These characters do not belong to me ... I just borrowed them for a little while. They helped me get through two boring papers, so I'm grateful ... that's why an update comes so soon!

Hannah, Chapter 2:

Danny arrived at the scene with Mac. The fact that the murder had happened not far from the lab and the precinct didn't surprise him. Crooks and criminals weren't known to have the most common sense. It allowed them, though, to get to the scene within minutes of the 911 call.

Flack was just beginning to question onlookers. People stood around staring at them as he took out his camera and knelt down to photograph the scene. It was a homeless guy. He'd been stabbed, beaten badly. The bruises were just now forming, on his face, along his fingers—likely the marks would only worsen.

His hand covering in latex, he lifted the hand, turned it over, and took a picture. Rigor had yet to set in. He was still warm, pumped from adrenaline.

Danny sighed. There was nothing to note defenses, and everything to denote fear. The guy must have seen something, gotten in someone's way. Must have known something.

And he didn't deserve this sort of brutal treatment.

Across from him, Mac examined the body, looked around the scene with sharp eyes. He pointed out that there hadn't been much of a fight—more of a beating. A one way beating. Blood spatter only went one direction.

Danny photographed it, the ally, the trash and cardboard boxes that lined the walls.

Then he turned back to the body.

The vic reminded Danny of Lindsay's friend. It had been nearly two weeks since he'd first spotted Lindsay at the park with the woman. Since then he'd seen her on the street, had spotted her headed to the park where he knew Lindsay was eating lunch.

Lindsay didn't talk about her, didn't share the experience with him. They still didn't eat lunch together, though he'd talked her into going to a Met's game. She'd paid for her ticket, and hadn't let him escort her home. But for those few moments at the game, it had all felt perfect. Their conversation had rolled in tandem. He'd been able to believe, for just a few moments, that everything would be ok.

"Our vic's name is Mike," Flack said as he came up, flipping through his note pad. "No last name, though some call him Quiet Mike. Apparently doesn't say much. Has a few friends on this strip. Been on the street at this corner off and on for a number of years."

"I've seen him around," Mac said. "Doesn't say much."

"Found a couple of witnesses, none of them will say anything. Except one. Says she knows…though what she knows, she won't say," Flack jerked his head back, in the direction of the weitnes. "Says she'll only speak to Detective Lindsay Monroe. Just how she said it. Says Mike told her secrets. She can only tell Detective Lindsay Monroe. She wants Lindsay."

She wasn't the only one, Danny thought and looked behind Flack along with Mac. He stood up, camera in hand to get a better look. He saw the woman, hidden in the shadows of the building, watching them. He recognized her immediately.

"Lindsay knows her. Has been talking to her," he murmured.

"Who is she?" Flack asked.

Danny shot him a look. "Lindsay hasn't said."

As if she would say anything to me.

Flak shrugged, but kept his eye level with Danny's. He wasn't repentant, even though he knew better.

Mac's phone went off. "Lindsay's off today. Call her—get her in."

Danny watched Mac walk off, and then turned to Flack. "You better do it. She won't pick up if she sees it's me."

Flack sent Danny another look. As the only one of their team who knew what he'd done to Lindsay, Flack had already had his say. A number times.

"You could text her."

"Funny."

Flack pulled out his phone, punched in Lindsay's number.

"Hey—Monroe."

Danny turned away, let Flack handle the conversation. It might always be like this, no matter what he wanted—what he hoped they could build. She'd been devastated enough that she'd struggled seeing him at work, struggled with working with him, with their dialogue. It was quite like that she would hold him off. She'd already told him. She wanted his friendship. She couldn't imagine not seeing him, not working with the team.

But she couldn't date him.

His fingers tightened around the camera and he knelt back down, got back to work. Work seemed that was the only thing he could get right. Being friends meant a lot, and he was thankful she was willing to give him that, but not dating meant he'd lost even more.

"Lindsay's on her way," Flack said as Mac came back up.

"Good—Danny, wait here for Hawkes. HHe's on his way. Process the scene, then get back and update Lidsay. Flack," Mac said, his voiced clipped and determined. "You're with me. Angell just finished the follow up with the man who called in the 911 report. Said he saw them go around the ally."

"Let's see what we find."

As Mac and Flack left, Danny sighed. Sure, have him update Lindsay. Just what she wanted.

And wished he'd been the one to call Lindsay, to hear her voice.

Lindsay climbed into the cab and set her oversized leather tote down beside her, her purchases tucked safely inside. She'd been shopping, had found a shirt in light blue that made her feel pretty and had found a small gift for Danny's birthday. Maybe there was a little part of her that wanted him to see that she wouldn't forget his birthday, even as a friend, but it wasn't quite like that. She liked Danny—she missed his companionship, and wanted to give him a gift, even in friendship. She liked the way he kind of half chuckled when he was just a little embarrassed and pleased. She liked to surprise him. She wanted to see that look in his eyes that said she'd made him happy.

She didn't know how to make him happy anymore. She couldn't give him what he said he wanted.

Even if she'd been thinking more and more about Hannah's words.

She'd found the poem Hannah had quoted and had bought a small book of poetry to give her friend. That was another purchase she'd made today at a quaint used bookstore in SoHo. She'd used a spare piece of paper she'd had in her purse to mark the poem. Hannah wouldn't accept anything new, but Lindsay thought that maybe she'd accept this.

It had surprised her that Flack had called. If Hannah had witnessed a murder, she was in danger. She had no protection on the streets, was wide open to attack. Lindsay wondered if she could convince her to come stay at her apartment. Danny would hate it ….

But Danny's opinion didn't matter anymore.

Hannah was the one in need of protection. Lindsay pictured her eyes, sometimes calm, sometimes wild, and more often than not, stormy. Still, there was innocence there. A vulnerability.

She pulled her badge from her purse and fastened it to her belt, then did the same with her piece. Back in Montana she hadn't carted her piece around with her on her day off. Crime had been a lot less frequent, her days off more her own time.

Now she never knew when she would be called in—though most of the time her days off were still her own. At least she was in Manhattan and not far from the precinct. The quicker she got there, the better for Hannah.

"You got your serious face on, little lady."

Lindsay smiled at her cab driver. He was older, had lines around his eyes that made her think of her father.

And of Mac.

"Probably. It happens a lot lately," she quipped—and sent him a smile. One of the things she loved about New York was that every cab ride could be an experience.

"Man got you down? I see that all the time."

"Ha … maybe a little. But it's my day off. I don't have time for men getting me down."

"That's a girl."

Turning into the ally with his gun drawn, Flack saw the door of a long, battered sedan de ville. He raised his weapon. "Stop—"

At that he and Mac took off running. The car took off. Flack fired down at the tires, but the car sped out of the ally and whipped around the corner.

And it was gone.

Out of breath at the end of the ally, Flack watched as the car weaved perilously through traffic, clipping a car as it turned the next corner with a screech of tires. Flack pulled out his phone, called it in. He had a tag number. A good description of the car.

It shouldn't take long. They were only blocks from the station.

Behind him, Mac went back and studied the area where the car had left. "Let's see if we can find anything."

Still a good eight blocks from the precinct, Lindsay laughed as her cab driver Bob finished another story about his granddaughter's love life. She had to admit, there was something magical about his voice. Something there had calmed her somewhat, made her relax.

Then she heard the squeal of tires, the melding of metal as car hit car.

"What the—" Bob muttered as he swerved.

Lindsay leaned up, watched the long sedan speed toward them. Fishtail.

And slam into the side of the cab. Metal against metal—speed crashing into matter.

Lindsay reached out as the cab flipped.

Then it all went dark.

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