A/N - i ne own danny phantom pas. but i do own this plotline.

okay, this is the sequel to my story 'Revenge'. You might wanna read that one first. Just 'cause.

:p hope you like it...

One: Murder

"Done."

Sam stepped backwards, overalls on, black hair in its habitual plait, and paintbrush in hand. She had just finished painting the left wall of the sitting room in her apartment a vibrant purple. The other walls were maroon, violet and ultramarine.

Jennie, who was arranging a bouquet on the coffee table, looked up at the finished wall.

"It looks lovely, Sam."

"Yeah, much better than before."

"Well, it's definitely more," Jennie searched for the word. "You."

Sam laughed. She gathered up her painting supplies and carried them to the kitchen sink, intending to wash them up later. But Jennie went right over, rolling up the sleeves of her purple roll neck, and got out the soap and sponge. Sam smiled long-sufferingly at her fastidious friend, then retreated to the bathroom, unbuckling the straps of her white, color-splattered painting overalls.

Sam had been in Unit 615 for a week now, and she and Jennie were becoming odd friends. She still felt some contempt towards Jake, who had not changed much, but was warming up to the rest of the team slowly. They tended to bumble, but they really cared about their jobs, which earned them her respect, if not her affections.

Sam stepped out of the shower, just tying a hair band into her wet braid, and made her way towards the door. She opened it, retrieving the Sunday paper, and kicked it shut behind her. She shook open the paper and scanned all the pages. Nothing interesting had been printed since the story of the Phantom's interference again at the 'Warehouse Rescue', as it had been dubbed by the papers.

But to Sam's chagrin, the paper had failed to mention the fact that the infuriating man should not have been there in the first place. They made him out to be some sort of lifesaving hero who could do no wrong. And while Sam was, somewhere deep inside her mind, grateful to him for helping her, she was worried that people would start trying to copy him, people who were not as lucky, or whatever he was, as he, and get themselves in trouble, or hurt. Or worse.

And even worse than that, they had made Sam into a damsel in distress – describing her tearful thanks to her hero, her shuddering breaths, and her screams of fear as she tumbled to her doom. Please. Sam had written a snappy letter of complaint, and, thankfully, they had written an amendment and an apology in the next issue.

But nothing big had happened recently. The headline was something about the opening of a new bridge. Fascinating.

Sam crumpled up the paper and tossed it onto the coffee table.

"I hope you're not leaving a mess in the room I just spent an hour tidying!"

Sam sighed and retrieved the paper, carrying it into the kitchen and throwing it into the trash. Jennie was drying her hands, having just finished the washing, the paintbrushes and dirty plates and rollers and everything else stacked neatly on the sideboard. She had even, Sam noticed with amusement, managed to remove old, dried on paint from years ago.

"So what do you want to do now?"

"Well, I have to go." Jennie folded the towel she had been using and set it gently on the counter, turning back to Sam. "I have a date."

"Oh. Who with?"

"You don't know him."

Sam nodded. She escorted her friend to the door. "Well, good luck, and have fun!"

She heard the brunette's reply as she disappeared down the corridor. "I will!"

The next day, Sam arrived at the office to more action than she had ever seen in there. Paper covered every surface including the floor in some places, photos were strewn everywhere, people bustled and shouted, even interns had braved the office to help tidy and organize and bring coffee and everything else the pariah team was usually denied.

Sam accosted Alex as he stormed past. "What's going on?"

"We got a case."

He started to move again, but Sam reached out to grab his sleeve and pull him back to her. "Explain."

"I can't be bothered. Go ask Jennie – she's over there somewhere." He gestured wildly to the cubicles in the middle of the room and freed himself from Sam's grip, stomping off again.

Sam made her way over to Jennie, who was hunched over her desk, staring at an open file.

"You're late."

"Yeah."

Jennie spoke again when she realized Sam was not going to explain of her own accord.

"Why?"

"There's terrible traffic. They're still working on that bridge, and they've shut off all these roads. It's a mess. The cab couldn't get through, so I had to walk from Bourne."

"Bourne? That's miles away!"

"Mile and a half. I've walked far worse barefoot. So, what's happening?"

"We got a case."

"I gathered. What is it?"

"Case 221. A murder."

"Yes!" Sam said excitedly.

Jennie looked up, startled. "What?"

"An interesting case!"

"And the kidnapping wasn't interesting?"

"Well, you know, kidnapping is just so, blasé. A murder though – its really big."

"Whatever. Psycho."

Sam smiled, and reached out her hand to Jennie for the file. "Let me see that."

Jennie handed it over, and gave Sam a running commentary as she flicked through it. "Okay, the guy was called Clayton Simon, thirty-eight. He was a successful businessman, C.E.O and Chairman of his own company and worth millions of dollars. He was the husband to a Molly Simon, and father to two children, William and Ella Simon, nine and six, respectively."

Sam winced at the thought of what this man had been torn from.

"His wife found the body when she returned from a party just after one that night, or, um, that morning. The children had been upstairs the whole time."

She pushed a photo under Sam's nose. Sam's stomach twisted as she looked at the body. The silvering man's eyes were wide open, his mouth agape, his arms twisted helplessly behind his back. The terror in the eyes, even lifeless, unnerved her.

"Suffocation?"

"Uh, yeah. How did you know?"

"I've seen it before." Sam pushed away the memories. "Murder weapon?"

"Unknown – they didn't find one."

"Any ideas as to what it was?"

"They think it was cloth, but apart from that," he voice trailed off.

Cloth, Sam thought. Great. It could have been anything.

"Have we questioned the wife yet?"

"Not yet. She's hysterical, apparently."

"Is she acting?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Could she have done it?"

Jennie's eyes widened at Sam's rudeness, and her answer was slightly spluttered. "No! She was at a party – there were almost one hundred witnesses!"

"Don't get all cross: I'm just speculating. Any other suspects?"

"No."

"Come on, Jennie. Rival business owners? Embezzlers he discovered? Someone he fired? Someone he put out of business? There are always suspects, especially for important or high-profile people."

"Oh, okay. I'll check it out."

"And get us an interview with the wife. I don't care how upset she is, we need to talk to her."

"I'll see what I can do."

Jennie picked up her phone as Sam retreated to her desk with the file and started to read it through carefully.

whatcha think? review please!!!

okay, so a few people told me the last story was rushed. if you think this one is rushed, now or in later chapters - let me know!!!

i also have some story ideas on my profile ... if you could read them and tell me which one you think i should write next that'd be great!!!

FunkyFish1991 xXx