Just FYI, I had to wrack my brain trying to figure out a title for this one. So, I reserve the right to change it if I find a better one. I doubt I will, but you never know!

I can't believe it, but this is the 9th installment of this PoI series that I am obviously determined to keep writing at least until September 27th. If you're just jumping into this one, you can read it, of course. But there is some back story that would help you appreciate this story a little more, starting with "Dark Horse".

Enjoy!

Lights reflected off of the gentle waves of her dark hair. She brushed a finger through her long bangs that swept over her forehead as she walked through the club. It was a smaller place, a little elitist, but it's where they were supposed to meet.

Sam held onto her black clutch as she searched the crowd. The dance floor was small. About a half dozen people were on it, gyrating to the heavy bass in the unidentifiable music that was playing. The other occupants of the club were scattered around the place. Some were on the upper level; others were spread out on the furniture, or at the tables. All of them held a drink in their hand, and had one thing on their mind.

She didn't see him.

Sam walked to the upper level, ignoring the looks she received, and stood at the railing that overlooked the main floor of the club. Through the dim lights and spirit scented air, she spotted him at the bar, alone.

As she turned, Sam's path was blocked by a nice looking guy who looked to be in his mid twenties, if that. He was tall, well built, and was looking Sam up and down like a wolf scoping out a rabbit.

"Do you know how gorgeous you are?" he asked, shouting over the loud music.

Sam smiled through red lips. The matching red dress she wore was not chosen by accident. It hugged her figure, but not so much that it was uncomfortable, and hit her above the knee. The neckline was low, but left just enough to the imagination. It was a knock out dress, and her feet were already killing her in equally hot shoes. And, to top it off, Sam had done herself up purposefully. She rarely spent so much time on her hair. So, in answer to his question, she had a vague idea at the very least.

Sam's eyes flicked over the railing to John at the bar. He was waiting.

"I'd probably like spending more time in front of the mirror if I thought I knew," she shouted back at him.

He laughed, revealing perfect white teeth. "Well, you're too gorgeous for this place that's for sure," he said, pointing with his drink. "And you're funny too. Almost too good to be true."

"Wow, you certainly lay it on thick, don't you?" Sam said, still smiling and keeping an eye on John.

"I don't do it any other way," he said, stepping closer to her and breaking the invisible barrier that strangers usually keep between one another. Sam happened to like that barrier.

A girl joined John at the bar. She sat on the stool next to him, all smiles, and began talking to him.

"I bet you don't. Will you excuse me?"

Sam's feathers bristled. She dodged around the guy and she marched back down the stairs – well, she marched as well as she could in the black stilettos she wore.

John smiled back at the girl, who flirtatiously touched him on the arm, then took her hand away again as she spoke with him. Not very subtle, and quite stupid. She had no idea who she was chatting up. John noticed everything. Flirting was just another screen that he could see right through.

Sam pushed her way through the couples and groups of people to the bar, just as the drink the girl ordered was set down in front of her.

John hadn't seen her. Sam smiled mischievously. Let's see if he notices this.

"Hey babe," Sam said as she reached him. She put her hand on the back of his neck and gave it a gentle turn. As he looked at her she smiled as she leaned in and kissed him hard, making a show for the girl on the stool next to them.

She pulled away, and her eyes snapped to the girl sitting next to John. "I'm sorry, is this seat taken?" Sam asked, indicating the seat that was obviously already occupied.

Sam kept her fingers on John's neck, playing them underneath his collar as she stared the girl down. And she was just that: a girl. Sam wouldn't have been surprised if her pushup was stuffed with cotton underneath that skimpy gold dress.

Looking disappointed, and a little embarrassed, the girl shook her head. "Um, no, it's all yours." She grabbed her purse and got up, leaving her untouched drink on the bar.

John kept his eyes on Sam as she moved around him to the stool. His lips were smeared red with her lipstick and his eyes glinted playfully. "You enjoyed that," he said.

Sam leaned in closer to him again, just in case the girl was still watching. "You're damn right," she said. She put her fingers to his mouth and rubbed the lipstick away. "That little thing was barely eighteen if that, John. You know better."

"She was seventeen," John said. "She and a few friends came in with fake IDs."

Sam studied him. "Oh, right. Finch, the Master of Googling."

John smiled at her joke.

"That just proves one thing though," Sam said, looking sadly out at the crowd.

"What?"

"That we're both too old to be in here."

John considered the thought for a moment and shrugged.

Sam took a sip of the drink the girl had left and squished up her face. "Ugh! Everyone likes to drink candy. Why don't they just serve Yoohoo?"

"You don't need fake IDs for Yoohoo," John said. "But that's not why we're here. Come here," John pulled her off of the stool and moved her close to him, so she was nearly sitting on his lap.

He moved her hair over her shoulder and Sam lowered her head. "The man up on the second level, far right," John muttered in her ear.

Sam's eyes looked up and to the right as the rest of her held position against John. She scanned over the people at the railing and saw a thin man, roughly about her age, with thick brown hair. He was smiling and talking with a young girl, probably early twenties.

"See him?" John asked.

"Skinny, wearing a three piece suit, lots of hair?"

"That's the one."

"Who is he?"

"His name is Andrew Benton. He's a serial stalker and rapist."

Sam pulled away from John and stared at him, shocked. "So, um, do you want to shoot him, or are you waiting for me to do it?"

John smiled again, and brushed his fingers through her hair. "We crossed paths last year. I stopped the sister of one of his victims from killing him and dissolving the body in acid."

Sam grimaced. "Why did you stop her?"

"Because she wasn't a killer, Sam."

"So you just let him go?"

"No, I gave him the chance to convince me to let him live," John explained.

Sam scoffed. "That must have been a hysterical conversation. So he convinced you?"

"No, but you know that I don't kill unarmed people."

"Even if they're serial rapists."

"I warned him that I would be watching him. And if he ever tried anything again, I would kill him."

"Looks like he didn't believe you," Sam nodded up at Benton who was still talking with that unsuspecting girl. "Why hasn't he been caught before?"

"The charges always end up being dropped. Nothing has stuck."

"What's the plan?"

John pulled her close to him again and she felt his warm breath on her ear as he spoke. "The woman he's talking to is Sandra Callist. She's twenty-four, works as an assistant manager at a credit union. He started stalking her three days ago."

"Her number came up?" Sam asked.

"Yes. There are no other threats against her. Benton has decided to start up again."

"What are you going to do?"

"We are going to lure him away from her first. And then I'll give him a little reminder of our agreement."

"Hold it Mr. Smooth McGee," Sam said, pushing his hands off of her. "You want me to attract a serial rapist on purpose?"

"It shouldn't be hard, Sam. You look lovely."

"Thank you. Are you crazy?"

"I'll be close by the entire time. All I need is for you to agree to leave the club with him. I'll take care of the rest."

John stood. "They're heading down here. Now's your chance."

"Wait, John, how am I supposed to - ?"

"I need to borrow this," John said, sliding her black clutch off of the bar. He took it with him as he brushed past Sam and into the crowd.

Sam saw Benton talking to Sandra as they walked down the stairs. John had vanished with her purse. She was stuck. Sam looked at the drink still sitting on the bar. She took it and headed through the crowd.

Timing it just right, she reached the staircase just as Benton and Sandra stepped onto the landing. Sam turned and smacked right into Sandra, spilling the awful drink all over Sandra's pink dress.

"Oh! I am so sorry!" Sam said, frazzled. She set the now empty glass down. "I'm so, so sorry. Here, let me get you some napkins."

"No, that's okay, really," Sandra said as the drink dripped down her front. "I'll just go to the restroom. Will you wait for me?" she asked Benton.

"Sure, I'll be at the bar," he smiled. Sam then understood his appeal. He wasn't exactly fantastic looking, but he had a certain charm that definitely worked.

"I'm really sorry!" Sam called after her as she walked through the crowd to the ladies room.

There, Stage One was achieved. She'd gotten Sandra away from him. Now, for the hard part. Sam waited for a few minutes before she grabbed a seat that happened to be right next to Benton at the bar.

She ordered a drink and pretended not to notice him at first. She crossed her legs, hitching up her skirt in the process, and looked around the club as her drink was being made.

Benton was already looking at her by the time she noticed him. "Oh, it's you! I'm really sorry about before," she said sincerely.

"It's no problem," he smiled. "I doubt there was any permanent damage."

"I'm not so sure," Sam said sadly. "I went into the bathroom to see if I could help her, and she wasn't there. I think she might have left."

Surprised, Benton lifted his eyebrows, but did not take his eyes away from Sam for a second. She already had him. "That's disappointing," he sighed.

"I'm sorry I ruined your date."

"It wasn't a date." The smile was back. "I just met her in here."

"Oh, well, at least I didn't screw up anything that went on longer than forty five minutes. I'm such a klutz."

"A very pretty one, though," Benton said. "I think that one overshadows the other."

"Thank you."

Sam cleared her throat and tried keeping her nerves buried. She was sitting next to and talking with a serial rapist. John had better be close.

"I'm Andrew," Benton said, holding out his hand.

"Samantha. People call me Sam," she smiled and shook his hand. Touching. She was touching a filthy serial rapist!

"Nice to meet you, Sam. Are you here alone?"

"I hoped not for long. But if I keep spilling drinks on people, that might stay permanent."

Benton laughed as he got off of his stool and stood closer to her. Sam stiffened, but tried to keep a smile on her face. "You can spill a drink on me any time you want," he said seriously. "I'd take it gratefully."

"That's very sweet, Andrew," Sam said.

He brushed his finger casually over her bare knee. "Do you want to get out of here? Maybe find a quieter place where we can talk?"

"I'd love to," Sam stood up and was so close to Benton that his face went out of focus.

He didn't move away as he lifted his hand to her face and kissed her softly on the lips. Sam held her scream back in her throat. Normally this would be fast and charming as he intended, but knowing the truth about him ruined the effect. Sam wanted to run away, find John, and hide behind him.

"You handled that pretty well, without an incident," he joked. His hand slid down her neck, then to her arm. He took her hand and pulled her away from the bar.

They left the club together, hand in hand, and walked down the sidewalk under the streetlights. It was late. The streets were sparse of people. Where was John?

"So, I know this nice little place just a couple of blocks away – "

"It's still open at this time?" Sam asked.

Benton smiled. "It opens whenever I want."

Sam shivered. "Oh, you mean your place?"

"If that's what you're thinking, that's fine with me," Benton said.

Sam laughed and wished she had her gun. The small snub nose she brought with her was in the clutch that John had 'borrowed'. Where the hell was he?

"What's the matter?" Benton asked with concern.

Sam thought quickly. "Oh, I – uh – I've just never done this before, gone home with a man I just met."

Benton stopped her. He smiled as he pulled her close and was about to kiss her again.

"Excuse me! Miss?"

Sam gratefully broke away from him and looked down the street toward the club. Someone was running towards them. Benton took her hand, as though he was staking claim.

"Miss, I think you dropped this," John approached Sam and handed the clutch to her.

"Oh jeez, thank you! That was very nice of you," Sam said grateful that he finally showed up. She fought the urge to punch him in the arm and demand where he'd been the entire time.

"No problem," John slowly lifted his eyes and looked at Benton.

Andrew Benton stopped breathing for a moment and dropped Sam's hand, his now frightened eyes frozen onto John's face.

"Andrew? Is everything all right?" Sam asked as John walked towards the retreating Benton.

"I warned you, didn't I, Andrew?" John said darkly.

"I didn't do anything!" Benton said. "I wasn't – "

"Yes, you were." John reached out and grabbed Benton by the collar and slammed him against the side of a building along the street. He pinned him against the building and put his face close to his.

"What did I tell you I would do if I caught you trying anything again?" John asked him softly.

"I – I – "

"Try to remember, Andrew," John said patiently.

"You said you'd kill me," Benton choked, tears streaming down his face.

"I have better things to do than chase you around." John took his gun out from the back of his pants and pressed it against Benton's throat.

Benton let out a wail and cried some more. "I haven't done anything. I won't do anything, I promise! You don't have to chase me anymore."

"You're right, I don't," John said as he cocked the weapon.

"John," Sam said behind him. A strange sound made her look at their feet. A thin line of liquid was trickling out of Benton's pant leg onto the pavement. Even Sam was beginning to feel sorry for him now. "John, you've made your point."

"I don't think I have yet, Sam," John pushed Benton further into the wall. "This guy never seems to learn."

"I do! I can! I can get help, I can stop," Benton bellowed.

"The evidence is against you on that one," John muttered.

He pulled the trigger.

The empty weapon clicked and Benton screamed as Sam flinched. Once he realized that his head had not in fact been blown off, Benton breathed out of relief and actually let out a short laugh until he saw John's eyes again.

"The chamber was empty. Do you want to bet that it's empty a second time?" John's voice remained quiet, steady, and scary as hell.

"No! I don't. Please, I promise, you don't have to watch me. I've already changed."

"I don't believe you," John said. "But even I don't have the heart to kill a man after he's wet himself."

John let him go and Benton slumped down to the ground, his entire body shaking.

"I'll make sure there's one in the chamber the next time you screw up, Benton. Leave Sandra Callist alone, or I will find you and keep my word," John said as he took Sam by the hand and walked away.

Sam looked up at him, watching the hardened, stone-like features melt away into the normal, every day John that she knew. She smiled. "You enjoyed that," she said.

"You're damn right," he replied without looking at her.

"Do you think he'll do it again?"

"Not for a few months at least."

"So you're going to keep scaring him over and over again?"

"No, but it'll work for now."