The following characters from CSI obviously do not belong to me, but I love them anyway.

Thanks for the reviews ... I hope the final chapters work for you as well!


Break 9:

Danny ran a hand over his face as he stared flipped through old newspaper articles. They had reached a dead end. Royal, Jones and Rollins. The vics had been under age, and so their names had not been mentioned in the articles—but through a complicated search of family names and relationships, Danny had finally found a connection between the three.

And it seemed there was another.

He scanned through the articles and forced himself to concentrate. Lindsay was so much better at this type of research. Or maybe it was just that they were better together. He couldn't stop thinking of her. His fingers had grown tired from making a fist, centering his frustration in that one spot.

He hit print and read the rest as they came out of the printer. He was still reading as he sprinted to Mac's office.

He hit the glass door with his hand, stepped in. Mac was already on his feet.

"We've been looking in the wrong direction," Danny passed the papers over to Mac. "These guys knew each other a long time. Four friends, were part of a tragic accident—they were just kids. It seems it was an accident, but the press had a field day with their families. At least two of them came from money. The girl who died was poor. Allie Donovan. Father Peter Donovan. Mom Shirley Anne—brother Max. I think we should look at the brother first."

Mac skimmed over the article, but lifted a brow. He wanted more.

"Gut instinct, Mac. Lets take them both, search them out. But if he's waited this long, you'd think the father would wait until they had children. Seems like the focus is on a sister."

"There were four," he noted, frowned as he looked up at Danny. "Who's the forth?"

"I don't know. Since they were underage, which is why their names didn't pop in the system. One of them had his step father speaking for him. We had traced them back to a prep school at this time, but just those three vics. We were concentrating on their fraternities, their jobs. Present day."

"Maybe we could get in touch with the school. See if a counselor, someone remembers," Mac said.

"Or the sister," Danny murmured, meeting Mac's gaze.

"Head over to the safe house with Flack. I'll put Stella on the school and Hawkes on these two."

"We have to find her."


In silence, Lindsay sat on the hard floor by Jocelyn and Bethany. They were quiet now, having worked out their plan, putting together all of the details that they knew between them. If he did now as he had done the day before, he would come in, give them breakfast, then he would leave.

And bring back the sister of the final victim.

If they were going to save the next they only had one chance.

Her palms were damp. She couldn't think beyond the moment, couldn't think of what would happen if she didn't succeed. Couldn't think of the past.

Of last night, with Danny.

She could still remember the look in his eyes when they stopped in front of the Met.

Here we are.

Danny—where are we going?

To the ballet. It's what you wanted, right?

She wanted to stay there in that memory, to let it sweep her away, as he had done by taking her there. But she couldn't, wouldn't do that. She couldn't think of Danny. Not now. Not yet.

She would survive.

As the sound of the door opening below, Jocelyn grasped her hand and held on tight. On the other side of her, Bethany nodded and pushed to her feet, moving into position.

Lindsay looked at Jocelyn and then slowly stood.

The performance had begun.


Opening and closing his hands, centering his fear, Danny walked out of the safe house as Flack called in the information on the final friend. They had so little information. They had a name, a place of residence—not of the suspect, but the final vic.

It was the friend who was coming up absent.

And no—the sister they had put in a safe house had not contacted him. She hadn't even thought of him, or the others, beyond grieving for her brother. While the boys, later men, remained close, the families had moved adamantly apart.

When his own cell rang, he answered as Flack unlocked the doors to his car and they both climbed in. "You find something?" he asked Hawkes.

"The Donovan family had property holdings around New York," Hawkes said without preamble. "You want to take a guess on who sold the building to the Rollins?"

"Peter Donovan."

"Close—it's Max Donovan. You were right, Danny. Everything points to the brother."

Danny clenched his jaw. It didn't mean anything to be right when Lindsay was still … missing.

"They have other property holdings in the Sanchiessi warehouse district. We're already on his way."

Danny closed his phone and gave Flack the directions. He took a deep breath.

And hoped.


Lindsay glanced one last time at Bethany, who had moved out of eyesight, over by the door.

They had one chance—and it rested on Bethany, and Bethany remembering the phone number they'd rehearsed and repeated time and again, like a battle cry before the d day began.

Then she heard the footsteps on the stairs. He had come back. It was too steady and noticeable to be help coming for them—so it was time.

She took a deep breath and tried to clear her mind. One thing was certain. Of the three of them, she was the only one unconnected to his past, to his sister.

And unneeded for whatever plan he had set into motion.

But she planned to stay alive.