A/N: Firstly, a huge thanks to everyone who reviewed, or added this story to their Favorites or Alerts lists! It's so encouraging to know there are people out there that are interested in this.

Vacation was pretty fun. I won't bore you with the details here, though you can check out my profile page if you want to know more. For now, enjoy chapter two!

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note, only the plot of this fic. But I can dream…

The Follower's War

Chapter Two

The streets on either side of the Strip were lined with numerous parking garages, mostly behind the huge hotels and casinos. Along with the garages, these streets had a lot of small, mostly dodgy looking businesses. In between the buildings were a number of alleys, all of them different. Some were crowded with junk, others were empty. Some were dead ends. Some were used by homeless people, others by drug dealers.

It was within one of these alleys that Mello was lurking. Wearing large sunglasses, baggy, faded jeans and a gray hoodie, he was sure he wouldn't be recognized -- if L had managed to get a description of him, which Mello was sure he had. L wasn't one to be underestimated; that could be a fatal mistake. So, no matter how much he hated the disguise, it was a necessary precaution even though he didn't plan on being seen. He was here for reconnaissance, not confrontation.

Confrontation would come later.

Keeping his eyes on the parking garage across the street, Mello pulled a chocolate bar out of his coat pocket and unwrapped it, biting off a chunk with a loud snap. Smiling a little maliciously as the sweet melted in his mouth, he reviewed the progress he'd made so far.

L had arrived at the Venetian hotel at three PM two days ago in an antique black Bentley. Yesterday, at about ten PM, the car had left again. Mello followed it to the airport, and watched from afar as L's gray haired assistant -- Quillish Wammy, commonly known as Watari, according to B -- met two teenagers coming off a direct flight from London.

L's heirs. They were just as B had described them, right down to their outfits. Near, small, extremely pale, with pure white hair and large gray eyes, dressed in oversized white pajamas. Matt, lean and red-headed, in jeans and a striped shirt, with gloves, boots, and goggles, of all things. Mello followed them as Watari led them to the car and drove back to the Venetian. They'd arrived at about eleven, and Mello went back to his apartment, knowing that he'd have to return to the Venetian early in the morning. If his suspicions were correct, now that L's heirs had arrived, the detective himself would soon be leaving.

Now it was just past six AM, and Mello had been in the alley across from the garage for nearly half an hour. He was getting tired of waiting, but it had to be done. He was ninety-seven percent sure that L would leave this case to Near and Matt, but he had to confirm it before he could move forward with his plan.

At least there was no one around to bother him for being in the alley -- the first couple of hours after sunrise were the only part of the day that could be called 'quiet' in Vegas, when the tourists were passed out after a long night of partying and most of the locals hadn't woken up for work yet.

The blonde's eyes narrowed as he caught a glimpse of movement inside the dark garage. A car pulled up to the exit gate. The driver's window rolled down, and a hand appeared, holding up some kind of card to the garage attendant. She immediately hit the button to raise the gate, and the antique black Bentley emerged into the sunlight.

Mello smirked, taking another bite of chocolate as he watched it drive away. L, the world's greatest detective, was somewhere behind those dark windows, and he had absolutely no idea that the person he sought was less than fifty feet away.

Once the car was out of sight, Mello left the alley. His suspicions had been confirmed; his work here was done. L was leaving, entrusting the case to his successors, just as Mello had known he would. L and B basically played by the same rules, after all, and to know the habits of one meant you knew the other almost just as well.

Now he just needed to find out what rules the successors played by.

Matt wanted to slam his head against the wall.

Several hours of work had brought them no closer to their suspect. They'd spent most of the day researching the backgrounds of each of Blondie's victims, and hadn't learned anything new. So now he was sitting at a fancy wooden desk in Near's suite, with four computers open before him, each displaying a police report. It had taken less than five minutes for him to hack into the LVPD database, and apparently what they'd said on the news was true. The cops didn't have a single lead about any of the crimes B's heir had committed. There were no fingerprints, no footprints, no hair… nothing. It was like she didn't exist. The police weren't even aware that all ten murders and the bank robbery had been done by the same person. They thought all the crimes were separate incidents.

Matt knew the FBI would jump in immediately if they knew that L thought Blondie did all those things single-handedly. Murder wasn't unusual, and neither was bank robbery, but for a teenager to kill ten men and get away with fifteen grand… that was unheard of. The Bureau would begin a feverish manhunt. They had manpower and resources… L had used an FBI agent's help to track B down. Maybe Matt and Near could do the same?

But there was a reason the police hadn't realized all the crimes were connected, Matt reminded himself. By all appearances, there was no link between them. The only thing they had in common was the complete lack of evidence at each scene. There was no way to prove Blondie was involved at all.

He wondered how L had ever figured out the crimes were connected. If there was no evidence, and he only had a basic description of Blondie, how could he know for sure that she was a criminal at all? Just because a few people had spotted her with B didn't mean she was a serial murderer too. What if she was his girlfriend or something?

No. That wasn't it. It was impossible to picture B dating. So maybe she was a prostitute?

Matt immediately wished he hadn't had that thought. B and a… oh, gross… no way. Just no way. B's creepy, but he's as emotionless as Near when it comes to things like lust. God, I need brain bleach…

The redhead quickly turned his mind back to the problem at hand, trying to erase the mental image of B and Blondie hooking up. So she definitely wasn't a prostitute. B didn't exactly make friends, either, so the idea of her being an acquaintance was out, and he had no family.

If she wasn't a hooker, a friend, or a family member… what could she be but an accomplice?

Congratulations, Matt, he thought sarcastically. You've just come up with a theory that you'd already been told. Awesome progress. The FBI would totally believe your flawless line of reasoning.

And now he was back to wanting to slam his head into the wall.

"Has Matt found anything?" asked Near from across the room, where he was again seated on the floor. They (well, Matt) had brought the TVs from last night into the room and set them up, along with the television that was already in Near's suite and the one from Matt's. All six were now playing different surveillance footage from the streets near where B and his heir were spotted in the other video. Near watched them all, hoping to find where the two criminals had gone after the other camera lost sight of them.

"The police are even worse off than we are. And you'd think a law enforcement database would have better firewalls…" Matt trailed off, realizing he was getting distracted. Now wasn't the time to discuss cyber security systems. "Did you find anything?"

"No," said Near. Anyone who didn't know him would have thought he was as emotionless as ever, but Matt could tell he was extremely disappointed. "However, I've been attempting to compile a psychological profile of our suspect."

Matt frowned. Why hadn't he thought of that?

"I would like to hear your observations and compare them with my own," Near added. "What have you concluded so far?"

Matt hadn't concluded anything, other than that they might be in over their heads with this case.

"Uh, well… She's really smart, obviously. That's why B picked her to do whatever it is she's doing. She's got access to explosives and knows how to use them, and she's good with a gun. That DiNardo guy's security system was pretty advanced, and she got past it without setting it off, so either she cracked it, or he let her in. L seems to think she was part of that bank robbery in some way, so she might be after money. I'm sure you've already realized she must have some connection to the mafia, since eight of the ten people she's killed were members. That can't be a coincidence."

Near nodded. "Yes, I thought of that too. But this isn't psychological profiling, Matt. You're drawing good conclusions about how she works, but what we need is knowledge of how she thinks."

"I was getting to that," said the redhead, a little annoyed. "She's intelligent. She also probably works alone. The explosion could've been set up by one person -- in fact, those men probably didn't know the building was rigged. She shot that guy in the motel room in Enterprise, and killed two drug dealers… It's possible that she's become a serial killer, like B, but I don't think so. If I'm wrong, though… Serial killers are classified into two groups, organized and disorganized, and if she is a serial killer, she's in the disorganized category. Killing people of different ages, races, and backgrounds, in different ways… Like I said, though, I don't think she's a serial killer. She killed all those guys for a specific reason, and not as part of some random murder spree. L thinks B wanted her to compete against us, so we can assume that means she's a competitive person who B thought would be up to the job. In fact, he must have been sure she could beat us, or else why bother with her?"

Near twisted a lock of his hair thoughtfully. "An intelligent, competitive person, obviously familiar with committing crimes, who has a clear goal in mind and is working toward it," he summarized. "My conclusions exactly."

"Which is basically exactly what we already knew," Matt pointed out. "Face it, Near -- we don't know enough about her to come up with a profile that could actually help us."

Near's large gray eyes narrowed slightly. "Then what does Matt suggest we do?"

"I don't know. L thought we could figure this out somehow, but he didn't exactly give us much to work with. We know this chick was with B, but that's it. How are we supposed to prove she's really working for him? What if L's wrong?"

"I don't believe he is."

"But there's no evidence," said Matt, getting exasperated. "How can we know if he's right or wrong when we have nothing but his opinion to go by? There's no proof either way."

The white-haired boy picked up a toy airplane and began raising and dipping it through the air, apparently completely unconcerned by his companion's doubts. "L wouldn't form a theory without sufficient evidence."

Matt sighed in frustration and ran a hand through his hair, making it stick up oddly. Without really thinking, he stood and headed for the door.

Near looked up sharply.

"I'm just going out for a minute," the redhead explained. "Need some fresh air."

Near nodded once and went back to playing with his plane. Matt hesitated in front of the door, realizing what the white-haired boy had been concerned about. B had almost certainly given Blondie their descriptions. If one of them left the hotel and she saw them, she might try to kill them. That was probably the reason L said they should order all their food from room service, instead of going out to get it.

But Matt had to get outside. Now. And Vegas was a crowded place -- it was really unlikely Blondie would see him among the masses of tourists. It wasn't like she knew what hotel they were staying in. There was nothing to worry about.

Matt gave his companion a quick wave and left without another thought.

The instant the door closed behind him, Near looked up again, giving the innocent piece of wood a deeply suspicious look.

"Matt hates fresh air…"

The two minutes it took to walk down the hallway to the elevator, ride down to the ground floor, and walk out of the lobby were torturous for Matt. The instant he was out the front doors, he began searching his pockets feverishly, pulling out a lighter and a pack of cigarettes with a sigh of relief.

The moment he lit one and took a drag, all the tension melted out of his posture. Matt sighed again, exhaling smoke with a smile. He hadn't had a cigarette in over twelve hours -- the longest he'd gone without a fix since the day he started smoking over a year ago. He was addicted and he knew it, but right now he really didn't care.

Sneaking the lighter onto the plane hadn't been easy, but he'd thought it was vital -- after all, he hadn't known if he'd get a chance to sneak away from L and Near to buy a new one once he got to Vegas.

As he smoked, Matt observed the crowds of people going by. The Strip was always crowded, but as night fell, it went from being simply busy to being absolutely jam-packed. That was exactly what was happening now. It was twilight, and the darker it got, the more congested the sidewalk became.

Matt didn't know much about Vegas beyond the basics -- it was in the desert, it was packed full of casinos, there were lots of prostitutes, and the bright lights looked cool at night. He couldn't decide if he liked the place or not. You'd certainly never get bored here -- but everything felt fake. The girls, with their airbrushed tans and too-high heels. The landscape, an island of emerald grass and palm trees surrounded by parched brown dirt for miles in all directions. The casinos, with their illusions of grandeur. There was even a faux Eiffel tower and a replica of New York. It was a city of lies, of pretending. A city of fakes.

Realizing the pessimistic turn his thoughts had taken, Matt rolled his eyes, dropping his used-up cigarette to the ground and crushing it under his boot.

Normally, he was an optimist. A sarcastic one, but an optimist all the same. What was the point of getting depressed over useless crap like this? It had to be the nicotine withdrawal. He'd never go twelve hours without a smoke again.

It's not like we'll be here long anyway, he thought, turning to head back into the hotel. A couple of weeks, and then --

Matt froze. Then he whirled around, yanking his goggles down and searching the crowd with wide eyes.

A flash of bright yellow and gleaming black. He hadn't gotten a good look, just the slightest glimpse out of the corner of his eye, but…

The redhead scanned his surroundings, but there was no sign of the girl. She'd vanished into the masses, if she'd even been there at all. He was probably being paranoid. He must have imagined it. Even if he hadn't, there were tons of blondes in Vegas, and black leather wasn't as uncommon in this town as it was in other places.

But he'd been sure, absolutely sure, that the person he'd seen was the same height and build as the one in the surveillance video…

There! That's her!

He caught glimpses of her hair through gaps in the crowd. It practically glowed as she passed under a streetlight. She'd crossed over to the other side of the street and was walking away quickly.

Matt immediately set off in pursuit, shoving his way around everyone in his path. It was lucky the traffic signals were red, or he probably would've been run over as he ran across the road.

As he reached the sidewalk, he saw her again, and this time there was no doubt. She was the person in the video.

B's accomplice. He'd found her. That was easy. Entirely too easy…

"Hey!" he shouted, now less than thirty feet away. "Hey, stop --"

A gunshot rang out.

Matt dropped to the ground instinctively, heart racing, as hundreds of terrified screams erupted from the crowd. Everyone panicked. Some people did the same as Matt, getting down and shielding their heads, while others took off running, surging in all directions, rushing into the nearest buildings they could reach or dodging cars as they raced blindly across the street, pushing and shoving all the while.

It was pure chaos, and it only worsened when the first shot was followed by a second. More shrieks, more running. Then three more gunshots in rapid succession, almost drowned out by the yells and sobs of the fleeing crowd. Matt looked around in search of the gunman, but there was so much madness that it was impossible to tell exactly where the sounds were coming from.

His mind raced. Was it Blondie? Was she seriously trying to kill him here, with all these witnesses? But she'd certainly known he was chasing her, so why not just lead him to some less populated street and shoot him there? She wouldn't pull out a gun in the middle of the Strip, where cops were always seconds away. She was smarter than that. But if she wasn't the one shooting, then who was? And who the hell were they trying to kill?

Nearly a minute passed with no new gunfire, and the pandemonium finally began to die down. Numerous sirens blared in the distance, and the first police cars began arriving on the scene.

Matt quickly stood up, looking through the chaos toward the place he'd last seen B's successor.

Once again, she'd vanished without a trace.

A/N: Woohoo! The plot moves forward! And a bit of a cliffhanger, too.

Please tell me what you thought of this chapter. I'm not sure I'm happy with it. Reviews are wonderful things, and they make me write faster.