AN: This one's a post Mother's Day treat! For those who like a bit of romance, suspense and a cliffie...special thanks to all my readers who have been following this story and apologies for the delays between updates.

Merci Beaucoup to my wonderful beta who took time out of her hectic RL schedule to proof read this monster of a chapter.

To "meixel" and "hamtor": Hope you enjoy this ladies! I know it's been a long wait...

ACT IV Part 1

Townsend Street, San Francisco, 1973

Brushing his dirty blond hair out of his eyes, Cain Larson walked down Townsend Street, peering through the boarded up windows of the derelict buildings. With the hunger pangs in his belly satisfied, he had paid for a cab using the money he stole from his last victim. Leering, he found himself standing at the corner of Townsend and 3rd Street. The run-down hotel sat insignificantly across from where he stood. The Porsche was still parked at the curb just as he expected it to be. Soon, Sugar-lips, soon. First, you can watch me gut Pretty-boy. Then you and me are gonna have a little fun before Daddy finds your body.

Hitching his thumbs into his jeans pockets, Larson wheeled around and looked up at the abandoned building. A sign hung at the door stating it was condemned. Perfect. He walked up to the decaying wooden door and gripped the rounded brass knob. Giving it a quick sharp twist the lock gave and he could hear something drop and roll on the floor on the other side. Using his shoulder he pushed against the wood and after a second shove he was inside the building. It was dark and there were no lights. Digging inside his jeans pocket he found his lighter. Closing the door behind him, Larson walked through the lobby of what looked like an old hotel. Knowing the small flickering flame was the only source of light he had, he decided to find a place to rest for the night. Somewhere, where he could watch the hotel across the street. The dim light cast its glow over a staircase. Climbing the stairs, he reached the second floor. Making a wild guess, he picked out a room and kicked in the door. He entered the musty room and headed toward the window. Tripping over a loose fold in the carpet, he felt the flame lick the tip of his finger and he dropped the lighter. Cursing, Larson bent down and recovered the item. When the flame flickered to life once more, he held it up in front of him and continued to the window. He peered through the glass which was cracked in various places. The street lights revealed the building he sought. The windows were dark telling him it was late and the occupants must be asleep. Turning away from the window, Larson's gaze travelled from one side of the room to the other. It was empty. Devoid of a bed and any other furnishings. Sighing, he realized it would be another night on the floor. At least the carpet might help. He flipped the lighter, extinguishing the flame and shoved it back into his jeans pocket. The faint glow of the street lamps outside provided enough light for him to find a corner of the room to settle down for the night. Shrugging out of his jacket, Larson reached into one of the pockets and took out his switchblade then used the jacket as a pillow as he lay himself down. He placed the weapon beside him nearest to the wall and closed his eyes.


Hotel on Townsend and 3rd, San Francisco, 1973

For Jeannie Stone, sleep did not come easy. She lay wide awake for what seemed to her like hours but in reality time moved much slower. She could hear the clock ticking on the bedside table. Amidst the silence the sound was prominent in her ears. She rolled on to her side, turning herself away from the clock. When will it be morning?

The young Inspector sat on the small sofa in the corner of the room, his head leaning to one side. He knew he would wake up with a stiff neck but he couldn't afford to get too comfortable and allow his guard to drop into deep slumber. In his mind he recounted over and over again if he had locked the door and the windows. His ears familiarized themselves with the sounds of the clock ticking and the changes in Jeannie's breathing pattern. He noted the rhythm grew steady as she finally fell asleep. He strained to listen for any noise outside of those he was well acquainted with. Just as he felt himself crossing the boundary of consciousness, a sharp gasp brought him back to wakefulness in a heart-beat. He sat up with a jolt and reached for the switch of the free standing lamp beside him. The room was bathed in its warm glow. Worry was etched on his features as his eyes found its mark. Jeannie was sitting up in bed with her head buried in her hands. He could hear her breathing hard. Jumping out of his seat, Steve hurried over to the bedside.

"Hey, it's just a bad dream," Steve said softly as he sat on the edge of the bed and reached over to squeeze her arm.

"Oh Steve! Hold me, please, just hold me." Jeannie took her hands away from her tear-streaked face and threw her arms around Steve's shoulders, taking the young man by surprise.
"Shhh, easy, Jeannie. You were having a bad dream. I've got you. I've got you," Steve whispered words of comfort as he enveloped her in his embrace. He held her until he felt her relax.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to fall apart like that. It won't happen again," Jeannie moved back and wiped her face hurriedly, in an effort to hide emotions she did not want Steve to see.

"Are you okay?" Steve reached over and ran his fingers through the tangles of Jeannie's soft brown hair which covered part of her face.

Jeannie nodded and gave Steve a small smile.

"Would you like me to leave the light on?"

"Okay."

"You got it. Try to get some sleep. It's still a few hours until dawn," Steve responded then rose from the edge of the bed when a tugging sensation stopped him. He looked down and saw Jeannie had his arm in both her hands.

"Can you stay here with me until I fall asleep? Please?" Jeannie pleaded softly, her eyes locked on Steve's.

For the briefest of moments Steve stood frozen to the spot unable to move or speak. He swallowed nervously then drew a deep breath before letting it out again. What was it about Jeannie that made him feel so nervous? She's Mike's daughter, for crying out loud! Stop acting like she's a stranger! Steve berated himself before nodding in response to Jeannie's request. He felt her release his arm and scoot over to the far side of the bed. The young SFPD Inspector sat himself down beside the girl and swung his legs on to the mattress. He leaned back against the wall and before he could do anything else, Jeannie snuggled up against his side and put her arm across his waist. Not knowing what else to do, he let one of his arms encircle her shoulders while the other rested over her arm which was draped across his midsection. Safe in his strong arms, Jeannie fell into a dreamless sleep, feeling protected and at peace.


Morning arrived with the ringing of the telephone on the table. Steve picked up the phone after the first ring not wanting to wake Jeannie from her peaceful sleep.

"Good morning sleepy-head," Mike's tired voice filled Steve's ears.

"Hey Mike," Steve yawned into the receiver and rubbed his stiff neck.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah. Just had a terrible sleep that's all."

"Me too. I stayed at the office all night and fell asleep at my desk. Is Jeannie still asleep?"

"Yeah. She had a nightmare last night but she's sleeping soundly now." Steve shifted his gaze from the window to the bed and smiled at Jeannie's form curled up under the blankets.

"Good. I need to talk to you," Mike's tone grew dark.

"What is it?"

"There was another murder last night with the same M.O. as Arnold Hamilton's murder. You said you were followed by a dark sedan, possibly a Mustang? Well the victim did have a black two-door 71 Mustang Mach 1."

"Did?"

"Yeah, it was stolen. The owner was a kid named Jamie Fletcher. He was leaving his girlfriend's place last night when he was murdered on the driveway. He was also robbed of his first pay check at his new job. Kid was stabbed with a switchblade, only this time his throat wasn't cut. His body was found by his girlfriend, Miss Angela Winters who was in the shower at the time of the murder. She saw his body lying on the drive way some twenty minutes later when she was checking the windows," Mike continued, grimly.

Steve's first reaction was the urge to ask why Mike didn't drop in like he said he would or at least call him last night but he quickly realized it was because of Jeannie and what she would be hearing. He turned away from the bed and whispered into the mouth piece, "do you know if it was Larson?"

"The lab boys are lifting prints on the wallet but you can bet my money is on Larson alright," Mike replied with a heavy sigh.

Steve let out a harsh curse under his breath, which was caught by Mike on the other line.

"If you have to put it that way, I hope Jeannie is asleep, Buddy Boy!" Mike reprimanded.

"Sorry. Look I better let you go; I think she's waking up. When do you think you'll be coming around? I could use a shower and some coffee."

"I'll be over in an hour or so. I'm just waiting for the lab boys to give me a call. I'll pick up Jeannie's travel bag and some of your things from your place on my way over. I'll get you some coffee too."

"Thanks," Steve ended the call and turned to the stirring young woman on the bed. "Morning," he said with a small smile forming on his lips as he walked over to the foot of the bed. "I hope I didn't wake you."

Jeannie shook her head and stifled a yawn with the back of her hand. "Was that Mike?" she asked, her voice croaky from sleep.

"Yeah. He's coming around soon to drop off our things and bring some coffee. Did you sleep okay? Any more bad dreams?"

"I slept much better with you by my side. No more bad dreams," Jeannie replied in a small voice as she pushed her dishevelled hair behind her ears with her fingers.

"Glad to hear you didn't have any more bad dreams. I'd offer you breakfast but there's nothing edible in the fridge," Steve gave a small laugh.

"I guess I'll wait for coffee," Jeannie smiled then pushed the blankets off and climbed out of bed.

Steve returned the smile with a grin before turning away and heading for the window. He'd never tell Jeannie but spending the night by her side and watching her sleep left a mark inside him. He couldn't quite place what it was or why but the thought of holding her close to him and keeping her safe from harm felt almost alien to him yet at the same time it was also deeply comforting. He forced the thought out of his mind and gazed out into the street which was bathed by the morning glow of sunlight.


Running his fore-finger over the photo of a young college girl, Larson licked his lips then smirked to himself. Soon, sugar-lips. You and me are gonna dance. Scrambling to his feet, the man shoved the identification card into the back pocket of his filthy jeans. He walked over to the window and stood to one side. He cast careful a glance and saw movement behind the curtains of the window facing him in the hotel across the street. Lover boy's awake. His features taking on a dark look, Larson moved away from the window and leaned against the wall, his mind busily conjuring up unlawful ideas. He closed his eyes and let his imagination take him to places where Jeannie Stone's life would end by his hand.


Jeannie slapped the palm of her hand against the side of the television set in a last ditch to bring it to life. Nothing. Letting a heavy sigh of frustration, she straightened up and crossed her arms across her chest. A chuckle caused her to twist her body around. There stood Steve behind her, shaking his head in amusement.

"No coffee. No TV," Jeannie unfolded her arms and began to pace. "It's been over an hour since Mike called. Why isn't he here yet?"

"He's probably just running late. The guys at the lab aren't ones for punctuality. Relax." Steve replied in a calm voice as he walked over to Jeannie and placed his hands on either side of her shoulders to stop her pacing ritual. He waited until she looked up into his eyes and nodded. A small smile touched her lips. How does he do that? Jeannie silently wondered how it was that Steve was able to reassure her just by looking into her eyes. The silent connection was once again comforting.

"Hey, I wonder if that thing works?" Steve suddenly pondered aloud. Out of the corner of his eye he saw an old radio on the table. He let go of Jeannie then made a beeline for the table. He could feel her curious stare on his back and he smiled to himself. After switching it on and fiddling around with the dial, the radio blared to life. The distinct and up-beat tune of Alice Cooper's School's Out, hit their ears. With a mischievous grin, Steve spun around and began strumming an air guitar. Jeannie's eyes widened then she started to laugh and clapped her hands to the beat. Before they realized what they were doing, the duo began to move with the beat and Jeannie sang along with the chorus. The young Inspector took Jeannie in his arms and spun her around toward the centre of the room. Laughing and dancing, they were oblivious to the footsteps, out in the hall way, approaching their hotel room. Tripping over Steve's foot, Jeannie fell forward against his chest. Out of reflex, Steve wrapped his arms around her and held her close to him. Jeannie lifted her head slowly off his soft, check shirt and looked up into his smiling face. Her deep blue eyes sparkled and they were all Steve could see as he felt himself drown in their depths. He lowered his head until their faces were barely an inch apart from each other's. Even though, Jeannie was no longer leaning her head against him, she could still hear Steve's heart beating, a strong and fast rhythm as her lips touched his - ever so lightly like a brush of a feather.


Mike Stone could hear the sound of music issuing from the hotel room that his daughter was staying in with his partner, from half way down the hall. His frown deepened when he reached the door and knocked several times, yet no one answered. He tried to open the door but it was locked, as he expected it to be. "Steve? Steve, it's Mike! Open up, Buddy Boy!" Why isn't Steve answering the door? Worry etched his lined features and he dropped the travel bag beside him. Swallowing hard, Mike pulled out his .38 from its leather holster and took a step back.


A part of him knew he shouldn't be acting what his heart was telling him to, but another part of Steve refused to co-operate. As the music reached its climax and the tune faded away, a loud crash caused both Steve and Jeannie to break apart in alarm. Their heads whipped to the side toward the source of the cacophony. They stood, flabbergasted, as if caught in the act of a shameful deed. Steve pulled his arms away from around Jeannie and stepped back, echoing her thoughts.

Mike.