Traffic was heavy and moving fast. Four lanes split by a Jersey barrier unslowed by the thick drizzle or black night. Suddenly a man appeared out of the dark staggering into the deadly rush, confused and bloody. Surprised drivers stomped on their brakes and swerved, but there was no way to stop the inevitable. A bottle-blond, Tiffany Meyers, babbled to her bestie Stacy Kennedy about what a dish Tommy Hawkins was and how she was going to steal him from that incredibly stupid…

Tiffany screamed, dropped her phone and mashed down the brake pedal. She had a glimpse of a skinny blonde, time for a fleeting thought that Daddy would be pissed, then the man's body slammed into her hood, shattered the windshield then thumped over the roof.

Detective Lee Warren pulled his jacket closed and growled. He'd been having a fun game of poker with robbery when he got the call to go to Good Samaritan Hospital. Some drunk guy got grilled strolling across the 101. As a member of the HSS, the Homicide Special Squad, he had no idea why he was being called on a traffic incident to start with, then Lee found out he was flagged for this case specifically. Lee was curious and more than a little irritated as he walked into ER and crossed to the nurse's station.

"I'm here for the dead guy." He grumbled. He was too cold and wet to be sociable. Larissa, the head nurse for that shift, looked at the grizzled detective puzzled.

"Dead guy? We haven't had a death yet this shift." Lee rubbed his head thinking of the giant pot he'd missed out on winning. Dispatch must have screwed up again.

"Fine, a guy who got plowed into on the 101." The nurse looked at him oddly. Warren's detective radar was quivering. This whole situation stank worse than the commode he passed. The nurse nodded at a group of CHPs gathered around the coffee pot. Lee crossed to them and introduced himself. The highway patrol officers gave him cool looks. Warren was beginning to feel like Crazy Uncle Willie at his niece's wedding.

"I'm Sargeant Tate," A tall officer said. He looked like a cover model for GQ in a freshly ironed and sharply creased uniform. The CHP held out a hand. Lee took it and nodded. The taller man took a sip of his coffee and grimaced then held out a wallet, "The subject is in surgery currently. This is his identification." Lee pulled out the driver's license and his eyes widened.

"Oh shit." He nodded at the Sargeant and walked away pulling out his phone. He scrolled through his contacts and found the number he'd never had to call before. He rubbed his forehead feeling a headache coming on.

Jack paced in baggage claim his eyes dissecting the crowd as he had been for the last twenty minutes. He checked his watch for the millionth time. Jack checked the monitor to make sure his info was correct. Worry began to churn hot in his stomach; he was in the right place. Where was Mac? Jack's eye caught on a worn duffle he'd know from anywhere sliding along the black conveyer belt. He pushed forward through the crowd and followed its winding path waiting to see his best friend pick up his luggage. Jack's mouth went dry, and his Adam's apple bobbed as the bag disappeared back behind the wall. Something was seriously wrong.

He waited until the bag came around again then snagged it. He pushed back through the crowd to the closest men's room. He remained until he was alone then put the duffle on the diaper changing table and studied it. Jack froze. Dark brown stains that could only be dried blood formed handprints on both handles and the top of the bag. Jack carefully opened the bag and frowned a long minute. What he saw in the bag did not compute. There was a porcelain doll in a frilly pink dress. The face had been neatly cut out, and blood covered the hole, blond hair, and clothing. Inside the hollow doll crushed into the bottom was a wad of crumpled paper. Jack pulled it out. His eyebrows raised to his hairline. They were admission papers to Carlsbad Community Mental Hospital. Jack recognized Mac's signature. It looked normal. Had Mac signed himself in voluntarily? Why?

Jack heard voices at the entryway and shoved everything back into the bag and left. He pulled out his phone as he slowly walked toward the main entrance. To his surprise, it rang before he could hit speed dial. Jack frowned. It wasn't a number he recognized, but very few people had his name. Jack swallowed. His worry turned into a sinking black feeling of foreboding.

"Yeah?"

"Hey Jack, this is Lee Warren." It took a second for Jack to place the name. His gut clenched as he remembered the detective, the homicide detective.

"Hey Lee, please tell me this isn't about Mac." There was a long pause then the gruff detective said in an apologetic tone.

"I wish I could. I'm over at Good Sam he's here. He got hit wondering on the 101." Jack froze. His heart stopped he felt dizzy. Lee sputtered, "He's alive! Sorry, buddy. I got called in because he'd put a flag for his case to come to me if something happened."

"MAC put a flag for you?" Jack's voice squeaked as his heart slowly started beating again. He shoved a billion questions away and focused on the important, "How is he?"

"It's not good. Mac's got broken bones, and I guess fluid around his heart. The docs don't sound overly enthusiastic, but when do they ever?" Jack moved to lean against a wall to keep from collapsing to the floor. Lee sighed, "That's not all. He had a patient's bracelet on for a psych hospital…"

"In Carlsbad. Yeah, I got some crazy shit going on here too. Let me call the others, and we'll meet you there."

"Right."

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Jack hardly noticed the trip to Good Sam. He had to remind himself to breathe. He knew he should have gone with Mac. Mac had made plans to spend a couple of weeks in Massachusetts. Frankie was marrying a police officer she'd met while researching ways to perfect her DNA process. Mac had texted regularly. There had been nothing suspicious. Jack had thought his partner was finally taking some well earned time off and was having fun. Jack frowned. Matty said she'd get in touch with Frankie. Riley was hunting down info on this Carlsbad asylum, and Bozer was driving like a bat out of hell from Mission City.

Jack yawned and growled. Early morning traffic was starting to stack up; Jack sped down the breakdown lane glad he was in the more mobile GTO. Jack circled down the next exit and drove like a maniac through surface roads to Good Sam. He parked and was moving as fast as he could to ER. Lee Warren met him. The detective looked precisely the same as he did the last time Jack had seen him more than a year ago. Jack wasn't sure, but he thought the man was even wearing the same wrinkled suit.

They filled each other in as they rode to ICU.

"He came through surgery better than they expected, but I didn't expect anything else from the kid," Lee said. Jack let out a breath. He narrowed his eyes.

"And?"

"Jack. they found electrical burns...the kind you'd get doing ECT." Jack frowned. Warren clarified, "Shock therapy done wrong. Normally, there aren't burns that bad." Jack ran his hand through his hair. What the fuck was going on? They exited the elevator and froze at the sound of gunfire. Jack reacted first pulling his Baretta and sprinting down the hall. Lee was huffing at his heels. Screams and the sound of crashes and glass breaking rose with the rise in gunshots. Jack skidded around the corner low. He raked through the chaos taking it in at a glance. A lone police officer crouched from the doorway of an ICU room. He had blood leaking from a wound in his forehead but valiantly kept three attackers at bay. It was apparent he was outgunned and about to be overrun. Three scraggly looking men with pistols fired. One from further down the hall, one from the nurse's station and the last from the hallway in front of Jack and Lee. Jack raised his pistol and took the guy out without slowing. He leaped over the man's sprawled body and skidded into a crouch behind the nurse's station. He felt the fiery contrail of a bullet whiz by his ear and ignored it shooting the man in front of him.

Warren knelt, took a few seconds lining up his shot and winged the final shooter. The sudden loss of the painfully loud gunfire seemed to echo with a palpable silence. Jack blinked and checked on the two he'd killed. He fought the need to double tap that had been ingrained in him a long time ago.

"You good?" He called over the ringing in his ears. Warren who was cuffing the final shooter shot Jack a thumb's up. The man screamed as Lee wrangled him into cuffs none too gently. Doctors and nurses picked themselves up and scurried around the unit checking on patients and visitors. Jack crossed to the sole defender and smiled. The cop was young, pale and shaking with wide eyes. He held his Smith and Wesson half canted and stared at Jack blankly.

"Hey, kiddo, you ok?" The officer blinked then coughed. He nodded. Jack noted the kid was B. Mills from traffic, someone he wanted to talk to after he checked on Mac. With his heart thumping wildly, Jack dashed into the room. Mac laid unmoving in the center of the bed. He was ghostly white and had bandages wrapping his middle and a brace on his left arm and shoulder. He was attached to IV's and wore an O2 mask and heart monitor. Jack almost collapsed in relief. That was all. No ventilator, no web of tubes and wires.

He crossed to the bed. The wall above his bed had a constellation of pockmarked black dots covering its entire length. A burned circle in the pillow beside Mac's head showed how close the younger man had come to death. Jack closed his eyes and rubbed his eyes refusing to give in to the flood of emotions swirling through him. He looked up the heart monitor was a casualty. Jack's hand shook as he leaned over his partner and pushed his fingers into the blond's neck. He let out a long breath. Mac's pulse was slow, but even and stable.

Jack frowned and brushed aside his partner's bangs. On both of the kid's temples, Jack saw circles of raw bubbled skin. Burns. He saw similar marks on the kid's sides and wrists. Jack took in the room. Shattered glass glinted across the entire room, and bed like a layer of ice and the perforated curtain hung limply pulled halfway to the floor. The shooters had poured a lot of rounds into this room, it had been a hit. Jack ran a hand gently down the kid's cheek.

"What the hell are you caught up in, brother?"