A/N: Sorry this took so long! I'm so grateful for all your reviews! They're beyond awesome. And yes, Swarovski and I have been trading off between hiding bodies in Central Park. Now its my turn. (Go read her stuff if you haven't!)

This is... I dunno, it's another chapter. Read it.

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"New roommate?" Don stared at the screen in his hands, his eyes drawn to the stark white display. The blinding glow blurred the tiny black letters until he saw nothing but a dark smudge on the screen. Short of going cross-eyed, Don tore his eyes away and looked up at the black shape hunched over in front of him as his eyes adjusted to the darkness again.

Mac was sitting in a well-worn leather arm chair- the only piece of furniture that actually looked lived in in the entire apartment. He sat forward, leaning on his knees, absently running his fingers over the bandage on his right hand while he stared at seemingly nothing. It was the first outward sign that Mac was actually affected by the texts. It made sense; every one before that had been solely about Mac. Now that the killer had dragged someone else into it, he'd crossed a line.

Don could assume this because it wasn't the only text Mac had received that night. In fact it was the fourth sent within the last hour. The others had been just as vague and taunting as the previous messages. They read things like; 'Rough case?', 'What, trouble sleeping?' and 'I told you to rest while you could…'. This guy was one cocky, obnoxious bastard for sure. If Don ever got his hands on him, he'd make him pay for screwing with his friend's head and stealing much needed, priceless hours of sleep from the both of them.

Don had been woken up rather unpleasantly sometime around 3am. Of course, he didn't think it was possible to wake up happy before 9, but aside from the obscene hour, opening his eyes to a nearly pitch black room to see someone creeping in through the door definitely qualified as "unpleasant". Luckily, Mac had enough sense to identify himself before Don could finish reaching for his gun. He had tried to tell Don to go back to sleep, that he hadn't meant to wake him. As exhausted as he was, and knowing how little Mac usually slept anyways, Don almost did as he was told- and he would have, if he hadn't caught sight of the Glock Mac was carrying.

The alarms bells going off in his head wouldn't shut up until he'd crawled from under the warm covers and followed Mac back out into the hallway. Don had flipped on the light which, with astonishing speed, Mac immediately shut off again. Knowing he couldn't shrug Don off with a weak excuse after that, Mac had reluctantly invited him into the living room where they now sat, still in the dark except for the light of Mac's phone and what little filtered through the blinds over the windows. It was still raining outside. The drops pelted the glass as the wind rattled the screens, adding to the eerie feeling filling Don's chest.

"He's watching us…" Don said softly, unnecessarily. The significance suddenly hit him like a full speed train. He wished he had grabbed his gun before leaving his room. This guy knew where they were. He was watching them. They had all assumed that the killer had seen Mac before at the crime scenes, but not that he was actively observing him at his home. Don silently cursed himself. He was stupid not to have thought of it. "How do you want to handle this?" He asked.

"The lab still has a trace on my phone. They're working it, but chances are he's ditched the phone already. Someone sent a unit anyways. They're searching the area." Mac finally met Don's eyes, his expression unreadable, and not just because of the darkness. He chewed on his lip and let out a short sigh. "This guy is all about observing us." He said. "He's been hands off through this whole thing. He changed his MO just to distance himself from the victim. He hasn't called, he's sent texts. Nothing is a direct threat or clear message. He seems to be getting more brazen, but he's still overly cautious for now. He won't risk revealing himself." He paused to lick his lips and glance at the floor before continuing. "I don't think he poses a direct threat to our safety yet."

Don didn't think he sounded entirely convinced, but how could he? The killer didn't actually fit a typical profile-which was usually more useful than not, but when it came to predicting whether or not Mac's life was in danger, Don didn't want to take any chances. Mac was trying to assume behavior from an incomplete picture of someone who could technically fit into 3 different categories of serial killer.

"Then what is he doing?" Don asked, throwing up his hands as he leaned back into the couch.

Mac shook his head. "He's taunting me, but not offering any real hints as to who he is, to glorify himself, which would suggest he's holding back. Like I said, he's cautious, but he doesn't want me to think he is. I would guess that right now, he doesn't even know what he wants."

Don rubbed his neck, wincing as he found a tender knot that only appeared when he was stressed or lacking sufficient sleep- right now it was both. "That makes him unpredictable, Mac, and therefore dangerous by definition. He is escalating. What happens when he stops holding back altogether?" He countered softly. From Mac's expression, he knew it too.

"Regardless, he's still playing this game for a reason, and as of right now, it's the biggest lead we have. I have to keep going along with it."

"And that involves carrying a gun around your apartment?" Don asked nodded toward the Glock poking out of the waistband of Mac's sweats.

Mac's head dipped for a moment, hiding his reaction. "He's challenging me, Don. Cautious or not, he's daring me to keep investigating this. If it wasn't me, it would be Stella, or you, or whoever else ended up in charge. He wants to show he's in control, challenge my authority… I can't let him win."

Don hesitated as he studied his friend. "Mac, you gotta stop calling this thing a game. It's your life."

"Not just mine!" Mac snapped, and Don nearly jumped despite the fact that Mac's voice remained almost a whisper. "Young women are dying, Flack. There's a kid out there without a mother. It's them I'm worried about."

"So, what then? You're bait? You just said it- if you keep investigating this, taking him up on that "dare", there will be consequences. He will retaliate eventually." Don shrugged hopelessly. "You think I'm okay with letting you do that? You think Stella is okay with that?"

Mac stared back at him, his face a mask again. "It's not up to you." He said flatly. "He picked me. He singled me out. This is our best chance." Mac dropped his gaze, continuing to absently pick at the gauze around his hand. "I will do this without you, Flack. Please don't make me."

Don heaved a heavy sigh and ran a hand over his eyes. "Of course I won't. It's just…" He shook his head and dropped his hand. "You're still freaking me out here, putting yourself out there. I didn't push you for a better answer yesterday about what's going on with you, and maybe I let you off too easy. I've been trying to let you handle this on your own out of respect, and I'm thinking I made a mistake."

To Don's surprise, Mac smiled. "I'm not looking to die here, Flack." He pulled the Glock out to emphasize his point. "This isn't some stunt." Mac frowned and locked eyes with his friend again. "All I want to do is solve this case."

And maybe that's your problem. Flack didn't say it out loud. He wished he had. He could have at least brought up the possibility that the killer would now target Don or Stella, just to get at Mac. He didn't, solely because he was afraid it would cause Mac to isolate himself even more. For now, he was still asking for help and open to discuss the situation. If Mac thought distancing himself from the team would keep them safe, he would do it. Then Mac would really be in trouble.

The search turned up empty, but the unit stayed parked out front. Flack would have felt better if they had switched locations, but Mac insisted they stay- perhaps out of pride, or defiance to the killer. It was 4am when Flack crawled back into bed and 5am when he finally managed to fall back asleep.

It was 6:52am when they got the call.

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The sky was still obscured by thick black clouds, though the rain had stopped for the time being. The occasional stiff breeze still rolled through the trees, rustling the newly fallen red and yellow leaves on the ground and creating small, white-capped waves on the lake nearby.

Don popped the collar of his not-yet-completely-dry coat and carefully climbed down the steps of an old wooden gazebo situated between an asphalt pathway on one side and a man-made lake on the other. Mac observed from the walkway, setting down his kit before moving closer. Sprawled across the steps was a woman with short brown hair, a bullet hole in her forehead and a second one in her clearly pregnant abdomen. Unlike the previous two scenes, there was an excess of blood, and probably brain matter, coating the wood surface the vic was lying on. It mixed with the puddles of rain water and dripped off the steps into the mud.

With a sigh a shake of his head, Mac started to snap photographs of the scene while Don questioned the witnesses and officers.

By the time Mac had finished, Don was walking up beside him. "Alright, here's what I got. Central Park police responded to the sound of two gun shots and found our vic lying here. They claim it took them no more than two minutes to find the body, but nobody was around when they got here. They say they didn't touch the vic and immediately closed off the scene. That was about thirty minutes ago. We got uniforms swarming the place, a K-9 unit on the way and we've set up a perimeter around the park."

Mac crouched next to the body as he fought to pull a glove on over his left hand with his very near uncooperative right. He didn't bother trying to wrestle another one onto the bandaged hand. It wouldn't be of much use anyways. The cold morning had left the lacerated limb, as well as his bruised body, stiff and aching.

Mac reached first for the vic's wrist where he spotted a chain bracelet. Attached to it was a small metal plaque, like a military dog tag, engraved with a name, address, and even blood type. He held it up for Flack to see. "At least we won't have to search missing persons for this one."

Don craned his head to get a look at it. "I've seen those before, mostly on cyclists. They don't want to carry a wallet when they go riding, but want to be identified in case of an accident."

Mac looked over the vic- Danielle Vance according to the bracelet- and noted her athletic attire. "She's built like a cyclist. She probably switched to walking for exercise during the pregnancy." Mac never understood why women would still walk alone in Central Park. Granted it wasn't the middle of the night, but early morning, when the sun still hadn't fully risen, could be just as dangerous. He turned the wrist over. "There's bruising here. She didn't go down easy. There could be trace under her nails, and maybe in the bracelet." He quickly bagged it. "There's no ring, but I do have a tan line where one was."

"Finger's got too fat, probably." Don suggested. Mac looked up at him and smirked. "What?"

"Nothing," he shrugged, "I just wonder if you talk to your girlfriends like that."

"Not to their face." Don said seriously, but then he grinned.

Mac shook his head as he smiled. Nothing else sticking out to him, he forced himself to his feet, grimacing as his body ached in protest.

"How you feelin'?" Don asked him.

"Sore, but I'm good." Mac admitted. His eyes scanned the ground. "Stippling pattern and powder burns suggests it was a close shot. No drag marks, so he didn't move the body. That would put our shooter right…here." Mac looked down and saw a clear set of footprints in the mud, leading away from the body and back toward the sidewalk. On shining his flashlight over the area he also spotted something gold glinting in the muck. He crouched down and gently nudged it, revealing a bullet casing. A little further inspection found the second one nearby.

"Hawkes." Don suddenly called. "Careful where you step, man."

Mac turned his head to see Sheldon approaching, now very slowly as he closely examined each patch of dirt before he took another step.

"Where do you want me, Mac?" Hawkes asked.

"Work on casting these footprints. Make sure you document the process- before and after. You know the drill. Be quick about it." He added, with a look up at the swirling clouds above them.

"You got it." Sheldon nodded eagerly.

Mac normally would have kept half an eye on him, but the fact was, Hawkes had adjusted to his role of CSI very well and didn't really need much supervision from anyone. Besides, Mac needed all his attention on preparing the body for transport before it started raining again, and with one hand stubbornly resisting simple commands from his brain, it took much more effort than usual. Mac could see Don out of the corner of his eye as the younger detective stood back, watching Mac, occasionally taking a half step forward and then back again as he debated whether or not to help him.

Since their discussion in the early morning hours, Don had been a little bit awkward around Mac, almost cautious. Mac figured it had to do with his determination to stay on the case, which apparently caused Flack to think that Mac had no regard for his own life. He had been the same way after running into Mac at a bar a couple weeks before.

Mac would find it amusing if it weren't also slightly insulting.

The coroner arrived just as the first light drops started falling. One landed on Mac's cheek as he looked up, "Flack, give me a hand." Don nearly leapt forward and slipped on the gloves Mac held out to him before he helped the two coroner's assistants load the body into a bag on the stretcher.

"How's it coming, Hawkes?"

"All set!" The former ME called as he pried the casts from the ground and carefully stored them in waterproof containers.

The rain was falling harder now, the larger drops becoming swept up in the wind as they angled harshly toward the ground. The two CSIs rushed to make sure they had everything documented and photographed before it washed away in the coming deluge. Soaking wet, but satisfied they'd done all they could, Mac, Sheldon and Don tried to find sufficient cover in their jackets as they retreated back to the cars. They had to slip through several police barriers on their way. Officers were still searching the area as they walked by. K-9s were attempting to shake the water from of their fur as their handlers corralled them back into their vehicles.

The killer had gotten away again. Mac would have heard it by now if they had found anyone. The damn weather was turning out to be this guy's best ally. With his hands in his pockets, Mac found himself lightly touching his cell phone. A chill ran up his spine that he didn't think had anything to do with the cold. He eyes warily scanned the trees on either side of the path before he quickly shook his head and looked forward again. He kept saying he didn't think the killer was a threat to him, and yet subconsciously, he was acting like he did.

Mac glanced at the men walking on either side of him and realized Don was vigilantly scanning the area as well, despite the heavy police presence around them. Mac wasn't sure what exactly Don thought of being mentioned in a text. In their discussion hours before, he hadn't brought it up except to say they were being watched. Mac had assumed as much. He hadn't quite expected the killer to follow him to his home, of course. That and mentioning someone other than himself had served to convince Mac that this killer was much more engaged in this little game than he had previously thought. Initially he figured it was the killer boasting just to piss him off-A 'catch me if you can' sort of mentality.

Now? Mac didn't know what to think. He couldn't be sure if this guy was the type to just want to scare Mac off the case or if he really intended to cause him harm. He would guess the former. A coward who shot defenseless women and their unborn children wouldn't have the guts to face Mac…but the closer Mac got to figuring out his identity, the more desperate the killer would get. Desperate people did drastic things.

Mac climbed into Flack's car, closing out the rain, but water still dripped down into his face from his hair. Don climbed in beside him and gave a shudder, shaking off the water droplets clinging to his dark locks. "What do you think?" He asked after a few seconds of silence.

Mac shook his head and ran his fingers through the wet and consequently extremely curly tresses of his hair. "He's getting careless. Hopefully he slipped up and we'll find something at the lab." In front of them, Sheldon slid his case into the bed of the Avalanche and slammed the tail shut before running around to the driver's side door and diving inside.

"You should have him check your hand again."

"It's fine." Mac said automatically. At Don's resulting look of disbelief, he sighed and nodded. "Yeah, alright."

As soon as they pulled out onto the street, Mac called ahead to the lab and sent Stella and Lindsay to the latest vic's house. There were obvious reasons for the sake of the investigation, but in a selfish way, Mac also didn't want to talk to Stella about the night before for as long as possible. She knew when he hadn't slept, and that would cause her concern on a normal day. Today? ... He just didn't want to deal with it- and he didn't want her to deal with it.

If she thought Don was now in danger as well she probably wouldn't let the either of them out of the lab. Then he'd be stuck with Don, who thought he was suicidal, and Stella, who thought he was helpless, and all the while, their killer would be slipping away. It wasn't that Mac didn't appreciate the concern of his friends. He would have felt the same way if they were in his position, which was exactly why he was doing what he was. He didn't want them to be in his position, which would be what happened if they pulled him off.

Mac rubbed his eyes, now burning with lack of sleep. He could partially blame his attitude on his exhaustion, but not much more than that. Mac settled back in his seat as his eyes automatically slid shut. Almost immediately, they snapped open again. If Mac didn't know better, he would say that there was some sort of alarm system rigging him to his phone and setting it to go off any time he got close to falling asleep. He wearily pulled the phone from his pocket and was allowed a brief moment of relief as he realized it wasn't a text.

"Taylor."

"Be careful out there today."

A cold hand suddenly closed its grip around Mac's chest. The voice was low and distorted. "Who is this?" He asked in a tone that caused Don to look over in concern.

"You look tired… Why don't you call me the sandman?"

"What do you want?" Mac demanded.

There was silence for a few seconds. "Like I said, be careful."

The line went dead.

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A/N: Yeah...so there it is. Review please! I appreciate any feedback I can get and I love to talk to you guys. Thanks for reading!