(My fabulous beta reader demonchilde helped me with this chapter; however, I've changed a few things since. Any errors or mistakes are my own.)

DID WE BEGIN WITHOUT KNOWING IT?

Bailey's eyes caught a curious glimmer in his office as he walked past the windows. He took a second look at the object, and the sight had him sighing. His victory from this morning had been short-lived: he'd half-expected Sam to bring the trophy to work, and had been pleased when she'd greeted him in the morning without a trophy in sight. Now it was obvious that she'd smuggled it in either then or later on, for now there it was, sitting on the back wall desk.

His stubborn friend emerged from her office with a case file in hand, keen on discussing a detail of some sort with him. "Hey Bailey, about that last crime scene in Tuscaloosa..." She halted her remarks when he fixed her a half stern, half bemused look. "What?" He shifted his eyes to the trophy in a pointed manner.

"Oh, that. Well, I did say that I shared with all of the people I work with. Now it's your turn to bask in its glory," she reasoned with ease before continuing: "If it makes you happy, I'll come by and visit it every night before I leave work." She rolled her eyes in a jesting manner and he relented. She'd made up her mind, and he suspected he couldn't talk her out of it. "Fine. What about the case?"

She coaxed him into following her by grabbing his elbow. "I have an idea about it that I need to discuss with you and George."

They headed to the command center and found the team's computer whiz hard at work at the main table.

"George, I have a question for you," Sam addressed the expert.

George put his current task aside and focused on his co-worker. "Shoot."

"It's about the Tuscaloosa case. Could you check if the crime scene photos include any pictures of chess boards?"

"Chess boards?" Bailey repeated as George started to pull up the photos.

"Yeah, I know it sounds a bit odd, but I was going through the crime scene of the fifth victim, and the miniature chess board positioned on the smaller living room table caught my attention. It's too deliberate."

Bailey pondered Sam's thoughts. "You think the killer brought it with him?"

"Maybe, that's why I want to check the other crime scenes. Here, take a look at the photo."

He inspected the picture. Sam seemed to be right; something was off with the board. Meanwhile, George had finished his task.

"I pulled all the photos, there are 183 altogether." They looked through the shots in chronological order. Out of five crime scenes, only two seemed to have included a chess board. Bailey instructed George to delve in further and check the crime scene inventories. Sam's hunch could lead to something.

Sam knocked on the open door. "Hey, I'm starting to head home," she told Bailey as she entered his office. "Just dropped in to appreciate my trophy," she explained cheekily.

"By all means," he countered her joke. He watched on as she made a show of walking up to the trophy and gazing at it reverently for a second. She then stole a glance at him. "Happy?" she asked.

"Very," he shot back. They shared a bemused smile as she sat down on the chair opposing his desk.

"Did George have time to check the Tuscaloosa crime scene inventories?"

"He's waiting for confirmation on a few things from the local police departments. They should come through tomorrow."

She nodded and they sat in silence for a few moments. "Bailey, I may have to leave earlier one day this week. I'm gonna try to arrange a session with Melinda, and I don't know her schedules."

Sam's friend Melinda Gillespie had helped the profiler redefine her assessment of Jack months ago. He'd met the woman then in passing. He also knew that Melinda had counselled Sam after Coop's death. That prompted him to enquire: "That's fine. Is something... Is something troubling you?"

She alleviated his worries. "No, nothing specific, it's just that... That interrogation of Lesher brought up a few things, and I want to go over them with her."

She'd shared with him how the interrogation had gone, and he'd suspected that it might take a toll on her. However, he knew better than to suggest that someone else interrogate Lesher. Sam would tell him if she weren't up to it. He was counting on it.

"Frannie asked me if anyone had taken photos on Friday night. When do you think you might develop the ones Angel took?"

"Oh, I think this week. Maybe Angel and I ought to renovate one of the rooms at home into a darkroom. Would save me a lot of trouble," she added with a chuckle.

He cottoned onto her idea immediately. "You thinking about the big closet next to Angel's room?"

She smiled at how well he knew her train of thought. "Yeah, it's full of clutter that I should just really throw away."

"Sounds good."

Sam looked at her wrist watch. It was time that she started heading home. With that in mind, she stood up. "Give my love to Frances. Good night, Bail."

"I will. Good night."

Sam hung up on Melinda, having made an appointment with her long-time friend for Thursday. She would have to take a few hours off in the middle of the day for the appointment's sake. She felt better, knowing that she would have a chance to unburden her mind with someone who was trained to take it on. She knew she could talk to Bailey, that he would listen to her concerns without hesitation, but she didn't want to add to his burden.

Thinking of him, she remembered that Frances had expressed an interest in the photos from the gala. She needed to talk to her friend about converting the closet into a darkroom.

Angel and Chloe were training Denzel in the play area, reinforcing the "off" command. The dog placed occasionally his head or his paw on them while they were sitting down at a table or on the sofa. The artist and the girl were sitting on low chairs surrounding Chloe's play table, which was sure to entice the canine even more.

As Sam entered the area, Denzel, eager for some attention, laid his paw on Chloe's leg. The girl promptly said "off", stood up and walked away. Chloe waited ten seconds before returning to the table again.

"How's the training going?"

"He's getting better and better. That's the first time he did it tonight," Angel explained with pride.

"Great! Hey, Frances asked about those pictures you snapped on Friday, and that got me thinking. Do you have any objections if we convert the closet next to your room into a darkroom?" Sam sat down to join Chloe and Angel.

"No, it's a good idea. We wouldn't have to rely on any shops or on those FBI rooms. You'll have to sort out the stuff, since most of it is yours anyway," Angel pointed out, keeping a watchful eye on her dog.

"It's just mainly old case files, some clothes, that old tv set that stopped working ages ago. I'll try to get around to it this weekend."

"Fine by me."

The women relaxed as Denzel settled down on the floor. They gave him unanimous praise.

"Could you teach me how to develop photos, Mom?" Chloe's eyes shone with excitement.

"I'll show you how it's done, but I won't teach you just yet. It's a little risky with all the chemicals and such. Okay?" Sam suggested and Chloe nodded soberly.

"I think it's time for a little snack before bedtime. Let's go see what we can cook up tonight."

Early next morning, Sam and Bailey joined John and George around the upper table of the command center to confer on the Tuscaloosa case.

"Good news and bad news. I have confirmed that in two other cases, there was a chess board present at the crime scene," George divulged.

"Which ones?" Bailey asked for clarification on Sam's behalf.

"The first and third."

"So, that makes only the fourth as missing a chess board," John reasoned. "That'd be Mia Lowry's crime scene."

"But, the sole surviving family member, the mother, is so bereaved by the loss that she's refused to answer any further questions concerning the murder," George added.

"Sam, maybe you should go ask her in person. Perhaps the mother will respond better to you," Bailey suggested.

"I'll give her a call and see it where it gets me."

"I'd like to know the significance of the chess boards. Can you give any guesses, Sam?" John looked puzzled.

"I think that once we figure that out, we'll be a whole lot wiser than now. Right now, I don't have an answer."

"The boards might reveal the link between the victims. Let's get on this," Bailey rallied his agents, effectively disbanding their confab. John bounced up and retreated to his desk, while George took his laptop and walked to his work station. Bailey and Sam walked out together.

"Did you call Melinda?" Bailey asked in a quiet voice.

"Yes, I did. We arranged an appointment for Thursday at one pm. I hope that's okay?"

"Of course it is."

Sam took a deep breath and gazed out of the window. Her friend was still on the phone with the dean. The office was spacious, furnished with endless book shelves, but the desk at which Melinda was sitting was tiny. The professor didn't want to come off as imposing in any circumstance. Sam thought about the last time she'd been in the room. Three months ago. Six months since Coop's death.

Melinda startled Sam out of her musings. "Sorry about that." Melinda stood up and gave her former student a hug. "It's good to see you."

"You, too," Sam smiled warmly.

"How have you been?"

"I've been well. Better," she reassured the older woman who was scrutinizing her.

Melinda gestured at the two comfortable chairs. "Come on, let's sit down. Any specific reason why you wanted to see me?"

Sam sat down and took a beat. "Ah well... We captured Jill, the woman who helped Jack kill Coop."

Melinda's eyes widened from surprise. "And who tried to kill you?"

Sam nodded. "It was six weeks ago."

"Were you there when they arrested her?"

"Yes, the task force got her. She was about to kill two of my co-workers, but I crept up behind her and stopped her at gunpoint."

"How did it feel? Capturing one of your tormentors?"

Sam shrugged her shoulders. "Uh... I was soft of numb. I was relieved she didn'tget the chance to kill John or Marcus. I was thinking of Coop, but I didn't see myself pulling the trigger the way I did when we captured Carruthers." Sam's voice trailed off as she reminisced that misfire in Costa Rica.

"I see. Were you surprised by it?" Melinda eyed Sam with an evaluating gleam.

"I don't know. Maybe it was different because she's a victim of Jack's, albeit a willing one. Plus, she can lead us to him," she reasoned.

"Do you think she will?"

"I hope so. She isn't the perfect disciple he imagined she'd be. Last week, I gained access to her and interrogated her."

"How did you feel as you confronted her?"

"I didn't feel quite as powerful as I thought I would. Not like I sometimes feel with other murderers. Because she has the power to throw me. Reveal something horrifying about Coop's death," she sighed and picked at a loose thread at the seam of her cuff.

"You don't think you could cope with it?"

"I don't know. I mean, I've come to terms with it, but..." Sam trailed off.

"How would you feel about letting someone else interrogate her?"

Sam considered her friend's suggestion. "Like Bailey? Maybe. I think I could live with that."

"Listen to what your gut is telling you. Just allow yourself to feel whatever emotions the interrogations evoke. If it gets too tough, tell someone. But now, let's see what you can do in that moment when she throws you."

"Hey." Sam walked into Bailey office at the end of the day.

"Hi, are you going home?"

She ambled up to her trophy, giving it its due. Then she glanced at him. "In a moment." She settled onto the sofa, leaning her head back. Time to decompress a little before going home.

He looked on as she gazed into the distance for a while. He hadn't had the chance to talk to her alone before, and so he'd had to speculate about her appointment and how it had gone. Now, she was giving him an opportunity. "How was your session with Melinda?"

She sat up straighter, glanced at her hands. "It was good. I'm glad I went."

"Did you sort out your... doubts about Lesher?"

"In a way." She was silent for a few moments. "I needed to figure out a way of claiming my distance in case... In case she tells me something awful."

His heart filled with sympathy as he realised what she feared. "You're afraid you'd end up back in that van."

He'd voiced her biggest fear. What she hadn't confessed herself. She nodded at his apt description, trying to calm down her mind. He waited silently and watched her compose herself.

"Let's hope it doesn't come to that, huh?" He gave a tiny smile at her words.

"You'll let me know?" He left out the end of the sentence. Nevertheless, she understood his meaning, and felt a rush of affection toward him.

"Of course," she reassured him. Her eyes happened on a picture frame on his desk. It was pointed away from her, but she knew it contained a photo of Bailey and Frances."Have you told Frances that I should have the photos by next week?"

"Have you already converted the closet?"

"No, I'm developing them at a studio a friend of mine owns. I'll clear out the closet this weekend."

"I wish you luck," he remarked with absurd solemnity, as if they were discussing a matter of great import.

"Thanks, I'll need it," she quirked one corner of her mouth.

"Go home, Malone. Enjoy your daughter's company for a change."

He feigned to be affronted. "I intend to, Kid."

His nick name for her brought a smile to her face. She gave him a tiny wave from the door. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bye, Sam."