Author's Note: I love you guys so much. Seriously. If it weren't for quality reviewers, this would have been a much longer time coming. I hit a smidge bit of writer's block on this one (partly because I managed to get three new internet projects dumped on my lap at work. Sigh. Sometimes it's less than thrilling to be the only person in the office who understands the "interweb").

Like most of the rest of this story, this part is basically just a character study of Beth and Mick and so there's minimal plot.

And, yes, we are just one part away from done. Part ten will be the last official one in the "See Me" collection, taking us up to the pilot. There will be some stand-alones, I'm working on another full-length bit and I'm toying with a sequel to "Run to You"

Part Nine

The whisper of hands, cool and smooth against her overheated skin. His rumbly voice in her ear. A kiss of fingers, pulling her hair through them.

Beth focused every muscle on opening her eyes. She just wanted to see, to see him, the man at her side. But her body was a traitor.

The voice stopped and her chest heaved. Hear me, feel me, touch me.

She couldn't seem to lift her heavy eyelids. A glimpse, just one to give substance to the dream.

A caress, running down her cheek, her lips.

"Open your eyes, Beth."

The voice was wrong. Not deep enough. And now there was a poke. A pinch.

Beth's eyes flew open and her head snapped forward. The dim lights were getting brighter, the screen retreating into the ceiling.

Sean, the city beat reporter for the Times was poking her.

"I know that EPA sewer mandates are boring, but if you start to snore, they'll notice," he teased.

"Oh God, sorry, I'm a night person," Beth shrugged. "Give me a good, old-fashioned crime scene at midnight over this stuff any day."

Sean gave a sympathetic smile. Beth retrieved the pen that had tumbled to her lap and began scribbling in her pad as the safety service director and city council started in on the finer points of waste management. She eyed the administrative assistant in the corner taking the minutes and figured she could sweet talk her way to a print out of the PowerPoint presentation she'd missed.

It was the dream again. Even three years later, some nights she fell asleep hoping for it. But the ending never changed. She would never be able to convince her sleep-addled subconscious to reveal her mystery man.

The morning after, which she was sure wasn't that kind of morning after as must as she wished otherwise, had been a blur of nausea, aches and stupidity. Her bladder had begun to outscream her head, finally driving her out of bed and into the harsh morning sunlight.

Sprays of water had pounded at her abused body but couldn't remove the haze, the darkness of the night in her memory.

She had remembered the first bar. Her grand exit, a cab, a dark club she could never seem to fine. Then nothing. Vague impressions of sex, of hunger, then, surprisingly of safety. Something familiar, like coming home. Cool relief.

Following the presence, something, someone she knew was hers, should be in her hands, she had chased down the night's events. Her editor had brought her sweater with keys and cell phone she hadn't had when she'd made it home. Which led Beth to her key-bearing neighbor, Jen.

"I've never seen him before. Older. Amazing eyes. And other parts," she had reported with a grin. "Too bad – this one was worth remembering."

There the trail ended. No one saw him at the bar or in the hall.

Alone in her bed for weeks, months, Beth had pushed at the dark edges of memory, trying to tease something more from the night. But all she had was darkness.

The inane back-and-forth over EPA regulations wound down and, finally, Beth scribbled her last bit of personal shorthand and the meeting adjourned. Her first job, the city beat at the California Daily. It wasn't only in darkened conference rooms that Beth felt like falling asleep. City council meetings, school board meetings, planning commission, zoning boards. Endless cycles of rules and red tape.

Six more months, she promised herself. Six more months of paying her dues and she'd have something on her resume for the next rung on the ladder.

Beth sighed and edged into the circle of reporters getting quotes from the self-important city council members.

If she'd looked to the back of the room, if she'd craned her neck and squinted her eyes into the dark, she might have seen the shadow. And if she'd looked into the shadows, she'd have seen.

It had been almost three years since their brief moment in the midst of Beth's drunken reverie.

He thought that night would fill him up, but all it did was make him hungrier for her to look up at him with a trust in him like daylight breaking through the night, the way she had been for him.

But she didn't remember a thing. The lengths Beth's mind went to hide him away pricked at him. Until the sun burned him from the outside in, she was the one thing he would never forget.

Her selective memory was the one thing protecting them both, though. Mick had come to a strange moment of self-realization after that night. Under the oppressive blanket of guilt and fear and disgust with his impossible addiction to her, he wanted to be her white knight.

And he was on the verge of surrendering to that urge. Even now every bit of him was intent on seeping through to her. To carry her bag like a schoolboy, to open doors for her. To cold cock her boss for her.

Any more encouragement from her and the flood of her would sweep over him and he'd never surface. And maybe he didn't want to.

Which was what brought him to the crowds of council meetings, press conferences, the dark exits of the California Daily, to places he knew Beth would be. If she got into trouble – no, when – he would be there. Close, just out of sight, in case she needed him.

Six months later...

Beth clenched her fists, digging purplish crescents into her palms. Paul Cortese, the silver-haired antique of a managing editor, bifocals perched on his nose, gut poking over his slacks and Jersey accent coming out in full force, was glaring at her over his desk.

Cortese had summoned her into his office with a point and crook of the finger. Like he was calling a dog.

"What the hell did you think you were doing?"

"I thought I was getting a scoop on the homeless hit-and-run. I got photos, I got an exclusive look at the body and an early copy of the coroner's report," Beth shot back.

"What you did was break into the coroner's office --"

"I was escorted in by one of the lab techs."

"Hey, you talked, now I'm gonna talk," Cortese's tone was sharp. "You've got the coroner pissed, the police department talkin' lawsuits and a credibility problem for the whole paper, not to mention you."

Beth froze. After more than a year at the California Daily, she'd landed her first story on the crime beat, away from the endless meetings, political backstabbing and bullshit, and she could see it slipping away.

"Paul, I just wanted to get a good story. One no one else would have. I didn't do anything illegal."

"You don't have to be illegal to be unethical. You're young, you don't know," Cortese softened. "We have to play the game with these people. We have to ask for what we want and they have to choose to give it. You can't bribe a morgue attendant for every story. We have to be able to ask the coroner, the police. They've gotta be willing to talk to us and know we're not gonna pull this shady shit. Look, you've got a good head on your shoulders and a nose for news, but you report the news. You do not make the news. Are we clear?"

"Yes." It came as a shade past a hiss from Beth's pursued lips. She paused and gulped down her pride. "The story, is it still mine?"

"What do you think?"

"I think I have to give Hernandez my notes," Beth saw the crime beat slipping away.

"Wrong. I don't want your bullshit sullying his reputation. Finish the story. Follow the rules. Consider this your first and last warning," Cortese turned toward his computer and Beth knew he was done with her.

"Thank you."

Beth arranged the protective headphones and squared her stance. Following through on her lessons, she gripped firmly, right hand wrapped around the grip, her left hand circled around it.

She stared down the sights at the target.

"I'm good, damn it."

A squeeze at the mental image of Cortese's blustery face.

"They're lucky to have me."

At the asshole coroner.

"In five years, this paper will be nothing. I'll hot shit and making whatever fucking news I need to."

At the morgue snitch.

"Low-paying, brain boiling bullshit."

At Cortese again.

"Grrr," Beth just growled, squeezing out every round with a few extra, pointless clicks for good measure at the end.

As she reloaded, she heard footsteps behind her on the shooting range. A woman not much older than Beth with a perky bob of brunette hair peeked around the corner.

"Professional frustrations?" the woman asked with a smirk.

"Such is the life of a reporter," Beth replied, red creeping into her cheeks. She must have been louder than she'd thought.

"I'm Marissa Robinson. I work for MediaWorks in the online news division."

"Beth Turner. Possibly soon-to-be-unemployed city reporter for California Daily," Beth set her gun down and shook hands with the other woman.

"Turner? Did you do the piece on felons in the dorms at UCLA?"

Beth pulled off her headphones. Apparently she and Marissa were the only people here. The lone hunter-looking guy at the end had left.

"Yes, that was one of mine. I don't usually get the crime stories, but that came up through one of my board of education meetings. I'd love to do more stories like that one. I think I've met my lifetime requirement of pompous city council meetings."

Marissa grinned.

"I know. I don't know why the old guard thinks that's always a good lead story. Unless they're raising taxes or screwing someone, people don't care what those guys are up to. If newspapers tried something a little... sexier, maybe their readers wouldn't be dropping like flies."

"Seriously, could you talk to my editor about that?" Beth sighed.

"I could talk to mine," Marissa rummaged in her bag and pulled out a business card. "Here. You do good work and we're getting ready to start up a little online magazine that might be right up your alley. The pay is still shit, but our staff is young, passionate and they've got a great vision. Give me a call tomorrow and I'll see if I can set you up an interview with the division head."

"Really? That's amazing of you," Beth fished her own business card from her purse. She added her personal cell number and handed it over.

"Amazing nothing. I believe in fate. I think you and I were supposed to meet here today. Now all you have to do is take a little action," Marissa collected her things and headed for the exit.

"Nice to meet you!" Beth called out. She finished reloading and devoted the rest of the round to Cortese and the management of the California Daily.

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