him and didn't notice her. She balled up a piece of paper and tossed it at him. When it bounced off his forehead and dropped to the desk in front of him, he looked up. It took a moment for his eyes to clear. "Eames...uh...hi."

"Another long night?"

He nodded, unwilling to go into detail. She pointed toward him. "Your lip...Did Malicek do that yesterday?"

His tongue grazed the split and his mind skipped away for a moment. "Uh...yeah, but she didn't mean to do it."

"Want to tell me about it?"

Hell, no. "There's nothing to tell."

She tried not to get annoyed and decided it best to change the subject. "What do you have there?"

"Missing persons' reports."

"That's quite a collection." She paused, composing her thoughts. "This killer..." she began, her mind filling with the images that had begun to haunt them all. "How does your profile mesh with the Bureau's?"

"Fairly close, I suppose."

"The FBI is beginning to think he's moved on and we'll have to wait for him to strike again to find him."

He rubbed his hand over his chin and shook his head. "No. He's still around. He's not done here. Not yet." He felt himself getting deeper into the mind of their man. "He's a nomad, moving around from place to place. He tries to fit in until his urges get the better of him. In a city like New York, he can safely stay longer with less chance of being discovered. He stayed in Boston for two years. He'll be here for at least that long."

"Do you think the press conference might drive him away?"

"No. I think it will draw him out. He'll have an emotional response to it, and we'll have another victim soon." That did not sit well with either of them, but they were as stuck at the moment as the agents had been for the past six years. "He's good," Goren muttered. "He flies well under the radar."

Eames nodded, rubbing the flat of her hand over the blotter on her desk between the papers she had there. "So he zaps them, strangles them and then signs his work by branding his initials into their skin, and we can't find him. But he doesn't rape them. That doesn't seem to fit."

"There's something very deep that drives him to his choice of victim. They represent someone from his past, someone he loved but is very angry with. So he punishes them, but he adores them, too. He's playing out something from his past."

"But he mutilates them..." she asked with an arch of her brow.

He leaned back in the chair. Eames recognized the faraway look on his face and it made her uneasy, the way it always did. She hated losing him to the minds of the criminals they pursued, even for a little while. She understood it was what made him so effective, but it troubled her deeply. "The letters he burns across their abdomen, his initials... that's the FBI profiler…"

She nodded. "That's what the feds think it is. Do you have a better idea?"

"Not better, necessarily, but different. Malicek is convinced they're his initials, but I'm not. I don't get that sense of arrogance about him. I think...he's expressing regret."

Eames gathered papers together in front of her, mainly to give herself something to do. "Have you told Malicek that you're our profiler?"

When he smiled, he could feel the pull against the split on his lip. "Not yet."

"You're playing with her," she accused.

"No, not really. I know she's read my file. She and Nugent are good agents; they did their homework. So maybe she's the one playing with me…"

"Maybe." She rose from her chair. "I'm getting a cup of coffee. Want one?"

He nodded. "Please."

She stopped a few feet away and asked, "Have you gotten what you need yet?"

She knew. He didn't look up from the report in front of him. "No. Not yet."

She paused, making a motion as if to add something, but she stopped herself and walked away.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Late that afternoon, after spending most of it in the conference room, Goren moved back to his desk. He called a local florist and requested an arrangement for Melody Cavanaugh, as a thank you for her work and a further apology for his temper. There were more reports in the envelope than he'd hoped to see. Many of them, he knew, were akin to runaways, women overwhelmed or dissatisfied with their lives who just took off without a word to anyone. They were fine, living new lives elsewhere. But others...others were true missing persons, and some of them were victims of their killer. The tentative identifications were tedious. The positive IDs would be painful, because they involved contact with families whose worries would soon turn to grief.

Eames approached him shortly before six. He had gotten through less than half of the reports, but he'd already compiled a list of tentative matches. He hoped to be finished with them by the end of the week. She looked over his shoulder. "How many have you found so far?"

"Four tentatives, so far. Once I'm done with all the reports, we'll have to contact the families for DNA to make a positive match."

"That will involve more exhumations."

"Yes."

"Malicek is going to love you."

He turned his head to look at her, and his expression told her that he'd thought of that, and the thought amused him. She graced him with a fond smile and touched his shoulder lightly. "I'm calling it a day. I'm due at my sister's for dinner. I'll see you in the morning." She studied his worn face and a familiar concern washed over her. "Try to get some rest, Bobby. Don't stay here all night with these reports. A few more days won't make a lot of difference to them."

"But it will to their families, Eames. Enjoy your dinner."

She hadn't been gone but a few minutes when Nugent and Moretti walked across the room from the direction of the conference room. Nugent stuck out his hand. "I was right. Pay up."

Moretti slapped a bill into the open hand, then noticed the curious look on Goren's face. "I thought you'd be gone for the day. Jeff said you're too much like Malicek and you'd never call it a day so early."

Nugent looked around. "Did Alex leave?"

Goren nodded. "She had plans with family."

"She's got the right idea. It's been a long day," Nugent said as he stretched, popping his back. "I'm outta here. Anyone need a ride?"

Moretti nodded. "Do you mind dropping me off on your way? My car's in the shop and I really hate the train."

Both men lived in Queens, in adjacent neighborhoods. "Not a problem," Nugent replied.

Malicek approached from the conference room. "Leaving for the day, Jeff?"

"Yeah. My mother has a cold and I don't want her to have to hassle with feeding King. You want a ride?"

"No, thanks. I've got some loose ends to knot together before I take off for the night."

Nugent cast a glance at Goren, who shook his head and turned back to the center stack of reports on his desk. The agent shifted his position when he recognized the reports. "Missing persons?"

Goren nodded. "I'm running these against our victims."

Nugent cast an uneasy glance toward Malicek, knowing they'd done the same thing and hoping she would not see it as another intrusion by Goren into her territory. When Malicek pulled a chair from a nearby desk and snatched up the closest stack of reports from Goren's desk, Nugent took it as a cue for him and Moretti to get while the getting was good. "Well, we'll see you guys in the morning."

Goren had turned back to his work, but he waved. Malicek said a gruff good night and Nugent herded Moretti in the direction of the elevators.

Malicek continued to scan the reports. "Are any of these matches?"

"No. Those are the ones I ruled out for one reason or another."

She held up one of the reports. "This one looks like she might be a good candidate for our victim from Montpelier."

He glanced at it and shook his head. "She has a tattoo that our vic doesn't."

When Malicek didn't argue, he looked up. "You knew that. You were testing me."

She dropped the reports back on the desk and met his eyes. Her eyes were filled with challenge but there was something more than that, something indefinable. She rose suddenly and swallowed hard as she walked away from the desk. Goren watched her go, noting the tension in the way she held her back so straight. But he also noticed the sway of her hips, and his mind flashed to the heat of the kiss from the day before. When she vanished from sight, he needed a few minutes to recover and refocus his attention on the reports on his desk.

It took some time, but eventually, Goren became fully engrossed once more in comparing the missing persons with their victims. He didn't notice when Malicek returned from the conference room. Her voice came from out of nowhere, drifting past his ear as she leaned over his shoulder. "I was thinking about the letters."

He closed his eyes for a moment. Not this again... "What about them?"

"Do you really think they simply mean 'Rest in Peace'?"

He turned his head to look at her as she backed away. "Do you really want to discuss this, or are you just looking for another fight?"

"Maybe both. Afraid of a fight, Goren?"

"Not at all," he replied, meeting her challenge.

Her mouth quirked, drawing his gaze from her eyes to her lips. "It's a signature," she said with confidence. "An epitaph is too damn obvious."

"Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar."

"Leave it to you to bring up Freud," she shot back.

He smirked. "Leave it to you to think that was Freud. When you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras. Why are you looking for a zebra, Malicek?"

"Because the profile says he's a damn zebra."

"No, it doesn't. That's what you've twisted it into."

She leaned against the desk as he leaned back in his chair. She crossed her arms over her chest. "This guy is not the simpleton you seem to think he is," she accused.

"Why? Because he's eluded you for six years? Suppose he is just what he seems to be?"

Her defensiveness increased. "Fine, Goren. You and your people can chase the obvious. I prefer to follow the profile."

"Not the profile. Your interpretation of it." She glared at him, maintaining an icy silence. He watched her walk away again, but this time, he rose and followed her. "Seriously, Malicek," he said as he followed her into the conference room. "You're looking for camouflage."

She pointed at him. "Did you read the profile?"

"Several times," he conceded.

"And your profiler doesn't concur?" Her question was leading; he was certain that she knew full well that he was the profiler.

"On the contrary, the two profiles are very close. Mine is just more straight forward than yours is."

She grabbed her bag. "I'm done. We can continue this argument tomorrow." Goren watched her stride out of the conference room, his eyes again drawn to the sway of her hips. He turned, eyes closed, trying again to erase the memory of yielding flesh and firm muscle beneath his hands. When he opened his eyes, he was facing a wall filled with pictures of victims, the copies of the missing persons' reports in front of him. He studied the crime scene photos, then looked down at the reports and back, his head cocked to the side. Hazel, he thought. The victim's eyes, a mix of brown and blue and green… they all had hazel eyes.

another great chapter, you two!

I have really enjoyed this fic and can't wait til the next chapter. I read it all in one sitting a few days ago.

Chapter 9: Connections

Corrie Malicek rode up in the elevator in blessed silence. She rarely experienced such a phenomenon. Usually, her mind was filled with so much noise, with the sounds of the city: horns honking, sirens, the scuttle of crowds hustling from place to place. Usually, her mind was filled with the noise of terrible wrong, with the details of this damn case. And, now, her mind was filled with Detective Goren: his arrogance, his confidence, his warm hands on her hips. Damn it. So much for blessed silence.

When the elevator doors opened, she walked forward without looking and crashed right into the very person she had just been cursing. He caught her easily by her arms and held her there, looking at her.

"Hazel," he muttered, looking into her eyes. She was confused. Her eyes were not hazel; her eyes were sort of blue, maybe gray, but not a hint of green or brown. Definitely not hazel. Why was he looking into her eyes like that and calling them hazel? Was he color blind?

"What the hell, Goren?" She snapped, trying to wrestle herself free of his hold. If she didn't get away from him fast, she was going to slam into him again and this time she would go for a deeper taste. What was wrong with her anyway? What the hell was wrong with him? Why wouldn't he let her go?

"Hazel...the victims' eyes--they are hazel. All of them. I'm certain of it." He finally let her go.

"You're certain of everything," she complained, rubbing her arms where he had been touching them, not because he hurt her, but because his touch cut to the core of her and she needed to wipe away the sensation.

"Malicek…" He had something else to say. She liked it better when he called her Corrie. Wait a second...had he ever called her Corrie or was she just inventing what that might sound like in her head? "I can show you…" he gestured toward the conference room where they had been working.

"You can wait a minute. I just walked in." She stepped backward, almost tripping over herself in her effort to get away. "I'll be there in a minute," she snapped, glowering at him before stalking off in search of some coffee. She needed something to distract herself, and caffeine seemed like as good an option as any.

Goren watched her walked away, his eyes drawn to the sway of her hips. He continued to watch as he reached toward the wall to press the elevator down button. He kept watching until she disappeared from his line of vision. The elevator doors opened a moment later and he got in.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Eames observed the exchange between Goren and Malicek from her desk. Goren had been on his way to see Rodgers about something when he collided with Malicek coming off the elevator. She studied them with interest, noting that Malicek tried to twist away from Goren, wondering about the heat of the glare Malicek shot at him. Eames chalked it up to the agent's temper.

"What was that?" Moretti asked as he approached Eames. He had also watched the heated exchange between Goren and Malicek.

"Goren called me last night. He found a connection: all the victims apparently have hazel eyes," Eames answered. "I assume that's what he's discussing with Malicek—the connection—the eye color."

Moretti looked at Eames, then returned his gaze to Goren and Malicek. The tall, dark-haired agent was stalking off in the direction of the break room. "She's not happy with Goren stepping in front of her on this case."

"Stepping in front of her?" Eames asked as she turned toward him, wondering about that particular turn of phrase.

"Uhm, uh, what I mean is Detective Goren is picking out details that the FBI missed," Moretti tried to explain himself. He knew there was a turf war in progress between Malicek and Goren. He also knew that Malicek was driving it.

"You're right," Eames agreed, her tone odd.

"I am?" Moretti wasn't quite sure just how he was right, he was so discombobulated by Eames' quiet but clearly perturbed reaction to what she perceived as a slight against her partner.

"Agent Malicek," Eames said, turning away. She focused her gaze on the corridor leading to the break room, where Malicek had gone. "She doesn't look happy at all."

Moretti snorted. "Does she ever?"

"Does who ever what?" came a voice from behind them.

They turned to face Agent Nugent. Moretti answered, "Your partner. Is she ever happy?"

Nugent's mouth set in a grim line. He tended to get as protective of Malicek as Eames did of Goren. He shoved his hands into his pockets. "She used to be. This case has taken a huge toll on her. She's not the same person anymore; she was different before we caught this case."

Eames understood that. She looked toward the elevators. Life had taken its toll on her partner, and she was still struggling to get him back. "Come on," she said suddenly. "We have work to do." She looked at Nugent. "Goren found something last night."

"Great," Nugent answered. It's gonna be one hell of a day.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Malicek walked into the conference room with a cup of coffee. The first thing she noticed was that Goren was not there. Next, she saw that the table was covered with the missing persons' reports Goren had been messing with for the last two days. They were arranged in stacks, and she wondered if he'd finished going through them all yet. She looked at Nugent, Eames and Moretti, and she addressed Goren's partner. "So, where is he?"

"He'll be right back. He had to talk to Rodgers."

"He said something about hazel eyes. Do you know what he was going on about?"

Eames was trying not to lose her patience, but she hated Malicek's condescending attitude. Moretti passed behind her and lightly tapped her shoulder, allowing her to refocus and maintain an even keel. "He called me last night and told me he thinks all the victims have hazel eyes."

"Please don't tell me he wants to dig up more bodies."

"I'm not sure what he has in mind yet. We'll have to wait until he gets back."

Malicek let out a heavy breath. "I waste more time waiting for that man. What's going on with all these reports?" She waved an impatient hand and reached to gather up all the reports.

Eames deftly took a step in front of her. "What are you doing?"

Malicek made a move to step around Eames. "I want to review the reports. Goren hasn't given anyone else an opportunity to see them."

Eames continued to block her way, speaking so softly only Malicek could hear her. "He requested them. He was here all night sorting through them. He will share them when he's damn good and ready."

Goren returned from the medical examiner's office with another stack of papers. He entered the conference room and stopped in his tracks. He didn't know what to make of Eames and Malicek, squaring off in front of the table. His eyes scanned the room, looking from person to person. Nugent stood in the corner, looking contrite. Moretti was near him, looking worried.

"Malicek."

His voice was calm, but Eames saw the storm building in his eyes. He slammed the papers he held onto the table.

Malicek looked at Goren, but made no move to back away from Eames. "Is something wrong, detective?"

Moretti began to sidle his way along the wall toward the door, but Nugent grabbed his arm, forcing him to stay. If Goren was going to kill Malicek, Nugent wanted as many witnesses as he could get for the big detective. He had no idea what had gotten into his volatile partner, but he had a feeling she'd taken on the wrong adversary.

Goren stepped up to his partner's side. He used his size to edge his way almost in between Malicek and Eames. His partner was cool, holding her ground with an unfathomable expression in her eyes. Malicek on the other hand couldn't keep her temper out of her expression. Her slate colored eyes burned with anger.

Malicek turned to face Goren, caught off guard by his sudden closeness. She fought off her reaction to his proximity, focusing on getting what she wanted. "I want to see the reports you've been hoarding."

"Hoarding," he said, getting his own temper in check enough to find his voice. He rolled the word off his tongue. "You could have requested these reports from missing persons at any time. Why are you suddenly interested in them?"

Eames answered before Malicek could, "Because we're interested in them?"

Malicek drew her attention from Goren and glared at Eames. "Go to hell," she snapped, spinning on her heel and walking away from both Goren and Eames.

She approached Moretti and Nugent. Running the heel of her hand across her forehead, hoping some of the pressure would help her focus and think, she stopped in front of her partner. "Well?" she demanded.

"Well, I think you need to settle down," he said softly, not wishing to argue with her in front of the local officers. "No one is hiding anything from us, Corrie."

She gave that some consideration before turning around. Making a sweeping gesture with her arm, she said, "Let's go. Let's see what you've got."

Goren could tell she was making an effort to get a hold of her temper, however she hadn't quite managed to ratchet it back. He felt that something more was going on with her than the missing person's reports. Goren looked at his partner. Eames was a consummate professional at keeping her feelings in check, but he could tell that she was also pissed at being directly confronted by Malicek. He had already filled Eames in on the status of the case, and all along his plan had been to share with the others. So, he picked up the largest stack of papers from the table.

"These are the ones I've ruled out, for one reason or another." He lifted another, smaller stack from the table. "These were maybes, but now I don't think they'll match any of our victims."

Malicek bristled at his use of the pronoun 'our'. "Mine," she murmured under her breath, and Nugent elbowed her, shaking his head.

Goren heard her voice; he found himself often tuned in to her. But he didn't catch what she said, so he let it go and picked up the smallest of the stacks he'd sorted the night before. "These have the greatest potential to match our victims. I can make preliminary identifications, which I've already done, but in order to be certain, we have to match DNA."

Malicek crossed her arms over her chest. "And just how do you propose we do that?"

"If your lab did its job right, they would have sent tissue samples to my lab. We'll have to contact the families of these women and request samples of anything they might still have that contains the DNA of each of these women. Hair brushes are our best bet."

Malicek snorted. "You expect these families to have untouched hairbrushes five or ten years after these women went missing?"

Goren's only reaction to her interruption was a slight narrowing of his eyes. He went on as though she had not spoken. "If we're lacking tissue samples..." he trailed off.

Malicek's anger flared at the implication he was making. "No. No way. You are not going to exhume any more victims." They'd been put to rest, she did not want to go around digging them up and upsetting the families if there was a different way to go about things.

"I beg to differ," he shot back. "We are if we have to."

"This is my case," she said with venom.

He moved closer to her. "Not any more. You do not have primary jurisdiction over the New York murders."

"The hell I don't."

They stood close, facing off, and neither moved. Moretti looked at Nugent and Eames, noting that both of them had moved closer to their partners. This could get ugly fast, he mused. Half a second before he made up his mind to get Ross, Nugent spoke as he grasped his partner's arm and steered her away from Goren and Eames. "This is getting us nowhere. Bobby, show us the IDs you made."

Malicek broke her stance first. She stalked across the conference room and leaned against the back wall. She pressed her hands, palms flat, against the gritty surface of the wall. Leaning her head back, she focused on breathing for a few moments. She needed to get a hold of herself. Whether the local cops believed it or not, she was not accustomed to stomping around feeling hostile toward everyone in the room, including her partner Nugent. She was exhausted and consumed by this case. But the straw that was breaking her back was Detective Goren. She removed her hands from pressing against the wall and fisted her fingers, digging her fingernails slowly into her palms.

"Yes, show us the IDs you made," she echoed Nugent's words and walked slowly over to the table that held the piles of missing person's reports. "How did you exclude those women?" She motioned toward the piles of reports.

"A couple of them had, or didn't have, body art consistent with the victims. The rest were excluded because their eyes are the wrong color."

There it was. "What evidence do you have to support that, Goren? Eye color isn't routinely included on autopsy reports."

"That's part of the reason I went downstairs. I had Rodgers check the victims we have, and they all have hazel eyes. The victims you already identified, they had hazel eyes. Age, body type, hair, eye color. These victims are not random. They represent a specific person to our guy. He's punishing someone, over and over. This...this has meaning to him."

As always, Eames felt a cold shudder at how close her partner got to the people they pursued. She was surprised to see her own feelings mirrored in Malicek's face for just a moment. And for once, the agent did not argue with Goren. She turned away and waved at him to continue, but she was shaken, and Eames wondered why.

By midafternoon, they had tentative IDs on more than half of their victims, and calls had been made to a third of them, requesting a meeting with family members at their convenience.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
At the end of another excruciatingly long day, Malicek was not particularly surprised to find Goren alone in the conference room. Everyone else had gone for the day. Goren remained, studying the photos that were tacked to the walls. He wandered in front of the pictures, occasionally turning his head to one side or the other, or leaning in for a closer look. Her eyes followed him, studying his broad back, and wishing he'd kept his suit jacket on. Her eyes strayed below his belt, and she really wished he'd kept his jacket on. Averting her eyes, she composed herself, glad he had not noticed she was there.

When she looked back at him, she was careful to keep her eyes fixed somewhere else, away from his body. But when her gaze came to rest on the back of his head, she wondered if those curls were soft. They looked soft... Get a grip, Malicek!

Goren wandered to the table at the far corner of the room and picked up a stack of papers, leafing through them before he returned to the pictures, the reports still in his hand.

"Do you always do that?" she finally asked, needing to redirect her focus.

He stopped midstride and frowned, not used to being interrupted. It took him a moment to process her question. "Do what?" he asked without turning.

"Spend hours and hours studying the same crime scene photos. Where does that get you?"

Her tone was civil and he wondered how long it would last before she threw another temper tantrum. He was curious to see how far she would take it without Nugent nearby to keep her in check. "It forms a connection for me, to the victims. And it helps me to... understand...his motives, who he is. It gets me...into his head."

"Into his head? That's a scary place to be, Goren."

"Sometimes."

"Level with me. This profile you're working off...it's yours. You're the profiler."

He hesitated, but still did not turn to face her. "Yes."

"I thought as much. Your personnel jacket says a lot about you."

He snorted. "Not a lot of it's good."

"No. A six month suspension is a pretty steep punishment, particularly considering that what you did was...well, it took guts. And it was the right thing to do."

He didn't like the reminder of his foray into Tates, but he'd always thought the same thing. She placed her hands on the back of a chair. "You're a damn good profiler, if I choose to believe the things I read. So, do you always get your man?"

"Almost," he answered. If she'd read his jacket, she knew the answer.

She watched him carefully as she asked, "What about the one that got away?"

His back stiffened and, finally, he turned to look at her. She smiled. She didn't smile often, and he noticed how it softened her features. She had a nice smile; he wished she would show it more. She broke his train of thought when she moved, circling the opposite end of the table, away from him. She understood his silence and explained, "There's always one that gets away."

"She didn't get away because we didn't know who she was, or what she'd done."

A lone missing persons' report lay on the table, and she moved it with her finger. "So how did she get away?"

"She's...very smart...cunning...always half a step ahead of me..." He found himself unable to talk about her in the past tense.

She looked up. "Gives you a run for your money, eh?"

He nodded, then looked away from her. "If my life had followed a different course..." he mused, and he thought to himself - we would have been unstoppable. It was a thought he had never voiced out loud.

"A different course... You mean, if you had chosen a life of crime?"

He tried to refocus on the pictures. "Even into my twenties, it wasn't out of the question."

"Something changed you."

He shook his head. "Not something. Someone." His focus was gone, but he tried not to get annoyed. At least she wasn't picking a fight this time. He leaned back against the table, resting his weight against it and crossing his arms. "He saw me...for exactly what I was. He...he knew...an-and I gave myself over to him, completely. He's the first person in my life I ever completely trusted. He was...he was the father I needed. He sharpened my natural skills, brought out the profiler in me. Gage saved me from my past, and he permanently altered the course of my life." He had no idea why he was telling her this, except that he was inordinately tired and he probably needed to go home. Something kept him from leaving, though.

"Gage? Dr. Declan Gage?"

Goren nodded. "Yes. Before he had his breakdown," Before he lost his brilliant mind.... "He was the best of the best."

"A legacy he left to you?" she asked, almost teasing, but not quite because she sensed that it was true.

The legacy of his brilliance, or his downfall? He got very uncomfortable, so he shifted the course of the conversation away from himself. "So who was the one that got away from you, Malicek?"

She made a sweeping motion with her hand. "You're looking at him."

His eyes followed the course of her hand as he scanned each picture. Slowly, he shook his head. "No. He's not going to get away. We're going to get him." He pushed off the table and grabbed his jacket. His momentum was gone and he had to leave. "We'll spare you the torture of letting one slip through your hands."

"Goren..."

He stopped with his hand on the door, waiting. He really had to leave. The moments of his days that were not consumed by the case were filled with Malicek, and he found it difficult to be alone in any room with her. His mind flooded with memories of her mouth against his, with the taste of her, the smell of her hair and her skin, the feel of her firm hips which yielded to softer curves as his hands moved up her sides... Her voice brought him back to the present moment. "Where is she now?"

He looked at his hand and his grip tightened on the doorknob. "She's dead. Gage killed her..." Again, he kept the final part of the sentence to himself - to save me.

He yanked the door open and left the room. Malicek was stunned for a moment. She had not expected that. By the time she recovered and hurried out of the room, Goren was gone.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The next morning, the elevator doors opened at the parking garage level of 1PP and Eames stepped into the elevator. There were several others riding up from the lobby, including Malicek, who nodded at her. "Good morning, Detective Eames."

Eames bristled at the neutral, unfriendly tone. "Agent Malicek," she said with an answering dip of her head. She still didn't know what to make of the FBI agent.

They got off the elevator in time to see Goren launch himself from his desk and trot to the conference room. Eames watched him until he was out of sight. Malicek asked, "What does that mean?"

"It means he found something relevant."

"So let's find out what's going on."

Eames shook her head. "Let him come to us. Don't push him. He'll talk to us once he's got everything sorted in his head."

When she got to her desk, Eames saw the brown envelope on Goren's desk. She reached over and grabbed it. The return address was a woman's name: Melody Cavanaugh, his contact at Missing Persons. She set the envelope back on the desk.

Goren came out of the conference room with a picture in each hand, studying them intently. He didn't look up or slow down. His co-workers knew enough to give him a clear path when he was engrossed in something and his autopilot knew its way to his desk. So when Malicek inserted herself into his path, he plowed right into her. The pictures flew out of his hands and he grabbed her before she fell. This was becoming an unfortunate habit of hers, one that irritated him as much as it affected him.

"Watch it, will you?" she scolded.

Releasing her, he retrieved the photos and muttered an annoyed apology. He returned to his desk and sat down, placing the pictures in front of him. Eames and Malicek stepped up on either side of him. Malicek snorted, annoyed. "We already identified her," she insisted, convinced he was wasting time again.

Goren shook his head, tapping the autopsy photo. "This is Elizabeth Conners, victim number twenty-two, found in the Bronx last October." He moved his finger to the picture he just received from Missing Persons. "This is her twin sister, Virginia. She was reported missing three days ago from her Brooklyn apartment."

"She has hazel eyes," Eames observed.

"Just like her sister. Just like the rest of them," Goren concurred.

"Got an address for her place in Brooklyn?"

"Yes."

"So what are we waiting for? Let's go see what we can find."

Goren looked at Eames and shrugged, rising from his chair while Eames went after Moretti and Nugent. Malicek asked, "What do you expect to find?"

He caught her eyes, and his mind tripped for a moment. She sparked with fire, a fire that could consume him if he let it. "We'll find out when we get there."

Chapter 10: Humanity

She was perfect. As perfect as her sister had been. He was delighted that they were the same, exactly the same. He sat cattycorner from her at a small square table, drinking a glass of milk. She was tied to her chair, but he had untied her gag. She was sitting quietly enough; her hazel eyes were huge and full of fear. She had stopped crying, though, and he was glad for that. He hated to see them cry.

"Please," she murmured, looking at him, her voice hoarse from crying and screaming. "Please," she repeated, but she never said anything more. She was past that, past being hysterical. Her pleas irritated him. It wasn't right. He hadn't done anything, so what was she begging him for? He closed his eyes as he drank his milk; the voice of his father filled his head. Angry, yelling, always yelling – 'You stupid bitch, can't you do anything right?'

He finished his milk and scooted his chair back across the floor. He'd better get to bed. It was getting late. He gently replaced the gag and gave her cheek a chaste kiss. 'Good night, Mother' – he thought to himself. He did not speak. In fact, in the time that he'd had her, he had never said a word to her.

Then, just like he used to do when he was a boy, he left his mother sitting at the table as he headed off to his room.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As Eames drove toward Brooklyn, Goren studied the report from Rodgers on the body of Elizabeth Conners. Moretti rode in the backseat, listening without comment. Goren spoke quietly, accustomed only to Eames, not necessarily thinking about Moretti's ability to listen. He was thinking out loud, which helped him focus and brought Eames into his mindset. "According to the missing person's report on Elizabeth, she went missing almost a month before her body was found. The ligature marks on her wrists and ankles showed evidence of healing, and Rodgers found additional electrical burn marks, minor ones, on her back and thighs, all in different stages of healing. The original autopsy estimated she had been dead less than 24 hours when she was found."

"He kept her for a month and never raped her? What are we dealing with here?"

He leafed through the pages in his lap. He had intentionally left behind the photos. Those were something the family did not need to see. The Conners family had not yet been contacted for DNA. If they could get any of Virginia's DNA, it would be good enough to make the ID of Elizabeth without subjecting her family to morgue photos. Elizabeth's remains, which had been exhumed as a Jane Doe with the other New York victims, could be transferred from Rodgers' morgue to the family for burial. These loved ones could have some closure in the fate of one daughter, while the fate of the other, Goren knew, rested with them. That thought made him uneasy. They were building a good working profile of the killer, but understanding him and finding him, though intimately related, were vastly different tasks. The killer had eluded the law for over a decade and had been giving the Bureau a run for its money for more than half that time. His thoughts suddenly shifted to Malicek. The burden of this case weighed heavily on her shoulders. For years it had been wearing her down, bit by bit. He understood how that happened. He had watched it happen to Gage, but he was not going to watch it destroy Malicek. He was going to close this case.

His mind wandered, filled with images of the case, of their victims, of the explosive FBI agent he could not seem to get out of his thoughts. A sharp jab in his side from his partner brought him crashing back to the present. "Uh...no. There is no evidence she was raped. None of them were," he managed a reply to Eames' question. "As for what that means, I don't know yet."

Eames glanced at him, worried. She could feel him getting more distant and she didn't like it. This was one more twisted mind for him to connect with, for her to lose him to, even for just a while. But that was not all. He was so distracted lately, so easily lost in his own inner ramblings, and she hated Gage even more because of it.

Goren refocused his attention on the autopsy report. Weeks had elapsed between the time Elizabeth had disappeared and the time her body had been found by police in a Bronx apartment that had been rented under the alias of a man who did not exist, just like the ones who came before. He realized they had a chance of finding Virginia. For now, that's all he needed, a chance. Virginia Conners Aronsen had a husband, a young son, parents, in-laws--a lot of people loved her, needed her, many of whom were also grieving over Elizabeth's disappearance. He was going to do everything in his power to prevent them from having to bury two daughters.

When they arrived at Virginia Aronsen's door, no one knocked. Five of them crowded in the hallway, and not a single person stepped forward. Strange, Goren thought, how one simple action, one knock, can drive the stakes up so much higher and set the clock in motion. But didn't that clock start ticking the moment Virginia went missing?

Eames looked at the faces around her, at the reluctance in each of her colleagues to take the last step and knock on that door. "Oh, for the love of God," she muttered, stepping forward and rapping on the door.

"Samuel Aronsen?" Eames asked, as a very tired, haggard man in his late 30s answered the door. "Detectives Eames, Goren, and Moretti, and Agents Nugent and Malicek."

After introducing the team, Eames was about to continue, but the man cut her off. "Do you have something? Have you found Ginny? Is she hurt? Where is she?"

The distraught man craned his neck to look out into the hall, hoping to find his wife standing there with them. Eames shook her head. "No, sir, we haven't found her. We would like to take a look around your apartment, if we may."

Sam frowned. "Why? She wasn't here when she disappeared. And don't give me any of your police double-talk that she ran off with Lizzie. Ginny was very close to her sister, and she was beside herself when Lizzie went missing. She's not with her sister."

"We don't think that, Mr. Aronsen," Eames assured him. Continuing, she kept her voice soft, "Please sir, you never know what we might find."

With reluctance, Sam Aronsen stepped back from the door and let the team into his home. The police officers went in one direction, into the spacious living room. The FBI agents went in the other direction, toward the open kitchen. Silently, Sam watched.

Pictures, lots of pictures, Goren mused. Ginny with her son, with her husband, with her sister. A chronicle of the little boy's life, a tell-tale story of a happy extended family. It was obvious that Virginia Aronsen was a vibrant, loving woman, and her fate rested in their hands. Tick...tick...tick...

Goren felt sick with dread, and he saw the same look on his partner's face. Time was slipping away from them. His mind shifted gears. DNA...how was he going to bring up that subject to this lost man?

He was distracted from his thoughts by a sob, and he looked toward the kitchen. Goren could see Malicek standing with Sam Aronsen, several photos spread out on the counter before them. No... she didn't...

In a few long strides, he joined Malicek and Sam. Pictures of Elizabeth on the coroner's slab were laid out before Sam. Goren felt a moment of relief that she hadn't brought the most recent pictures. These were bad enough. "Please excuse us, Mr. Aronsen. Agent Malicek, a moment please?"

Eames had also heard the strangled sob from Sam Aronsen. She watched her partner stride across the room with purpose, pulling Malicek aside to the far corner of the room. Just seconds before she read her partner's anger in his movements and the tense way he held his body, she realized what had happened. Oh, no...

Eames and Nugent stepped toward Goren and Malicek at the same moment.

Goren cornered Malicek against the closet near the front door, a quick glance confirming that Sam Aronsen, staring at the pictures of his wife's sister, was at a safe distance, out of earshot. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

"My job, detective. We needed an ID and now we have one."

"These are New York cases," he warned. "Eames and I have jurisdiction. We take the lead, and that is not how we do things."

Anger sparked in Malicek's eyes. Goren was way too close for her comfort. She wanted to place her hands on his chest and shove him back, but she was afraid what would happen once contact was made. "Back off, Goren," she warned.

Their eyes met, angry, challenging...and something more...something neither was able to pin down. Moments later, Eames grabbed her partner's arm and yanked him away while Nugent stepped into the place vacated by the detective. Moretti had moved to Sam's side and was quietly comforting the grieving man. He was surreptitiously gathering up the photos of Elizabeth, trying to keep Sam's attention directed away from the brewing confrontation.

Eames forced Goren back across the living room. "Not here. Not now," she muttered, her quiet hiss a stark contrast to his thunder.

He pulled his arm away and walked to the window. In an effort to refocus his thoughts, he started to study the pictures on the wall over the couch. His anger dissolved suddenly as one of the pictures caught his attention. Tipping his head to one side, he moved in for a closer look, lifting the frame from its hook on the wall. "Mr. Aronsen? May we take this picture? We'll return it undamaged."

"Yes, of course. That was one of Ginny's favorite shots of her and Lizzie." His mind returned to the pictures Malicek had shown him and he covered his mouth with his hand. "Oh, my God, Ginny..." Sam's voice trailed off for a moment, "If that was Lizzie in those pictures, where is Ginny?"

Goren shot a hot glare in Malicek's direction. This latest move trumped all of her previous explosions of temper. Malicek was more of a loose cannon than he was. At least the victims and their families were as important to him as solving the crime was. He wondered when Malicek had forgotten that they had to deal with the living, people who were grieving deep losses. Why didn't she see that she simply couldn't go around flashing photographs of the dead to those they left behind? Her entire focus was on the killer, but she lost track of the fact that in order to catch the killer, they needed the cooperation of the families. He felt certain she had been a sensitive woman before she started drowning in this case. He hoped it was not too late to save her from walking the same path Gage had followed. He felt the final remnants of his anger slip away and he diverted his attention to the picture in his hands. Central Park...a beautiful spring day...and a man in the background that somehow looked familiar...but from where? The recognition nagged at him. It was going to be another long night.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
As they left the Aronsen home, Eames took a moment to speak privately with Sam Aronsen. She relayed their gratitude for his cooperation and she conveyed condolences for the loss of his wife's sister. The man remained pale and shaken, and she wasn't sure if he was really taking in what she was saying. Nonetheless, she continued speaking softly to him. She apologized for their intrusion and with great conviction she gave assurances that they would do everything they could to find his missing wife. The visit left her drained and she wondered if the others felt the same. There was little, she knew, that could drain her partner's energy and she wondered if anything affected Malicek. Nugent and Moretti both looked the way she felt.

The drive back to 1PP was quiet. Moretti was silently watching the partners, Eames concentrated on traffic, and Goren was lost in the picture he had borrowed from Sam Aronsen. Once traffic opened up on the other side of the Brooklyn Bridge, Eames glanced at Goren, "What's so interesting about that picture?"

Drawn from his thoughts, Goren looked at her. "I don't know yet, but I want to compare it to other pictures we have on file." He tapped a figure in the background who seemed to be watching the sisters. "There's something familiar about this man."

"Any idea what?"

"Not yet. I'll let you know when I figure it out."

She couldn't ask for more than that. She pulled into the parking garage and was not surprised when Goren was out of the vehicle before she shut off the engine. He did not wait for Eames and Moretti. He hit the staircase, leaving the other detectives in his wake. Eames looked at the time. Almost lunchtime. Damn. She could have sworn it was closer to dinner. It seemed that lately long days got even longer.

As she and Moretti entered the squad room, Eames was not surprised to find Goren already in the conference room, systematically comparing the picture in the frame to the pictures in their files. He never wasted time. She sat down to help him and so did Moretti. They were looking for a match, following one of Goren's hunches. In some cases, Goren's hunches were as good as evidence.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The FBI agents did not arrive until after lunch, and Malicek's foul mood had worsened. Nugent took Eames aside and informed her that their boss had concurred with Goren about jurisdiction over the New York cases. The FBI Field Director had also informed Malicek that when the request for release of their evidence to the NYPD, signed by Nugent, crossed his desk, he had not hesitated to approve it. He was also of the opinion that fresh eyes could do no harm to their stalled case. He was impressed by the progress NYPD had made since teaming with his agents, and he cautioned her, once again, about her temper. In short, the boss told her to play nice with the other kids. Eames smiled at the analogy.

For her part, Eames explained the significance of the picture Goren had borrowed. While they did not yet know exactly what that significance was, she assured him that she was confident it would turn up something. Goren was not prone to flights of fantasy, but his flashes of insight were case-breaking. Nugent trusted that Eames knew her partner, and he figured he would get a scan of the photograph and send it to the FBI lab for a run through their face recognition software. The software took a while, but maybe something would pop.

What Nugent did not tell Eames was that he had gotten more than an earful from Malicek in an angry tirade about him signing over the evidence. The argument that ensued had him accusing Malicek of not wanting anyone's help, even if it meant solving the case. He was tired of the pissing matches she was always starting with Goren, and, as senior partner, he warned her to cut it out. He and Malicek had once been close and he remained at a loss to explain the chasm that now separated them. He wondered, when all was said and done, what their partnership would be like after this case.

As the end of the day rolled around, Nugent and Moretti left together. Upon realizing they lived only blocks apart in adjacent Queens neighborhoods, they had started riding together to work. As Eames left, she cajoled Goren for overworking himself and asked him to please call it an early night and head for home sometime before midnight. Buried in his pictures, he waved his hand and muttered good night. Then his head came up as he remembered what day it was and he called her back. "Have fun tonight and tell your nephew I said hello."

She smiled, pleased that he remembered it was Thursday, the night she had dinner at her sister's house. "Try to get some rest tonight, Bobby. Please."

He nodded, seeing a few drinks in his immediate future. He upped that, realizing it would take more than a few to erase these women from his mind and silence their voices for just a few hours so he could rest.

Don't get so emotionally tied to your cases, Bobby! You have to be able to let these people go when the case is solved! Declan's voice often rang in his head these days as well. Let them go...That was something he had never learned to do.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Malicek was pleased that everyone had left for the evening. This was the time of day she liked best. She craved the quiet time, which she could spend alone with the files, with the pictures, with the victims. As her stomach growled, she realized she had not eaten lunch. She'd been too angry with her partner and with their Field Director, Special-Agent-In-Charge Harrison, to even think straight, much less eat. She couldn't fathom Harrison siding with the NYPD. She tried to shake it off and let go of her anger. Harrison didn't know. He wasn't in the field. She and Nugent were the field agents, and they were going to manage this case the way they needed to manage it.

Her wallet was in her jacket, which she'd left in the conference room. When she went after it, she was surprised to see Goren sitting at the table. He'd been there all afternoon. She thought he'd gone with Eames. Squaring her shoulders, she walked to the chair where her jacket hung. She deftly grabbed it and turned to walk back toward the door. When Goren did not react to her presence, she paused and looked at him. Wow, that guy could focus. As she watched him, she got the feeling it would be a long time before he dragged himself home and into a bottle. It was a too familiar scenario. Strangely, she identified with him. "Goren," she said before she could stop herself.

He looked up, the surprise on his face telling her he had not realized he wasn't alone in the room. "Malicek."

"It's time to take a break. Let's get some dinner."

He looked from her to the pictures. She could tell he was going to beg off, but he needed to eat. She knew first hand that before long his head would begin to pound as he grew too tired to think straight. Uncharacteristically she softened her tone a bit and said, "The photographs, they aren't going anywhere. Come on."

He rubbed his eyes and stretched his back. His mind was on Virginia Aronsen. Had she eaten? Was she even still alive? Shifting his eyes toward the pictures on the wall of Elizabeth Conners and then down at the collection of crime scene photos spread over the table in a seemingly haphazard way, he thought, No, it's not time. He hasn't killed her...yet.

He looked at Malicek for a long moment; he could see understanding in her eyes. She was thinking the same thing. Everyone was thinking about Virginia Aronsen. He knew he was on to something with these pictures. But, he also knew his concentration was fading. He needed to eat, to sleep; he needed to regain focus. Staying up all night again would have him spinning in circles, and tomorrow, he would be useless. So, he looked at Malicek and thought, rather wryly - dinner and a fight, good eats. He smiled to himself and got up. Sliding into his suit coat, he followed her out the door.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They ate at the diner down the street from the headquarters building where he and Eames often had lunch when they were paperbound in the squadroom. Afterward, he walked Malicek to her car and then started back toward the elevators. She watched him until she was certain he was not walking to his own car. "Aren't you going home?" she asked.

He shook his head. He'd gotten his second wind. "There are some more things I thought about that I want to go over." Virginia Aronsen was missing, and his guilt would not allow him to call it a night.

"You're going to be useless tomorrow," Malicek observed.

He shook his head. "I'm used to long nights." Long, sleepless nights...

"You need to get some sleep," she pressed, her tone softer. Goren sensed she understood. Malicek knew what it was like to not be able to sleep. "Let me give you a ride," she insisted.

When he shook his head no, she continued in a weary tone, "You paid for dinner. Come on. Consider this my payback."

He hesitated a moment longer before finally conceding and returning to her car. Sliding into the passenger seat, he leaned his head back but remained alert, not wanting to close his eyes and be flooded with the images of Virginia Aronsen. They rode together in silence. When she cleared the Brooklyn Bridge, he provided brief directions to his neighborhood.

About two blocks from his apartment, the smooth ride of the car suddenly changed. He recognized the sound and feel of a flat tire, the right rear. "Son of a bitch!" she swore.

She forced the car another block. His building was in the middle of the next block, just a stone's throw down the street. He thought about pointing out that she was going to ruin her rim by continuing to drive on it, but with a sudden, violent turn of the wheel she screeched the car to a stop, pulling to the curb at an odd angle. Malicek jumped out of the car before he could say a word. She launched into a physically abusive tirade against the hapless vehicle.

As he placed his hand on the door handle, he could feel the reverberations through the body caused by her abuse of the car. Opening the door, he got out onto the sidewalk and watched her kick and pound on the vehicle until he noticed blood on the fender from a split knuckle on her right hand. He didn't have to wonder where this display of frustration against her car was coming from. Malicek's frustration had reached the end of the line.

She had managed to maintain some semblance of composure following the confrontation over the missing persons' reports in the conference room, but he could tell she had been deeply affected by their visit to Virginia Aronsen's apartment. The visit humanized their victims. It was an apartment filled with love, with a life in photographs: Virginia--so vibrant, so loving--all in sharp contrast to the postmortem photographs of her twin sister Elizabeth. They'd stood in Virginia Aronsen's apartment, feeling her life, knowing that it was slipping away, knowing that they were a breath away from looking at pictures of Virginia on the same slab her twin sister just recently occupied in Rodgers' morgue.

"Son of a bitch," Malicek was breathless. "Jesus..." She ran her hands through her hair, now only kicking at her car as she held her head. "God help us," she breathed. Goren didn't know what to do, so he simply stood there watching her as she continued to rant. "We've got to find her! We've got to…" Malicek did not finish her sentence. She turned sharply and Goren instinctively caught her, his hands lightly gripping her.

As soon as he touched her, she fell into his arms, her chest to his chest. Her fingers began tracing his face, her right hand running against his lips, forcing his mouth slightly open. Before he could react, she was kissing him again, pressing up against him, her arms sliding around his neck. She was kissing the air right out of him.

He had no idea how they made it that final short block to his place. By the time he got his apartment door open, his jacket was off his shoulders and on the floor. Buttons popped off his shirt and he pushed her pants forcefully down and over her hips. They barely had the apartment door closed and their clothes were all over the floor. He placed his hands around her ribs, his thumbs just under her breasts, and steered her backwards across the living room. She was kissing him and scratching her nails down his back. When she nipped at his lip, he gasped at the sharp pain.

"Now," she whispered roughly into his ear. They made it to his bedroom, but not quite to the bed. He took her on the floor. It had been a very long time since he'd been with a woman, not since his life began to spiral out of control with his mother's terminal diagnosis. And he'd never been with anyone like this. She was rough and physical and she wanted, needed, the same from him. They both needed it. They needed the physical release, and they used each other to find it.

Sometime later, they made it to the bed. In a tangle of sheets, blankets and bodies, they slept.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Well before dawn, he woke. In the darkness, he listened to the sounds of the room: the rustle of the sheets, the occasional bark of a dog or rumble of a passing vehicle through the barely open window, the soft, easy breathing of the woman beside him...

She was awake.

She knew by his shifting and the change in his breathing pattern that he no longer slept. "Do you think he's keeping her?" she whispered, her tone more calm, more gentle than he had ever heard. He didn't have to ask what she meant. He knew. Virginia Aronsen. He also knew the question was rhetorical. Both the profile and the evidence supported the fact that the killer kept the victims for a period of time before killing them. What it was unable to tell them, though, was how much time they had before Virginia suffered her twin's fate.

"Corrie..." His voice was equally soft as he used her given name for the first time. She'd been right; she liked the sound of it. He rolled over onto his side and ran his fingers down the valley of her spine. She felt the goosebumps rise; she felt alive.

She buried herself deeper into the covers, pressing her head into the soft pillow, keeping her back to him as she enjoyed his light caress. His bed was big, comfortable, and she wondered what demons kept him from it so often. "He's keeping her," she said with confidence, her voice muffled against the pillowcase.

"Yeah, he's keeping her," he agreed, focusing on the curves of her back.

He was completely surprised when she rolled toward him, pressing him onto his back. He knew she was using him for distraction, for release. He didn't care; he was using her as well. Yielding, he offered no resistance. Straddling him, she looked into his eyes, again running her fingers across the features of his face. His hands rested on her waist, and he groaned as she began shifting her hips, sliding his hands down to span them. She leaned forward, her breasts brushing against his chest, her mouth near his ear.

"I hope my car's still where we left it," she whispered, and he smiled, realizing that she couldn't turn her brain off either. He moved his hands up her back and, burying his left hand in her hair, he brought her mouth to his. As he moved against her, more slowly this time, they both turned off their brains.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The phone woke him. With a groan, he untangled himself from Malicek and grabbed the receiver. "Uh... yeah?" he muttered groggily into the mouthpiece.

"Where the hell are you?" came his partner's voice, equal measures of concern and irritation.

"Eames?" He squinted at the clock. It was almost nine. "Oh, hell. I, uh, I'm running a little late." He nudged Malicek. "I-I'll be in shortly."

"Are you all right?" The irritation had faded.

"Yeah. I just...I, uh, I overslept."

"All right. I've got you covered, but get your ass in here."

"Thanks. I'm on my way."

He dropped the phone in its cradle and rolled onto his back. Malicek rolled toward him, nipping at his ear. "We're late," he mumbled.

"Then let's get to work…" she said suggestively, her tone making it clear she did not mean the squad room.

With a deep groan of regret, he turned away from her. He could hear her laugh softly as he moved toward the shower. "You need to shower, too, don't you?" he called over his shoulder. "We should probably get moving."

"Get moving.." she repeated thoughtfully. "Oh, I can move..." She followed him into the shower.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
They left the apartment and he walked her to her car. He arched a brow. "Nice parking job."

"Don't even go there, Goren." She turned toward him. "Are you sure you want to take the train?"

He nodded. "I'm sure."

She looked at him, but held back from touching him. It hadn't taken her long to figure out that she couldn't get too close to him without experiencing an overwhelming need for...him, all of him. "You know, this doesn't change anything. I still think you're an arrogant bastard."

There was a sparkle in his eye she'd never noticed before. "That's okay, Malicek. I still think you're a pain in the ass."

She let her face relax into a rare smile. "As long as we're clear on that."

"Crystal," he promised. He pointed a finger toward his face, making a circling motion. "You should do that more often. Smile, I mean. It's...it's nice."

On a sudden impulse, she caught his mouth in a kiss that lingered. Her tongue tangled with his, teasing and taunting, before she withdrew.

He struggled for a moment to recover. "Can I...can I help you with that tire?" he asked, looking at her slightly lopsided vehicle.

"I can change my own damn tire," she replied, her tone teasing, not angry.

"Without killing your car?" he wondered, referring to her assault on the vehicle last night.

"Without killing my car," she smiled and started for her trunk to retrieve her jack and spare. "See you in the office, detective."

He paused for a moment, distracted by the movement of her body. "Drive carefully, agent."

She looked around the open trunk and watched him walk down the block before carrying the jack and tire iron around to the flat.

Chapter 11: Progress

Ross was talking to Eames at her desk when Goren arrived. Ross thought that Goren looked like he'd actually spent some time sleeping. "Nice of you to join us today, detective."

Goren sat at his desk and grabbed the contents of his inbox, sorting through the envelopes and reports that had been dropped into it that morning. "Sorry, captain."

Ross couldn't begrudge the detective the extra sleep he had apparently badly needed. "Don't forget your alarm tonight."

"Yes, sir."

Once Ross was well out of earshot, Eames asked, "What happened to you? You don't oversleep."

He shrugged. "It happens once in awhile. I just forgot to set the alarm. That's all."

She looked skeptical, but said nothing more. He glanced around the room. "Where are Moretti, Malicek and Nugent?"

"In the conference room. Malicek was running late, too."

She watched for any kind of reaction to that statement, but he offered none. He sorted the reports he'd received and gathered together the ones that pertained to the case. He finally looked at Eames and said, "I'm almost done with the missing persons reports. We have a few more families to call."

She wondered if he was intentionally being evasive or if he simply had no comment on the coincidental tardiness she mentioned. She decided it wasn't worth pursuing. "Did you get anywhere with that picture last night?"

He shook his head. "Not yet, but it's there. It has to be."

She knew he wasn't often wrong, but it happened, and he'd been very distracted lately, but she said nothing as she followed him to the conference room.

Malicek looked up as the two detectives entered the room. She pointed to the table in the corner. "Apparently, your lab is done with my evidence," she snapped irritably.

"Are you still going on about that?" Goren asked as he walked to the table.

"Why shouldn't I be?"

He picked up the thick stack of reports and gave Malicek a sideways glance. "The only thing that was sacrificed by doing this is your ego."

"Screw you, Goren" she snapped, but there was less venom in her voice than usual.

The look that flashed in his eyes was instantaneous and gone as fast as it appeared, but Malicek saw it and she understood it. Somehow, she managed to not react as she returned her attention to the papers in front of her.

Across the room, Eames and Moretti were shuffling through a stack of missing persons' reports. Eames asked, "Are these the ones you've ruled out?"

He glanced up. "Yes. The preliminary matches are over there by Malicek."

As Eames walked toward the agent, Malicek reached out, gathered up the stack and held it out. Surprised by any effort toward cooperation from Malicek, Eames muttered a thank you as she took the stack. She then asked Goren, "Are the autopsy results there, too?"

"Some of them," Goren answered as he leafed through the reports in his hands. "Rodgers is taking her time with the older ones, so she misses as little as possible, given the condition of the bodies."

"Can't let well enough alone and leave the dead buried," Malicek commented without looking up.

Malicek just could not let anything go. Eames snapped at her, "You certainly didn't have any problems bringing the dead out yesterday in front of Sam Aronsen."

When Malicek looked up at her, there was unmitigated fury in her eyes. Deftly, Nugent stepped into her line of vision. He liked Eames and he did not want to see Malicek unleash that temper on her. She'd already drawn Goren's blood. "Take a look at this report, Corrie," he insisted, distracting her.

Giving Eames another dark look, Malicek snatched the paper from Nugent's hand. "What about it?" she said testily.

In the far corner of the room, Goren watched the exchange with interest, but he remained silent.

Nugent left Malicek reading the report he gave her once Eames was on the other side of the room, buried in the autopsy reports. He approached Goren. "Do you mind giving me a scan of that picture you borrowed from the husband? I want to send it to the lab for a go with our face recognition software."

Goren nodded. "That's not a problem. I know just who to ask to get the scan done right away. Come on."

Nugent glanced at Malicek for a moment before following Goren from the room. "Funny, the both of you being late today," Nugent commented. Goren did not alter his stride so Nugent kept talking as he walked beside him. "I can't remember the last time Corrie was late. She doesn't oversleep. Hell, she barely sleeps at all any more, since we caught this case." Nugent studied Goren, watching the tension that coarsed through the detective but his face revealed nothing.

"We both worked late," Goren offered with a shrug.

"So, you were working together last night?" Nugent pressed on. He was about to say something further, but they ran into someone in the hallway. Goren stopped the man and held out the photograph.

"Milo, perfect, we were just looking for you," Goren said. "Could you scan this for me and get the picture and the scan back to us right away?"

"Sure thing, detective," the younger man said, taking the photograph from Goren.

"Thanks," Goren said, giving Milo's shoulder a squeeze. Milo nodded as he trotted away down the hall.

The two men turned to walk back to the conference room. "So you were working together last night?" Nugent repeated, not willing to let the matter drop just yet.

"Yeah, just like we're working together now," Goren finally replied.

But Nugent sensed there was something more to it than that. He knew his partner well enough to know when something was going on. Maybe they had called a bit of a détente last night, worked through some of their issues. He could only hope that was the case; he was tired of all of the hostility and infighting. He would give anything for an easier day than the ones they'd been having. The tension was wearing him down. He was especially tired of catching all the crap rolling down hill within the FBI because of Malicek's sensitive volatility over this case. Malicek was never one to call a truce with anyone, but just maybe she and Goren had worked something out. A man could hope.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The quiet darkness was a welcome reprieve to the terror of reality, but it was shattered violently when she was suddenly jerked from her chair, back from the depths of oblivion. He had untied her restraints and now, he was yanking the gag off of her mouth and pulling her down the hallway toward one of the back rooms. Something had changed. He was different than he had been yesterday. She could feel the panic building inside of her. Last night, he was quiet, like a little boy. Today, she could feel the anger vibrating off him in waves.

"You're a goddam mess," he screamed at her, his hands sinking into the flesh of her upper arms. "Don't you care about anything? Can't you at least make a goddam effort to take care of yourself?" He kicked open the door to a bathroom. She could hear the shower running. "Clean yourself up, you filthy whore! I work all damn day and I want to come home to a nice dinner and a woman who doesn't look like a goddam train wreck."

The shower was hot, flushing her flesh to a deep red. It poured across her hair, drenching her clothes. She was afraid he was going to rape her, but he made no move to touch her. He simply kept yelling at her to clean up. Much to her surprise, he left her alone in the bathroom. She collapsed onto the floor of the shower, shivering, even though the water was blistering hot. He returned in a second and pounded on the door, again yelling at her to clean up. So, she stood up in a daze and, fully clothed, in the shower, she began to wash her hair. She was weak; she hadn't eaten in a long time. She thought that maybe if she did as he asked… maybe, just maybe… she would be okay...
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The day seemed endless. Nugent sent off the scan of the photograph to his lab while Goren and Eames plowed through their labs reports on the evidence they'd gotten from the Bureau. Malicek was still stewing about that, and Nugent wished she would just let it go already.

Moretti spent the day with Nugent calling the families of the missing women who were preliminary matches to their victims. Nugent managed to convince Malicek to go over the autopsy reports. He learned from unfortunate experience that his gruff partner did not really have the touch to deal directly with grieving families. Yesterday's incident with Sam Aronsen proved that yet again. It was one reason why she was the one who examined the scene while he dealt with the witnesses. They each had their strengths and people were just not one of Malicek's strengths.

Nugent and Moretti called it a day just before six. They'd gotten nowhere and were exhausted despite their lack of progress. When Eames was ready to take off, about a half hour after Nugent and Moretti, she offered her partner a ride. She wasn't surprised when he declined.

Eames stopped at her desk to gather her things before heading toward the elevators. At the last minute she remembered something and returned to the conference room. Shoving the door open, she strolled into the room, immediately aware of the tension in the air. Malicek was on the far side of the room, removing one of the crime scene pictures from the wall. Goren stood near the table with a report in his hands. He looked up. "Something wrong, Eames?"

"No," she said, uncertain. "I forgot to tell you that I got a call from Boston at lunchtime. The Boston PD found an entire crate of evidence that had been misfiled. They're sending it by overnight courier and it will be here in the morning."

A frown creased his brow. "Misfiled?" He shook his head and she could read his frustration.

Her expression softened. "It's been a long day. You should cut out soon. Get some rest."

He chose not to argue with her. "What time will you be in tomorrow?"

She'd almost forgotten it was Friday night. "Nine."

He inclined his head, accepting her answer. "I'll see you tomorrow, then."

She hesitated a moment longer. "You're going home tonight, right?" She looked around, her implication clear. She was asking if he was planning to work all night.

An affectionate smile ghosted across his face. "Yes, Eames. I'm going home."

He had some things to do on the way home, so he was actually planning on taking off shortly. But he wasn't in the mood to elaborate. He knew Eames would not be happy if she knew he was planning to visit Gage.

She glanced across the room toward Malicek, who seemed to be ignoring them. "Good night, Agent Malicek."

Malicek looked up from the photo and the report in her hands. "Good night, Detective Eames," she replied, her tone neutral, neither friendly nor hostile.

With another look at Goren, Eames left the room.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Twenty minutes later, Goren and Malicek ran into each other at the elevator. She pressed the down button. The tension between them was obvious. Without looking at him, Malicek asked, "Plans for tonight?"

"Yes. I have to visit an old friend."

"Oh. All right, then. I'll see you in the morning." She didn't press him for more information.

"Yep." Goren replied neutrally.

The doors slid open and they got into the elevator. When the car stopped at her level, one before his, she took a step toward the doors. His voice met her ears. "Nine o'clock. My place," he said softly.

She gave a brief nod, and, without breaking stride, she exited the elevator, letting the doors close behind her.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
For the life of him, Goren could not understand why he was compelled to visit Gage today. He could feel himself spinning in circles. He was getting nowhere with Gage and each visit left him more frustrated and angry. Yet, he kept coming back for more, and he knew he would until his mentor finally told him what he needed to know. His frustration was compounded by the fact that he knew that Eames was worried about him, but he didn't know how to reassure her. His mind exponentially increased its dizzying pace as he thought about Malicek. She really had him reeling, his center way off balance. He had absolutely no clue where they were heading, and he was concerned about yet another bad intersection of his personal life with work, yet the night before had left him in a good place with himself. It had been years since he'd felt so...right inside.

The clanking of metal doors drew him from his thoughts and he rose from the chair as they led Gage in. "Bobby, boy! I've missed you. Where have you been?"

"Working, Dec. How are you feeling today?"

"Good, good. You have a case?"

Goren nodded. "Yes, but I haven't come to talk about that."

Gage sat down, his face animated and excited, oblivious to Goren's comment about not coming to talk about the case. "Tell me all about it!"

Sitting opposite Gage, Goren groaned to himself. "I can't discuss it, Dec. I need something else from you."

"What kind of case is it?"

"It's a kidnapping," Goren replied evasively. "Dec, please..."

Gage folded his hands in front of him. "An important person?"

Goren dropped his chin to his chest and softly swore, again to himself. images of Virginia Aronsen filled his mind. "Yes, she's important. Look, I can't discuss the case, so drop it. I want to talk about Nicole."

"Nicole...pretty Nicole." Gage smiled at the memory. "She was so surprised...but so accepting of her fate. I took delight in taking care of her for you."

Goren's gut tightened, but he needed the details he sought. He had to know. "What did you do?"

"It was so easy...she didn't really struggle much. It was over quickly." He looked at his hands, flexing and turning them in front of his face. "These hands...they're now lethal weapons, did you know that, Bobby? These hands can kill...did kill..."

"Where is she, Dec?"

"Dead. Dead and buried."

Goren frowned. "You buried her? Where?"

"In the ground, of course."

"Where?" Goren ground out the word on a growl. He was tired of playing games with the old man. He needed an answer, dammit!

"So, a kidnapping...a nap...ah, yes, it's time for my nap...So good to see you, Bobby. Come again soon!"

Gage's mind skipped away again on a tangent that drew him further away from the information Goren needed. He gave it one more try. "Where did you kill her, Declan?"

Gage looked at him with a smile. "In your heart," he replied.

With a slow shake of his head, Goren rose from his chair. So close, and yet so very far away. The guards let him out as Declan called after him, yelling about naps and hearts and lethal hands. Son of a bitch, Goren swore to himself as he walked down the corridor, away from the room where Declan continued calling after him. Until next time...
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Goren let himself into his apartment just after 8:00. Dropping his binder near the door, he grabbed the tape of the interview with Gage, if you could call it that, and threw it onto the stack with the others. He dragged himself into the bedroom, where he changed into sweats. In the kitchen, he made himself a sandwich, which he ate with a beer as his mind trailed back over his latest encounter with Gage.

He grabbed another beer and stepped into the living room as his mind switched gears from Declan Gage to Virginia Aronsen. She has to be terrified, he thought as he walked to the window. Unbidden, thoughts of his partner's kidnapping entered his mind, sending his emotions into a spiral as the room closed in on him. He opened the window and drew in deep breaths of the early summer air. He remembered with clarity how lost and out of control he'd felt when Eames was missing. The two years that followed had been, hands down, the worst years of his life. Helplessly, he'd watched his mother die and his relationship with Eames disintegrate. Now, things were starting to get back on the right track. His grief was no longer as raw and he felt on firmer ground with Eames. At least she was still his partner, at least she still cared about him, about them.

He left the window and grabbed his binder from where he'd left it near the door. He pulled out photographs of the crime scenes he'd had copied and spread them over his kitchen table. Onto the refrigerator, he fastened a copy of the photo of Virginia Aronsen with her sister and the man in the background. He drank another beer as he studied the photographs that covered the table. He pushed thoughts of Gage and Eames and his past aside and tried to concentrate on the case at hand.

Some time later, a knock at the door drew him from his thoughts. "It's open," he called, moving to retrieve another beer.

Malicek came into the apartment wearing jeans and a dark blue t-shirt. Without looking at her, he tossed his empty beer bottle into the recycling container and opened the fresh one. "Can I get you something to drink?" he called as he pulled the refrigerator open again. "I have beer, wine, scotch, vodka, milk...uh, water...I think there's some orange juice in here..." She looked at him over the refrigerator door. He straightened as she pushed the door shut. "...uh...coffee..." he trailed off, his eyes drawn to hers.

"Yeah," she said. "You can get me something – but not to drink."

Her voice was thick with the desire that filled her eyes, drawing him in. She watched his confusion shatter a millisecond before she kissed him.

He reacted immediately by deftly unfastening her jeans and pushing them down over her hips. She smoothly stepped out of them as she stripped her t-shirt up and over her head. She came back into his arms clad only in her bra and panties. But, he didn't leave her in them for long. With one hand, he undid the clasp on her bra; with the other, he pushed her underwear off, trailing his fingers over the lovely curve of her hips and down along firm thighs.

She was kissing him and undressing him all at the same time. First his t-shirt, her fingernails raking across his bare chest. Next his gym pants and boxers, while she was nipping at his ear. He groaned, all thoughts of the day slipping away from his mind.

"You know," she murmured. "I think I will have a beer; I think I'm going to be thirsty," she smiled.

Reaching behind her, she opened the fridge and retrieved a beer. She nestled it between her breasts, shivering against the sensation of cold bottle against hot flesh. "Do I have to drink this in the kitchen, or can I take it some place else?"

She was teasing him – it was very clear that she wasn't talking about drinking the beer. He lifted her in his arms, bottle of beer in tow, and carried her back to his bedroom. Without ceremony, he dropped her on the bed, watching with dark desire as she bounced on the mattress.

She held up the beer, wondering if it would explode if she twisted the cap off the bottle's neck. "I guess I probably shouldn't open this now."

He laughed, something he hadn't done since that morning in the shower. It felt good to laugh, to really laugh. He took the beer bottle from her and set it aside. Reaching up, she wrapped her arms around him and yanked hard, pulling him roughly on top of her.

"What's so funny, Detective?" she hissed softly into his ear as she wrapped her legs around him. She gave him no chance to answer, ending the question on a kiss that splintered his thoughts, and he lost himself in the physically rough contact sport she made of sex.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He lay awake for a long time afterward, lying on his side as he watched her. He could tell from her deep, even breathing that she was asleep. She had her back to him, and his hand was idly resting on her hip. He watched her side rise and fall. She was long and well-muscled, but not too lean. He knew first hand that she was strong; she was as combative in sex as she was at work.

He looked at the untouched beer bottle on the floor near the bed, idly wondering how it had gotten knocked from the night stand. He was thirsty, so he slipped from the bed and made his way to the kitchen. He took a cold beer from the fridge, and he picked up his gym pants from the kitchen floor and pulled them on. He scanned the photographs on the table as he drank the beer.

His mind suddenly clicked as everything snapped into place. He riffled though the pictures quickly and pulled out one from a Boston crime scene: Beacon Hill, May 2003. One of the techs had snapped a shot of the small crowd of curious onlookers that had gathered outside the building as the local ME collected the body. His eyes were riveted to a familiar face in that crowd: the same man who watched Virginia and Elizabeth from the picture on his refrigerator.

He started at the ring of an unfamiliar phone and looked toward the sound to see Malicek's cell phone among the pile of her discarded clothes. Ring, ring, ring… insistent, urgent...

He was reaching down to grab the phone when her bare feet appeared in front of him. "That's my phone," she said, holding out her hand, glaring at him as if she thought he was actually going to answer it. Her eyes caught the picture in his hand as she snapped open the phone.

"Malicek," she said into the phone, not surprised that it was Nugent. "You have a what?"

She looked at Goren, who was holding the picture in his hand against the freezer door and shifting nervously, tapping his fingers on the top of the door as he waited for her to finish on the phone.

"A match? You've got to be kidding me." She looked at Goren who turned his head toward her, his expression a mixture of curiosity and excitement.

She was shaking her head at Nugent's voice. "No, Nugent. I'm fully aware that it's almost midnight. Fine. You run the image through the database and see if we get any hits on the ID. I know...this is very big. It's him...we got him..." She was looking directly at Goren, her last comments intended for him as well. "Right. You do that and I'll meet you there."

"What's going on? Meet him where?" Goren asked as soon as she closed her phone.

"At the FBI office," Malicek offered. "We got a hit on the guy in that picture you borrowed from Aronsen. Your memory hit a home run, Goren."

Goren tapped the picture in his hand, the Beacon Hill crime scene. "He's right there."

She smiled as she pulled on her shirt without bothering to take the time to wrestle into her bra. "Right under our noses."

Goren watched her, his head cocked to one side. "Would you have called me, Malicek?"

"What for?" she asked, stuffing her feet into her shoes.

Goren looked at the photograph and back at Malicek. "To tell me you had a match."

Her eyes rested on his and lingered. "You made the match without our fancy FBI software," she said in a tone he had never heard her use before. She smiled up at him as his phone rang on the counter.

"That will be Eames," she predicted. "Nugent said he was going to call her next." She reached over to retrieve his phone and handed it to him. "But, yeah, I would have called you," she answered as she kissed him firmly but quickly.

He held the ringing phone in his hand as he watched her trot across the living room, pulling her hair into a hair tie at the nape of her neck. "See you at the FBI office," she called as he moved to open his phone.

"Goren," he said into the phone as Malicek closed the door behind her.

Chapter 12: Halfway to Nowhere

Goren got out of his car as Eames pulled up to the curb a few car lengths away. He waited for her on the sidewalk. She joined him and he leaned toward her. "Eames, the photo I borrowed from Mr. Aronsen...the man in the background...he's in another crime scene photo, the one from Beacon Hill in Boston."

"I wonder if that's the same crime scene with the missing evidence." Nugent had filled her in on the image match when he had tagged her by phone. So, she wasn't surprised by Goren's words. Her brain was already working on possible other connections within the case.

"I'll be interested to see just what was 'misplaced.'" He shifted his weight from one leg to the other in an impatient gesture Eames knew well. "But we're getting closer," he pressed with the poorly contained enthusiasm of a hound dog who'd picked up the scent of his prey. "We know what our man looks like now."

She nodded her head slowly as the implication of that finding sank in. "But we need a name." He twitched slightly; she was often the check of reality. "Let's get inside before Malicek eats Moretti alive."

He followed her into the Federal building.

They had no difficulty finding the FBI's local office on the fifth floor of the building. Nugent and Moretti stood along the wall near the window while Malicek sat in a chair in front of her boss' desk, reading a report. Behind the desk sat Matthew Harrison, Special Agent in Charge of the New York field office. He rose from his chair and extended a hand toward Eames as she introduced herself and her partner. Malicek turned in the chair, shooting a cursory glance at Eames before shifting her gaze toward Goren, meeting his eyes and holding them for a few moments too long. She could not keep the hunger from her eyes and he tensed almost imperceptibly. By the time Eames stepped to the side so Harrison could shake Goren's hand, the brief exchange between cop and agent was over, almost undetected.

Eames sat in the chair beside Malicek while Goren moved to stand near Moretti. He glanced at Nugent, who gave him a brief nod as Harrison began to speak. "I must say, I am very pleased at the progress we have made on this case since joining forces with the NYPD." He looked toward Malicek, who did not look up from the report in her hands. Harrison knew his difficult agent well enough to know she had not missed a thing. "So we have a visual. Any luck with an ID, Jeff?"

"Nothing yet."

"You won't get an ID from the criminal databases," Goren offered. "This is a man who flies under the radar. I doubt he's in the system at all. He's probably never even had a parking ticket."

Harrison looked at him with interest. "What makes you say that, detective?"

"It fits the profile." He opened his portfolio and pulled out the picture of Virginia and Elizabeth. He handed the photo over to Harrison. "Ted Bundy exuded confidence. He was cocky and arrogant, and he was caught because of a traffic stop. I don't think our guy fits that particular type. I think he is more introverted, that he relies more on stealth and physical strength to overpower his victims than on charm to win them over."

Without looking up from her papers, Malicek said, "And you base this on what?"

"Evidence, " Goren answered.

"Evidence?" Malicek challenged. "What evidence?"

Goren glanced at her for a moment, then added, "And a...feeling."

Harrison arched a brow. "'A feeling?' What area of police procedure does that fall under?"

Eames answered before Goren had a chance to explain. She almost smiled. "I have learned over the years to trust my partner, Agent Harrison. He understands the criminal mind."

Goren's face was guarded. He'd almost expected her to toss out a further explanation, that he understood the criminal mind so well because he was the product of one. Harrison leaned back and focused on the picture he held. "You may be right, detective. We'll see what the computer turns up, if anything. Now, assuming we get nothing on the ID...what's our next move?"
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It was past one when the team left the building. Nugent paused at the door of his car and watched Goren and Eames part company for their respective vehicles. Malicek exchanged a few brief words with Goren before she moved toward her own car. Nugent watched with interest as Goren leaned on his open door to watch Malicek as she got into her car. After she was gone, he slid behind the wheel and drove off.

Moretti poked his head above the roof and asked, "Jeff? Something wrong?"

Nugent shook his head and got into the car. "No, not yet."

"Are you expecting more problems?"

Nugent considered his answer for a moment before he replied, "I'm not sure yet. I'll let you know."
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Although he knew Ross would give the team leeway to report in to work at a later hour because of their late night, Goren found he could not sleep. He had debated asking Malicek to meet him back at his place, but hesitated to do so. He knew that after a round or two with her, he would sleep, but he did not want to use her any more than he felt he already was. She had a singular ability to shut him down, and he relished the peace that came with it, but he wasn't sure exactly where they were heading. Every time he was with her, she left him in a good place, physically and mentally, and he craved that, but he had no idea if he did the same for her. Take it slow, his mind cautioned against his body's desire to be with her. For the moment, his mind was winning the battle.

He left his apartment shortly after four, taking the subway in to work instead of his car. He wanted to think without being distracted by traffic. The train wasn't crowded, as he'd predicted, and he was free to relax with his thoughts, which drifted to Malicek. He wondered just where their relationship was headed. He knew that his body craved hers as much as his mind craved the peace that came with the physical release she drew from him. It was his emotional state that left him wondering. His emotions were always in a jumble, never knowing exactly where to settle. It had taken him years to decide just where he wanted to be with his partner, and even now, those lines sometimes blurred. What the hell was he supposed to do with Malicek? He shifted uncomfortably on the hard plastic seat as his body began offering its solution to the problem. Crap.

Turning off his brain was an impossible feat, so he struggled to shift the direction of his thoughts. Declan Gage brought a whole new set of issues to the fore, so he pushed aside those thoughts as well and opted for focusing his mind on the case.

Eames had a real gift for hitting the nail squarely on the head. We need a name. It was a more daunting task than he had originally given it credit for. Without any semblance of an ID to go on, how the hell would they find the man? Even more importantly, would they find him in time to save Virginia Aronsen's life? The weight of time was bearing down on him and he didn't know what to do to ease the burden. He shifted again, for a different reason this time. He was getting restless. His stop came just in time to prevent him from rising to pace the subway car. It had been a real struggle to contain himself for as long as he had.

Exiting the subway, he walked around the area for awhile, letting his mind search for the connection to this killer that it was missing. He was almost there, but almost wasn't close enough in this case. He had to be there; he had to understand. But he didn't. Not yet. And he wasn't sure what was keeping him from getting there. Was it Gage? Wallace? Malicek?

By the time he got to the squad room, exhaustion was dogging his every movement. He got a cup of very strong coffee and immersed himself in the files in the conference room.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The members of the team trickled in over the course of the morning. Goren wasn't surprised that Malicek was the first to arrive. She entered the conference room about twenty minutes after the evidence arrived from Boston. She set her coffee on the table and looked at the crate on the chair beside Goren, shifting her eyes to the stacks of papers and photographs he had already spread out in front of him. "Anything good?"

He waved his hand. "Nothing helpful. Not yet." He pointed to the larger of the two stacks in front of him. "These files here have nothing to do with our case."

"Seriously?"

"Yes. Seems that there's an evidence clerk in Boston who can't sort files very well...or an overzealous shipping clerk."

He rubbed his eyes with the fingers of his left hand, then ran it over his hair.

"You look tired," she observed, her voice devoid of the hard edge it usually carried.

Goren looked up, surprised for a moment to hear the concern in her tone. "I...didn't sleep," he replied.

She gave that some thought, once again regretting the fact that she didn't press the issue when he told her she should head home. She'd wanted to return to his apartment, but she also did not want to push herself onto him. She didn't know him well enough to know what would happen if she violated his privacy. She enjoyed their encounters too much to risk driving him away so soon. She wondered if it was a mistake to let him set the pace.

"Maybe you'll sleep tonight," she offered.

He allowed his gaze to stray down the length of her body and back, settling once more on her eyes, which glowed with desire. He could not suppress his response to that, and he knew she saw his want reflected in his eyes. "Maybe I will," he agreed.

She nodded and pulled out a chair, trying to shift her focus from him to the new evidence they'd just received. She was only marginally successful, more aware of the man on the other side of the crate than she wanted to be, that is, until the door opened and Moretti and Nugent trudged in, both bearing large coffee cups and a mantle of fatigue.

Somehow, the presence of the two men was enough to discharge the electricity in the air and settle both Goren and Malicek. She glanced at Goren, noticing a more relaxed slump to his shoulders. She pulled another folder from the crate and flipped it open.

Goren shifted his eyes to the left, watching her hands shuffle the papers from the folder. Her motions seemed less forced. He looked toward Moretti and Nugent as Moretti grumbled, "Late nights suck when you're expected bright and early the next day."

Goren's mouth shifted into a half smile. "Expectations are relaxed a little when you head for home at two in the morning, Andy."

Moretti smiled. "Not by much. I know Danny. When did you get here?"

"Early. I had trouble sleeping."

Nugent looked across the table at his partner. "What about you, Corrie?"

"I'm not quite the early riser Goren is. He beat me in by a couple of hours."

Nugent looked from one to the other, but there was nothing about either of them to confirm or refute his suspicions. He knew from experience that asking directly would be a very unpleasant encounter, and he had to rely on his keen observations to extract the information he sought. Unfortunately, Malicek was a master of subtlety and he had a feeling Goren hid himself equally well. He nodded his head toward the crate. "Is that the Boston evidence?"

"Kind of," Malicek replied.

She stuffed the papers back into the folder and handed it to Goren, who looked through it. With a laugh that was half-frustration and half-amusement, Goren tossed the folder across the table. "Unless our suspect suddenly changed gender and MO, the evidence clerk mixed in our evidence with another case or two."

Moretti looked over Nugent's shoulder. "Ouch," he muttered, reading the description of the victim's injuries. "That sounds painful."

Malicek looked toward him. "It was meant to be painful, Moretti. According to the suspect, he cheated on her, and the victim didn't deny it."

Although Malicek intimidated him, he could not resist replying, "Involuntary castration is a little extreme as a punishment for infidelity."

"I suppose that depends on your perspective," Malicek offered.

Amused, Goren asked, "Are you condoning what she did?"

"No," she replied, looking at him. "But I understand the passion that would drive that kind of response."

Her sharp tone was back, but the look that flashed from her eyes, gone an instant later, softened the way he interpreted it. He understood exactly what she meant, even if the others did not. She looked away before the offhand remarks led her body down a path that would make the rest of the day increasingly uncomfortable. She was relieved when Eames came into the room.

"Good morning," Eames muttered, her tone indicating it was anything but a good morning.

She walked around the table and plopped herself into the chair beside her partner, setting her coffee to the side and reaching out to grab a folder from in front of him. "The stuff from Boston?"

"Yes, but we have to sort through it and pull out the evidence that actually belongs to our case."

She looked at him, tired and annoyed. "They mixed up cases?"

He nodded, reaching into the crate and pulling out several folders, which he handed to her. Nodding toward the two stacks of folders in front of him, he said, "Guess which one is ours?"

One stack contained three folders; the other drifted into the teens. "I can guess," she answered. "Too bad we can't pick and choose the evidence we like. I'd be happy to have more to go on." She looked at the folders, and then at Goren. "Bad night?"

"What there was of it."

She looked at him briefly, then set to work. Nugent and Moretti also sat down and accepted their share of the box's contents. They spent the morning sorting and reviewing the information. By lunchtime, they were done, and they were no further along then they had been when they started.

Moretti stretched his back and looked around the room. "Well, that was an unmitigated waste of time."

General assent rumbled through the room and he got to his feet. "I think a decent lunch is in order instead of fried rice on the run. I'm going down to the diner. Any takers?"

Eames rose and tapped Goren on the shoulder. "Sure, Andy. We'll go with you."

Nugent looked toward Malicek with a silent plea on his face. She nodded, and he smiled. "Count us in, too."

For the first time, the entire team took a break from the case as a group away from the squad room.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When they returned from lunch, there was a package tucked onto Goren's chair. He looked from the parcel to Eames. She raised her eyebrows, questioning. There was no pretending it wasn't there.

"Mail's in," Eames offered, which got a small smile from him

"It's been through a lot," Goren picked up the rumpled box. Packages don't simply get delivered to police officers. They're closely inspected for their contents prior to delivery. Bobby was certain that there was a complete record of the package and its contents somewhere in an NYPD file, which was both irritating and reassuring.

"What is it?" Eames asked, wondering where his natural curiosity had gone.

"I don't know," Goren replied as he set it off to the side of his desk without opening it. His mind was back on the case, on the scant evidence they'd gotten from Boston and the list of things he wanted to discuss with Malicek and Nugent.

"Open the package," Eames urged. Goren looked at her for a long moment and finally reached over to look at the return address.

The box was mangled so badly he couldn't make out the sender. Eames continued to stare at him as he meticulously popped what was left of the tape on the box and carefully opened the box. He pulled out the order and shipping form, which he set aside. The rest of the box contained a silver shaving mirror, a very nice razor, a high quality shave brush, and a tin of lather cream.

"Who sent you that?" Eames reached forward and lifted up the tin of lather cream. Opening it, she held it under her nose. "Mmm, smells nice."

She nailed him with her stare. Goren shifted uncomfortably in his chair, wildly wondering if Malicek thought this was some kind of joke. She told him she liked the feel of his beard against her skin, against her breasts. That thought had him shifting uncomfortably again, though for a very different reason.

Goren grabbed the shipping papers, his eyebrows furrowed in frustration. "Gage," his voice was hoarse so he cleared his throat. "Gage sent this."

"What?" Eames reached out for the papers. Goren handed them to her. The contents were listed and then directly below was a field for a note to the recipient – For a whole new you. The box labeled 'sender' contained the name Declan Gage. "What the hell?" The words slipped out of Eames before she could stop them.

Goren retrieved the shipping information from Eames and took a closer look at the paper. Nothing was ever simple with Gage. There was a double meaning to this gift. Gage was playing games. The old man knew he would be compelled to follow up on it, that he would know there was more to it than just the pretense of a gift from a friend. Swearing to himself, Goren added the address of the shop that shipped the package to his vast list of things to chase down. He knew that by the end of the day, his curiosity would get the better of him, like an itch screaming to be scratched, and he would be compelled to follow up on it. He would have to know what kind of scavenger hunt Gage was sending him on. Damn him. He stuffed the things back into the box. Goren knew that he would be returning to see his old mentor very soon, which was exactly what Gage wanted. Score one for Gage.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In an effort to distract himself from the elements of his personal life that were driving him nuts, Goren spread out their crime scene evidence once again. His organization seemed haphazard, but there was method to his madness. Eames watched him with interest. Moretti and the agents watched as well, also wondering what Goren was thinking.

"What are you doing, Goren?" Malicek asked after awhile.

Distracted, he held a hand up, tipping his head to one side as he looked at the scattered papers. Traveling around the table, he gathered a paper here and a paper there, shuffling through other stacks of papers and withdrawing what he was searching for. He crossed the room to the white board and erased it. As he began writing, he explained, "Each victim was found in an apartment that was under a short term lease, which had been arranged either by mail or by phone. Twenty-four leases...and the first name of the lessor in each instance is the same: Kenneth."

"That can't be coincidental," Moretti said, intentionally stating the obvious.

"What about the last names?" Eames asked.

Goren was already writing them out in a single column: Hudson, Bergen, Grant, Flynn, Hunter, Burton, Harrison, Price, Stewart, Cooper, Montgomery, Morgan, Fitzgerald, Webb, Kelly, Powell, Douglas, Wayne, March, Laughton, Tracy, Holden, O'Brien, Quinn.

Stepping back, he read the names to himself, over and over. "Our boy..." he said suddenly as he stepped to the white board and began writing given names beside the surnames. "...is a classic movie buff."

Rock...Edgar...Cary...Errol...Tab...Richard...Rex...Vincent...James...Gary... Robert...Frank...Barry...Clifton...Gene...William...Kirk...John...Frederic... Charles...Spenser...William...Pat...Anthony...

Eames looked pleased as Moretti and Nugent stared at the names. Malicek leaned against the table, studying the list. "So what do we do with this information?"

Goren turned toward her and replied, "We need an identification. We're halfway there. We have his first name."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Virginia looked at the plate of food he placed in front of her - a cold cheese sandwich on white bread, some carrot sticks and a glass of milk. He had her seated at the kitchen table, her ankles bound to the legs of her chair. She was nauseous and dehydrated and just looking at the food was making her stomach lurch. He pushed the glass of milk in her direction, pinning her with his dark stare, silently commanding her to drink.


As she brought the glass to her lips, her hand was shaking so violently that she almost spilled the milk. The liquid was cold in her mouth and fell into her empty stomach like a lump of ice. She closed her eyes for a moment, trying her best not to throw up. She found it odd that after all of this time of not drinking or eating that she was not ravenous. When she set the glass down, he slid the plate in her direction. She reached out for the carrot sticks first, but he quickly swiveled the plate so that the sandwich was facing her. She left the carrots on the plate and took a small bite of the sandwich. As she chewed, it seemed to grow in her mouth. Again, she felt like she was going to be sick. She carefully swallowed the bite of sandwich and then took another small sip of the milk.


He sat down across from her and quietly watched her eat the modest meal. It took her almost an hour, for after each bite of food and each sip of milk, she had to steady herself to keep from retching up the new contents in her stomach. She knew this would make him furious, to make such a mess by getting sick, to be ungrateful of his effort to feed her. He was back to acting rather like a little boy. Watching her with wide unblinking eyes, his hands folded quietly in front of him on the table. But in her mind still echoed his words from when he threw in her in the shower. He had called her a filthy whore and the violence in his voice still sent shivers up her spine.

When she was finished eating, he placed the plate in the sink and stood watching her while she drank every drop of milk in the glass. She handed it to him, and as he took the glass his finger tips touched hers. She automatically recoiled from his touch. In that instant his demeanor shifted and he wrenched the glass from her hand and threw it, shattering the object against the side of the sink. He no longer looked at her with wide eyed adoration. He looked at her with disgust and stalked from the room.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Goren stood outside the shop listed on the shipping papers. Located alongside several rather exclusive boutique style stores, it was a small place, catering almost exclusively to men. He had been loitering on the street long enough to receive a few stares from patrons shopping after work.

Taking a deep breath, he went into the store. He knew that he was doing exactly what Gage wanted him to do. He was playing right into his mentor's hands, but he could not help himself. He wondered what was waiting for him inside. The shop was empty, save for the salesperson behind the counter. He did not have a clear view of her because she was kneeling down, looking through a cabinet just behind the register counter. He scanned the shelves of grooming essentials. Beautiful steel razors with intricate handles were artfully displayed along one wall. Just below the razors were lush shave brushes and mugs. To the right was a fine selection of creams, lathers, and oils. He made his way slowly through the store, his breath tight in his chest.

"Good evening, sir. Can I help you with something?"

The sales woman rose to her feet once she noticed him and she was smiling at him pleasantly. As he turned to focus on her, he stopped so abruptly he almost tripped over his feet. He looked into her large, doe brown eyes, noticing her full lipped smile framing large, straight, white teeth and an overbite. He felt his heart stop as he took in her thick, blonde, shoulder-length hair. They say everyone in life has a twin. Directly before him stood Nicole Wallace's twin. "Sir?"

"Um," he stammered out the word, not really certain what to say. Slowly, he realized that she was studying him as well, and she glanced down at a pad near the register.

"Robert Goren?" she asked. Her voice carried a sweet melody, distracting him from the fact that she knew his name. "I wasn't expecting you until tomorrow evening," she added.

"Expecting me?" he repeated, frowning.

"Well, yes. Your delivery was scheduled for tomorrow. At least, that's what I thought." She began to page through a notebook behind the register. "Your friend said we might expect you, that maybe you would seek an exchange. He wasn't certain of your preferences."

Oh, Gage knew his preferences. As she stepped around the counter, he took an uncertain step backwards. She was the same height, had the same curves...

"My friend," Goren parroted her words.

"Mr. Gage, of course," she offered.

"Of course," Goren allowed, starting to regain a little presence of mind. "I, uh, the selections are fine."

His voice sounded foreign to him. His surroundings felt surreal, and he was almost dizzy.

"Oh, oh, that's good," she replied, though she looked a bit confused as to why he would be coming by if he didn't want to make an exchange. "Are you alright?" she asked, observing that he didn't look well.

"Yes, yes, I'm fine. It's just...you just bear a striking resemblance to someone...someone I once knew." Goren didn't mince words. He watched in amazement as she smiled and laughed lightly.

"Mr. Gage said you might think that. A friend in common?" she asked.

"Um, yes, someone in common." Goren had to stop himself from reaching out and touching her. Everything about her was eerily similar to Nicole Wallace. Everything except for her voice. This woman had no accent.

"They say everyone has a twin," she offered, reading his mind.

"Yes, yes, they do," Goren agreed.

He stood there, near the razor display, looking at the woman as though she were a ghost from the past. He was very used to ghosts from his past, but not in broad daylight. The door behind him opened and the woman looked up, smiling brightly and addressing the customer by name.

"Please excuse me," she smiled at Goren and turned her attention to her customer, who was asking for a certain lather cream.

"Certainly," Goren replied. He lingered for a few minutes before he began to drift toward the door. He'd gotten what he'd come for. Declan wanted him to see this woman. Again, he cursed his mentor.

"Oh, Mr. Goren, one moment," she excused herself from the other customer and moved behind the counter to retrieve an envelope. "Your friend, he sent this to me – in the event you stopped by."

Goren accepted the unopened envelope addressed to him, in care of her with the address of the shop. He felt his breath quicken as he read her name – Nicole Walsh. He made it out to the street before the walls completely closed in on him. Walking down the street, he stared at the envelope, recognizing Declan's nearly illegible scrawl. Stopping just outside the subway station, he opened the envelope, extracting a folded page of notebook paper on which Declan had written: she's perfect--so happy to bring you together.

Goren's brain felt like it was going to split in two. Declan Gage had successfully pulled his attention completely away from the Virginia Aronsen case, bringing him back to heel. He descended the steps into the subway, headed for home.

His mind continued to spin, and as he made his way home from the subway station closest to his apartment, he stopped for a couple of six packs to replenish the supply in his refrigerator. He ended up leaving with a bottle of scotch instead.

Chapter 13: Dichotomy

At the end of the day, she'd hoped to catch Goren alone. She hadn't quite managed that. A small note left for her informed her that he had gone for the day. She felt strangely unsettled over that fact. She knew something was up. So, she found herself stopping by his place unannounced. She hitchhiked into his building on the heels of another resident, so she didn't even have to call him to buzz her in.

As she walked down the hall toward his apartment door, she was beginning to have doubts about her decision not to call first. She stood outside his door, chewing on her lower lip, trying to decide what to do. Through the door, she could hear the muffled sounds of the television. Maybe she was being ridiculous, thinking something was wrong. She had seen the deep fatigue in him all day long. He probably just cut out to get some shut eye, and was most likely asleep in front of the TV. She was about to turn and go when she heard the crashing of glass inside. Before she could think, she had her hand on the knob and was letting herself in.

She found him in his small kitchen, a glass shattered across the floor. He was leaning over with a wad of paper towels in hand. She could see a spray of liquor mixed in with the broken glass; she could smell the smoky, thick scent of scotch.

"Ah," she involuntarily uttered the sound, hands outstretched, willing him not to attempt scooping up the sharp broken glass with paper towels.

He stumbled a bit sideways, into the counter, a step away from the glass. She took a step forward. "Um, I'll get that." She scooted around the glass on the floor and took note of the bottle of liquor on the counter, approaching empty.

"What?" He looked at her for a moment, and she wasn't certain if he was trying to figure out what she'd just said or if he was wondering how she came to be standing in his kitchen.

"Just...stand there," she said with slow deliberation as she studied him, and she knew that the standing part was easier said than done. He settled for leaning. In the corner by the trash can, she spied a small broom and dust pan. She swept up the broken glass and deposited it in the trash can. Then she took the paper towels from his hand and mopped up what was left of the scotch.

"Eames, um," he muttered, running his hand through his hair, making it stand up and on end.

"Where'd you go after work?" she asked, leaning against the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen, watching different emotions play across his face.

"I went by that shop," he admitted.

She sighed. "And?"

"He's playing me. The sales girl, she could be a clone for Wallace." He looked toward the counter where the bottle of scotch stood, still open. For a moment, she thought he was going to reach for it.

"Wallace." Now it was her turn to run her hand through her hair as the name left a bad taste in her mouth. What was Gage up to? She watched him stumble and sit hard at the small kitchen table. She cringed, hoping the chair would take the abuse of having his full weight dropped into it. He placed his head against the heels of his hands.

"I don't feel very free," he muttered. And just like that, Eames was transported back to watching Goren's interrogation of Gage. The openly broken expression on Goren's face as Gage admitted to what he had done and his motivations for doing so just about ripped her in two back then, just like her partner's pain was ripping her apart now.

"Free...that's up to you," she remarked, not moving. She reached over to screw the top back on the scotch bottle, hearing him change positions and aware that he was watching her, waiting. "You need to find a way to put this in place." She set the closed bottle softly back on the counter.

"How the hell am I supposed to do that?" he demanded, shifting moods to angry. He was fighting with his feelings, still struggling with what had happened in his life these past months.

"Not like this," she observed and moved to leave his kitchen.

"Eames," he called after her, but couldn't quite make the effort to stand.

"Bobby, I'll see you sometime tomorrow," she paused, looking at him. She'd used his given name, something she rarely did any more. "Tomorrow," she repeated, in her own way letting him know that life moves forward, whether we want it to or not, and that when he moved forward, she would be there. He nodded, and watched her go.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Malicek set a pot on the stove and opened a can of beef stew. Cooking had never been one of her best skills and when she did cook, it was out of cans or cardboard. There was a good reason the delivery guys from her favorite pizza and Chinese food places knew her. She turned on the burner and took a beer out of the refrigerator.

Stirring the stew as it heated, she let her thoughts drift and, as usual, they drifted to Goren. He had been totally out of sorts all day long. When he left for the day, he'd said nothing to her. She had to learn from Eames that he'd gone. She hadn't let that fact fully hit her mind yet. Goren was close to his partner, in the same way she had once been close to Nugent. Sometimes, she missed that closeness, and she wondered just where it had all gone wrong. Right now, she wasn't sure if she resented Eames for the connection Goren had to her or if she was glad that he had it. She also wondered if she would ever develop any sort of emotional connection with the man.

Physically, she knew every inch of him. But she knew little about his personal life. They never did much talking when they got together. He was as protective of his past as she was of hers. She wondered if he had any real reason to be so private.

She turned off the burner and dumped the stew into a bowl. Buttering two slices of bread, she grabbed her mail off the counter where she'd dropped it and sat at the small folding table that served as her dining area. Dipping a piece of bread into the stew, she took a bite and sorted the envelopes. Bill...bill...junk...bill...junk... The last letter was neither a bill nor junk mail. Edgar. She ran her hand across the careful print that identified the sender as Edgar, her little brother. Little, she thought, amused at the modifier. Edgar was almost as big as Goren was; he hadn't been 'little' since he was twelve. She opened the letter and began to read.

When she was done, her stew was cold and her appetite was gone. She stood up and walked the few steps into the area she defined as a living room. Sitting on the battered sofa, she looked toward the single bookcase that leaned precariously in the corner. The bottom three shelves were littered with books and manuscripts. The top shelf, however, dripped with pain. Two pictures of her and Edgar sat at either end of the shelf, protecting the other two pictures that sat there. One was old, taken when they were kids. She was standing behind him, her arms wrapped around him protectively and her chin rested on his head. He was about six in that moment of time; she was ten. He was almost smiling. She was glaring at the camera, daring the world to try to touch her brother. She would not let the world take him away, the way it had taken Celia.

The other picture of her and Edgar was more recent, a candid shot that her uncle had taken at their father's funeral about six months before she and Nugent had caught the case that was going to make or break her. They were both smiling at some stupid joke her other uncle had told. She didn't smile much these days, as Goren had pointed out the other day. She could hear the gentle timbre of his voice in her mind. You should do that more often. Smile, I mean. It's nice.

Pushing away the memory of the kiss that had followed that observation, she looked at the two pictures that were guarded by her and Edgar. The older one, much older than the childhood picture of her and her brother, was of her parents. Sometimes that picture lay face down on the shelf, during times when she could not bear to think of them. Right now, they were welcome. The other picture was always welcome—and always painful. Celia. Two years older than her, Celia had been robbed of a normal life much too early. With a shiver of guilt, she tried to remember the last time she went upstate to see her, the last time she had gone to visit Edgar. This case...this case impacted every part of her life. It had been too many months since she'd been up there and she resolved to make the effort to get up there soon. She'd call Edgar this weekend.

As the evening wore on, she became more restless. As much as she desperately wanted to, she didn't head upstate that night, but she couldn't fathom bouncing around her apartment any longer, so she headed out the door with a particular destination in mind.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When she walked up to Goren's building, someone was walking out, so she simply entered through the open door. For a moment, she thought she saw a familiar vehicle on the street. She paused in the lobby and watched the dark SUV slide by. It could've been Eames, but it wasn't. The license plate was wrong.

Malicek punched the button for Goren's floor with so much force she hurt her finger. She wondered what he was up to. She was a little bit angry, and strangely hurt, that he hadn't taken the time to find her before leaving for the day.

She lifted her hand to knock on his door; it was quiet inside. She wondered if he was home. Knock, knock, knock. No answer. She was trying to convince herself the thing to do was turn and walk away. But she couldn't. She couldn't seem to walk away from anything. So she tried the knob. Open. He was home, just not answering.

"Hey, it's Corrie," she called out as she walked through the door. "Hey, Goren…" As she came into the main living space, she could see him slumped over his kitchen table. Her eyes moved from the almost empty bottle of scotch on the counter to Goren's head resting on his folded arms as he slept like a kid with his head down on his desk at school. "Rough night?" she said, thinking she was speaking to herself.

"Rough night," he answered, his voice muffled, surprising her. She watched him push himself slowly upright. "Were we supposed to, um…" He halted in mid-sentence, seeming to lose track of his thought.

"Yeah, sort of," she said as she sat down opposite him at the table, referring to their sort of plans.

"I, uh…" he started to say something else, but again the thought slipped away unspoken. "I'm kind of drunk." He stated the obvious, and that made her smile. She realized she hadn't smiled since the last time she'd stood in his kitchen.

"Kind of? Is that like being kind of pregnant?" she teased, since it was clear that he was very, very drunk.

"What?" He looked at her, blinking, not following her pregnant reference.

"Nothing," she said with a dismissive wave of her hand.

She placed her head down on her arms on top of the table, much like he'd had his when she walked in, and watched him. His eyes were unfocused and his hair was untidy, and she thought he looked for all the world like a lost boy. It had been so long since her heart had gone out to another person, she almost didn't recognize the feeling.

"Rough night?" It was his turn to ask her.

"Yeah," she admitted with a heavy sigh. He surprised her by reaching out and running his fingertips along her forearms. "Let's go to bed," she said, watching his fingers stroke her skin and enjoying the contact. She was not being suggestive. She was exhausted and she simply wanted to go to sleep. She doubted very much he could perform in his condition, anyway. She watched him nod.

He slept, or rather, passed out, glommed around her, head on her chest. It was odd, she thought, that a man so big could wrap himself so comfortably around her. She stroked his hair for a while as he slept, and finally she drifted off herself.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Malicek woke when the first light of dawn brightened the room. Goren's body still encircled hers, and she found it very comforting. One thing she found she liked most about being with him, aside from the sex, was that she slept so much better when she was with him. Somehow, he managed to keep her ghosts at bay. They weren't gone, not by a long shot, but they deferred to his presence and left her alone. She wondered if he had demons of his own, certain that he did, and if, maybe, she managed to do the same for him.

She lay beside, and partially beneath, him, wondering how she was going to extricate herself from his embrace without waking him so she could use the bathroom. She was glad he had chosen a Saturday night to tie one on and even more glad that she had followed her impulse to call on him. Even though they hadn't had sex, for some reason, she'd slept just as well. Absent-mindedly, her hand stroked his hair and his back, and he sighed softly in his sleep. She smiled, enjoying the warmth that enveloped her heart at the sound. It had been so very long since she'd felt such warmth for anyone except her brother and sister, and, to a lesser degree, her partner, and it felt alien but welcome. How had this man, who drove her out of her mind with frustration in the squad room, managed to fill her with such warmth here in his bedroom? Transforming frustration into passion, she'd thought she was using him for release, for an escape from...everything. So when the hell did he become more?

When the call of nature overcame her reluctance to disturb him, she managed to untangle herself from his embrace and slide out of the bed. When she returned to the bedroom, she found he'd turned over onto his stomach. His arm stretched out across what she thought of, at least for the time being, as her side of his bed. Returning to the bed, she lifted his arm and slid back into the bed beneath it, pulling the sheet and blanket over her. Snuggling into the bed, she turned toward him and studied his face. He shifted, pulling her closer, then settled without waking. She reached out a hand and played with the hair that curled at his forehead. He seemed at peace right then, and she wondered if that was more the exception than the rule with him. Leaning closer, she softly kissed his lips. He stirred, returning the kiss and shifting his position so that he fully embraced her once again. Once more, he settled back to sleep without waking. She wondered how often he chose to self-medicate with alcohol in order to escape whatever it was that haunted him, in order to deal with his life. It was something she understood better than most. Nestled in his embrace, she relaxed, and she slept.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Goren rolled onto his back, groaning softly and raising a hand to his pounding head. His stomach was unsettled and his mouth was full of cotton. He tried to moisten his lips, but his mouth was dry. Slowly, he sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He scrubbed his face. As he moved to stand, he noticed a piece of paper sitting on the nightstand. Reaching out, he grasped it and examined the printed message written on it. Bobby, Call me later. Corrie.

Corrie? Had she...his mind grasped at segments of memory that flashed through his mind. A soft body curled into his, a gentle kiss, a soothing caress... But Corrie? The same woman who was so full of violent passion? He went into the bathroom and took a long hot shower. Feeling marginally better, he ventured into the kitchen for a glass of orange juice. Standing by the counter, he studied the note for a while longer before he opened his phone and called her.

"Malicek."

"Hey. I got your note."

"Do you even remember that I was there?"

"I, uh, I think so. A little. Did you...spend the night?"

"I did. I spent the night sleeping, and, you know, it was...nice."

He was quiet for a long moment. "Do you...I mean..." He trailed off, unsure. He knew what he wanted to ask, knew what he needed, but he couldn't figure out how to put it into the right words. His throbbing head refused to cooperate with him. It served him right for the abuse he subjected his body to.

On the other end of the line, Malicek softly laughed, and he enjoyed the sound. He could hear the smile in her voice, and that brought the image of her smile into his mind. The frown on his face softened. Her voice held no measure of harshness. "Are you asking me to come back over?"

He sighed, trying not to sound wistful. "Uh...I-I would like that."

"So would I. Do you think you might feel like actually talking for a little while?"

He gave that some thought. "I don't know."

"We'll leave it at maybe, then. I'll see you later."

"Ok. And...thanks."

He could see the puzzled look conveyed by the tone of her voice. "For what?"

"For...staying, last night."

"You're welcome."

He closed the phone and set it on the counter. He finished the juice and rinsed out his glass, filling it with water. Retrieving a bottle of aspirin from the cabinet, he dumped a couple of tablets into his hand and swallowed them with the water. Then he went into the living room and stretched out on the couch. He turned on the television and soon, he slept.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He was woken from the beginnings of a nightmare by a sharp rap on the door. After giving himself a minute to fully waken, he rose as the knock sounded again. Opening the door, expecting to see Malicek in the hallway, he was surprised to find Eames standing there, holding two styrofoam cups. "Eames..."

She looked him over with a critical eye. "You look about how I expected you to look." She pressed a cup into his hand. "I figured you might appreciate this."

He stepped back, letting her into the apartment as he looked at the cup in his hands. She turned her head to look at him and asked, "How do you feel?"

He was still processing her first statement. "How you expected me to look?"

"Considering how much you had to drink, you look pretty good."

"You...you were here?"

He searched the dark recesses of his memory for that visit. Vaguely, he recalled watching her clean something from the floor. He did not remember any sort of encounter between her and Malicek, so he felt safe assuming they had not crossed paths at his door. He still wasn't sure how Eames might react to what was going on with him and the volatile agent outside duty hours.

Eames sat down on the couch. "Yeah, I was here. You said you went to the shop Gage had that package sent from..." She left the statement open, leading.

He walked to his desk in the corner and picked up an envelope. Sitting on the couch beside her, he handed it to her. She studied the address on the front and her eyes widened. "Nicole Walsh? You've got to be joking." Last night, in his drunken stupor, he'd said the shop girl was a dead ringer for Wallace, She pulled out the paper from the envelope and struggled for a moment to decipher Gage's scrawl. "Perfect? Perfect for what?" Perfect to taunt you with, she thought, but she didn't say it. She wanted to hear what he thought.

Goren shook his head. "I don't know. I've lost a handle on him. I can't read his motives. I...I'm going to have to go and talk to him."

Eames' stomach lurched at the thought. "Not again. Goren, every time you go to see him, he drags you down a little further. You need to move on."

"I...I can't."

At those two simple words, Eames felt defeated. He'd lost his ability to read Gage, and she had lost her ability to handle her difficult partner. "He's going to drag you down too far." Too for me to reach you, she thought, stopping just short of saying it out loud.

Slowly, he shook his head. "I won't let that happen."

"You have a huge blind spot where Gage is concerned. You don't see what I see. He almost took you down when he framed you. Now...you are going to let him finish the job."

"Eames..."

"No, you can't explain this to me. I don't understand how you can still have any sort of connection to Gage. Look what he's done. He almost destroyed you, and still...and still, you need to go see him."

"You're right. You don't understand. Eames, you weren't there before he lost his mind. You never saw the brilliance. You didn't see what I was, where I was headed, when I came under his influence. If it wasn't for Gage, there was a very good chance that instead of being your partner, I might have ended up your prey. Gage...he was very important to me, to my development as an investigator, as a profiler... He took me under his wing, and he made me into a cop instead of a criminal. He taught me how to get into their heads. He wasn't always the man you've known. Once...he was brilliant."

She considered his words and her expression softened. "You need to find a way to put this in place." She used the same words she had used the night before. He had gotten angry then, asked her how the hell he was supposed to do that. But this time, he simply hung his head, silent. She reached out and rested a hand gently against the side of his head. "I'll see you in the morning, Bobby."

"Good night, Eames," he finally answered as she reached the door.

She looked back at him, but he wasn't looking at her and she knew he wouldn't. "Good night," she replied and she left.

He scrubbed his hands over his face and buried his head under his arms. Damn.

Chapter 14: The Pathway to Hell

Malicek woke alone in the bed. The room was cocooned in silence. Rising, she went into the bathroom and took a quick shower. She found her overnight bag on the chair near the window and dressed quickly.

Her mind wandered to the Major Case squad room, where she and Goren simply could not seem to get along. They were constantly challenging one another, to the consternation of their partners. Once the duty environment was left behind, though, all adversity faded away, replaced, or transformed, into the explosive passion she craved. The rougher he was, the better she liked it, and he seemed to get as much from it as she did. At first he tried to hold back, but she was able to goad him into letting go. Once he realized that rough was how she preferred it—how she needed it to be, he was less inclined to be reserved. She sensed that it wasn't his way to let go like that in any environment, and she felt reassured that, when he did, he seemed more at peace that he'd been before. She knew that she always felt better.

With amusement, she recalled his reaction the first time he saw the bruises he'd left. He was horrified, and it had taken her hours to reassure him. Her reassurance had led to more bruising; she'd gotten him past that reservation.

She left the bedroom and met him in the hallway. "Oh," he said. "I was just coming in to get you up."

"You didn't hear me in the shower?"

He shrugged. "I wasn't paying attention."

His face was drawn and tired; he had not slept well. When she reached out to touch his cheek, he pulled back and turned away from her. That wasn't like him at all. Granted, he had barely spoken to her at all last night, drawing her through the doorway into a maelstrom of need and passion. Usually, she was the one who started things with Goren, but last night, it had been all him. Afterward, he'd gone right to sleep. But he had not withdrawn from her.

She'd encountered his silence before, but this physical withdrawal was something new. "What's wrong?" she asked as she followed after him.

He waved a hand dismissively, hoping she would let it go, but that was not her way. "Goren..."

He turned suddenly, eyes flashing. "Let it go, Malicek," he growled.

She glared at him, her own eyes now blazing with anger. She wanted to reach out and punch him one, but she settled for uncharacteristic restraint and tossed her hands in the air. "Go to hell," she snarled in reply.

Crossing the room, she grabbed her bag and left the apartment, slamming the door behind her.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"What?" Goren snapped as he sat down at his desk. He'd felt Eames watching him since he stepped off the elevator. She watched him walk to the break room, and her eyes were still watching him when he exited the break room with a cup of piss warm coffee. She continued to watch him cross the squad room right up to the point he sat down across from her. And, now, she was still looking at him.

"You look like hell," she observed, never one to mince words.

"Thanks," he snapped, going for sarcasm and not caring that she was better with it than he would ever be. He took a sip of the especially nasty coffee, grimaced, and threw the cup in the trash with such force some of it splashed up onto his pants. "Just great," he ground out as he stood and brushed off his pants. Swearing, he held up a hand and snapped at Eames, "Not a word."

She watched him storm off to the bathroom to clean the coffee off his pants, wondering who the hell had pissed in his Post Toasties this morning. He hadn't even seen Malicek yet. What a day it was gearing up to be.

When he returned, Eames was no longer at her desk. He felt bad for being such a bastard and was thinking about how he might apologize, or explain, but she'd told him loud and clear that she didn't understand his explanations when it came to Gage, when it came to Wallace. So he wasn't exactly certain what he had to say. He could see her in the conference room, arguing with Malicek. Perfect.

As he crossed the squad to the conference room, he watched Malicek slam a folder down onto the table and take a stride toward Eames. His partner, ever cool, never even flinched. "Go to hell," Malicek was grinding out the words to Eames as Goren opened the door. Goren flashed back to Malicek telling him the exact same thing just a few hours ago.

"Gladly, right after you give me that folder," Eames snapped.

Malicek shoved the folder toward Eames, almost knocking it off the table. Goren looked around. No Nugent, no Moretti. He wondered how long these two had been going at it without a chaperone.

Malicek glanced in his direction when he came through the door. "Nice of you to come to work today, Detective," she bit out.

He could see Eames shove her chair back away from the table and get to her feet. He felt fairly certain that this outburst was the last straw for Eames.

"Go to hell, Malicek," Eames hissed at the FBI agent, throwing her words right back at her.

"Well, now that we're all in the same place," Goren began irritably as he grabbed the folder that was perched precariously on the edge of the table before one of them knocked it onto the floor. He slammed it back onto the table and continued, "Maybe we can get some damn work done."

Both women rounded on him, glaring at him. He glared right back, not backing down from either of them, which was not how he usually played this game. Nearly always, he deferred to Eames, and not only because she was the senior partner. Lately, he was still trying to redeem himself to her, but at the moment, he really didn't give a damn about anything except finding Virginia and locking up the bastard who had her. Unfortunately, he felt they were getting further from their mark instead of closer.

One after the other, the women slammed out of the room, apparently unwilling to take him on just then. Eames was tired of fighting with him, and Malicek was just tired.

Everyone was beginning to wear down. They'd pressed the details of the case they had as far as they could go. Now they were playing a waiting game as they searched for an apartment somewhere in the city that was rented to a man named Kenneth, or a variation of it, with a last name that came from the classic silver screen. It was a frustrating, time consuming search, and leads weren't exactly raining down on them. Goren could feel Virginia's clock ticking in his head, so loud he could barely think of anything else.

Goren stood alone for a few minutes longer, trying to remember how to breathe. Then he also stalked out of the conference room. Torn in so many directions by the case, by Gage, Wallace, and Malicek, by the tension that still existed between him and Eames...he really was in hell.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Mr. Gage is not accepting visitors today."

Goren stared at the prison guard, struggling to comprehend his statement. "What?"

Much to Goren's amazement, the guard repeated the statement verbatim. "Mr. Gage is not accepting visitors today."

Not accepting visitors... In an agitated gesture, Goren rubbed his hand across the back of his neck and rocked slightly on his feet. "Has something happened?"

"No," the guard replied, his voice cautious.

Goren walked right into it, asking the obvious question. "Well, then, why is Mr. Gage not accepting visitors today?"

The guard looked at him for a long moment. Goren sensed the guard had information he was not willing to share. He leaned forward on closed fists and raised his eyebrows, waiting. He was afraid to say anything because he felt like his head was going to explode. And he was afraid to actually move much more than his eyebrows because he might finally lose it and force his way through the door. It had been one of those days and he was not up to playing Gage's damn games.

"Mr. Gage was expecting you yesterday," the guard revealed. "He is not accepting visitors today."

Goren's mouth fell open. "I don't care," he said. "If he's accepting visitors at all, he will see me...today."

His head was spinning. Gage had expected him yesterday, the day after his visit to the shop. But he was so damn hungover yesterday, he spent the day on the couch.

"Perhaps tomorrow," the guard conceded as he rose from his chair, finally sensing Goren's extreme agitation. "I'm just doing my job," he reminded the large, furious, detective.

"Right," Goren replied through gritted teeth and stormed out the door. Perfect. Goren ran his fingers across his head, pulling at his hair. A perfect end to a perfectly useless day. The case had not advanced an inch, he and Malicek had thrown in at every turn, and things still were not right with him and Eames. Now, Gage was trying to punish him like a disobedient child. God… damn… perfect!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"What?" He turned on her, his voice a growl. She made the mistake of calling him by name. She'd heard him mumbling it to himself, talking to himself in a mother's voice, calling himself Kenny. 'Go to your room, Kenny,' she'd heard it distinctly the night before when he'd gone to bed and left her tied to the chair.

"K-k-ken. Is your name Ken?" she asked, hoping that maybe making a connection with him would snap her out of the role he'd been having her play. She felt fairly certain that she was the mother, his mother. Sometimes he revered her and other times he hated her. But whatever he was thinking, she was not his mother, and maybe if she could just talk with him, call him by name, give him her name...

She panicked; she was reaching. She had just made a horrible mistake.

"What?" he screamed, closing the distance between them in two strides. He slammed the back of his hand so hard across her face he knocked her and the chair she was tied to onto the floor. "K-k-ken," he mocked her voice, her stammer, as if he'd heard it before. And he had heard it, many years ago. His mother pleading and mewling and not doing a damn thing to protect herself...or him. "K-k-ken, please, K-k-ken." So he hit this one just like his father hit that one.

She was crying and whimpering and trying to curl up into a ball. "P-p-please," she murmured.

'P-p-please,' her begging just made him more angry. "Stupid mewling bitch."

So he kicked her, hard, knocking the wind of out of her, and then he pulled his foot back to kick her again. He wasn't Kenny anymore. He was Ken, his father, and he felt his father's rage. Virginia...she never had a chance.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Malicek came out of the kitchen with a cold beer and stopped to watch Goren troll around the room, restless. She was wearing only his t-shirt, with nothing underneath. He wore only a pair of sweatpants. True to form, when she showed up at his door, still reeling angrily from the stress of the day, they'd come together explosively, though in an entirely different way than they'd collided all day long.

They felt no closer to finding Virginia than they had when she was taken, and the stress of their failure was weighing heavily on each of them. They were running out of time, and they all felt that pressure.

She was feeling marginally better after the round of sex they'd just had on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. She didn't want to admit it, but she found herself craving those encounters. They were hard and fast, pleasure enhanced by pain, and they both thrived on it. He always seemed better afterwards, except for today, and she wasn't sure why.

She set the beer down on the coffee table as she approached him. Stepping into the path of his pacing, she got his attention when he plowed into her. He grabbed her as she stumbled backwards from the force of his body running into hers. "Why do you do that?" he demanded, eyes flashing his annoyance.

Instead of answering him and feeding into his irritability, she pressed her mouth against his. He started to pull back, but she drew him back into the kiss by nipping his lower lip. He responded by pulling her hard against him, deepening the kiss and taking her breath away. He grasped the bottom edge of the shirt she was wearing and yanked it over her head. When she grabbed the waistband of his pants, she suddenly stopped herself. Stepping back, she grabbed his wrists and held them fast. He looked confused, breathing hard and struggling with his control. She waited a moment, then released one hand and reached out to caress his lips with a fingertip. "Gentle," she whispered.

His confusion deepened. Gentle? She never wanted him to be gentle. Every time he tried, she pushed him back toward the rough play she demanded. His breathing slowed and she leaned in to brush her lips over his. "Gentle," she repeated.

She released his other hand and brought her body back into contact with his. Her movements were slow and deliberate, her touch soft and gentle. She didn't know she had it in her to play the game his way. Always she drew him into her game and they did it her way. She would never let him be gentle, because that was beyond her experience and it was an area she was afraid to venture into. For the first time, she was turning herself over to him instead of the other way around. For the first time, she was trusting him.

This time, they made it to the bed. This time, they were both aware of every sensation as she allowed him to explore her body in a way she'd never let him before. Twice, she backed off to slow him down and make it last longer. What surprised her more than anything was her response to him. Her touch was just as gentle, her kisses just as soft. And deep inside, where she maintained that hard edge, where she kept closed an iron gate around her heart, she felt something...different.

She had no idea how long it lasted. The bedroom was blanketed in darkness, except for the light that oozed through the small gap in the heavy drapes that kept the world out of his bedroom unless he chose to let it in. It was a vastly different experience from what she was used to. She still loved the combat of sex, but this...she could get used to this, too.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
His restlessness was gone. Laying beside her, stroking her back, he seemed relaxed, but he was still confused. "Corrie...why?"

"Why what?" she murmured against his skin.

"Why...the sudden change?"

"I was in the mood for something different."

"Like hell you were. What's up?"

She sighed, leaning up to run her tongue around his ear. "I was curious," she whispered. "I wanted to see what that did for you, for us."

"And?"

"Look at you, Goren. You're not trolling around the room, all uptight. It's a different approach to tension, and it works. I don't know how or why, but it does. And..." She placed a kiss in front of his ear. "I liked it."

She nuzzled his neck, then suddenly nipped his skin, making him jump and drawing him away from sleep. "Hey..." he protested, but he was smiling.

She hadn't seen that smile in too many days. "Don't get complacent," she laughed. "I said I liked it, but I don't prefer it. Not yet anyway."

He kissed her, content with the knowledge they still had a future with one another. He trailed his lips along her jaw, ending the line of soft kisses by biting her ear. She pulled back and looked at him. His eyes were sleepy, but he smiled, and they both laughed. She settled against his chest and relaxed. With a soft sigh, she let him know in no uncertain terms that, although the world may be falling apart around them, they were okay.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The quiet of the night was shattered by the noise of two alarms, sounding simultaneously. Goren forced sleep away from his weary mind. Phone...damn phone. He fumbled for it on the nightstand, vaguely aware of Malicek beside him, fumbling about on the other nightstand for her own phone. He found his first and flipped it open, silencing the damn thing. "Goren."

Eames' voice was still thick with sleep. "Hey, it's me. Ross just called. They found a body. It doesn't really match our guy's MO, but the vic matches Virginia's description and he wants us to check it out. I'll pick up Moretti and meet you there. Jeff is calling Malicek."

He glanced through the darkness, watching Malicek's outline in the shadows beside him. Her hand swiped through her hair. She was agitated. "Where?"

"Woodhaven. Just off Jamaica Avenue."

He jotted down the address she gave him on the pad he kept on the nightstand. "Okay, I'll meet you there."

"We're not jumping to conclusions, Bobby. We don't know it's her."

"I'll see you there, Eames."

He snapped the phone shut. A moment later, Malicek's phone snapped closed. Neither of them moved right away, both fearing what they were going to find in Queens. He was the first to move, but she was only seconds behind him. They dressed in the dark. They left the bedroom together, gathered their things--badge, duty weapon, keys--and walked to the door. There, they hesitated again. "Do you think...?" she asked, trailing off when she couldn't put her fears into words.

"...we failed?" he completed the question. "Yes, I think we failed."

Slowly, she bobbed her head in agreement. Finally, she reached out and gripped the doorknob. She looked up at him, surprised to find him watching her. She moved closer to him, and he met her halfway, coming together to exchange a soft kiss. Then she pulled the door open and they went out into the night, chasing evil on its own ground and dreading every step that brought them closer to the victim neither of them wanted to see.

Chapter 15: Discovery

The blue and red flashing lights of the patrol cars lit up the street. Goren and Malicek arrived moments apart. Eames, Moretti and Nugent, who all lived in Queens, were already there. Goren stood on the sidewalk and looked around, spotting Malicek as she got out of her car. She looked at him as she stepped up onto the sidewalk and joined him as they walked to the apartment building, where they were directed to the apartment where the body had been discovered.

Eames met them at the door, not even noticing that they'd arrived at the same time. "The neighbors called, reporting suspicious noises coming from this apartment. A lot of heavy thumping. By the time the locals got here, whoever did this was gone."

Goren glanced toward the door. "Is it...?"

Eames motioned with her head. "I don't know. Come in and see for yourself."

He looked at Malicek, and they followed Eames into the apartment.

The small living room was almost empty. Shoved against the far wall was an old, lumpy couch. It was the only furniture in the room. A narrow hallway led to the back of the small apartment. Eames answered him before he could ask the question. "Bathroom and a bedroom with one bed, nothing more. CSU just went back there to look for trace. All the action took place in here, in the kitchen."

They followed her to the kitchen, both of them pulling on gloves. Laying in the middle of the floor, still tied to a chair, was their victim. The table had been flipped over and was lying against the refrigerator. The only other furniture in the room was another chair, which was on its side near the table, one leg broken.

Nugent and Moretti stood near the sink. Goren sent them a questioning look. Nugent said, "Your partner insisted we wait for you, and I insisted we wait for Malicek." He held his arms open in an invitation. "Do your thing."

Goren nodded, casting a quick glance, first at Eames and then at Malicek. Finally, he turned his attention fully to the victim. Reverently, he lowered himself to one knee. Malicek did the same beside him. He pushed aside the victim's hair and looked at her battered face. Looking at Eames, who was the only person in the room who would fully understand what he was feeling, he asked, "Who rented the apartment?"

She looked at Moretti, who had spoken with the super. He was pale and shaken, and he glanced at his notepad. "Uh, Kenneth Rains."

"Rains...Claude Rains..." Goren murmured, turning his attention back to the body. "That fits."

Malicek looked up from her examination of the victim's head. "But this? This fits nothing."

"Something happened," Goren mused. "Something caused him to escalate, to break his MO."

Eames asked, "Are you sure it's the same guy? Could this be a horrible coincidence and maybe she was nabbed by a different guy?"

He looked back at the victim, tipping his head to the right. Up to this point, everything fit. Slowly, he shook his head, leaning over to look into the victim's face. Eames remained where she was, watching and waiting for him to start talking. If he still thought it was the same guy, she was willing to trust his judgment.

He gently turned the victim's head, examining her face and head. "Blunt force trauma to her head, her face..." He followed the bruising along her throat and moved the collar of her shirt. "...to her throat..." When he reached for her buttons, he found Malicek's hands already there, slipping each one free of its hole. He looked up at her and she glanced up to meet his eyes. The look was brief, barely noticed by the others, but something intangible passed between them before they returned their attention to the victim. Once the buttons were free, he spread her shirt open. "...her chest and abdomen. There was a lot of rage here."

Malicek nodded. "This is something we haven't seen before, this rage."

He leaned back and looked around the room. He looked at Malicek and then at Eames. He was at the very edge of his control, but somehow, he held onto it. Just by their presence in the room, Eames and Malicek gave him what he needed to remain focused, to think, to hang on in the face of this huge failure. They'd let this woman down by failing to find her in time, and he was struggling with that more than he let on.

He returned his attention to the body, to the bonds that tied her to the chair. Malicek followed his lead, forcing her attention to the victim's wrists and ankles. Electrical wire. She and Goren both looked up and at each other. Then they looked at their partners. Goren spoke, "She's bound with electrical wire."

Eames watched him sit back on his heels as he thought aloud. "Kenneth Rains...We should run him through the system, just in case this is unrelated."

Nugent spoke for the first time. "But you don't think it is...either of you."

Goren and Malicek both shook their heads as they stood. Goren nodded at the CSU techs, indicating the body was ready for them to finish up so Rodgers could take custody of it and begin the autopsy.

The team turned their attention to the rest of the apartment, but turned up little. "Fine toothed comb, guys," Eames said to the techs as she followed Goren toward the door.

Once they were out on the street, Goren leaned against the fender of his car, arms folded, and looked up at the building. Eames stood in front of him, flanked by Moretti and the two agents. Moretti broke the silence. "Is that Virginia?" he asked directly.

When Goren looked at him, both Eames and Malicek could see his internal struggle. "Yes," he answered. He rubbed the back of his neck and finally stepped away from the car. "I...I'll meet you in the squad room," he said, his voice as distant as his eyes.

Nugent patted Moretti's shoulder. "Give you a lift?"

Moretti nodded, suddenly uncomfortable around his colleagues. There was a lot of emotion charging the air, none of it good. He followed Nugent toward his car, which was halfway down the block.

Neither Eames nor Malicek moved as they watched Goren circle to the driver's side of his car. "Goren," Malicek called suddenly as he opened the door.

He looked at her, but so did Eames. Desperately, Malicek wanted to make a connection with him. Goren held her gaze, not looking away, not withdrawing. Then he looked at Eames. No words passed between the partners. Nothing more was said as he got into his car and drove away.

Eames looked at Malicek. "Thank you for not putting this on him."

Malicek reminded herself that Eames did not know her, did not know anything about her relationship with Goren. Her voice was hollow as she said, "This is for all of us to shoulder."

She walked away, leaving Eames alone on the sidewalk as the CSU team members bustled about. Slowly, she walked to her car. It was a long, lonely drive to 1PP.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The long hallway was empty except for the single lone figure occupying a chair outside the morgue. He was a study in misery. Leaning forward, arms on his knees, he stared at the bare floor. Lost in his head, he mentally stumbled from one dark thought to another. He never heard her approach.

Malicek stood at the end of the hall, studying him, for a long time. She felt just as miserable as he looked. There was still a slim hope that the body lying on the slab in the morgue beyond the hallway was not Virginia, but they all knew it was. If not, they had another psycho killer loose in the city, but finding him would fall to the local homicide unit, not to them. They had their hands full with their own psychopath. The team was certain, however, that this one was theirs, that they had failed to find Virginia in time to save her life, that they had failed to predict this. Was there some fundamental flaw in their profile? No, she didn't think so. They weren't wrong about that. But something had caused their guy to escalate, to break pattern and commit this one atypical murder.

Finally, she moved, walking down the hall with silent steps to stop beside him. She crouched in front of him, not touching him, keeping her hands on her own knees. She waited for him to look at her. Her sense of failure was clear in her eyes. He moved his hands up and through his hair, across the back of his neck, and when he went to return them to his knees, he reached out for her. They met each other, palms to palms, fingers intertwining.

Slowly, he raised his head to look at her, his eyes dark and almost unreadable. She knew him well enough to see his misery, his self-blame. "Don't go there," she said, her tone more gentle than he had ever heard it.

"We..."

Shaking her head, she lowered herself to one knee beside his chair. "We were not wrong. Something pushed him over the edge, drove him to a rage he hasn't shown before. There was something about this woman that tripped a switch in his brain. There was no way we could have ever predicted that."

He knew she was right, but the guilt remained. "So now we have a bunch of bananas and a papaya. What do we do with it?"

"Make fruit salad?" The stress of losing Virginia was overwhelming; Malicek surprised even herself with her acerbic reply.

His mouth twitched and the shadow of a smile shaded his eyes. She leaned in and gave him a soft kiss. "We'll get him. There is no other acceptable outcome."

He nodded, agreeing with her. He would not let this killer become her Sebastian. A noise partway down the hall drew their attention from one another. Jeff Nugent cleared his throat again as he approached. "I knew something was going on with you two."

"Jeff..." Malicek started, but he waved his hand at her, cutting her off.

"You don't owe me anything, Corrie. You have a right to live your life." His eyes shifted to Goren and then back to Malicek. "I won't say a word."

He saw the relief on both of their faces and he gave them a small grin. "I've seen how protective Eames can get, and I know Corrie's not her favorite person in the world. This has to come from you, Goren. I'm not that brave."

He looked at Malicek again, and a silent understanding passed between them. "So, no word on our victim yet?"

Goren shook his head. "It's a technicality. It's Virginia."

Nugent agreed. "But we need confirmation before we can take the next step. Any ideas why this murder is so different from the others? Why, after ten years, would he suddenly change his MO?"

Goren looked at Malicek and answered, "He didn't change his MO. Something happened and he lost control of his rage."

The sound of voices interrupted them and Malicek rose to her feet, withdrawing from Goren's proximity as Eames and Moretti came around the corner. As they approached, Eames studied her partner. She'd sensed his guilt before he left the eleventh floor and she knew this murder would weigh heavily on him. She could see that she wasn't wrong. "Any word from Rodgers?" she asked.

"You mean other than 'get the hell out of my morgue and let me work'?" Goren answered.

Eames managed part of a smile. "You okay?"

He leaned back in the chair with a sigh. He never answered that question; she always knew the answer. Moretti dropped wearily into a chair a few feet away from where Goren sat. "Do we know it's Virginia?"

"It's her," Goren replied with certainty.

Nugent leaned against the opposite wall as Eames walked by to stand beside her partner, opposite Malicek. Nugent didn't miss the cool distance Eames maintained from Malicek. It seemed to nicely counter the heat of their angry exchanges, especially when Eames felt she had to fight on Goren's behalf, which he now found even more amusing than before. What he wouldn't give to be a fly on the wall when Goren told Eames exactly what was going on with him and Malicek. Malicek ignored Eames, too, which spoke volumes to him. Over the last few years, Corrie had never let a chance for confrontation slip away. It was one way she dealt with stress. I guess she found a good alternative, he thought with amusement, looking at Goren. Aloud, he parroted Eames' question from the scene. "How certain are we that it's the same guy and not some horrible coincidence?"

Goren shifted in his seat before restlessness got the better of him and he rose and began to pace. Eames expected it; Malicek was not surprised by it. Nugent watched him expectantly while Moretti seemed unsettled by the sudden burst of activity from Goren. "She was tied to the chair by electrical wire," he said, thinking out loud. "He was preparing to do his thing. But something...something happened. Something sent him over the edge. Something she said..." His mind was spinning. "She made some kind of connection in his mind, a connection to something that set him off." He looked at the two agents. "Have you gotten anything that ties him to motive?"

"You've seen the evidence," Nugent answered. "Have you?"

Goren shifted his eyes to Malicek, who knew what he meant. She shook her head. "I can't get my head wrapped around him. Can you?"

Goren resumed his pacing, his mind turning inward, to the part of it that was set aside to deal with Kenneth. "It's a powerful connection. Every victim has a similar build, hair color, even hair length. And the eyes...they represent someone, someone close to him. A sister, a caretaker..." He turned and looked directly at Eames and Malicek. "His mother."

Before anyone could respond, the door to the morgue opened and Rodgers stepped into the hall. She looked around. "Is this a private party or can anyone join?"

Five pairs of eyes bore down on her, and Goren asked, "Is it...?"

"Virginia Aronsen? I have to wait for her DNA to get back so I can compare it to her sister, but my initial impression is yes, this victim is Virginia Aronsen."

"Cause of death?" Eames asked.

"Someone kicked her to death."

"Blind rage," Goren muttered, looking away, toward an empty place on the floor. His voice dropped even lower. "Mother..."

Rodgers watched him for a moment, then turned to Eames, familiar with Goren's departure into his mind. "I'll send my full report up by morning."

"Thank you."

Eames turned her attention back to her partner as Rodgers disappeared into the bowels of her domain. She knew. He was almost there. The hallway was silent, until Moretti spoke, "So what do we do now?"

Goren turned toward him with a frown, his concentration shattered. But it didn't matter. He had it. Turning toward Eames, he shot a look at Malicek that drew her into his circle. "Mother," he said. "These victims represent his mother. He was abused, most likely by his father, but his mother...she was a refuge for him, at least for a while. For years, he would have watched his father's abusive treatment of his mother. Over time, he became angry, angry that she didn't protect him, that she couldn't save herself. And now...he vents that anger on his victims. But Virginia...somehow, Virginia made a connection with him. And that was a fatal mistake."

Nugent stared at him. "Where did you get that?"

Goren replied with a shrug, not able to articulate the connections in his mind. Eames watched Goren for a moment. This was the part of their investigation she hated the most, the connection he formed to the perp. It was what made him so damn effective, but she had always lived with the fear that someday, he might not come back.

Malicek watched the partners. She had sensed Goren's withdrawal, his retreat someplace deep in his head. She saw the understanding and the fear on Eames' face. They had been doing this for many years, and Goren obviously always returned from that place in his head, but she could clearly see that Eames feared the time that might come when he would not.

Goren looked at the other members of the team before he walked away. They met back in the squad room, where they found Goren in the conference room, pacing back and forth in front of the pictures, studying each one in turn. He was certain the killer connected each one to his mother. "RIP," he said when he heard the others come into the room. He looked directly at Malicek. "Not initials. 'Rest in peace.' He wants his mother to rest in peace because she never did in life, and neither has he."

Malicek's tone was naturally testy; it had been a long day. "I gave up on the initial theory when we decided his name is Kenneth." She stressed the 'K' sound as she said the name.

Goren's expression changed; he was amused. "I'm glad you could let it go."

"Don't beat a dead horse, Goren."

Eames interrupted the exchange. "Are we going to accomplish anything more tonight?"

"No," Nugent answered. "We're all exhausted. I suggest we grab a couple of hours of sleep and regroup in the morning."

There was a murmur of assent from everyone but Goren. Eames stepped up to him, silently suggesting he go home. After a long moment of silence, he finally nodded. Without another word, he turned and left the room.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Malicek stood outside Goren's door for a moment before she knocked. She really wasn't surprised that he did not answer. Grasping the doorknob, she turned it and pushed the door open. The living room was lit by a small lamp in the corner and he was sitting on the couch, leaning forward as he studied the beer bottle he held in his hands. There were two empty bottles on the coffee table in front of him. She closed the door behind her and approached him. "Hey," she said as she sat beside him. "Don't beat yourself up over this."

He didn't answer. The truth of the matter was that he didn't really know what to do with his emotions. He couldn't pin them down. She reached out and grasped the neck of the beer bottle. He turned it loose, and she took a drink. Then she said, "We've got his first name, we've got his photo, we're close – closer than I've been able to get in 6 years."

"That was one body I was hoping we wouldn't find; I thought we had more time."

"You don't corner the market on that sentiment," she stated flatly and passed his beer back to him.

He finished the beer and turned to face her. "That's not what I meant." He didn't mean to imply that he was the only one feeling the loss.

"You have a pretty damn good record, Goren. So do I, for that matter. We'll get this guy."

While he pondered that, she got up and went into the kitchen. After rummaging through his refrigerator and his pantry, she appeared in the doorway again. "How do you survive? Don't tell me you live on beer and expired orange juice."

"I've been too busy to worry about groceries."

"Well, I'm hungry."

With a nod, he picked up his phone. She went back into the kitchen and pulled two beers from the refrigerator. He was setting the phone on the table as she placed one of the bottles in front of him and dropped down beside him. She was exhausted and found herself longing for a day with some down time.

She reached out and ran her fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes. Her fingers stroked the back of his neck, trailing a path of heat around to his ear. With a soft growl, he turned his day's frustrations on her, taking advantage of the freedom she gave him to fully let go and give her the violent passion she demanded. They were two forces of nature that came together in a violent, explosive dance. It was exhilarating, exhausting and, for him, liberating.

It took no time for them to push each other's clothes off; they'd had plenty of practice. Although they started on the couch, they didn't stay there, tumbling onto the floor as she demanded everything he had to give. She got what she wanted. Suddenly she slowed down, knocking him off his rhythm and hovering above him with a wicked smile. He smiled back, then flipped her over suddenly, slamming her onto her back and thrusting hard as he brought her to climax. Just as he reached his, there was a knock at the door. He shuddered and buried his face in her neck as she arced against him a second time, biting her lip to keep from crying out, and then fell back to the floor. As she caught her breath, she muttered, "Door."

He nodded. "Probably the pizza I ordered."

Rolling off her, he found his pants and pulled them on as she rose and snatched his shirt from the floor on her way to the bathroom. He zipped his jeans and pulled the door open, freezing where he stood. It wasn't the pizza.

Eames arched her eyebrows in surprise. It was very clear to her what he had just been doing. Her expression changed to one of concern as she noted several scratches and bruises on his chest and abdomen, all in various stages of healing.

"What's going on with you?" she asked, legitimately unable to reconcile his current state with the frame of mind he'd been in when he left work.

"What?" He moved to step forward, intending to close the door and keep their encounter in the hallway. This wasn't the way he wanted to come clean with Eames.

She didn't cooperate, stubbornly remaining in place, keeping him standing in the doorway. She repeated her words more slowly. "What's going on with you?" She leaned to the right and looked at his neck. Is that a bite mark? she thought to herself. "What the hell, Bobby?"

"It's nothing, Eames. Let me get dressed and..."

He was interrupted when Malicek appeared, wearing nothing but his dress shirt, his t-shirt in her hand. "Did you get pepper...oh." She stopped talking when she saw Eames.

Eames stepped back from the door, a look of shocked surprise on her face. Goren stepped toward her. "Eames..."

Her face suddenly darkened as the pieces began to fall into place. "Don't," she snapped, remaining beyond his reach.

When Eames turned suddenly and stormed off, Goren swore. He snatched his t-shirt away from Malicek and followed Eames down the hall, yanking his shirt over his head as he went. Eames was already on the elevator, and he slipped through the doors before they closed. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but Eames cut him off.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"What?" Her anger caught him off guard and he had no better reply.

"We're assigned to the same case. You don't think this presents a conflict?" Eames went with the job party line, but what she was really thinking about was the animosity between them.

"No," he insisted.

She studied the man she knew so well and yet did not seem to know at all. "How long?"

He shifted uncomfortably under her glare. "A couple of weeks."

Eames drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly as the elevator doors opened. "Dammit, Goren."

"Eames, please...listen. This thing with Malicek..." He wanted to explain, but he wasn't quite certain he could. It was different, it was good, it was liberating, it was helping him focus his thoughts, but he couldn't seem to put any of that into words. "I don't want it to cause problems," he finished lamely. He honestly couldn't take any more stress in his partnership with Eames. He desperately hoped she would not put it to him to choose between them.

"Well, you should've thought of that before you started screwing a co-worker," she snapped, trying to understand how such a smart guy could be such a moron. Of course his relationship with Malicek complicated matters, and it wasn't just his relationship with her that was at risk.

"What?" he asked, wishing he could find his vocabulary so he at least didn't sound like an idiot.

"You have so many secrets." Eames shook her head, but her tone had changed. She was more defeated than angry. "If you want to make things right with me, try not keeping secrets from me."

He looked at the floor but said nothing. He didn't know what to say. She ran her eyes over him, pausing to stare at the mark on his neck. She shook her head for a moment, then let herself look at his face. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Eames?"

She turned as he stepped out of the elevator behind her. Studying his face, she read the unspoken question in his eyes. They'd been through so much over the past few years. She wasn't one to give up, but she had to make him think about how his actions impacted the people who cared about him. There were so few of them left now, thanks to Gage. She was not going to let him off the hook easily.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she reiterated.

"Right." Goren figured that was as good as he was going to get. If Eames was really pissed at him, she wouldn't have said anything at all. He would take what she offered for now.

He returned to the apartment, where he was surprised to find Malicek fully dressed. Before he could say anything, she said, "I'm not going to get between you and your partner."

He grabbed her arm and yanked her toward him. "No, you're not. What's between me and Eames, is between me and Eames." And that was an honest statement. He and Eames would square things on their own terms, in their own time, and Malicek didn't need to worry about that.

She rested her head against his. "But Eames..."

"Leave it alone..." He kissed her neck, distracting her from her current train of thought, preventing himself from dwelling on what had just happened with Eames. They'd worked together far too long and been through far too much for this to do them in. His relationship with Malicek could never undermine their partnership. Eames would come around, and he would do his damndest to meet her half way. She was right about all his secrets. He'd been letting them pile up between them over the past few years. In some respects his life was a clean slate, all of his secrets were out in the open now, and he wasn't going to let them pile up again.

Another knock at the door drew him away from her. "That has to be the pizza."

She smiled as he stepped away and walked to the door. He wasn't wrong that time. Setting the pizza in the kitchen, he returned to her in the living room. "Please, stay?"

She gave him a kiss and asked, "Did you get pepperoni?"

"Naturally."

She started toward the kitchen, asking over her shoulder, "And after dinner?"

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, kissing the curve of her neck where it joined her shoulder. He gave her a nip and then ran his tongue over the spot and kissed it again. "Whatever you want, baby."

A shiver passed through her and she was torn between hot food and hot sex. Her distaste for reheated pizza finally won out. After the food, the sex would still be there, and it would still be hot. "Let's eat, and then we'll see what happens."

As they sat at the small table in the kitchen with pizza and beer, he caught sight of the picture of Ginny and Lizzie on his refrigerator. Malicek followed his line of vision. "Maybe you shouldn't keep that picture there," she said quietly.

"Does it bother you?"

"I...I'm not sure."

"It gives me...an incentive, a greater drive to solve this case." He pointed at it with his beer bottle. "That family was dealt a double blow by this guy. He can't get away."

"He won't. We're close, Goren. I can smell it."

"That's the mushrooms."

She stopped for a second, then she laughed. "Eat your pizza."