"Over there! Our suspect just ducked behind that building!" The detective motioned to a spot where the beam of his car's headlights shone down a dark alley.

He and the cruisers that had been following him slowed to a stop at the curb.

Det. Don Flack unsnapped his pistol from its holster under his coat. "Check that alley, boys. I saw somethin' movin' down there."

The beams of several flashlights moved back-and-forth through the dark alley. "There he is!" one of the officers yelled.

Flack opened the car door. "Cover me," he ordered.

Det. Danny Messer, who'd followed in his own vehicle, came to stand next to his friend, his own gun at the ready.

"Come out with ya hands over ya head!" Flack yelled.

The large figure stepped from behind a dumpster and unsteadily lifted his right hand to shield his eyes from the bright lights.

"Who are you?" the man called out. "I can't see."

"NYPD. Hands up!"

The man raised his hands, took a step toward the lights, and tripped over a smashed up cardboard box. Raising himself to his knees, he shook his head from side to side.

Flack ran forward, stepped over the box, and expertly handcuffed the suspect.

"Get up," he ordered.

With effort, the man rose to his feet and tripped again over the box. As he fell, he grabbed the detective, who lost his balance and landed on top of him.

"Can ya handle him?" Danny called, smirking.

Flack stayed on the man's back and quickly frisked him for weapons. "He don't got a gun. Get him outta here."

Two officers came forward, lifted the man to his feet, and half-carried, half-dragged him to one of the patrol cars. Opening the rear door, they put him in the backseat, where he fell over to his side, unconscious.

"He got ID?" Danny asked.

"I felt a wallet when I frisked him." The detective took the man's wallet from the back pocket of his pants and flipped it open. "Here ya go. New York driver's license. Noah Davis."

Leaning into the patrol car, Danny reached across Davis' still form with gloved hands. "I'll check his front pockets." He pulled out some spare change and a car key. "Hey, guy's got a Porsche. The Thompson girl's car?"

"Let's take him in, boys."

He sits in the police cruiser he stole about a day ago and watches the plainclothes officer sitting in his own car, glancing up at the building every few seconds.

"Perfect…"

He smiles. His evil plan is working.

"Stella," he whispers. "It's so nice to finally meet you. Give me a kiss, baby."

No one has stirred in the building since his arrival thirty minutes ago. But he knows she's there. Putting this woman in a cage will send Mac through the roof.

"It's payback time."

He waits an hour. Two. The night is dead when he eases himself out of the cruiser and heads for Stella's apartment building.

Mac stared out the window of the plane, absently watching the clouds go by. His mind was buzzing with a million thoughts. There was someone out there abducting CSIs. Someone that wanted revenge for what he and two others had done years ago. And now, the sick monster was after Stella.

He closed his, recalling the last real conversation he'd had with her. It was late one night after shift. They were having dinner at her favorite restaurant. About a month before he'd started going out with Peyton.

She stared at him across the candle flame. "You like her, don't you?"

"Who, Peyton?" Mac shrugged. "She seems like a good person."

"I don't mean in a 'good person' kind of way."

"Come on, Stella. I hardly know her."

"But you do like her. I can see it in your eyes when you say her name."

Mac felt his face flush. "She's a forensic pathologist who's helped us with cases on more than one occasion. What's there not to like?" He looked up at her, smiling. "She reminds me of you."

"Really? How so?"

"Kind. No-nonsense. Pretty…"

"Like I said, you like her."

"Please—"

"It's okay, Mac," she said softly. "I want you to like her."

"You do?"

"Yeah. I approve." She grinned and placed the last bite of food in her mouth. "Besides, I think she likes you."

"Peyton? She told you that?"

"Woman's intuition. Remember?"

He'd always wondered how she could just let him go like that without so much as a hint of jealousy or reservation. And now, he was finally beginning to understand. She really did care about him…a lot more than she had let on. All she wanted was for him to move on and be happy. Even if it wasn't with her.

"Stella…I hope it's not too late."

Flack was pretty satisfied with himself that evening. They'd caught the bad guy and closed the case. All in record time. He had already clocked out for the night and was walking past the dispatch office on his way out when he heard something that made him freeze mid-step.

"Dispatch, this is Officer Bell," the officer's voice squawked on the radio. "We got us trouble. Possible kidnapping in progress. Request back up."

It took Flack a moment to realize why that officer's name had caught his attention. Wasn't he the officer that had been assigned to stake out Stella's place?

"Officer Bell, this is dispatch," the female dispatcher responded. "Back up is on its way."

"Copy that…Oh my…Crap, crap, crap. There he is! He's—" The faint sounds of gunfire popped on the radio speaker. Flack swore. Stella was in trouble. Judging by the sounds immediately following, the officer had dropped the radio and scrambled to help.

"Get a hold of Det. Taylor and advise him of the situation," Flack ordered. He yanked the door open. "I'm on my way."

Mac had warned them this might happen. Why hadn't he kept a closer eye on her…

Ooo…will they get to Stella in time? Review to find out!