With great reluctance, Logan set the shoe box on the table in front of Eames, casting a nervous glance toward the back door. Through the window, he saw Goren, leaning against the deck railing with a cigarette as he looked out over the small yard. Eames pulled the box in front of her, hands braced on either side of it. "Go talk to him, Mike. Tell him about the journal, what it says. He needs to know that."

Logan motioned his head in the direction of the shoe box. "And that?"

She looked at the shoe box and took a deep breath. "I...I need to be the one to let him know what's in this box."

He looked relieved. "Okay, I'll tell him about the journal."

She watched Logan open the back door and step out onto the deck, approaching Goren, who looked at him. Taking a deep, bracing breath, she removed the lid from the shoebox.


Logan looked out across the small yard. "Those are some big rose bushes over there. Bet they're really nice in the spring."

"He takes good care of the yard, of his house." He glanced behind him. "How is Eames?"

"Shaken. She's looking at more pictures. Bobby, we found a journal in the bedroom. It was started in 1996, when he realized he was in love with Alex Eames. She was married to Joe then, so he worshiped her from afar. After Joe died, he didn't exactly know how to approach her, so he continued to...obsess about her in secret. That pattern continued over time until recently. He watched your partnership with her evolve into a friendship, and his imagination took off." He accepted a cigarette from his friend and lit it. "In his last entry, he lays out his ultimate goal."

"He wants her."

"Yes. And he has convinced himself that the only way he can have her is by eliminating the competition, permanently."

"The competition...me."

"Yes."

Goren looked toward the house. "He...never intended to harm her."

"No. The first three devices were intended to mess with your head, never to cause her harm."

Goren ground out his cigarette on the deck railing and tossed the butt into the garbage can beside the grill. "And now?"

"And now...there'll be one more device."

Goren pinched the bridge of his nose. "He wouldn't happen to provide the details of time and place, would he?"

"That would be too easy," Logan answered. "But count on it being soon."

When Goren stepped away from the railing, Logan shot a nervous glance toward the house, his mind scrambling for something to keep Goren out on the deck for awhile longer while Eames looked through the shoebox. "Uh, what do you think that is over there?"

Goren looked at him, puzzled. "What?"

He pointed into the yard at a fenced-off area devoid of grass. Goren frowned, caught offguard by Logan's question. "Um...that's probably a vegetable garden. Why?"

"Just wondering. My grandparents had a big garden in their yard, when I was a kid. There's some good memories there."

Goren studied the yard, his head cocked to the side. "Funny thing, memory. A scent...a spring breeze...a flower...so many simple, everyday things can trigger memories, good and bad."

"Has that happened to you recently?"

Goren nodded slowly. "All the time."

Logan braced his arms on the railing. "Good memories?"

"No. I, uh, I don't have too many of those."

"Maybe it's time for you to make 'em." He remembered one of the pictures they'd just looked at. "Who was the woman with you in that one picture?"

"What woman?"

"In the park. You were holding her hand."

Goren shifted uncomfortably. "Her name is Tracy Keegan. I, uh, I dated her for a couple of months in 2002."

"Seeing anybody now?"

Goren frowned. "What's with the questions?"

"I was just wondering, that's all. Tracy's cute. I've been seeing a hot number named Christy. Talk about someone who can heat up a room."

A little more relaxed, Goren half-smiled. "I haven't been seeing anyone, not since my mother got sick."

"Your mother's been dead for six months, man. What are you waiting for?"

Goren frowned. "When I have something to offer a woman, then I'll think about dating again."

Logan couldn't think of anything else to say as Goren crossed the small deck and entered the house. He followed him. Eames was placing the cover back on the shoe box as the men came through the door. Goren looked at the box, then at his partner's pale, upset face. "What's wrong?"

She placed her hands over the box and pulled it toward her, her knuckles turning white as he approached. He touched the box, but she did not release her grip on it. She held his eyes and he frowned. "Eames..."

She shook her head. "You...don't need to see these right now." She handed the box to Logan. "Secure them."

Logan nodded, avoiding Goren's glare. It was going to be a long ride back to the squad room for the partners and he was glad he'd come in another car.


Goren didn't say a word as they drove from the Bronx back to 1 PP. Eames greeted his silence with mixed feelings. She knew he was furious about being excluded from seeing the contents of the shoe box, an important piece of evidence, but she was glad he did not ask about it. She also knew he was hurt by the exclusion, and she was reluctant to address that with him. She wanted to apologize, but there was nothing for her to apologize for. Unlike her partner, she did not generate random apologies to ease the tension between them.

The images burned into her mind of the photos she'd just seen were deeply disturbing. He'd been in her apartment while she was sleeping. Even more disturbing were the other pictures, the ones she did not want Goren to see--pictures of her with Joe and with the men she'd been with once she began dating again. MacIlvey had a collection of intimate photographs of her with twelve years of lovers, a pathetically small collection, but a disturbing one. If her partner knew, he would go nuts, and she did not want to contribute to the rumors of his instability.

It would be less troubling if the pictures had been taken in one of her residences, or even two. But there were pictures of every relationship she had been in since Joe. And scattered among the intrusive photos were more pictures of her with Goren, ones that chronicled a growing friendship. One showed her sitting on the living room floor with crime scene pictures scattered about her, watching him during a rare moment when his busy mind quieted enough to let his fatigued body catch a few moments of sleep on her couch. There were several of them eating dinner at her dining table while working a case. She tried to think of a time he had been to her place that did not involve a case, and she realized there were none. The assortment of pictures of them in her living and dining rooms all involved casework, but one in particular caught her interest. She was bent over a bookcase, looking for something she'd long forgotten about, and Goren was sitting nearby, his head cocked in that way he had when watching something with deep interest. The picture was endearing; the fact that MacIlvey had been somewhere close enough to take it was more than a little unsettling. How had he taken those photos? Once again CSU was going to be tearing her house apart--only this time it would be the technical squad, looking for bugs and hidden cameras. She felt sick to her stomach.

When she pulled into an empty space in the parking garage, Goren turned to her. "Why?"

She didn't have to ask what he meant. "You're not ready to see those pictures. I am not ready for you to see those pictures."

"But Logan..."

"Logan found them, Bobby."

"They're evidence in our case, Eames!"

"Do you really want to see pictures of me making love to other men?" she snapped.

Immediately, she covered her mouth with her hands, horrified. He stared at her, his shock at her words evident on his face. His face flooded with color and he looked away. His mouth moved, but he couldn't form any words, so without saying anything, he got out of the vehicle and walked toward the elevator. She waited until he was gone before pressing her head against the steering wheel and letting her emotions overwhelm her.


When she got to the squad room, Goren was at his desk, staring at his hands. She did not need to be a mind reader to tell he was deeply troubled. He'd have to see the damn pictures eventually... "Bobby. if you really want..."

"No," he cut her off. "I don't."

His response was tight and his body language was completely closed off. She hung up her coat and dismissed his irritable reply with a wave of her hand. "Whatever," she grouched.

Sitting at her desk, she pulled a form from the drawer to her left and began writing. He did not even put forth the pretense of doing paperwork. As the end of the day drew near, Goren finally spoke. "M-Maybe it would be best if you went to stay with Logan, or your dad."

She frowned. "Why? Because of that damn shoe box?"

He shook his head. "No. Because of the journal. Eames, this threat is very real..."

She pointed a finger in his direction. "Don't you dare. The threat is real for both of us. He has violated my privacy for the last time, Goren. I'm not leaving you to deal with him alone."

"Eames..."

"Don't 'Eames' me, dammit. No. If you don't want me around I'll go home, and I swear to God I'll shoot anything that moves."

"No. Don't do that."

She glared at him. "Unless you're planning to sneak around my house in the middle of the night with a camera, you have nothing to worry about."

He looked both appalled and embarrassed. "What? I...no...I would never..." He closed his eyes to compose himself, overwhelmingly uncomfortable with the entire idea of anyone taking pictures of her at home in bed, alone or not...and still mortified by his unconscious response to her threat to show them to him. He knew that in time she would have to let him see them, and he was having difficulty sorting through how he felt about that. "That isn't what I meant. Don't go home."

She relaxed, reassured, but she found herself torn by conflicting emotion. The last thing in the world she wanted was for him to see the pictures MacIlvey took, and yet part of her wished he would at least want to see them. Perhaps she expected too much from him, read too much into the emotional ties between them. She wasn't going to make that mistake again.


As they got ready to leave for the day, Goren's phone rang. Filing away the last of her paperwork, Eames glanced up for a second, then did a double take. The tension in his body, his mouth drawn tight into a frown, gave him away. "MacIlvey?" she mouthed.

His only answer was a tight nod and she felt a surge of fury. He had the nerve to call the squad room? She got up to let Ross know, but Goren waved at her and she sat back down. He hung up the phone.

"I'm going to take care of this, Eames. It's between him and me."

"Are you out of your mind? He's been spinning you in circles for the last two weeks and you know he wants you dead, so you're just going to waltz right into his arms?"

Goren frowned. "I go alone and no one gets hurt. If a SWAT team shows up, he's prepared to take out a city block. I have two hours to show up or people are going to die."

"And if you die?"

He looked around the squad room, then back at her. "Who'd miss me?"

Stunned by his answer, she took a moment to recover before she caught him at the elevator, pulling him back toward the soda machine. "I would miss you, stupid."

He studied her face, disturbed by the emotion he saw there. "I'm sorry. If it makes you feel any better, I don't intend to let him kill me...or anyone else." He lowered his voice. "Maybe Father Capanna can't baptize me, but it's never too late for absolution."

He held her gaze a moment too long, flicked his fingers across her hand in a discreet caress and walked past her when the elevator doors opened.

Eames walked slowly back to her desk. Absolution? For what sins? Maybe that was something she didn't want to know. In a flash of insight, her mind turned back the clock, to one of their early cases. I think Father Capanna would love to baptize you. Father Capanna...the pastor of St. Justin's... She ran to the captain's office.