Steve's reaction was every bit as violent as the young doctor had expected. "Dad, why the hell don't you put a leash on that boy?"

Mark shrugged. "Reminds me of someone else who doesn't always do as he's told." His flip tone sobered at the wild look in Steve's eyes. "Son – he did tell you where he was going. It should be simple enough to catch up to him."

"That's not the point," Steve grumbled, but his father's raised eyebrow discouraged further grousing, and he turned to leave. "Okay, okay. Do me a favor – tell Cheryl to –"

"To do what?" his partner's voice interrupted. Startled, she barely had time to greet Mark and say goodbye again as Steve grabbed her arm and started down the hall at close to a dead run. "What's going on?" she gasped as he slowed to a stop to wait for the elevator.

Steve brought her up to speed quickly and tersely. "So we need to extricate Jesse from whatever mess he's gotten himself into. I have a bad feeling about this." He slid a look at his partner's unexpectedly grim expression. "What?"

"Benson's third Easter Bunny bought it," Cheryl replied, unconsciously unaware of the unfortunate alliteration. "If Fairweather's is involved, Jesse's definitely in trouble." She punched up numbers on her cell phone once they were out of the elevator, calling for reinforcements, then followed her galloping partner to the car.

By the time they reached the address Jesse had left, it was getting late. Steve glared at the inoffensive office building, which, from the looks of the parking lot, was almost empty of workers. "There's his car," he remarked, and swung to park beside it, hoping his irritating friend would be there. The car was empty, however, and a cursory inspection showed no indication that Jesse had left them any type of message. He flung himself back into his own vehicle, his face thunderous. Wisely, Cheryl said nothing, waiting for him to speak first.

"We'll have to go in. Where the hell are – oh, there they are." His tone only slightly mollified by the opportune arrival of reinforcements, although his brow darkened somewhat at the sight of his father's car among them, Steve got out once more and began to detail his plan.

It was a good one, too, marred only by the total lack of Jesse's presence, as well as of any Fairweather's personnel, whatsoever. His irritation having maxed out into growing worry, Steve strode along the corridors, ending up eventually at the reception area to the Fairweather's executive suite of offices. One of the other officers looked up as he entered.

"Lieutenant? I think you'd better come over here."

There wasn't enough room for a body, but Steve's heart shoved its way into his mouth anyway as he hurried across the room, dreading what he might find. "What have you got?"

It was Jesse's cell phone, battery still holding its own, the voice mail button blinking valiantly. Steve picked it up in a gloved hand and hit the retrieve button.

"You have his code?" Cheryl inquired curiously.

Steve nodded. "We thought it might be a good idea in case of emergency. As it seems to have been." He pushed the button for the speaker, and they listened as a metallic voice emerged.

"Your friend is safe for now. But he won't be for long if you don't follow instructions."

Mark had materialized at his son's side. "Computer enhanced – like the one Benson's received, I imagine."

Steve nodded again, then froze as the voice continued. "I assume this is Lt. Sloan listening. Dr. Travis has been kind enough to provide me with your cellular phone number, so expect the next call from me on that." The message ended, and he jumped as his own phone rang almost immediately, the caller ID showing the number was blocked. How the hell --? He shoved the thought away and answered. "This is Sloan. Let him go."

The same voice as before. "When you have complied with my demands and not before."

He forced himself to remain calm. "Which are?"

"The removal of all of Choc-o-Fine's execrable excuses for chocolate from Benson's, by ten o'clock tonight."

Steve really couldn't contradict that particular point; his own sample of the stuff had led him to the same conclusion as Jesse as far as taste was concerned. "I can't allow Benson's to replace it with your chocolate until we know it's safe, you know that."

The metallic voice snorted. "I wouldn't expect you to. But one thing at a time. You will find a digital camera in the receptionist's desk, along with two disks. This camera has a remote feed – and don't even bother trying to track it down, I pay very well for very sophisticated equipment – and I will expect you to film all of your actions as you comply with my requirements."

All right, all right already, Steve thought. Just get to the point and tell me Jesse's okay. "Look, Mr. – I don't even know your name –"

Now there was a simulated laugh, horribly mutated by the computer program. "Why don't you call me the Bunny Man?"

Sheesh. The guy was not only insane, but his sense of humor left a lot to be desired. "Fine. Bunny Man it is. Now, you do realize I need to have some assurance Dr. Travis is all right before I do this."

"Of course." There was a rustling, then a scuffling, then Jesse's voice, somewhat breathless. "Steve, I'm okay. I was right, it's –" His voice broke off abruptly with a gasp, and the Bunny Man was back.

"He'd better still be all right," Steve growled into the phone.

The Bunny Man still seemed amused. "He is; he's only resting. He was trying to be overly talkative, and I'm afraid we can't have that." The voice hardened. "Now. Get the camera, turn it on, aim it first at yourself, then pan the room. Quickly, or I may feel the need to feed the doctor some chocolate."

Crap. He wasn't getting much room to operate. Resignedly, Steve retrieved the camera and obeyed. "That better, Bunny Man?"

"Much, thank you. Now. As I said, you have until ten o'clock tonight to have all of the Choc-o-Fine abomination removed from Benson's. Obviously, I'll require proof, so you should probably keep the camera handy. I'll check in with you periodically to reassure you as to Dr. Travis' health, which as obviously will remain adequate only as long as I continue to see results." The connection ended abruptly, and Steve swore, first under his breath, then out loud, and yet again even more loudly, until the total and utter silence in the room following his outburst caught his attention, and he flushed.

"Sorry." He turned to the officer in charge of the additional troops. "Sergeant, I'd like you to have your people continue to canvass this area, just in case there is anything, anything at all, which might give us some idea where they are."

A hand on his arm; it was Cheryl. "I take it we're headed to Benson's?"

Steve nodded, and included his father in his glance. "Dad, I have a feeling we may need your help – I'm not feeling very diplomatic at the moment, and we've got to convince Benson's to take that stuff down ASAP."

Mark gave his son's shoulder a squeeze, for confidence as much as from affection. "No problem, son. If they give me any trouble, I'll sic the Board of Health on them!"

It almost came to that, but the combination of Steve's set face, not to mention the left hand which kept twitching, uncomfortably near to his gun, and Mark's very real threats in the light of his obvious credentials, eventually did the trick. Bolstered by the small trickle of hope proffered by the Bunny Man's check-in calls, Steve did his best to ignore the taunting tone of the murderer's electronic voice, and continued doggedly to film the removal of every last bit of candy, not just the chocolate bunnies, supplied by Choc-o-Fine to Benson's, counting away the hours and minutes to the deadline. They finished with literally seconds to spare; now all that was left was to wait.