Disclaimer: The characters used within this story do not belong to me, but were borrowed for the purposes of this story. They belong to CBS/Viacom and their associated copyright holders. No profit made, and I promise to return them un. . . well, relatively unscathed. The plot and original characters, such as they are, are of my own imagining.

Synopsis: Two dead doctors. A woman tried and acquitted for murder. Will Mark and Steve discover the real truth before someone else dies? Possibly someone very close?

Rating: PG

Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone who has been so encouraging and welcoming to me as I posted my first DM stories here. Thanks to Betty, Veroon, Lissa and Julie. You guys are awesome.

By Writer JC

Part One: The Verdict

"Madame foreperson have you reached a verdict?"

"We have your honor."

All sound ceased in the filled-to-capacity court room as the stern, somewhat motherly looking woman stared across at the judge. No papers rustled, there were no sounds of any of the many bodies shifting. It seemed that all those in attendance were holding their collective breaths.

"What say you?" Judge Benning spoke into the silence. Seconds previous he had read the verdict slip with a studied lack of reaction. His private thoughts regarding the trial that had waged in his courtroom for the past week was anyone's guess. Even the press, with its array of consultants was finding this one a hard call. No one was willing to say one way or the other how the case would fall. Certainly not Lt. Steve Sloan. He, like everyone else, waited on the next sentence that would come from the jury spokesperson.

The foreperson glanced briefly toward the defendant and then toward Steve before her eyes fell to the slip of paper before her. Steve felt his stomach tighten at the look, but he had little time to dwell on it as the woman was speaking.

"On the charge of murder in the first degree of Dr. Charles Bettinger, we find the defendant not guilty." A gasp sounded around the courtroom, but was contained as the woman continued to speak, pausing only briefly in deference to the crowd's response. "On the charge of murder in the first degree of Dr. Eliot Paul, we find the defendant, not guilty."

Noise erupted all around him as Steve sat in stupefied silence. He had known that the trial had been close, that the evidence was largely circumstantial. But he hadn't realized until that moment, when the jury had actually given its verdict how much he had hoped that his and his father's word would have been believed over that of the woman who had killed two of his father's colleagues.

The judge's declaration that Amber McPherson was free to go faded to the background as he first shared a look with his father, then turned toward the beautiful redhead who he was convinced had cold-bloodedly murdered two men.

She offered a wry smile and shrug, before fingering the thin gold bracelet that circled her wrist. A taunting reminder of the piece of jewelry that he had given her before Mark had become convinced of her guilt. She had worn it every day during the trial, playing to the jury about just how much Steve's friendship had meant to her, and how bewildered she was that he was trying to pin this horrible crime on her. She mouthed the words, "I'm sorry," even managing to plaster an expression of regret across her face before she turned toward her attorney.

As always when he was in her presence, Steve felt the anger erupt through him. Anger that he had once again been used in one of Amber's plots; anger that he had believed her innocent act enough to have played into her hands in the first place. Worse, because he privately suspected that the one act of giving her a cheap bracelet at a carnival was the thing that had undermined the defense's case, and tipped the jury in Amber's favor.

"Steve. Let's go." His father's voice sounded from beside him, pulling him back from his anger. He glanced over at his family and friends and heaved a tired sigh. This case had been tough on all of them, he realized. Though Amanda and Jesse's expressions mirrored disbelief and sympathy for he and his father, he knew it was a blow to the group as a whole to know that despite their best efforts a killer was going to go free.

"Yeah, let's get out of here. We could all use some fresh air."

They were stopped several rows back by Lily Paul, Dr. Eliot Paul's widow. She had a hug and a hand shake for Mark and Steve, thanking them for their efforts in her behalf. Lily was a striking woman in her mid-fifties who, even under the most extenuating moments of the trial had been quite poised. Her shell shocked expression now though reflected Steve's own feelings. Her sister, Margaret, stood at her side, mirroring a similar emotion.

"If there's anything you need, Lily," Mark was saying, as he held one of her hands in his. Steve looked on as his father worked his reassuring magic, battling the guilt feeling that due to himself, justice had not been served. He nearly missed her announcement that she would be heading back east for a while to stay with her sister's family. With final expressions of gratitude, she and her sister wound their way through the crowd ahead toward the door.

"Maybe we can all go and have a consolation dinner at Bob's or something before the rush kicks in?" Jesse piped up as they followed, moving more slowly amid the throng toward the back of the courtroom.

Steve looked back toward his friend. "I don't feel much like eating, Jess," he announced. "I was thinking more of something along the lines of pounding the sand into submission with a nice long run. Might help to clear my head."

Jesse nodded in understanding. "Right. Rain check."

Steve's gaze was drawn beyond Jesse toward a pair of gray eyes that were focused intently on his father's back. The expression in those eyes chilled him all the way down to his toes. Then, with a blink, Amber's eyes locked with his and she smiled softly and sweetly. He shivered.

"You okay, son?" A touch on his arm called him back.

"Fine, dad," he muttered in response before he stepped through the double doors into the lobby after his father.

-- -- -- -- --

Steve shot a cursory look toward the late afternoon skies as he set a brisk pace across the sands. Mottled gray, they threatened an impending downpour. And there was a decided to chill to the October air. Neither was of great concern. Both matched his mood.

His feet pounded relentlessly against damp sand as he pushed his body. The sounds of wind and surf raged around him, whipping at his clothing and hair, drowning out the sounds of his breath and the uneven thumping of his heart. Nature was a wild thing; her rage and actions much larger and stronger and uncaring of his. It served to calm him, to slough away the rougher edges of his anger and frustration. He eased off to a more normal pace and let the memories come. . .

The first thing he noticed were her legs. Encased in sheer hose beneath the hem of a short crème-colored skirt, they seemed to go on and on. He took in the rest of the package at a glance, even noting the naked ring finger of her left hand. She turned, nervously allowing her gaze to touch on him, before she continued an anxious perusal of the lobby.

Steve allowed a warm smile to spread across his features as he approached. After all, he was a public servant. It was his job to help damsels in distress.

"Excuse me," he smiled at her. "Is there something I can help you with? You look a little lost."

She looked up at him, startled. "Do you work here?" she asked, desperation tinged with hope in her voice.

Steve looked back into the stormy gray eyes and knew that somehow, this woman was going to change his life.

He came back to the present with a disgusted snort. She'd changed his life all right. She'd gotten the job, and a celebratory dinner with one Steve Sloan -- the son of the Head of Internal Medicine. He'd fallen for her game, hook, line and sinker. And now he was getting wet.

Another fat raindrop plopped against his forehead, splattering across his brow. Those first few drops were the opening bars of a chorus. Within moments the sky opened up, releasing a chilling symphony of moisture. His sweatshirt and pants were soaked through in a matter of minutes.

-- -- -- -- --

Mark Sloan watched his son's familiar gait as he ran through the pouring rain toward the house. Turning away from the scene as Steve closed the distance, he headed for the kitchen to prepare a batch of hot chocolate. As he was probably soaked through, Mark suspected that he'd head directly to his unit to shower and change before coming upstairs. The beverage should be ready just in time. And then he planned to have a talk with his offspring.

During the drive home from the courthouse, Steve had been unusually quiet. And once they'd arrived home, he'd gone almost immediately downstairs to change. Mark knew that part of the reason was the outcome of the trial, but some internal parental twinge told him that there was also something more. Although, the fact that he had systematically checked all of the windows and doors before he'd left was probably a clue.

Precisely 17 minutes later, Steve arrived upstairs, his hair still damp from the shower. "You made hot chocolate?" he asked unnecessarily, moving toward the counter for the cup that was obviously his.

"How was the run?" Mark asked, easing into the conversation.

"Wet," Steve replied.

"Yeah." Mark chuckled. "I imagine it was. I think a storm's been brewing since we left the courthouse." He took a sip from his mug, waiting to see if Steve would catch the double-meaning. He didn't have long to wait. Steve's brow furrowed and he settled his mug against the counter with a sloshy thump.

"I can't believe she got off!" He fumed. "I can't believe the jury believed her over a respected physician in the community. After all you've done for this city, it came down to your word against hers and they went with the pretty face."

Mark scratched his brow and stifled a grin. "I think my reputation will survive, son, although my ego might not."

Steve blew out an exasperated breath. "Dad. . . It was me who ruined our case. Me and that. . . damned bracelet. I caused the jury to lean in her direction."

Mark's expression sobered. "You didn't ruin anything, least of all the case. Amber is simply a very good actress. She started a relationship with you knowing that if there was a murder at Community General, you would end up working on the case one way or another. Which would have, and did, put her in a very unique position."

"I know you're right," Steve agreed grudgingly. "It's just galling to know that I fell for it and that she's gotten away with it. There's got to be something more we can do."

"She had a very specific agenda, Steve. She wanted to kill the men who she felt caused her mother's death. She didn't do it for money or property. All she wanted was revenge, and unfortunately, she's gotten it."

"So you're just going to let it go? Just like that?"

Mark's smile was back. "Now, I didn't say that, did I?"

"No you didn't."

Mark noted that Steve's returned smile was distracted. Shadows of worry were still there in his eyes. He allowed his own smile to fade away, and his voice deepened as his tone became more serious. "You're worried that I'm her next target for revenge, aren't you?"

His son's expression and body language all geared toward denial, but then he stopped and nodded. "Yeah, I am."

"I'll be careful," Mark assured him. He would trust Steve's instincts on this one. He allowed the humor back into his tone as he began to clear away their beverages. "Although, I do think she'd be a little more subtle than breaking into the house."

Steve grinned sheepishly. "Caught that did you? Well, maybe I was battening down the hatches. For the storm, you know."

Mark laughed. "Oh, I think it's blown its course for now."

-- -- -- -- --

Jesse Travis stifled a yawn as he stepped into the Doctors Lounge. He'd come on at 6:00 A.M., and an hour later, his body was still studiously trying to convince his brain that it was an insult to be expected to function at such an hour. And with the decided lack of traumas in the ER, his brain was inclined to agree. Stumbling around a pair of legs, belonging to a softly snoring body, he made a bee-line for the coffee pot. Caffeine. Yeah, that was the ticket.

A sigh of satisfaction escaped as the aroma of freshly made java drifted from the brew that was cascading wonderfully into his mug. Setting the practically full pot back onto the burner, he wondered that he'd managed to get the first cup of what was obviously not the hospital's usual brand. He looked back toward the lounge chair where the apparent coffee maker had drifted off listening to early morning radio. He was one of the new interns. Poor kid had probably been on for more than 12 hours. Nice of him to bring in gourmet coffee, though.

Jesse took a couple steps toward the young man, sipping his coffee as he went. The least he could do was suggest the young man sack out in the on-call room. A few feet away however, his attention was caught by the sound of a familiar voice and a familiar name.

"There you have it, Los Angeles. . . Amber definitely loves Officer Steve."

Jesse spewed coffee, and that which remained in his cup was in imminent danger of spillage as the sleeping intern came to startled wakefulness. All six foot four gangly inches of him shot to attention, nearly knocking the shorter doctor over in the process.

Jesse dismissed profuse apologies as he headed for the door. He had a phone call to make.

Traffic along PCH was moving well for a Friday. A fact for which Steve was intensely grateful as he'd been a little behind schedule that morning. A quick breakfast of bacon and eggs between two slices of toast had been devoured while shrugging into his jacket and making his way out to the car. A bottle of water to wash it all down was retrieved from beneath the seat as he waited for a traffic signal. And the paper towel that his father had directed toward him with the sandwich was used to clear his face of any crumbs. It was the breakfast of champions, all in under a minute. Healthy too, if one discounted the bacon and noted the fact that the toast had been unbuttered. He'd be sure to stop by the coffee room for a jelly doughnut after he checked in at the precinct.

Having planned at least the first few minutes of his workday, Steve settled in for the drive into LA. The frantic tension of the morning drained away and his mind relaxed into familiar rhythms. His thoughts turned, predictably, to Amber and the look she'd focused on his father. The threat had been unspoken, and he would be hard pressed to produce any proof. Saying he saw murder in her eyes would hardly impress the chief. Instead, he planned to go back through every shred of information they had in the case file. There had to be something there that they'd missed, something that would help him to eliminate her as a threat to his father. Steve found the situation especially ironic when he considered how very open she had been about her past. . .

"Would you like to go for a walk?" Steve asked as they stepped out of the doors of a restaurant situated along the outskirts of L.A. The meal and the company had been very enjoyable, and as they had both driven separately to the establishment, he was looking for an excuse to extend the evening.

"I'd love to," Amber replied, offering a warm smile as she moved closer to his side. "I was hoping we weren't going to end it so soon. I've really had a great time."

"Me too," Steve replied. "But aren't those the sort of words that you say at the end of the date?"

"Well, maybe it's not an end, but a beginning," Amber challenged and came to a stop. It was still early and the sun was just beginning its descent. Golden rays reflected off of her hair and shone as a gentle breeze blew a lock across her face.

Unthinkingly, Steve reached out and pushed the silky strands away and tucked them behind one of her ears. He didn't resist the impulse to trail his fingers lingeringly along her cheek before letting her go. Something changed in her eyes and some deep male instinct told Steve that she had been very affected by his touch. Maybe nearly as much as he had been affected by the feel of her hair and the warmth of her skin against his fingers. The sensation lingered with him almost like an afterimage.

"To beginnings," he murmured, then leaned in toward her. She stopped him with the touch of a finger over his lips.

"Not yet," she whispered. "There will be more for us. I promise."

Steve straightened away from her, feeling a little embarrassed. "I'm sorry if I pushed you a little too fast," he said. "I, uh. . . sorry." He offered a sheepish grin and stuffed his hands into his pockets. He was unsure of what his next move should be. He only knew that keeping his hands to himself was going to require retraining them.

"Don't be," Amber assured, and looked up at him from the corner of her eye. "This atmosphere is very romantic. And you are very romantic. You can make a girl forget all those serious little talks she has with herself about not getting involved too quickly."

Steve chuckled. "Should I be flattered?" he asked.

"Yes." She reached toward him and wrestled one of his hands from his pockets and entwined her fingers with his. She then pulled gently so that they could continue walking. They headed across a small walkway that led to a planked overlook.

"Okay, in that case, I am." He declared agreeably, tightening his hold gently on her hand.

Amber laughed. "I like you a lot, Steve. And I really want there to be more to our relationship. I won't hide that. I want you to know right off that I'm a girl who comes with a little baggage."

Steve's brow furrowed and he remembered a dozen other relationships that he'd had that had been doomed due to his propensity for selecting the crazies. He wondered if having all the cards out on the table up front wasn't a bad idea. "What kind of baggage?"

"Well, for one thing, I'm my own girl. I won't be hovered over."

Steve grinned. "I don't have a problem with that."

Amber smiled in return. "And I'm an absolute sucker for a guy with dimples."

Steve tried to stifle his smile, but it was impossible. "Okay. I think I can work with that."

Her smile faded. "And I’m grieving." She looked up at him, taking in his reaction.

Steve sobered, taken off guard. He looked into her eyes and saw that she was serious. A sliver of empathy wound through him, causing him to realize just how much it mattered to him that she might be experiencing difficulties. "What happened?" he asked.

She smiled a gentle sad smile. "I lost my mother just over a month ago. She was wonderful. My best friend. I truly think she was the only person who really and truly understood me. She was the only family I had left. I miss her."

"I'm sorry," Steve said. "My father and I are very close. I couldn't imagine. . . " He didn't finish the sentence. It wasn't something he liked to think about. He didn't even want to consider the thought that Mark Sloan wouldn't always be there.

"Oh no," Amber sighed. "I'm not trying to bring you down. It's just that I believe that experiences in life shape us from day to day. What happened a month ago shaped who I am now. I just wanted you to know."

Steve offered a small smile and nodded. "Thanks for telling me," he said, hoping it didn't sound as inane as it felt.

He watched as Amber seemed to shake off the sadness. She then grabbed his other hand and dragged him toward the overlook. "Let's go check out the view while we still have some light."

"Oh, uh, I have a confession to make," Steve laughed, holding back slightly.

"What's that?" she teased.

"I've got this things about heights. . . "

The honking of a passing horn dragged him from his meandering. Shaking his head as if to clear it, he refocused his thoughts on the case. Amber had been very good. She'd twisted him around her fingers and then used him for her own revenge. He couldn't let their remembered chemistry cloud that.

The ringing of his cellular was not a welcome interruption. He retrieved it from an inner jacket pocket, apprehension flickering through him as he wondered who might be calling him on his way in to work and why. "Sloan."

He was immediately assaulted with an onslaught of words from his best friend and business partner. "Slow down, Jess. What's wrong?" Steve tried to focus on the words themselves as he struggled to understand. All too quickly, he got it.

"You heard what?!"

The phone was all but forgotten as he switched the radio dial to the Mike & Jim Morning Show.

-- -- -- -- --

"Fancy meeting you here." Amanda appeared alongside Mark as he climbed out of his car in Community General's Doctor's lot.

"Oh, good morning, Amanda," he greeted her warmly as he juggled his keys, a briefcase and canvas satchel.

"Need some help?" She offered, reaching for the satchel.

Mark relinquished it with an appreciative grin, and at her look of askance toward the brightly colored items inside, added an explanation. "Party favors for a few of the kids on Ward C."

"Ah," Amanda nodded knowingly. "Darryl Tremaine's party. He still calling you grandpa doc?"

"Yes," Mark admitted with a grin, thinking of the energetic twelve year old who was more often than not a resident of the children's cardiac ward. "Can't seem to talk him out of it."

"From what I hear, he isn't the only one," Amanda teased.

Mark wasn't bothered. He knew it had become something of a joke among the nurses on the ward. He would have been more surprised if Amanda didn't know. He made a face at her just the same as they entered the hospital proper.

"I think the experimental procedure is really helping him, Amanda," he switched subjects slightly. "When he first began the treatment, he could barely sit upright. Now he's all over the ward, terrorizing doctors and nurses alike."

Amanda laughed with him. "Do you think the procedures would have saved Amber McPherson's mother?"

Mark shook his head. "It's hard to say. Her condition was so much more advanced."

"Would you have recommended her if you were on that board?"

Mark came to a stop in the corridor. That was a question he'd considered several times during the course of the trial. It was one he still didn't have an answer to. Deciding between a 12 year old boy and a fifty-five year old woman. Perhaps choosing who should have the better chance at survival of a debilitating illness. It was an uncomfortable decision to make.

"You know that if you had been on that board and voted her off that study, Amber would have tried to kill you, along with Drs Paul and Bettinger."

"I know, Amanda. I know. She might have succeeded, too."

Amanda opened her mouth to respond, but was cut off by Jesse's frantically approaching person. "Did you hear?" he called still several yards away.

"Hear what?" Amanda and Mark questioned simultaneously.

"What she did," Jesse clarified only slightly. Then, apparently realizing that his audience had no clue as to what he was talking about, he continued. "On the Mike & Jim morning show. They've got this whole poll going about whether or not Steve and Amber should be a couple. It's 75% in favor."

"What?" Mark was stunned.

"Yeah, she was on as a guest this morning."

"She's moves faster than I thought," Mark murmured. "Does Steve know?" Considering his son's reaction to the outcome of the trial, this new incident was not going to go down very well.

"He knows." Jesse nodded in a warning tone. "And he is not a happy camper right now."

"I don't imagine so," Mark said as he hurried off. He needed to talk to Steve.

Steve never got a chance to enter the KKLA building. He spotted the woman who was the source of his angst coming out of the front doors. She looked irritatingly innocent and at peace with her world. It only added to his anger.

Double parking in the filled-to-capacity visitor's lot, he slammed out of his truck and strode determinedly in her direction as she made her way down the walk. She smiled at his approach.

"What do you think you're doing?" He demanded, blocking her path. He wanted to get to the bottom of this thing with her, here and now. Wasn't it enough that she'd gotten away with murder? Did she have to continue to torment him?

"Oh you mean the interview?" She gestured back toward the station. Then, not waiting for a response, she continued, "I was invited. Mike & Jim were very persuasive. I really didn't feel that I could turn them down."

"Really?" Steve asked dryly. "Were they persuasive when you decided to start a poll about us?"

"No. I didn't need much urging on that score. I think we make a great couple. I have since our first date. The chemistry is through the roof, don't you think?" She looked deeply into his eyes for several moments, before allowing a small satisfied smile to lift one corner of her lips. "I just wanted to see if any one else could see what I do."

Steve's anger deepened. "There is no us!" he ground out. "And in case it has slipped your mind, you killed two men. My father is probably next on your list since his testimony was the most damning. That is hardly what I would call a promising relationship prospect."

"Very little slips my mind, Steve," she said softly, her voice suddenly serious. "It's one of my flaws. It's also why I can't forget you. But you're wrong. I adore Mark. I wouldn't think of harming a single hair on his head. I would never try to kill him."

Stared glared at her. "I'm supposed to just believe that? The word of a murderer?"

She sighed and shook her head, her tone suggesting boredom that he didn't understand. "He was only doing what he thought was right. He was seeking justice. I admire that. And I never lied to you, Steve. Not once. And I wouldn't lie to you about this."

"A lie of omission, is still a lie. Besides, you lied to the court."

"Are you sure?" she questioned. "Are you sure that you didn't get so bogged down in all that circumstantial evidence that you refused to see what was really right in front of you? Are you so used to your father being right that you can't accept that he might have been wrong? He's a good man, Steve. But in the long run, he's just a man."

"You're not going to turn me against my father."

"I know." She smiled. "And that's another thing I love about you. You take care of him. Give him my love. He's perfectly safe from me."

Steve held her gaze for a moment longer, then grunted and turned away. There was really no place else to go with the conversation. And it irritated him that he was inclined to believe her when she said that she wouldn't harm his father.

"Steve." He'd gotten several steps away when she called him back. He turned to face her, not sure what to expect.

Her gaze smoldered. "I've always liked those pants on you."

Steve made a sound of disgust and turned away from her frank appraisal. Did she think he was a fool? That he could be led around by physical cravings? Her laughter followed him for several feet, then she spoke again.

"Your instincts are correct, you know."

That got his attention. He stopped and partially turned back. There was something more hanging on those words. The air seemed charged with the importance of it. "What instincts?" he asked over his shoulder.

She took several steps closer, and Steve observed her slow languorous approach. She stepped into his personal space, moved up on tip-toe and placed her hands on his shoulders. Steve allowed his arms to hang limply at his sides as she whispered near his ear. "Someone is going to die. But it isn't going to be Mark."

Moving back down from her tip toes she took a step back. With a small smile she turned and headed off in the opposite direction.

Steve stood stunned for several moments, then ran after her. "Who?" he demanded, grabbing her arm. "Who is going to die?"

She looked innocently up at him. "I don't know. How could I?" Removing her arm from his hand, she turned again.

Steve would have followed, but his phone choose that moment to ring.

-- -- -- --

Mark had settled behind his desk and punched in Steve's cell phone number. His son picked up on the second ring, his tone non-too-pleased.

"Sloan here!"

"Steve?" Mark couldn’t keep the concern out of his voice. He knew how Steve had felt about Amber. He suspected that, despite all that had happened, some of those feelings were still there. They were just buried under a good bit of anger.

"Dad." Some of the frustration drained out of his voice.

"You at the radio station?" Mark asked.

"Yeah," Steve's reply came back over the line. "How'd you know?"

"Jess told us he called you." Mark didn't feel it prudent to alert his son to the fact that he was aware of how often proximity to Amber raised his blood pressure.

"Yeah, he did."

"What happened?"

"I saw her."

Mark waited. Then when nothing more seemed forthcoming, he prompted, "Did you talk to her?"

"Yes, I talked to her. But I really don't want to talk about it, Dad."

"Okay. I understand," Mark said, though he didn't. He knew that Steve tended to be a private person. But he felt strongly that whatever had happened, his son needed to get it out. He allowed his words to linger in the silence. Either Steve would volunteer the information, or he would find an excuse to exit the conversation and Mark would be forced to wait until he was ready. Mark hoped that it wouldn't be the latter. His hope was realized moments later.

"She said someone else was going to die."

Mark was aghast. He had hoped that her pattern of revenge was over. Perhaps, having succeeded with her first two targets, she was on the prowl for the next. "She didn't! Did she say who?"

"No." He could hear Steve's sigh over the line. "But she promised that it wouldn't be you." Another sigh. "I think she's messing with me dad."

"I'm sure of that, son. So you think she's after me, huh?"

"Dad, listen. I don't know. I really need to follow up on some leads. If nothing else, she did tend to telegraph her moves. I just never managed to catch on to them in time. Meanwhile, please be careful."

"I will. And I'm sure you'll come up with something." Mark tried to reassure him.

"Thanks, Dad." Steve sounded a little defeated as he disconnected.

Mark hung up his phone and settled back into his chair. Something tickled at his mind. What was it that Steve said? That Amber telegraphed her moves? The words stuck as remembered the first time he'd met her. . .

Mark blinked away the memories. His eyes settled on the canvas bag carrying party favors. A thought occurred to him. Amber had killed the doctor's who she felt had taken her mother's chance for life. Young Darryl Tremaine was the person who had taken her mother's place in the study. Was it possible that she could be after him next?

Steve entered the precinct building with a determined stride. Amber McPherson was not going to get away with another murder. He would personally make sure of it. He was not going to allow her to make a mockery out of himself, his father or the legal justice system. There had to be something more in the case files to help him stop her. Something to give him a clue as to her plan. Unless she truly was simply messing with him, as he'd told his father. The largest piece of the puzzle was why. Had Mark not seen the bottle fall from her purse, she never would have been suspected at all. Even on that fateful night, after she had left the scene of the crime, he'd had no inkling that anything was amiss. . .

Steve yawned as he entered his unit. Both he and his father had the early shift that morning. They'd decided to turn in earlier than usual as it had been a long day for the both of them. He'd just stepped into the room, and was reaching for the light switch when a sound caught his ear. He froze mid-yawn, suddenly alert. The noise had come from the doors leading out onto the patio.

Sinking into the shadows against the wall, he crept along toward the sounds. Someone was trying to get into his apartment! Then suddenly, the rattling stopped and he heard a soft bump. The vague shadow of a body against the outer doors accompanied the sound. The body moved slowly toward the ground.

Steve frowned. That seemed a strange motion for a burglar to make. More curious than worried, he moved toward the door and slid the curtains aside. There, settled just outside the door, was the back of a very familiar red head.

A flash of concern shot through him as he quickly unlatched and opened the doors. Amber started slightly, before turning to look up at him. Her eyes were wide with surprise.

"What's wrong?" Steve demanded, going down to his haunches beside her. He gave the rear area of the house a quick instinctive once over, before checking her over as well. His gaze stopped on the basket that was partially hidden in shadow at her side. The top of a wine bottle peaked out from beneath a checked cloth.

"Nothing's wrong now." Her expression morphed into pleasure. With his help, she moved to her feet. "I came to tell you that I got a new job. I'll be starting next week."

"What?" Steve was still coming to terms with the unexpectedness of her visit coupled with the affect her presence was having on him. "Why didn't you just come to the front door?"

"I didn't want to hurt Mark's feelings," she explained as she reached for the basket containing the wine. "Especially since I was celebrating. I think he really wanted me to stay on at the hospital."

Steve nodded in acknowledgement. Amber and his father had talked several times about how the position at Community General was going. "I didn't know you were looking for another job," he said, opening the door wider so she could enter the apartment.

Amber hung back and grabbed his hand. "Why don’t we go for a walk," she suggested. "I don't want to risk waking your dad."

"All right," Steve agreed easily, realizing that he was suddenly not very tired after all. He pulled the doors to his apartment shut and took the basket from her hand. "Shall we leave this here?" he asked.

"For now," she agreed, with an inviting smile. Steve followed that invitation out over the sands toward the beach. "I wasn't really looking for a job," she continued her explanation. "A friend of mine had been after me to come over at talk to the General Manager at her company. I finally gave in. He offered me a job."

"So where is this new company?"

"I'm afraid it's on the other side of LA from Community General. Which means I'll have to drive a little farther."

"And it also means that I won't be having lunch with you at the hospital anymore," Steve lamented. During the past two and a half weeks, they'd lunched together often. If not at the hospital, then nearby or at Bob's. There would be no time to make such a trip in traffic during the midday rush.

"We could always meet in the middle," she suggested, pulling him to a stop. Turning to face him, she moved up on tiptoe and wrapped her arms about his neck.

"Meeting in the middle sounds wonderful," Steve smiled lazily down at her.

"I thought you'd like that," she whispered as they closed the distance that separated them.

Steve lost himself as they kissed beneath the half moon, allowing the potency of their attraction to wash over him and flood his senses.

"I love doing that with you," she said dazedly when they pulled apart.

"Not nearly as much as I do," Steve breathed, leaning in for more, allowing his lips to trail a path down the side of her cheek and to her neck.

"Mmmm," she moaned. "You're so thorough. So very thorough."

Steve knew he murmured something against her neck, but any coherence was lost as he returned his attention to her lips. The very air seemed charged as they separated again. "Maybe we should go inside," he suggested.

"I thought you'd never ask."

Steve was startled out of his memories by a sudden round of applause and a few catcalls. His face flushed red with embarrassment. He looked up and about at his fellow officers in an attempt to figure out what was going on. Then one of the officers near the back of the room clued him in.

"Well, if it isn't Officer Steve! If it's any consolation Officer, I voted 'no'!"

Steve groaned inwardly. He should have known. He opened his mouth to rattle off a scathing comment, but Newman's door opened. The tall Captain beckoned him toward his office with a look that didn't bode well for the meeting to be a friendly pat on the back.

Clamping his mouth shut, Steve turned away from the amused detectives and followed his commanding officer into the all-too-familiar confines of his private abode. Aside from being 25 minutes late, he couldn't think of anything he'd done that might be construed as out of line. Really, this meeting could only be about one thing.

"Have a seat, Lieutenant," Newman ordered.

Steve obeyed, settling into the chair uncomfortably. Newman's expression was as unreadable as ever, giving him no clue as to whether he was about to help him or reprimand him.

Steve decided to begin the conversation. "Sir, is this about Amber McPherson?"

"Yes, it is," Newman replied. "I don't want this situation to in any way affect the job you do here. I don't want any calls from her attorney saying that you're harassing or stalking her. She has been tried and acquitted. On top of everything else -- including her interview this morning, that is the last thing this department needs. Do we understand each other?"

"Yes Sir," Steve responded with a frown. "As long as she doesn't break the law, she has nothing to worry about from me."

"You see, that's just the type of attitude I'm talking about. You don't follow her around waiting for her to break the law detective. You go about your business. And right now your business is focusing on the homeless murders. Detective Banks is out with Mickowsky following up on a lead that by all rights she should have been handling with her partner. But it turns out that her partner was out of reach and not where he was supposed to be. Were you anywhere near KKLA this morning?"

"I was, but I had my cell. . . " Steve's words trailed off as he remembered that he'd gotten a call that morning from his father.

"Yes, detective?" Newman prompted.

"I was on another call. I probably missed Cheryl's call."

"Was this other call in some way related to Amber McPherson?"

Steve bit down on his mounting frustration. "Yes, Sir," he managed. "There has to be something I can do."

"I've already been in touch with legal. They're working on it. Meanwhile, you do your job. Stay away from Ms. McPherson."

Steve nodded his understanding, though he had no intention of leaving the case alone. At Newman's nod of dismissal, he left the office and made a beeline for his desk where he proceeded to gather together everything he had on Amber.

-- -- -- --

Mark glanced up from the open refrigerator as Steve entered the kitchen and settled a stack of files on the counter. The tense set of his shoulders and the lines of strain around his mouth were silent testament to the type of day he'd had. Reaching back into the refrigerator he retrieved a beverage for his son and held it up for his approval.

Steve nodded and took the bottle. "Thanks."

Mark opened his own bottle and gestured toward the files. "That everything you have on Amber?"

"Yeah," Steve replied. "Not that I've learned anything new. And Newman made sure I was very busy today so I couldn't get much done anyway."

Mark frowned. "Captain Newman tell you to stay away from the case?" he asked. He could well imagine the kind of trouble the other man feared. He no doubt had the best interest of the police department and Steve himself in mind.

"And Amber." Steve added. "Said the last thing he needed was a stalking charge."

"He does have a point," Mark said gently. "That entire radio broadcast could have been a means of provoking you."

"I know," Steve acknowledged. "I'm sure that it was now that I think back on it. This is all a game to her. That's all it has ever been."

"No, son," Mark shook his head. "I don't think so. I think she takes this entire situation very, very seriously. I think you're right, though. She is up to something. We just have to figure out what it is before someone else dies."

"Well, we certainly agree there."

"I've been thinking about what you said on the phone. You mentioned that she always telegraphed her moves. That we never caught on to them in time. Maybe she's telegraphing again. What did she say to you? Exactly."

Steve frowned as he thought back. "Well, she said that she adored you. That she wouldn't think of harming a single hair on your head. She said that she would never try to kill you."

Mark chuckled. "I think she was telling the truth. I'm not her intended victim."

"Dad, I can't take that chance. I can't just assume that she's not just trying to lull me into a sense of security before she strikes."

Mark smiled. There was no way he could talk his son out of his protectiveness toward him. "What else did she say?"

Steve sighed, apparently deciding not to argue over whether or not Amber was going to come after him. "She said that someone else was going to die, but that she didn't know who it was."

Mark frowned. "What do you suppose that means? Why would she be trying to kill someone if she doesn't know who it is?"

"Dad, you're doing it again. You're taking the things she says at face value. She said that just to taunt me."

"Well, yeah, I’m sure she did," Mark agreed. "But I think she meant it. She really doesn't know who she's going to kill."

"So you're telling me she's going after some random person? Why?"

"No," Mark was thoughtful. "I don’t think that's it. But I suppose we can rule out Darryl Tremaine."

"The kid at the hospital?" Steve looked at him oddly, then realization dawned. "He was the one who got the treatments that she felt her mother should have gotten."

"Right," Mark nodded. "But from the records, she would know who he is. Most everyone who worked in the hospital knew Darryl."

"Hmmm," Steve was obviously thinking about what he was saying. "Maybe --" His words were cut off by the ringing of the house line. Being closer, Steve picked it up. Mark knew by his sudden thunderous expression that the person on the opposite end of the line was not the bearer of good news.

"What?!" Steve demanded into the receiver. "You've got to stop it!"

Mark's concerned deepened with the increase in his son's volume as he made his wishes known to the person on the opposite end of the telephone connection. He knew without at doubt that it had something to do with Amber. And judging from Steve's reaction it was bad.

"Steve? What is it? What's happened?" he asked, moving a step closer. Where normally he might have waited until his son concluded the telephone conversation, he felt that he had to cut in. Maybe he could help in some way.

Steve held up a hand, holding him off as he continued his conversation. "Yeah, you're my friend but you're going to print it anyway?"

Steve's volume decreased but the frustration and bitterness of his tone did not. But the words at least gave Mark a clue as to what was going on. If it had to do with print, there was obviously going to be a story in a newspaper or one of the many gossip rags that plagued the city. Mark blew out an exasperated breath. It was more of the same. First the radio interview, and now Amber had gone to the newspaper. But with Steve's next words, Mark was not so sure.

"Pictures? What do you mean? What kind of . . . " Steve trailed off and he suddenly paled. Unhappy realization dawned over his features. "She must have had someone inside at the radio station taking photographs." Steve turned and met his gaze. A look of tiredness and defeat shown for a moment as he continued to listen.

Mark took a half step forward, wanting to offer whatever support he could. But then, Steve's expression changed to one of determination. His entire countenance seemed to change as his shoulders straightened into his usual erect posture. His tone became brisk as he continued to speak into the phone.

"How would you like an exclusive, Meg? The other side of the story. Straight from the mouth of Officer Steve."

Mark felt the beginnings of a grin lighting his features. Steve was going to fight fire with fire. He wondered how Amber would react. That thought immediately sobered him. Amber was a very dangerous woman, despite the persona she projected. And she was a master at orchestrating events for her own purposes. . .

Mark blinked away the memories to find that Steve had wandered out of the kitchen. He followed the sound of his voice into the den where the impromptu interview seemed to still be in full swing. He was preparing to leave, giving Steve privacy to finish up when he noticed movement through the balcony doors.

It was Jesse and Amanda, no doubt having come to offer moral support. He moved past Steve to let them in, noticing as he did so that Jesse was carrying a large brown bag emblazoned with the BBQ Bob logo.

"Hi Jesse. Amanda." Mark greeted them in a hushed tone as he gestured them inside and through toward the kitchen. "That smells wonderful." Jesse and Amanda returned the greeting imitating his quiet tone when they caught sight of Steve obviously deep in concentration as he listened to something over the phone.

Amanda and Jesse hesitated when Steve suddenly spoke. "There is absolutely no possibility of a reconciliation, regardless of any manipulative tactics to make things appear otherwise. Unconditionally, no. . . " Steve's voice faded as he stood and moved past them, deeper into the house.

"What's going on?" Jesse's eyes followed his friend's departure. "Is this a bad time? Should we come back later?"

"Oh, no." Mark sought to put his mind at ease. "There has simply been a new development," he confided. "But I'll let Steve explain the rest when he's done with the interview."

"Interview?" Amanda's brow creased in surprise. "Is that what he's doing? What made him decide to do that?"

Mark held his hands up, warding off further questions. "I'm sorry. We're all going to have to wait for Steve to let him explain it. I don't even have all of the details myself. Just what I've overheard."

"We'll do anything we can to help, Mark. You know we will." Jesse's earnest expression made Mark smile.

"I know you will, Jess. You both will." He included Amanda in his smiling gaze. He then gestured toward the stack of folders that had been left on the counter. "Steve brought his files home. I think he wants to go over everything again. See what we might have missed."

"Like something to do with her hometown maybe." Steve said, coming into the kitchen. "I never realized talking to a reporter could be so enlightening."

"She able to help you with the case?" Mark asked, noting the look on his son's face. There was an edge of excitement in his lean features. He obviously had a lead.

"In an off-handed kind of way," Steve replied, moving toward one of the bags of food and peering inside.

"Well don't keep us in suspense," Jesse chimed up. "Why were you being interviewed? What happened? What did you find out?"

Steve chuckled. "A friend who works at the LA Sensation -- it's a weekly gossip rag that --"

"We know what it is," Jesse cut in. "Tell us what happened. Why were you interviewing with them?"

"I'm getting there," Steve said, sighing in exasperation. "Anyway, Meg called to tell me that there was going to be a special edition this week that contains a story on Amber. She let me know that there was someone from the Sensation with Amber today at KKLA. They took a few compromising looking photographs of us out in the parking lot. The pictures are running front page with the article."

"How compromising?" Amanda wanted to know.

"Yeah," Jess added. "What were you doing?"

"Nothing," Steve said defensively. "She was. . . well, she was all over me, but I didn't reciprocate. I was too angry and it was over too quickly for me to push her away. But I can imagine how it's going to look on the newsstand tomorrow."

"Wow. She's wily," Jesse said.

"And in for a surprise," Steve responded. "I just gave my side of the story. Meg is pretty sure that they're going to run it front page, side by side with Amber's interview."

"She is not going to like that," Amanda said, a knowing grin on her face.

"No," Steve agreed. "I don't imagine she will."

"What did you find out from Meg," Mark asked, changing the direction of the conversation slightly. His curiosity was piqued by whatever offhand information that the reporter had been able to pass on. There had to be a reason behind Amber's going to the Sensation, more than just a desire to torment his son. He was sure of it.

The woman had been sly enough to come over to his home after killing two men. She had then proceeded to use the fact that she had spent that evening with his son as an alibi. But the fact was that there had been just enough time for her to leave the scene and arrive at the beach house. Her purchase of the wine that she had brought to celebrate with Steve from La Ciel de Vin had also been a careful manipulation. The winery was two blocks away from the area where the two doctors had been sent to their deaths. With Amber there seemed to be two purposes for everything.

"She gave me a preview of the story. Amber's going to be going back to her hometown. Says that there are a few things that she needs closure on. She even said that she was hoping that I would help her!"

Mark frowned. "So you think this person, whoever is going to die, is someone from her hometown?"

"I'm sure of it," Steve said. "Question is, who has offended her so much that she needs closure?"

"The drunk driver who killed her father and brother," Mark replied, the answer coming to him in a flash of insight.

"That's the obvious answer," Steve said. "But is there anyone else? I think I'll make a few calls out to Riverside . . . "

Mark was thoughtful. An idea was germinating in his mind. One that he felt sure his son wasn't going to like.

-- -- --

"Thanks guys," Steve was saying to Mick and Jamie as they moved across the empty darkened dining room of BBQ Bob's. "If you want to stay on the closing schedule, just let Jesse know. I'm sure he can work it in."

"Thanks Steve," the two college freshmen replied. Having come to the city together, the two shared an apartment and a major and now they both worked at Bob's. They were hard workers, and Steve felt sure after having worked with them only twice that things would work out well. And he certainly couldn't argue with the fact that the closing duties had gotten done twice as fast with their enthusiastic help.

He shuffled the bank bag containing the day's earnings in his arms and was preparing to close and lock the door when he heard the phone ringing. He thought to ignore it. It was just after eleven, and the restaurant was closed. The answering service would kick in after the sixth ring explaining their hours and a short review of their menu.

He paused, torn. His father had managed to finagle his way into going to Riverside to investigate Amber's past. Jesse had gone with him because it was his day off. While there, his father had discovered that there was an event going on in a community center in Amber's old neighborhood. They had decided to stay for it, which would put them on the highway an hour or so prior. Though he was sure his dad would most likely have called his cellular, he was probably expected to be at Bob's for at least another half hour. He turned and headed for the phone extension that hung on the wall near the register.

"Do you want us to wait for you?" Mick called through the door.

"Nah, you go on ahead," Steve called back as he weaved through the tables. "I'll see you in a couple of days." He snatched up the phone just as their response reached his ears.

"Hello, BBQ Bob's." He spoke automatically into the receiver. All he received for his effort was a burst of static so loud that he was forced to pull the phone a little away from his ear. Putting it back more cautiously, he tried again. "Hello?" Nothing but static.

Steve cut the connection, waited several seconds, then dialed his father's cellular. The older Sloan answered on the 2nd ring.

"Hi Dad. Did you or Jess just call me?"

"No. Why? Is everything okay?" Mark's voice had taken on a slight hint of concern. Steve could hear Jesse in the background inquiring as well.

"Everything's fine," Steve sought to reassure them both. After his rebuttal article ran in the Sensation the day before, they had been expecting some kind of reprisal. Aside from the typical radio discussion, none had come. Even the Steve loves Amber poll that KKLA had begun was dropping out of public interest. But Steve knew his father still worried about a response from Amber.

"I think it was just someone with a static-y line that couldn't get through," Steve said. "I was just closing up and thought I would check. How far out are you?"

"Oh, we left a little early. We're on PCH now. Should be to the beach house in about forty minutes at the most. We discovered some rather interesting things about Amber and her family. I'll tell you about them when you get home; it's too much to go into now. How much longer do you think you'll be?"

"We're just done closing. I'm going to swing by the bank, make a drop and I'll probably be home before you."

"Okay, son. We'll see you then. Be careful."

"I will. Bye Dad."

Steve hung up the phone wondering what his father and Jesse had discovered. During the initial investigation, they hadn't gone too deeply into her past as the murder didn't seem related. Shrugging a bit, he retrieved the bank bag from the counter and headed out of the restaurant.

As he turned to lock the door a huge yawn took him. It had been a very long day. Maybe he would grab a shower before his dad and Jess arrived. Shaking off the yawn, he turned toward the lot and his truck. He was definitely going to need to drive with the window down.

As he was searching through his ring for the truck key, he heard a step behind him. He'd just barely caught a glimpse of a dark blur before he saw the white of his truck rushing forward to meet him.

Unable to stop the unexpected momentum, Steve crashed into the passenger side of the vehicle with a thump. The protruding door handle caught him just below his breast bone, sending shock waves of agony in a painful band around his chest and along the left side of his body. The pain was momentarily so overwhelming that it seemed to suck the air right out of his lungs and the strength out of his body. In a detached, surreal sort of way, he heard both his keys and the money bag hit the ground. He himself was heading in that general direction, his knees buckling under him, when a pair of rough hands grabbed him from behind and spun him head on into what felt like the reverberation of several powerful fists instead of the one meaty paw that it actually was.

The blow sent him reeling once again only to be stopped by another pair of powerful arms. That blow was quickly followed up by another and another. He was never given an opportunity to really focus on his attackers, or to even gain a breath. He only knew that there were two of them and that they were tall, broad and meaty. He thought maybe that they were covering their hands with something with a weave, perhaps knit gloves. But after several more blows were rained on his face and torso, even that didn't matter. It all morphed into a pain-filled blur of relentless fists. And through it all not a word was spoken.

Finally they let him go, allowing him to crumple bonelessly to the pavement. One very large booted foot rolled him away from the truck where he could only manage to lay dazedly as he tried to focus on breathing in and out with a minimum of pain. The sound of his truck being started reached him distantly through ringing ears, brake lights came blearily into view seconds before the truck turned off to the right. Black spots appeared in his vision, and he blinked them back by force of will.

Not sure how long he could maintain any semblance of half consciousness, his thoughts turned to his father and Jesse. He wasn't sure how much time had passed, but he knew he had to try to reach them. They shouldn't be too terribly far away. He hoped they weren't.

Reaching into a pocket for his cellular phone was nearly his undoing. Even so small a movement increased the agony across his abdomen. Dizziness and nausea rushed him and the dreaded black spots appeared again before his vision. It took every ounce of determination and strength he could muster to continue on.

Becoming increasingly more drained by the moment, it seemed an eternity before he convinced his fingers to hit the speed dial to his dad's number. Mark answered almost immediately. But it seemed that on the verge of success, he was about to lose everything. The black spots melded to a gray haze and he felt himself slipping.

"Hello? Steve?" Mark's voice sounded distantly over the connection again, quickly filling with sudden concern. Steve struggled to form the words to spare his father additional worry.

"Dad . . . Bob's . . . sorry . . . " was all he managed before the phone slipped from his fingers and clattered to the ground. And despite his valiant effort, the haze won out and he descended into darkness.

-- -- --

"Oh my God! Steve!" Mark yelled into the cell phone. "Steve! Answer me!" But all he could hear across the still open connection was his son's raspy breathing. His body went completely cold as pure panic shot through him. For a moment his mind blanked and he couldn't think what he should do.

"Mark? What's wrong? What's going on?" Jesse asked, suddenly alarmed, from the passenger seat. His frantic voice pierced Mark's shock.

He blinked and realized that he was behind the wheel of the car and had suddenly released pressure on the gas pedal. The car was gradually slowing to the frustration of the tooting horns behind him. Gathering his wits, he first resumed his speed before turning a fearful glance in his young friend's direction.

"It's Steve. I think something has happened to him. He's just passed out, but I can still hear his breathing."

Jesse reached for the phone that Mark held in a death grip. At Jesse's prodding he reluctantly released it, then attempted to focus on the road ahead.

Jesse placed the small device to his ear for a moment before he spoke. "Where is he?" The professionalism that made him such a good ER doctor dropped over him like a curtain. His tone was even and he was all business.

Mark squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and tried to think. "He said Bob's. I think he's still there."

Jesse handed the phone back to him. Mark immediately placed it in between the seats on speaker while Jess reached for his own cell phone.

"I'm going to call the police and an ambulance. They'll probably be there about the same time we will."

Mark nodded and increased his speed as much as he dared. His only goal was to reach his son as soon as possible. During the long four minutes that it took for them to arrive at BBQ Bob's, Steve's raspy breathing was the only sound that filled the car.

"I don't see his truck," Jesse said tensely as they approached. "Is there any chance he could be someplace else?"

"He said Bob's," was Mark's anxious response as he forced himself to slow down and pull into the lot. The vehicle's headlights flashed against the building, illuminating it and the darkened pavement. The sweep of the headlights revealed the motionless form near where Steve normally parked.

Mark didn't remember putting the car in park or climbing out of the vehicle. It had all been done in a hazy auto-pilot as a desperately worried father tried to reach his son as quickly as possible. Once there, he paused, his hands frozen only inches away as he took in the damage displayed vividly in the illumination of his headlights.

Steve was laying curled on his side, facing out toward the road; the cell phone lay where it had dropped half in front of his face. He was completely unconscious, his only motions being the painful sounding in-and-out motions of his breathing. Dark hair had fallen half across his brow, but Mark could still make out darkening bruises and abrasions along the side of his face. There was little blood, the worse being from Steve's lower lip where it had been split.

Mark's eyes continued to trail over his son, and he noted the way his body curled inward, as if trying to protect his middle. Mark suspected that there would be abdominal injuries as well. He had seen this type of damage before. Worse, he had seen it on his own son before. Someone, probably paid professionals, had beaten him with the sole purpose of inflicting pain. It caused a squeeze of both agony and relief in his father's heart. Steve was alive and his injuries would no doubt heal. But he had been hurt. Badly. And he had a strong suspicion that he knew who was behind it.

"Mark."

Jesse called his name as if it wasn't the first time that he'd called him. Mark jerked, noticing that Jesse has arrived with his arms filled with items that he recognized as being from his trunk. The most notable being Mark's own medical bag along with a blanket and large halogen flashlight. Jesse quickly dropped the items and stooped across from him.

"Yes, Jess?" Mark's voice sounded distracted to his own ears as he watched the younger man removing items from the bag. He handed a small flashlight in his direction.

"How are his pupils? " Jesse asked pointedly when Mark didn't take the item right away.

"Uh," Mark grasped it and looked back down at Steve, willing himself to focus. The familiar motion of lifting his eyelids and evaluating his pupils went a long way in calming his turbulent insides. "Equal and reactive," he announced his diagnosis. He went on to describe the facial abrasions.

"Okay," Jesse acknowledged his responses as he lifted Steve's shirt and gingerly ran his hands along his abdomen and back. He paused over darkening bruises. "My guess is that someone worked him over pretty good," he said quietly.

"Yeah," Mark agreed solemnly. "Fractured ribs?"

"I'm pretty sure of it," Jesse replied. "I don't like the location of one of these fractures - I'm worried about some sort of splenic trauma. Where's that ambulance?" As if the words had conjured the ambulance into existence, the distant wail of sirens pierced the night. Both doctor's released sighs of relief.

-- -- --

It felt as if there was cotton wool in his head. And all sound was like the buzzing of so many bees flitting around his head, urging him into wakefulness. The buzzing tone took on substance, becoming more distinct and familiar.

". . . won't be a guard on his door? Why not? He was attacked and left laying in the street last night. As a result he has a concussion, bruised lungs, two fractured ribs and a lacerated spleen, not to mention innumerable contusions all over his body. That has to count for something."

The pleading tone in his father's muted voice brought Steve to more complete wakefulness. He knew instinctively that he was in the hospital, though the details of his arrival didn't seem forthcoming. Opening his eyes, he looked at the heart monitor machine and recognized it's steady normal beep-beep. His father, he realized, was on the opposite side of the door.

He became more fully aware of sensations. A dull ache seemed to pervade every portion of his battered body, giving mute testimony to his father's description of his injuries. The band that was wrapped about his middle gave a more physical witness. He frowned, and discovered the ache in his facial muscles as well. The memory of what had happened was there just under the surface.

" . . . understand how you feel." Cheryl's voice penetrated. "I feel the same way. But we don't have any evidence to support that. Everything we've found leads us to believe that Steve was a random victim of robbery."

"Cheryl . . . "

"Dr Sloan, you know I'll do everything I can to find any connection. But right now, I've got nothing to tie Amber McPherson to this mugging."

"To this beating, you mean."

His father's tone was uncharacteristically bitter, and triggered an onslaught of memories. Being caught by surprise, the pain of being slammed into his truck, fists, booted feet and the money bag echoed through his mind. He could imagine how it all must look to investigators. Another memory flashed into his mind then, and it seemed absolutely imperative that he communicate it.

He drew in a deep breath, anxious to call out to his father. It was a mistake. The dull ache in his chest rose to the level of excruciating. He would have gasped at the surprise of it, but the pain had taken his breath away. The previous steady beep-beep of the heart monitor had accelerated into a rapid double-time.

Steve squeezed his eyes shut, feeling perspiration breaking out on his brow as he struggled to deal with the pain. When he opened his eyes, his father was standing over him, a very concerned looking Cheryl at his side.

"Steve? What happened?" His father asked as he ran a quick eye over the display of the machines.

"Breathed too deeply," Steve managed breathlessly as the pain was beginning to abate somewhat.

"That'll do it." There was no humor in his father's voice. "You're due for another dose of pain medication. I'll have the nurse bring it in."

"No, I'm alright," Steve objected, knowing that as soon as the stuff was administered, he'd be down for the count. "I can wait until the regular time."

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure, Dad. It's not as if I shouldn't know better," he replied, recalling a previous experience with fractured ribs. Looking beyond his father to Cheryl, he continued speaking. "What about the phone call?"

Cheryl's brows raised in askance. "Phone call?" Her gaze flickered briefly to Mark, then back to Steve. "What phone call?"

"I got a phone call just before I walked out with the closing crew. But when I answered there was only static. I think someone wanted to make sure I stayed a little longer."

"You mentioned that call last night," Mark murmured thoughtfully.

"I'll check into it," Cheryl promised. "See where it leads us. Do you remember anything that might help us to identify the men who did this to you?"

"No. They came at me from behind. Everything is pretty hazy after that."

"Okay," she said. "You'll let me know if you remember--" She broke off as her phone rang. Excusing herself, she moved into the corner of the room to answer.

Steve turned toward his father, unable to overlook how tired he appeared. He wondered just how much sleep he had gotten the night before. He was fairly certain that if he had gotten any, it had taken place in his office on an uncomfortable couch. A small pang of guilt ran through him at causing his father, however unintentionally, to worry.

Hoping to cheer him, he offered a small wry smile. "I heard you telling Cheryl what the damage was. So I guess my next question is when can I get out of here?"

Mark obediently chuckled at his attempt to cheer him. "I'm afraid you're stuck here for a couple of days. If you're good, I'll release you the day after tomorrow."

"What if I'm very good? Can I go home today?"

Cheryl's return interrupted Mark's laughing response.

"That was a report from CHP," she began. "They found your truck. Someone wrapped it around a tree."

Steve groaned. "There goes my insurance premium."

"It would have been worse had you been in it," Cheryl shot back.

"She knew what that truck meant to me. That and this," he gestured vaguely over his body, "is her way of getting back at me after that article."

"Steve I hate to say this," Cheryl disagreed. "But her MO leans more toward murder than property damage."

"Oh but she's not done with me yet. There's still this someone who is going to die. Unfortunately, our best guess at a victim is still unknown since, at the time of the drunk driving incident he or she was a minor with extenuating circumstances, the records were sealed. Then there are hundreds of other possibilities of people who might have offended her. Until she's done with her game, I'll live."

"I tend to agree with Steve," Mark backed him up. "We learned some very interesting things yesterday in her hometown. There were several instances when she was a teenager where when things didn't turn out her way, odd and very coincidental things happened."

"Really? Like what?" Cheryl folded her arms, very interested.

"Well, when she was in high school, she wasn't chosen as a cheerleader her freshmen year. The captain of the cheerleading squad broke her ankle a week later when a cheering prop broke. No one could prove that it had been tampered with. Then there was her chemistry teacher. He gave her a failing grade. He received 2nd degree burns when the labels on some bottles of chemicals that he was using for a demonstration were mixed up."

"Is that it?" Cheryl asked.

"Oh no. There were other things, too."

"Okay, but that isn't going to prove that she was behind this assault. Everything points to robbery. The truck was abandoned after the accident; the keys were still in the ignition. And your bank bag had been thrown on the floor of the passenger side. It was empty. Crime scene is going over it.

"I'm going to go get started on this phone call business. I'll keep your posted."

"Thanks Cheryl."

Steve waited until she'd left before he turned to his father again. "I really can't stay here and do nothing. I need to be out there, trying to find out what she's up to."

"I know it's hard, son. But if you don't let your body heal, we won't need to worry about what Amber might do to you. Even a minor spleen laceration is nothing to mess with Steve. Until we're sure that there is no more bleeding, this is where you'll stay. The best I can offer is to bring your files in. That way you can at least go through them while you rest."

Steve allowed a bit of a smile to break through his frustration. He knew that his father was right. And he hated that he'd driven him to giving a stern mini-lecture on the state of his health. His father had enough to worry. "Sorry Dad. And yes, please bring the files. I'll be good."

-- -- --

Mark stepped into the first floor elevator carrying an overnight bag for Steve as well as his case files. He had been over everything in his mind during the drive back into LA, and he was certain that he knew why Amber had retaliated in this manner. She would perceive it as suitable retribution.

A cheerleader who had crossed her path received a broken ankle; a teacher, burned hands. An ex-boyfriend who took another girl to the prom had his car vandalized. The two doctors who she felt had deprived her mother of life had been overdosed on Coumadin so that their blood would not clot. And then, when the brakes on the car that they were riding in had failed, they had both bled out after the crash.

A cheerleader used her feet to kick when she cheered. A teacher wrote a failing grade with his hands. The doctors had prescribed Coumadin, among other things, after denying Starla McPherson entry into the study program. And now, Steve had gone on the offensive with his interview with the Sensation, essentially attacking everything that Amber had carefully constructed for the media to report. And so she had arranged for him to be attacked in return, throwing in the added insult of having his truck and money stolen.

Mark sighed. Unfortunately, there was no evidence to prove it. But he knew, deep in his heart, that it was true. He only wondered if there was anything else surrounding the robbery that he had missed.

Stepping out of the elevator as he reached Steve's floor, he headed along the hall toward his son's room. It was mid-afternoon, and knowing Steve's medication schedule, Mark was fairly certain that he would be sleeping. Of course, that would have been after grumbling his way through a liquid lunch.

He chuckled at that thought. Jesse had no doubt been the unlucky recipient of those complaints. Allowing the smile to linger on his face, he pushed open the door to Steve's room. Expecting to see his son peacefully slumbering, he was positively stunned to find Amber McPherson standing over his bed.

Amber looked down at the man settled against the pale colors of the hospital linens. His expression was clear, bearing the complete innocence that men's faces seemed to take on in sleep. What was the phrase? Dead to the world. Yes, that was it. Her grandmother used to say that. Steve Sloan was dead to the world. Out cold. Sleeping like the proverbial (albeit drugged) baby.

The reason for the drugs was another matter entirely. Beyond the innocence of expression, the bruising stood in silent testament. She winced slightly, imagining his pain. The entire ordeal must have been very painful indeed. Perhaps as much as reading the interview in the Sensation had been for her. She had wanted him to feel just a little of that pain. And then, of course, there was the matter of the keys. Wonderful things all night hardware stores with their key copying machines.

She continued to stand there, watching, and remembering the way that things were in the beginning. They had been so close. But now that was all over. There was no turning back. When though, she wondered, had things gotten so off track? It had been a simple plan. Bettinger and Paul had deserved what they got. It was a simple case of justice served. In Steve, she'd thought she'd found a man who understood that . . .

A quick inhalation of breath dragged Amber back to the present. She looked up to find a very stunned Mark Sloan staring across the room at her.

"What are you doing here?" he demanded. "I want you to leave. Now."

His voice was not at all its usual warm timbre. But that was no surprise. She knew how he felt about Steve. He could only see her as a threat to his son. Which was too bad really, because this thing between she and Steve was personal. As much as she liked Mark, she really wished he would understand that.

"Are you worried that I've come here to finish the job those goons started?" she asked quietly as she reached a hand toward several strands of hair that had fallen across Steve's brow. Very gently, she pushed them back, allowing her fingers to trail across warm skin.

"Stay away from him," Mark commanded, moving farther into the room. He quickly lowered the items that he was carrying onto a nearby chair and made for the phone. "I'm calling security. I want you out of this room, and I don't want you to come back."

"I didn't come here to hurt him, Mark." Amber replied. "I came to see for myself that he was okay."

"No," Mark watched her as he waited for his call to connect. "You've come to inspect your handiwork." Someone must have picked up on the other end then, because Mark began speaking into the receiver.

Amber turned her attention back toward Steve, who was beginning to stir. She placed a deceptively gentle hand on the side of his face and leaned over him. "This isn't justice served, lover. Not yet," she whispered as Steve focused hazily on her before his eyes went wide with shock. He drew in a sharp breath and his entire body jerked beneath her. His face went deathly pale.

"Steve!" Mark exclaimed, running around the bed, roughly shouldering her out of the way. He barely spared her a glance as he spoke in her direction. "You. Stay back!"

Amber obeyed, backing away just as the room doors flew open.

"Get her out of here," Mark ordered, then directed that she be escorted off the floor and that the police department be contacted.

-- --

After Steve wasn't sure how long, things settled back down. The shock of waking to find Amber standing over him, whispering threats, had caused him to act instinctively. Acting instinctively had hurt like blazes and affected his breathing. But now the pain had subsided back to a general dull ache, and his breathing was approaching normal. He looked over at his father and offered a tired smile.

At some point Jesse must have arrived as he was standing over the bed looking just as worried as his dad. "How are you feeling?" Jesse asked.

"Like I've just been run over by a truck that Amber was driving."

"I'm sorry about that, Steve," Mark spoke up. "If the LAPD won't place someone on your door, then I'll just have to put one of the security guards there. This is not going to happen again."

"It wasn't your fault, Dad." Steve tried to reassure him. "She's not the most normal person in the book."

"Yeah, maybe. I heard her whisper something to you, right after you woke up. Do you remember what it was?"

Steve remembered. But he wasn't sure he wanted to tell his father. "She said that this wasn't justice served. Not yet." He tried to lessen the blow. "But I know what she's up to, Dad. And I'm going to be careful. I'll even look into getting a restraining order."

"That's a good idea," Mark murmured, his blue eyes wearing a vaguely shell-shocked expression, before turning and heading toward the door. "I'm going to go arrange for that guard. Stay with him until the guard shows up, would you Jess?"

Steve looked up at Jesse. He would have sighed if he had the energy.

"He's just worried about you, Steve."

"I know, Jess," he said tiredly. "And he has every right to be. The law doesn't have a very good record with stopping her. So far everyone that Amber has tried to kill is dead and buried."

"For the next couple of days the best you can do is get better. And that is going to involve rest."

"Yeah." Steve felt exhaustion stealing over him. He vaguely heard Jesse welcoming the guard. Then just before he drifted over the edge into sleep a memory rose to the surface of his mind. . .

Mark rounded the corner near Community General's security offices just in time to see Cheryl replacing a pen into her notebook. The expression on her face told the story. Detective Banks was more than a little perturbed.

"What happened?" Mark asked, following her pointed gaze toward the exit. He continued to watch with a sinking heart as Amber climbed into the back seat of an orange taxi. She never looked back toward the hospital as the cab pulled away from the curb.

"Why'd you let her go?" Mark was aghast. He didn't want to accept the fact that the woman who had just threatened his son was leaving of her own free will.

"I can't hold her, Mark. Regardless of what I'd like to do, coming to the hospital to visit a patient is not a crime. Even if it isn't visiting hours. The most security could do is ask her to leave. And after the dressing down Steve got from the captain about not giving any reason for the LAPD to be accused of harassment. . . "

Mark understood that logically, but his heart had to keep trying. He had to make her understand how serious the situation was. "But Cheryl, she threatened him. Just a few minutes ago. It took the time since security called you for me to get him stabilized."

Immediate worry etched across her face. "What happened? Is he okay? The guards didn't mention anything about that."

"He'll be fine." Mark sought to reassure her. "She startled him out of sleep, caught him off guard. Security wouldn't have seen or heard anything because they arrived after she issued the threats and I had them take her out right away."

"What did she say?"

Mark sighed. "Nothing that would hold up on an arrest warrant. She told him that this wasn't justice served. Not yet. But no one heard her say it but Steve."

Cheryl understood the significance of the statement, and of the fact that there were no witnesses to her actually saying the words. "I'm going to head back to the station and have a chat with the chief. If he can't do anything, then someone will be on Steve's door, if I have to do it myself. I'm sure some of the other officers from the precinct would be willing to help out."

"Thanks Cheryl. It's nice to know that Steve has such good friends."

"My grandmother used to say, If you want a friend, you have to be a friend. We're just returning the favor to Steve. We'll look out for him."

Cheryl was as good as her word. During the next thirty six hours of Steve's stay at Community General, there was always an officer at the door of his hospital room. And on the morning that Steve was released Officer Saddler had followed behind them in his private vehicle.

Under normal circumstances, Mark might have shied away from allowing the officer's to spend so much of their free time in his behalf. But, where his son's safety was concerned, he was willing to accept every avenue of help available.

Steve, on the other hand, had grumbled through much of the drive from the hospital, complaining that the guard duty was a waste of time, that he was going to owe everyone and his brother when he got back to the station. He insisted that Amber had only issued a warning, and wasn't ready to make her move just yet. That she would want to make sure that she had humiliated him first by killing her target.

Mark wasn't sure that he agreed with that theory any longer. There was something in the woman's eyes, a hint of triumphant that worried him, warned him that things would not be quite that simple.

As he pulled into the driveway, he waved to Officer Saddler. Jesse and Amanda would be inside waiting for them. They'd arrived a few hours earlier when Cheryl had come to check the place over. Everything appeared to be all clear.

It wasn't until much later, after Amanda and Jesse had gone and the sun was making its descent into early evening that Mark noticed something unusual. He couldn't say that he was surprised exactly. If he was honest with himself, he would have to say that he'd expected it.

He took a quick glance back toward Steve who had fallen asleep in an easy chair before slipping through the patio doors into the cool November air. He took his time moving down the steps and across the sand. It really wouldn't do to get angry at this point. If he wanted to accomplish his goal his senses would have to be sharp. In this life and death game of chess, the life at stake was that of his son and his opponent was a master of manipulation . . .