AN: Thank you to my readers for reading and for your feedback. Wishing everyone a "Happy Easter" (I know it's early - in case I don't get a chance to post another update until after this seasonal event). Merci Beau Coup to my beta for her dedication in proof reading this story.

To "Hamtor"... letting you know, you're in my thoughts.

ACT III: Part 2

4th Street, San Francisco, 1973

Gripping the steering wheel in both hands as he drove along 4th Street, Steve Keller had an uneasy feeling that someone was tailing him. Few cars occupied the desolate street, yet Steve saw one particular car had been travelling with them since the first time he checked his mirrors. He kept a quiet vigil and swallowed hard as he realized he had no way of contacting Mike. He didn't have a radio installed in his Porsche and he was fearful for Jeannie's safety if he were to pull over at a pay phone. His cop instincts clashed with his protective nature. He knew it wasn't too late to change directions and head toward SFPD headquarters but to do so would alert whoever was following him that they had been caught. It would only be a matter of time before they would try again. Chancing a quick glance at his watch, the young Inspector noted they still had twenty minutes to kill until the rendezvous time with his partner. The intersection cutting through Townsend Street filled his vision.

"Steve?" a soft voice broke the unnerving silence.

"We're almost there," Keller answered without taking his eyes off the road.

Jeannie Stone knew that her father's partner was on edge and she could hazard a guess from the way the young cop shifted furtive glances to his rear view mirrors that he saw what she had seen for herself. A black car with its headlights down is following us. She turned to look at Steve and voiced a question she already knew the answer to, "that car's been following us for a while now. Do you think it's him? Larson, I mean."

Pretending he did not hear Jeannie speaking to him, Steve looked out the driver side window and kept a look-out for the run-down hotel that Mike had mentioned.

When she could bear the stillness no longer, Jeannie raised her voice in annoyance, "Steve, did you hear me? I said - "

Steve tightened his grip on the wheel and quietly stated, "I heard what you said. I noticed the car has been following us since we left my street. The driver probably saw us leaving the house."

"It's Larson, isn't it?" Jeannie continued in the same tone denoting the anxiety and frustration she felt.

"I don't know, Jean. He doesn't have his head lights on and from where I'm sitting I can't make out a face. Just relax,"

Biting back a retort, the young brunette turned away from Steve.

"I'm not going let anyone hurt you, you know that, right?" For the first time since they left the house, Steve turned to look at his passenger.

Drawn by the compassion in his Steve's voice, Jeannie slowly turned to face him but his eyes were once again on the road ahead of him as he turned at the lights. "I know that, Steve," she replied in voice that was barely audible.

When the hotel came into view, Steve took a turn into 3rd Street and pulled over against the curb. A figure emerged from within the hotel and walked toward the Porsche. A figure Steve recognized and he immediately thanked the Heavens in a silent prayer. Mike.

The drive had taken Larson down 4th Street before entering Townsend. He had been careful to keep his distance from the Porsche ahead of him but his gut told him Stevie boy was not as stupid as his looked.

As the Porsche decreased speed turning into 3rd Street and veered toward the curb, Larson maintained his speed and drove across the intersection. Keeping the car in his sight, he casually continued driving down Townsend Street, then drove into a parking area behind the hotel. The sneer that had started to spread across his thin lips faded and his brown eyes grew darker as his gaze found two cars already parked in the secluded area. The black and white sedan sat concealed in the shadows beside a tan LTD – an unmarked cop car. After a brief glance through the windows it appeared both vehicles were empty. Cursing under his breath, Larson pulled out of the parking lot and continued driving down Townsend Street, contemplating his next move. They can't watch you forever, sugar-lips. Larson's thoughts began to fill with lurid images of Jeannie Stone as he whistled a tune he picked up during one of his days spent in a bar. There was no doubt in his mind that he had every intention of eliminating the girl, but the more he thought about her, the more his lustful hunger yearned for satisfaction.

Hotel on Townsend and 3rd, San Francisco, 1973

Exiting the parked vehicle, Steve stepped on to the sidewalk and greeted his partner, "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes!"

"I decided to head over here first before I made my way over to your place. Did anybody follow you?"

"Yeah. A black sedan, looked like a big Ford, maybe a Mustang. The driver didn't have his lights on."

Before Mike answered, the sight of his daughter walking slowly toward them diverted his attention and he took her in his arms. Pulling away again, he smiled at her encouragingly then faced his partner once more. "Did you see where it went?"

"He drove straight ahead when I took the turn," Steve answered.

"Okay. Here's the deal. I've already checked both of you in. Here's the keys. You're in room 32, upstairs. Tanner and Lessing are inside now, checking the place out. It's late and you both had a long day. Lock the doors and get some rest. Have either of you had anything to eat?" Mike looked from Steve then to Jeannie.

"I'm not hungry," Jeannie said, shaking her head.

Mike cast a stern glance in his daughter's direction and she turned away from him. Sighing he faced his partner. "There's a Chinese take-out across the street. I'll get you something before they shut."

"Thanks, I'd appreciate that," Steve replied. Though he lost his appetite hours ago, he knew he needed to keep his strength in order to do his job properly.

Mike nodded then wrapped his arm around Jeannie's slender shoulders and the three walked through the entrance of the hotel.

Larson's cruising came to an end several miles away from where he left his chase. Out of fuel, the young man abandoned the vehicle and began walking down the street back toward the hotel on the corner of Townsend and 3rd. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he had not eaten that day. Scanning his surroundings he saw the red neon lights of a pizzeria at a street corner and headed towards it.

Hotel on Townsend and 3rd, San Francisco, 1973

The one bedroomed hotel room could be described as rudimentary in Jeannie's eyes but with Steve as company, it may as well be a fortress. She felt safe in his presence. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she watched him carefully checking the windows and making sure they were securely locked. A knock on the door made her jump to her feet. Steve held out his hand, motioning for her to stand back.

"It's me," the voice of Mike Stone drew sighs of relief from both occupants of the room.

Steve slid the chain across and unlocked the door. Opening it, he was met by a warm smile.

"Brought you two kids something to eat," Mike announced and held up a brown paper bag in one hand, while he juggled two cans of soda in the other, as he entered the threshold.

"Smells good," Steve replied as he breathed in the aromatic smells of oriental spices. He closed the door behind Mike and followed him to the round table in the corner of the room, by the window.

"Chicken chow-mein. Now, sweet-heart, I know you're not hungry but you really should eat something. Just a little, okay?" Mike reasoned as he placed the bag and the drinks on the table.

Jeannie folded her arms and nodded unenthusiastically as she approached the table and took a seat.

"I have to get going. I'll come by first thing in the morning," Mike declared then kissed his daughter on the cheek.

"Be careful," Jeannie whispered with a weak smile.

"Now who's the worry-wart!" Mike grinned then straightened up and walked toward the door with Steve right behind him.

When the two men reached the door, the mood turned serious as they faced each other and conversed in low tones, out of earshot of the young woman behind them.

"Any word on the car?" Steve was first to speak.

"No. Tanner and Lessing sent two patrol units out but no sign of it."

Steve reached up and tried to rub the stiffness out of his neck.

"Lock the doors, will you, Buddy boy. I'll swing by in the morning."

Steve nodded, said good night and felt Mike rest a hand on his shoulder before departing the hotel room. Sliding the lock back into place, Steve turned and headed over to the table to join Jeannie for a late meal. He pulled out the chair opposite her and sat down. Jeannie had already taken the contents out of the paper bag and placed a carton in front of him. She sat with her arms resting on the table and her eyes down cast.

"I hear chow-mein is not very tasty when it's cold," Steve said as he eyed the young woman before him.

Sighing, Jeannie's hand made a move for her carton.

Steve tentatively reached across the table and placed his warm hand over hers which were as cold as ice. She looked up and gazed into his eyes. An unspoken message travelled between them as they smiled before breaking the connection. Steve withdrew his hand and turned his attention to his chow-mein while Jeannie did like-wise with hers. The duo ate in silence, each finding warmth and reassurance in each other's company.