Sophie couldn't stop staring at the little body in the photographs. From their investigation over the past two days, she knew that he was nine years old and that his name was Adam Mitchell. He was small for his age and blond, his face round like a cherub. If you didn't look below his neck, he seemed to be sleeping, but Sophie's eyes were drawn again and again to the gaping hole in his chest.

All three of the detectives she worked with had been grim and quiet throughout the investigation, and there was none of their usual friendly antics. Sophie was gratified to know that she wasn't the only one affected by the child's death, but she didn't want them to know how much it really bothered her. She fought to hide how upset she was. If Eliot guessed the way Adam's face haunted her or the terrible nightmares that had been keeping her awake, he might use that as a reason to send her away.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Eliot glanced at her and said, "We'll be getting the results back any minute. If they're conclusive, we'll be able to make the arrest."

Their suspect was Adam's stepfather, and none of them doubted the wanker had done it. They'd found the murder weapon, and it had contained a clear set of prints. Now they were just waiting for the results. Wanting the case solved as soon as possible, Sophie had called in another favour, and they'd been fast tracked.

"Anything yet?" Hardison asked as he and Baird came over and sat at their desks.

"Nope," Eliot told him.

"I think when we arrest the bastard, we should all go out for a good, stiff drink," Eve commented.

"I'll buy," Eliot offered.

Sophie raised her eyebrows at him.

"What?"

"I've never heard you say that before."

"You can buy if you want."

Sophie just shook her head and didn't say anything. When the case was over, her plans were to go home and forget it ever happened. The strain of pretending she was okay was getting to her, and she was tired of wearing her mask.

She barely listened as the conversation continued around her. Her eyes once more went to Adam, and she wondered what it would have been like to be his mother, to lose a child so brutally, to be the one to find him lying on the floor with a bullet in his chest.

"Devereaux?"

Sophie glanced at Eliot when he said her name.

"You okay?"

Sophie forced a smile. "Just thinking about my next scene."

He studied her for a few seconds, and she wasn't sure if he bought it. He didn't get to say anything because his desk phone rang shrilly. He met Baird's eyes before picking up the receiver.

"Spencer...It's a match? Thanks, Joe." He hung up and said. "All right, guys, let's go get him."

XXX

Adam's stepfather was a big man. He towered over Eliot, and his arms looked as big as tree trunks. Sophie was worried when he fought against his arrest, but she shouldn't have been. Eliot was strong and, though it was a struggle, was able to subdue the suspect.

Despite his size, the man was surprisingly normal looking. Nothing about him indicated that he would snap and murder a child. That often fascinated Sophie, the violent acts that came so easily to normal, sane looking people. Sometimes you couldn't tell when someone was about to snap, and you stood bewildered in the wreckage wondering what had happened.

The grieving mother stood off to the side, watching everything with her arms tight across her body and broken eyes. Her presence at the arrest made everything worse. It tinged their triumph with pain.

When Hardison and Baird were finally on the way to the station with their suspect, Sophie was left alone with Eliot. Adam's mother had turned and gone back inside the house. Sophie would never forget the way she'd stared after Baird's car. It was the most heartbreaking thing she had ever seen.

"You coming to MacRory's?" Eliot asked, and Sophie's eyes snapped away from the inconspicuous looking house.

"Hmn?"

"To get that drink."

"No. I don't think so."

"You sure?"

All Sophie wanted to do was curl up in bed and mourn for a child that she'd never even met. "I'm tired. I think I'll go home."

He was searching her face again, and Sophie didn't like it. "I'll give you a lift."

"Thanks."

He nodded. "Not a problem."

She was surprised when his hand briefly brushed her arm before he got into the car. The touch was soothing, as he'd probably meant it, and she wanted him to touch her again.

The two of them were silent as they drove to her apartment. Sophie's control was beginning to fray at the edges, and she was afraid that if she spoke all of the darkness their case had birthed inside of her would spill out and she'd break into a million pieces. That was definitely not something she wanted Eliot to witness.

For the first time since she'd met him, Sophie was relieved to say good-bye to Eliot. She said it quickly, plastering on a pleasant expression through the strands of hair the strong wind kept blowing into her mouth.

"See you in the morning?" he asked as she straightened to close the door.

"Yes, see you in the morning. Have a drink for me as well."

"Will do. Bye."

Sophie closed the door and waved as he drove out of sight. The day wasn't all that cold, but she was shivering and there was an ache in her chest. She rubbed her arms briskly as she headed inside.

The building was mostly quiet, but a mother with two children got on the elevator with her in the lobby. The children were well behaved, and the smaller one smiled shyly. Sophie smiled back and felt tears come to her eyes.

By the time the elevator got to the penthouse, Sophie was holding on to her composure by her fingernails. She hoped her sisters weren't home yet because she hated breaking down in front of them as much as she hated the thought of breaking down in front of Eliot.

Sophie opened the door of her apartment and dropped her keys in the tray nearby. She had an overwhelming need for a shower to wash away the horror of all she'd seen over the past forty-eight hours.

Since the apartment was blessedly silent, she made her way to her bedroom without pausing. She didn't even bother to stop for clothes as she continued through to the bathroom.

Emotion welled up in her chest, and her hands shook as she started on her buttons. The only thing worse than a child's death was a violent child's death, and she wished she could scrub the images from her mind.

When she was naked, she turned the spray on its hardest level, as hot as she could stand. It was a relief to get in the shower and let herself go. Water beat at her, the hot streams hurting in a good way.

She felt the first sob wrack her body and closed her eyes to tip her face up. Water burned her cheeks an instant before tears that were almost as hot broke free. Sophie's whole body shook as she sobbed again.

The first two sobs were the hardest. Once they were released, the others tumbled out quickly. They were so strong that Sophie wrapped her arms around herself to keep from flying apart.

This was the first time she'd allowed herself to cry for that little boy and all he'd lost. It was the first time she'd allowed herself to imagine how frightened he must have been. She thought again of his mother's face, of the hollow eyed pain as she watched her husband being led away.

When Sophie had no more tears left to cry and the water had grown cold, she got out of the shower and dried herself. Feeling drained, she slipped on the big, fluffy robe she kept on a hook on the back of the door. As she did, she heard the faint sound of laughter from the other side of the apartment.

Checking her face in the mirror, she discovered the flush from the heat of the water mostly disguised the blotchy red from her meltdown. Satisfied that the girls wouldn't know how upset she was, Sophie once again put on her mask.

When she entered the great room, Cassie and Parker were chatting happily as they unpacked bags of Chinese food.

"Sophie, you're home!" Parker exclaimed.

"We solved the case."

"So you can eat with us?"

"I'm all yours."

Parker flashed her a smile, and Sophie felt her heart start to lighten.

"Did you buy enough for three?" she asked.

"We bought enough for twelve," Cassie told her. "Parker couldn't make up her mind."

"Leftovers for breakfast?"

"And dinner and supper again."

The talk went on like that, and Sophie let her love for her sisters warm the places that her hot shower hadn't reached. By bedtime, she felt almost like herself.

XXX

Sophie felt a bit better the next morning. Since all three of the sisters would be out for the day, they got up early enough to have breakfast (not leftovers) together. Cassie and Parker talked animatedly while eating their waffles, and Sophie watched them with a slight smile on her face.

Afterward, she was almost cheerful as she picked out some clothes to wear to the station. She brought them into the bathroom with her and began to brush her teeth.

She was halfway done when, suddenly, her stomach started clenching with anxiety. Sophie frowned. Her hand paused as she realized she wasn't ready to go back to work with Eliot. Her dreams of the night before had been the worst ones yet, filled with blood and screams and a little boy crying brokenly for his mommy.

With a sigh, she finished brushing her teeth and revised her plans for the day. Instead of spending her time with the real, flesh and blood, gruff and good looking Detective Eliot Spencer, she'd be spending it with his doppelganger, Cole Maxwell.

She should be working on her novel anyway, she rationalized, and, as much as she enjoyed working with Eliot, he certainly didn't need her. The next day would be soon enough to go back to the station.

Once her mind was made up, she knew it was the right decision. She combed her hair and pulled it up into a simple ponytail but didn't bother to get dressed. Pajamas made pretty good writing clothes.

XXX

Three days later, Sophie was in her office staring at the wall as she tried to untie her newest block. The apartment was quiet because she was the only one home, but she still couldn't seem to concentrate. Instead of thinking about Cole Maxwell, she was thinking about Eliot. She hadn't been back to the station since her meltdown, and she missed him.

She knew she should call him and tell him she was taking a short break, but she kept putting it off. She was a little hurt that he hadn't called her, even though it meant she didn't have to admit how disturbed she'd been by Adam Mitchell's death.

She was about to give in and go get a snack when the phone on her desk rang. Sophie winced. Usually, the only one who consistently used her home number was her mother.

Sophie was tempted not to answer. Every conversation she'd had with her mother since she was fourteen years old had been painful. There was no reason to think this one would be any different.

Finally, on the last ring before the machine would get it, Sophie picked up the receiver. "Hello, Mother."

"Sophie, what took you so long?"

"I was writing."

"More of your little stories?"

"Twenty published novels," she reminded her.

"At least that's better than running around with that police officer."

"His name's Eliot."

"Why you feel the need to work at all when your father left you all that money..."

"Is there a reason you called, Mother?" Sophie asked wearily. Dealing with her mother always made her feel weary.

"Does a mother need a reason to call her daughter?"

"I don't know. Were you looking for me or were you looking for Parker or Cassie?"

"What do you mean? I swear, half of the time I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Nothing. Sorry, Mother."

"I actually was calling for a reason."

No big surprise there. "Yes?"

"When was the last time any of you went to visit your Uncle Jenkins?"

Jenkins was their mother's older half-brother. He was gruff and a bit crusty, but he seemed to know everything. His first name was something like Reinhold or Renfield, but he'd hated it so much that no one ever called him by it, at least not in Sophie's hearing. He' d always just been Uncle Jenkins, and all three girls had adored him when they were growing up.

"It's been awhile," Sophie admitted guiltily.

"Then don't you think you should? He's living alone in that big, drafty monstrosity he bought last year, and he refuses to come out to see me, even for the day." Uncle Jenkins was a little eccentric.

"Have you gone to see him?"

"Yes." Sophie could hear her mother's distaste.

"The house can't be that bad."

"You haven't seen it."

"Why this sudden interest in our dropping in for a visit?"

"We're the only family he has." There was a genuine note of concern in her voice.

"We'll drop in on him this weekend."

"You've always been such a good girl, Sophie."

Sophie raised her eyebrows. This was a new one. "That's me."

"Are you taking care of yourself?"

She thought of the three day old Chinese leftovers she'd had for breakfast. "Yes."

"Are you seeing anyone?"

"I'm too busy."

"Things aren't getting romantic with that police officer, are they?"

"No, Mother." Though she wouldn't say no to a turn in that direction.

"You should find yourself a good man and forget about your scribblings and about running around hunting killers. Maria Thompson's daughter throws charity events. Wouldn't you like to throw charity events?"

She'd rather die. "Events aren't my thing."

"But you're such a pretty girl."

Two compliments in one call. "Did you want something else, Mother?"

"Just all three of my girls to be happy."

"We are," she assured her.

"That's all I ask."

"I've got to go, Mother. I have something in the oven." Sophie crossed her fingers.

"You have something in the oven?"

"You don't have to sound so astonished."

"Well, Sophie, dear, you're not known for your cooking."

"But I am known for my eating...The timer's going off. I'll talk to you later."

"Okay. Tell Parker she's left her favorite sweater here."

"I will. Bye, Mother."

Hanging up the phone was such a relief that Sophie felt almost giddy. She loved her mother, but they were very different people. Her mother was a smotherer, and Sophie had been stubbornly independent since her first steps. Where Parker and Cassie had flourished under their mother's watchful eye, it had chafed Sophie, and the freedom she'd had when visiting her father fit her personality so much better.

Her conversation with her mother had squashed any remnants of creativity, so Sophie saved her document, got up, and stretched. It was time for some feel good fuel.

XXX

Eliot scowled into his coffee, cursing the mound of paperwork waiting for him. Just the thought of it made him cranky, and it was almost enough to make him wish for a murder. Almost.

Of course, he admitted to himself—though he'd never admit it to anyone else, even his brother—that wasn't the only reason he was cranky. He missed Devereaux. He missed the way she smiled and the way she smelled. He missed her razor sharp insights into whatever problem they were working on.

He hadn't heard from her in days. At first, her silence had been a relief because he'd still been working under the delusion that he only reluctantly let her tag along. It wasn't long before he came to the astonishing conclusion that he liked working cases with her.

Despite missing her, he hadn't called. She'd been pretty upset about the Adam Mitchell case, so he figured that's what was keeping her away. Over the two months he'd known her, he'd come to discover that only half of what Sophie was feeling actually made it to her face. She was warm and open, a bit of a flirt and a light hearted tease, but she didn't like to show her emotions. He'd had to start listening to her silences and paying attention to her body language.

That wasn't the only reason he hadn't called. If he called, she'd know that he missed her. She'd know she mattered to him.

"Hey!" Hardison said. "Still no Devereaux?"

"You know how she is about paperwork." Eliot put down his mug and grabbed his first file.

"Yeah, paperwork."

"You got something to say, Hardison?"

"Just wondering if she's coming back. Kid cases are tough."

"So's Devereaux." Eliot flipped open the folder. "She'll be back. I wouldn't be lucky enough for her to give up and stay away."

Hardison snorted.

"What?"

"That girl's got you wrapped around her finger—just like she has everybody else."

"Shut up."

"Just saying."

"Don't you have somethin' better to do?"

"Nah." He took a sip of his coffee. "Slow week."

"Don't say that. Never say that."

Eliot was interrupted by the ringing of his desk phone. Seeing the Caller ID, he growled, "Dammit, Hardison!"

"What?"

Eliot just waved at him and answered the phone. At least the call meant the end of paperwork.