If I really owned Standoff, why would I be on FF?

Thanks to all who reviewed!

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Out of the many years Cheryl Carreara had worked at CNU, she had gotten used to the threat letters that were placed on her desk every morning.

Whether it is a crazed man saying he would bomb the White House, or even some letters that included the possible risk of her own life, Cheryl simply waved them aside, without a care in the world. Most of the letters were false anyway; after further examination, the majorities were filed for further use, and after a few weeks they were incinerated.

But this letter had grabbed her attention upon reading the first sentence. What had bewildered her was the fact that the letter had sentences, only names.

And one stood out among them all.

Carson, David

Anthems, Chris

Meurtre, Francois

Mentira, Carlos

Flannery, Matthew

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"There had better be a damn good excuse for this," Matt muttered under his breath.

He held open the door to Cheryl's office for Emily, and then followed her in. Their boss was sitting at her office, focused on a piece of crumpled paper in her hands. She looked at them, averted her eyes to the paper once again, and then set it down on her desk.

"We have a problem," she said. Emily noticed her worried tone. Right away, she knew that wasn't good.

Cheryl Carreara wasn't known to worry much.

"I swear, Cheryl, we haven't done anything. Not in the field, especially not in here, and definitely not-"

"This isn't about the two of you, Matt," Cheryl cut him.

Matt silenced immediately. Never had his boss spoken so gravely.

"As a matter of fact, this is more about you than any of us. Please," she held up her hand to keep him from interrupting, "Let me get this over with. Have you heard of that apartment murder that took place two weeks ago?" she asked.

"Who hasn't? Some guy found dead in his apartment, beaten to a pulp," Emily explained. "But what does that have to do with Matt?"

In response, Cheryl placed the crumpled piece of paper in front of them. Matt picked it up and Emily leaned over the arm of her chair to read it. While they were doing this, Cheryl opened a folder and placed them side by side at the front of her desk.

"The guy found dead in his apartment was David Carson, age thirty two. Lawyer. Took forensics two days to find an identity, seeing as his apartment was wiped clean of I.Ds, credit cards, even photos." Cheryl said in a robot like voice.

"God, look at these. He looks like a human piñata, except there are internal organs instead of candy." Emily breathed. Black and blue bruises adorned the man's body, making him look like a human Dalmatian. His stomach was cut wide open, giving all a perfect view of the contents inside. Lastly, but certainly not least, a single gash lay across his throat, at least an inch deep. It was obvious what the cause of death was. Matt could hardly bear to read the note, much less look at the blood bath caught on film.

"I found this on my desk just this morning. Luckily I had to come in to file some paper work, other wise we wouldn't have seen this until Monday." Cheryl said. Matt cursed his boss' obsession with paperwork. "I called in to get more information. What I found were these photos, and a report of another murder. I.D. is unknown, but forensics is working on that. I believe that there is a very likely chance he is this Anthems guy."

"And if he is?" Matt asked hoarsely.

"Then I'm putting you, Meurtre, and Mentira under constant surveillance. There's a possibility someone wants you dead, Matt, and by judging these photos, he is one mean son of a bitch."

Matt threw the note onto his boss' desk and started pacing around the room, running his hands through his hair. He was restless; someone wanted him dead? Yeah, sure he had done his fair share of bad things in the past, but nothing to get him killed, that's for damn sure.

"And they have no idea who did it?" he asked.

"No, but I have to ask. Do you recognize any of these men?" asked Cheryl tentatively, pointing to the note.

"No! I have no idea who the hell these guys are!" Matt answered disdainfully.

"Okay, Okay. Secondly, there's no one I know of that would want you dead, is there?"

"No," Matt answered more calmly, but still firm. Just then, Cheryl's cell buzzed. She answered it immediately.

"Yes?" Silence for a few moments. "Oh, God." She whispered. Matt's stomach churned.

"And the I.D.?" Cheryl's eyes widened with horror. She gave a quiet thank you and hung up.

"Identity is confirmed; it's Anthems. So from now on, I want you to stay indoors, at least until we've figured something out. I don't care where, but I do want someone with you, and not just Lehman." Cheryl said as she dialed in a number on her cell. "I'm calling Frank."

"What?" both Matt and Emily asked.

"We need to get these other men warned and protected. This guy is a living monster, and I'm taking no chances." She explained. "Hello? Frank? I need you to get up here as soon as possible." She stopped and listened for a minute. "Yes, I know its Sunday; you think I don't realize that? This is a big situation, Frank, just get up here." She finished and hung up.

"So what? Does Matt just stay hidden until we catch this guy?" Emily asked unbelievingly.

"For now, that's the best we can do," replied Cheryl forebodingly.

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"You want me to WHAT?!" Frank shouted.

"At least until we've got this guy in custody. Then you can go back to hating each other." Cheryl said firmly.

"Why can't Lehman stay with him, like she does every other night?" demanded Frank. Emily glared at Frank behind his back.

"Because Lehman's not a weapons expert, and I'm taking no chances," Cheryl argued.

"What about Duff?" frank compromised.

"He's keeping guard over Mentira, and I'm sending two others to keep watch over Meurtre. I do not want this man to have another successful killing, and he's going right down the list." Cheryl showed the three of them out of her office. "Oh, and Frank? You might want to take a sleeping bag." With that, she grinned and shooed them home.

Matt was silent on the ride back to his place, and that worried Emily. She thought of saying something, to reassure him, but she decided against it. Emily didn't want to set him off.

"You okay? You seem quiet," Matt was the first to speak up, which took Emily by surprise.

"I think the real question is are you okay?" she answered.

"Of course I'm fine. I've just got a killer on my ass that's all," Matt said sarcastically.

"That's not my fault. And don't make this any worse than it already is," Emily snapped.

"How could it get any worse?!" Matt shouted. In fury he crossed two lanes and skidded over to the side of the road, many cars cursing him and flipping him off in the process. He turned the engine off and stared out the window, watching the water drops run down in little rivers, breathing slightly heavy. His grip on the steering wheel never let up, making his knuckles turn white.

Emily paused, and then spoke softly, "This isn't your fault, and I'm not saying it is. I can't say I know how you feel, but I can tell you that we will get through this, one step at a time. But until we catch this bastard, you need to stay low. Take it easy for a while."

She reached over and grabbed his right hand, sandwiching it between both of hers, and he finally relaxed.

Matt sighed. "But what if we don't catch him? What if he kills those other guys and them me-"

"That won't happen," Emily said firmly. "And stop being so negative, it brings down your self esteem." She leaned over and gave him a soft kiss. "Okay?"

"Okay." He replied. He smiled for what seemed like the first time in ages and revved up the engine. The rest of the way home, his right hand never let go of her left one.

"Here are the rules," Frank said thirty minutes later. "No messing with my stuff, and I won't mess with yours, no bugging me, and no sex."

They were at Matt's house, and Frank was just getting situated. The sofa was pulled out into a hid-a-bed, and a small duffel bag was placed one it, containing a few changes of clothes, and several different weapons.

"I'm not that wild about you, either," Matt muttered, disgusted.

"You know what I mean. Its bad enough I have to stay here, I don't want to even think about putting up with your, frolicking." Frank spat out.

"I'm going to leave now, and let the two of you get more…acquainted." Emily said as she handed Matt spare blankets. "Be nice," she warned.

"I am nice," both men said simultaneously, then scowled at each other. Emily chuckled, and gave Matt a swift kiss, making Frank look away pointedly, and left.

Lightening flashed outside the window, and thunder soon followed. Neither one of them said a word. Finally Matt grabbed the remote and turned the television on. The theme for the twelve o'clock news filled the vacant silence.

"You have anything to eat?" Frank asked, making his way towards the compact kitchen.

"Yeah, there should be something in the fridge, knock yourself out," Matt answered dully, ignoring his own hunger. The Anchorwoman's voice filled his ears.

"-So no doubt you want to stay indoors today, folks. In other news, there was a brutal murder in the Greater Los Angeles area last night. Thirty two year old Chris Anthems was found dead in his apartment around nine forty. Here's Zach Letterman with more information."

"Thanks Cathy. This afternoon, many are mourning the loss of Christopher Anthems, who was-"

"Hey, you don't need to be watching that," Frank said as he came in and sat one the bed next to Matt, a beer and ham sandwich in hand. "You hungry or want a beer?"

"No, I'm fine." Matt didn't even notice how kind Frank was being. His eyes were glued to the screen, which showed forensics moving the sheet covered body into an ambulance.

That could be me…

His thoughts were interrupted as the power suddenly went out.

"Aw, damn it!" Frank hissed next to him. Matt felt him get up and heard him rummage through the kitchen drawers. "Hey, you got a flashlight?" Frank asked.

"Next to the stove," Matt said through numb lips.

His eyes were still on the screen.

The image of the body was still fresh in his mind.

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Duff was looking forward to his plans with Lia tonight, and when Cheryl called him and told him he had to baby sit a thirty five year old man, he was pissed to say the least.

Carlos Mentira lived alone, and had been complaining ever since Duff got there, which was really starting to get on his nerves. For the past thirty minutes, Duff and Cheryl had been trying to explain to Carlos that there was a serial killer after him, and only when Cheryl said that Duff had to watch over him did he really grasp it. He reluctantly lent Duff a room to stay, at least for the night.

Duff was starting to fidget and he decided to search the perimeter for anything unusual, mainly because he had to get out of the house. So Duff told Carlos, who was in the kitchen preparing supper, where he was going, and stepped out into the falling rain, shutting the door firmly behind him.

He was used to rain; the cool droplets didn't bother him one bit. Carlos had a nice garden; green grass, blossoming flowers, no weeds. Yes he certainly kept it well groomed. He circled the garden gnomes a few times, and then headed back to the front door. The rain was getting harder.

He knew something was wrong the minute he saw the door ajar.

Instinct told him not to panic, but he quietly pushed the door aside and pulled his gun. The lights were off, which was never good. He made his was towards the kitchen.

What he saw made his blood run cold.

Carlos was dead, that was quite obvious. His heart was lying next to him in a puddle of blood, which revolted Duff more than anything. He was covered in bruises, which meant he didn't die without a fight. But how did Duff not hear the struggle.

His question was answered in a clap of thunder.

He felt so stupid. In his selfishness, he left an innocent man unprotected, and it cost him his life. What was it Frank always said? Never leave your hostage unprotected. That was it. Never had he felt more disgusted with himself.

Duff groped for his cell phone and absentmindedly called 911. Three rings followed before someone finally picked up.

"911. What is the emergency?"

Before Duff could answer, a shot was heard, and the phone was ripped out of his hand. He cried out in surprise, and his cry turned into a scream as white hot pain ripped through it. Blood seeped out of bullet wound right next to his thumb.

Before he could react, another shot was heard and Duff was suddenly on his knees. He felt warm liquid run down his leg. Someone was talking to him, but he heard nothing.

He felt a crack on the side of his head, and Duff knew no more.

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I won't be able to update until next weekend at the very least, school starts up again next week.