A/N: sorry this took longer than I thought. I was trying to work a good plot. But now that I've gotten on a role, here is the sequel to Screaming Parker! Enjoyy guys, and thanks to my reviewers on the previous story! I hope you'll follow this one as well.

Disclaimer: I do not own CSI:Ny, nor pretend that I do.

Work was boring for her on Mondays and Tuesdays. Working for a Magazine in New York City had been something she had wished she could do, but she never had gone for it. She never had the desire to work late nights, wear fancy expensive clothes and interview celebrities. Sure, it paid more than the publishing company she first started out with, sure she would have more money to support her family, if she ever got the chance to have one. She didn't like fashion. It wasn't her thing. And she didn't expect to ever become the Chief Editor of a big shot Magazine Company.

It had started out seven years ago, after she had been married for close to three years, and had a two-year-old son running around the house, and a husband who worked more overtime then he could handle. She didn't mind it though. Her boss allowed her to work from home, leaving her practically a stay at home mom. She loved the one on one time with her son. By 18 months he could walk, say about 20 words, and make two and three word sentences. By 20 months he knew his colors and shapes, and by 24 months, Parker Mackenna Taylor was telling his Daddy, "Don't go work, Dad. Don't! Stay wif me and play cars!"

Their son was bright, and it was thanks to Samantha staying home. She'd write during her son's naptime, and read the novels her boss sent her online whenever she could. She'd stay up late with her husband while he signed off on procedures that the lab techs wished to do, and she'd read some more. She was dedicated to choosing novels that would make it on the shelf, and editing them for their author's. She'd come in every Friday from 11:00 AM until 3:00 PM, and discuss potential authors with her boss, before returning home with a fresh list of books.

She had fumbled over this job by an accident, just a few months after Parker's second birthday. Her boss had gotten an e-mail from a close friend saying he was looking for a writer, and Charles Darnel had recommended his best editor, Samantha Taylor. Sam hadn't even known she was going for an interview the next Friday, and showed up for her usually meeting in a pair of Dark DKNY jeans, a cheap pair of pink heels, and a gray dress shirt, her hair pulled back, and a pair of pearl earrings Mac had bought her for their second anniversary. Had she known, she would have prepared.

The call came the following Monday, and after discussing the offer with Mac, and explaining that the Chief Editor loved her writing style and was wiling to offer her a job with twice as much money as she was making now, and her own personal assistant, Mac had practically forced her to accept. She had hesitated, not wanting to put Parker in day care, but after weighing the pros and cons she finally accepted the offer and began working for a magazine.

She had been overwhelmed at first. She'd been invited to movie premiers, and fashion shows, and each time she wrote a piece that made the editor fall over in his chair. She was a natural.

Five years later, she was sitting in her cubical working 9:00-3:00. Perfect for her children. She could get Parker off to first grade in the morning and drop their two year old daughter, Molly off at Uncle Timmy's, and pick them up in time for dinner and sports events. But Mondays and Tuesdays still bored her to tears. It was the Chief Editor's days to pick what each of his staff would be working on Wednesday through Saturday at Midnight. He stayed up until Sunday morning deciding what articles would make the print, and they'd be ready for shipping that Monday.

She decided to take her free time organizing her tiny desk, when she felt her boss hovering over her cubical. She slowly set her pens in the top left drawer and looked up at him, a smile on his face. Her hazel eyes sparkled though she was nervous. "Samantha. May I speak with you in my office?" he asked calmly as he stood in his thousand dollar suit, with gold cuff links.

Samantha brushed her brown hair from her face and slowly nodded her head as she stood to follow her boss. She waited for him to sit in his chair before she sat besides him.

"How long have you been married?" He asked her as she sat.

"Eight years," Sam smiled.

"And you have two children, no?"

"Yes sir," Sam nodded her head. "Parker will be eight in three months. Molly just turned two."

"I'm not married," he shook his head. "As Chief Editor, I work hard hours. I work through the night on Mondays, I sleep right on that couch," he spoke, pointing to the pale green couch near the door. "Tuesdays I wake up, have a meeting with my staff, and on Wednesdays I get to go home. Thursdays I come back. Answer your questions, and go home. Fridays are my day off. And Saturdays I'm here through the night. As you all already know. On Sundays I send out the magazine after I've laid it out."

Sam nodded her head slowly. She knew all of this. "Your work is appreciated, sir," she promised him, crossing her legs.

"I'd like to invest on a monthly magazine. What we'd call it, I'm not entirely sure. You've been with me for five years, more than most here. I'm willing to pay for all costs. What I am asking from you, Mrs. Taylor. Is that you run it."

Sam's eyes widened in shock, her head perking up. She was about to be Chief Editor of a Magazine. "Sir? You'd like me to run a magazine?"

"I trust you, Samantha. Now. I'd have some requests, though I wish you do anything you like. Some fashion must be in the magazine, as Mart's Edition is mostly fashion. I was thinking you could go with… a more motherly effect? Mart's targets teens and young women. I wish for you to cover the older crowd. 30's-55's. Sex tips, marriage advice, stories about your children. Affordable places were you soccer moms can get your jeans."

"Sir, this is…I'm not sure what to say!"

"Well you can start with a yes you will do it. I'll give you until tomorrow to discuss this with your husband, and make a decision, and tomorrow if you accept, which I know you will, we will discuss the small details. Keep in mind though, you wouldn't work much with a monthly Magazine. The first week of the month and the last would be heavy work, but everything in between, would be a piece of cake." Samantha's boss took a pen from his pocket and wrote down a number before showing it to Samantha.

"Holy!" Sam gasped. "That would be my salary?"

"Yes."

"I'm in!" she screeched. "Well I'm half in. I do need to discuss this with my husband."

"Take the rest of the day off," he winked, watching her stand up and hurry out of his office.

Mac Taylor sat at his desk in his office, and let out a sigh as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Sam was going to kill him if he couldn't get off in time for their son's baseball game. He still had loads of paperwork to file, and no lead on a case that had just been opened. He was screwed, to say the least. He glanced at his watch and shook his head. It was already four; there was no way he'd make the five o' clock game. He had too much work.

As if Sam had read his mind, his office phone began to ring. "Taylor."

"That never gets old," Samantha's voice beamed on the other line. "Are you gonna make it, Mac?" Sam sighed.

"I don't know," he admitted, leaning back in his computer chair. "I'm sorry Sammie. I'm pretty held up over here."

Sam let out a loud exasperated sigh indicating her frustration. "Don't apologize to me, Mac. You can apologize to your son. He's pitching tonight, and he wanted you to come."

"You knew exactly what you were getting into when you married me, Samantha," Mac growled lowly, sitting back up in his chair. He leaned his elbow on his desk and rested his head in his hands.

"Oh come on, Mac," Sam spoke in the same irritated voice. He knew she was rolling her eyes at him, even if he couldn't actually see his wife. "You give me the same damned speech every time. I'm not mad at you. I'm just telling you Parker isn't going to be happy. And you can't tell me he knew he was going to have a shitty father."

"I can't believe you just called me a shitty father," Mac spoke, his jaw dropped.

"I didn't mean I thought you where," Sam sighed, rolling her eyes. "I just meant that's how he's gonna see you when he's an adult and has his own kids."

"I have to go Samantha," Mac growled, hanging up the phone. He let out a frustrated sigh and shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose, this time for an entirely different reason. He wasn't worried about his workload, he was worried about the fact his wife was angry with him.

A knock at his door shook him from his thoughts, as he looked up towards the door and smiled at the woman standing on the other side. He waved Stella in, who happily opened the door. "Hey," she smiled. "How're the kids and the wife?"

"Kids?" Mac started, letting out a sigh. "Molly is her daddy's girl still. But Parker is mad I haven't made any of his games. And the wife. Well," Mac chuckled. "She's not too happy with me either."

Stella slowly nodded her head, biting her lip. When Sam was pissed, she was pissed. She'd learned that the hard way when she and Mac had first started dating. Stella had put her nose where she shouldn't have, and Sam let her know she wasn't wanted or needed to solve Mac's problems in their relationship. But for the sake of curiosity, she decided she would push the subject.

"Why's that?"

"Because," Mac shook his head. "She's just irritated with my schedule right now. I've been working more than usual lately, and haven't been spending the time I should with the children. That's all."

Stella nodded her head. "I can cover for you, if you'd like," she offered. "Parker has a game tonight, doesn't he?"

"Five," Mac nodded his head. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. I've run the lab for you before."

"Thanks," Mac smiled, turning his computer off. "Any paper work that comes in, just set on my desk."

"Sure thing," Stella smiled, watching Mac stand up, a smile on his face.

"I'm late," Mac sighed, letting out a huff as he sat down besides Sam on the bleachers. "I'm sorry. Traffic."

Sam turned to her left and gave him a smile. "4th inning. One out. Parker's up to bat next," she filled him in. She turned back to Molly, who was sitting on the bleacher in front of her, trying her best not to reach for her baby when the little girl stood from the bleachers by herself, and turned to face her Daddy. She held her hands out towards him, causing Mac to shake his head.

"What do you say?" Mac asked his daughter, who's lip began to quiver when Mac refused to pick her up. The two year old barely talked, and Mac was worried if they didn't try to get her to speak she'd become mute forever. Even though that was probably impossible, Sam let him think what he wanted. It was cute to see her husband worry about their children.

"Daddy?" The little girl asked, tilting her head to the side, her brown pigtails flopping her in the face, and her blue eyes sparkling.

"What do you want Daddy to do?" Mac asked, watching his baby girl ponder for a moment. "Daddy 'dust tick up!" She squealed, folding her arms across her chest, and stomping her right foot against the bleacher.

"She says Daddy just pick me up," Sam informed Mac, who gave her a stern look, before he turned back to Molly.

"Please Daddy?" Mac asked her to say, but she shook her head furiously.

"Up!" Molly cried. "Up, up, up."

Mac shook his head back and folded his own arms across his chest. "Say please, Molly Addison Taylor."

"Both of you," Sam chuckled, rolling her eyes. "Both stubborn."

"She is," Mac agreed, scooping Molly into his arms, and kissing her cheek. "How was work?" he asked Sam, turning towards her.

"Boring," Sam shrugged. "You know I hate Mondays and Tuesdays."

Mac nodded his head, and smiled when Parker came out of the dugout, his bat dragging behind him. "Come on Parker!" he shouted loud enough for his son to hear. Parker's head shot up at the sound of his dad's voice, a smile tugging at his lips as he waved happily towards his dad.

Sam sat down besides Mac on the couch in the living room of their apartment, her feet falling in his lap. She sipped at her wine glass, and let out a yawn, as Mac moved his laptop from the coffee table to on top of her feet, his eyes glued to the screen, reading glasses on his face. He glanced at his wife from the corner of his eye, a smile creeping on his face when he realized she was wearing his NYPD CSI shirt, and nothing else, her curly hair pulled up and her glasses on herself.

"Parker would love Mason Academy," Samantha spoke, keeping her eyes on her glass. She knew Mac's reaction before he could even roll his eyes and set his computer down.

He gave her a stern look as he turned his body to face hers. "We've gone through this one hundred thousand times," he started, cupping her face. "We. Can. Not. Afford. To. Send. Our. Children. To. Private. School." He spoke slowly and clearly as if she was a four year old.

"Why do you talk to me like I'm a baby," Sam asked, shaking her head free from his hands, and turning away. "I'm an adult. I have feelings, and opinions, and knowledge. Yet you treat me like Molly."

"I do not," Mac rolled his eyes.

"Except for the part where you do! All I want is for our children to have the best and every time I bring it up you act like I'm stupid. Like I can't handle our money. I'll sell my car. I don't need one let alone that stupid BMW you talked me into. We can downgrade our apartment. They deserve the best."

"Even selling that car you can't afford to send them both. That'll just pay for one year's tuition."

"Mac," Sam sighed. "What if…"

"What, Samantha," Mac snapped, irritated that his wife was bringing up this topic again, knowing they fought every single time she did.

"Daniel Mart offered me a promotion," she breathed.

"Great. So that means more time at work."

"Like you spend all the time in the world home!" Sam shouted. "With this promotion you wouldn't need overtime."

"It's not that we need the money, Sam. It's that I run the lab, and people need me at all times."

"So do your children!" Sam yelled. "And you're never there for them!"

"Speaking of," Mac hissed. "You'll wake them, yelling like that."

Sam let out a deep breath, and shook her head in attempt to hold her anger in. She wasn't sure what had made her anger. They shouldn't be fighting right then. Nothing he said should have offended her. She hated feeling like all they did was fight. "Would you like to hear about my promotion?"

"Fine," Mc huffed, sitting back down on the couch. "Lemme hear."

"Mart wants to open up a monthly magazine," she beamed, sitting besides her husband. "He wants me to be the Chief Editor. I'd get to make all the decisions, Mac. And he said I could write about motherhood in it. He wants me to run a magazine and make it for mothers! It'd be great!. The workload would be a lot, Mac. You wouldn't see me the first and last weeks of the month. But the money, Mac. We could afford to send them to Madison Academy. And we could probably even move to the Upper East Side of Manhattan! Okay maybe not. But just think how great it would be to not stress about out bills anymore. That's all we ever fight about. Is money. Mac we wouldn't fight over stupid things anymore."

Mac let out a deep breath. "Do what you want. But you have to promise me. If you work too much and the kids start to miss you, you'll quit."

Sam's mouth dropped. "You have nerve saying that."

"I know," Mac nodded his head. "But it's not fair to them to have two parents who work crazy hours. So just promise, Sammie. If they start to miss us, you'll quit."

"Okay," she whispered, nodding her head. She pressed a kiss to his lips. "I'm gonna go to bed," she whispered in his ear, kissing his earlobe. "Night babe. I love you."

"Night," he smiled, watching her stand up, and walk towards their bedroom.

Mac let out a yawn as he crawled underneath the yellow crime scene tape, and gave Flack a nod as Flack turned from a young woman towards Mac. "Mac," Flack smiled. "This is my probationary detective, Rebecca Caruso. She's gonna be following me around for a few months."

Mac nodded his head, and extended his hand to the young detective. "Nice to meet you, Caruso," he smiled, turning towards the young woman. "Who is this?"

"Hannah Lovett," Rebecca Caruso spoke eagerly, smiling at Flack who grinned. She reminded him of Angell, though he wouldn't say that out loud. Or to his wife. His wife of three years, Andrea Matthews, didn't know. He had told Andrea Jess was a close friend and partner. That's all. Especially since she was paranoid that he worked with beautiful woman like Stella, and now Rebecca.

"She looks young," Mac observed. "And skinny."

"She's a model," Rebecca spoke. "One of Daniel Mart's."

A lump in Mac's throat caused him to choke on his saliva, as he turned towards Flack. "That's why I called you," Flack began to explain. "I figured you'd want to find the killer more than Stella. And Sam knows Mart and all. Do you think she knows this woman?"

"I'll ask her," Mac whispered, turning back to the body. He set his kit on the ground, and pulled his latex gloves from his kit. "But it doesn't matter. Because I will find who did this," he spoke confidently. There was no way he'd let this killer go, and endanger his wife.