Hey, yall! I'm back! Been away for a while…anyway, here's a couple more chapters for your reading pleasure. Thanx 4 all the reviews! Enjoy!

Spoilers: A tiny one for All Access

"Hey!" Don watched as the suspect leaped off the last ladder and ran down the darkened alley toward the street, pulling Stella with him.

Down below, Mac had just arrived and heard all the shouting. He immediately looked up towards Stella's apartment and found Flack yelling out the window. He followed the detective's gaze and spotted two figures running toward him from the alley.

"Let go of me!" Stella struggled to free herself from her captor's grasp.

"Hey!" Mac drew his gun.

The man held Stella in a stranglehold, using her as a shield. A gun was in his hand, and it was pressed against Stella's head.

"Drop the gun, Pete!" Mac said, his own gun trained on the man.

The man allowed himself a smile. "You remember me. You've been talking to Lt. Caine and Dr. Grissom."

"Let her go!"

"No can do, Mac." The man backed up, dragging the female CSI with him.

"Mac!" Stella screamed. "Shoot him!"

"You shoot me and she dies!" Pete threatened, pressing the gun harder against Stella's temple causing her to whimper.

Mac adjusted his aim and cocked the gun…but he couldn't shoot. Something was in his line of fire. That something was Stella. Her body covered most of Pete's, shoulders down, but his head was above hers, providing an easy shot at this range. Mac doubted Pete had any intention of giving him that shot so easily. He would duck as Mac pulled the trigger, pulling his shot down, into Stella's head.

Mac felt the sweat gathering on his palms. His muscles had coiled tight. His gun wavered downward.

Stella noticed Mac's hesitation and stared at him wide-eyed and confused. Why wasn't he firing? Out everyone at the department, Mac was the most skilled shooter she'd ever seen. He'd honed those skills when he had been a Marine. He could hit a target a mile away. But now, it seemed he'd lost confidence in those skills. He just stood there, his gun ready, but made no attempt to fire.

"Mac?! What are you waiting for? Shoot him!"

"Shut up!" Pete cocked his gun, effectively silencing her.

Mac's eyes widened. "Don't do it, Pete!" He brought his gun back up. "You want me, not her."

"You won't shoot me," Pete sneered. "You can't. You can't risk hitting your little girlfriend."

Stella saw the fear flash across Mac's face as he followed their movements with his gun. It was true. Mac couldn't do it. He couldn't risk it. What if he missed and hit Stella instead?

Pete noticed the look the two CSIs shared. He knew how much Stella cared for Mac. Love had been in every glance during his surveillance of them, and it lit her eyes even now. Stella was madly in love with Mac.

Mac met Stella's gaze and she could clearly see the pain in his eyes. He looked back at her, silently apologizing for what he was about to do. He didn't have a choice. He glared at the other man, lowering his gun reluctantly.

Stella sighed, her eyes downcast, as her captor dragged her toward a cab that had pulled over down the street. Mac turned away, his eyes burning with anger and resentment.

Don appeared next to him, shaking his head. The man was escaping. "Mac, ya had him. What happened?"

He'd known. Pete had known that Mac wouldn't shoot. Not if it meant risking Stella's life.

He'd found Mac's weakness.

The cabby was caught by surprise when Pete pushed Stella into the back of the cab then climbed in after her.

"Drive," he told the cabby.

The driver turned in his seat to face his unwelcome passengers, clearly upset. "What the he—" He suddenly found himself staring down the barrel of a gun.

The gun cocked loudly. "Now."

The man twisted back around to face the front. The cab pulled out, braked hard to avoid colliding with a sedan, then surged into the flow of traffic.

Mac walked up into Stella's empty apartment, propelled by the need to save his friend.

With each step through her home, his decision to let that madman take away the woman he loved haunted him. He had to force his legs forward, through the door, over pieces of over-turned furniture. All evidence of a struggle. But his instinct told him that his decision was a good one. Maybe the only way to save Stella.

He barely noticed the rest of his team arrive to process the scene. They all looked upset but were somehow still able to concentrate on their work. As Mac watched them, he couldn't help but think of the last time they'd had to go through her apartment like this. Frankie had ruined her life. Ever since their encounter, Stella had never felt completely safe in her own home anymore. And now, this…

Danny called him over to show him a gun he'd found lying on the ground. A Colt. The kidnapper's gun. He'd left it behind.

But Mac's mind wasn't on the evidence. Not now.

Now his mind was on the one woman besides his late wife whom he loved. If they didn't find this madman in time, the other two CSIs and Stella would die.

Under no circumstances would Mac allow Stella to die.

"Pull over," Pete said.

The cabby grunted something in another language and pulled to the curb. Reaching under his coat, Pete quickly affixed a silencer to the barrel of his pistol.

Stella watched him. "What are you doing?"

The moment the cab came to a stop, he climbed out, hurried around to the driver's window, and shot the man through the temple. The man slumped over so that his head lay across the bench seat. Pete stuck his head though the window and winked at Stella.

"Get up front, please."

She didn't obey at first, and he thought about disposing of her right then and there. She evidently had figured as much and now came to her senses.

"He's up there," she said.

"There's room."

Pete climbed in, shoving the man out of the way. Stella opened the front door and studied the dead body. The CSI in her couldn't help but be a bit curious.

He jerked the body upright to give Stella more room. "Please, hurry."

Stella obliged.

"You'll never get away with this," Stella remarked as he pulled back into traffic. "You're getting careless." She pushed the dead driver's head off her shoulder. The man slumped forward and struck the dash with his face. It was a good position.

"You don't have the slightest clue what you're talking about. Please be quiet."

"Look, mister. I may not be—"

The dead driver's hand flew up and backhanded her across the face with a loud smack.

Then Pete did it again, this time as she watched fully aware of what was happening. He reached over and lifted the driver's arm, stopped it inches from her cheek, and then patted her face gently.

"Please be quiet," Pete said and let the arm drop.

She obeyed him.

Lt. Horatio Caine from Miami and Dr. Gil Grissom from Las Vegas arrived in New York about an hour later, their respective teams in tow. After sending off their teammates to the crime lab, the two supervisors made their way over to Stella's apartment.

They found Mac and the remainder of his team there, just finishing up processing the scene. Mac was standing by the window, staring outside, obviously upset. The others slipped out of the room a few moments later, leaving the three supervisors alone.

Horatio stood off to the side, his sunglasses in his hands. He glanced sideways at his friend, knowing only too well exactly how he was feeling. They both did. Grissom slumped in a seat, shaking his head, defeated.

They had now each lost someone from their teams. Someone who, they hadn't realized until now, meant more to them than anything. And what was more frustrating was that they knew exactly who was behind it all, but they were helpless to stop him. He'd outsmarted them.

Mac suddenly whirled around and marched toward the door, a look of sheer determination on his face.

"This ends now."