The ride back to Manhattan was long and silent. Eames was dying to talk to her partner, but she didn't want to talk in front of Ross. She made up her mind that when they left to go home, he was going home with her, whether he wanted to or not. She could usually convince him to do things her way.

As they approached the headquarters building, Eames looked at the captain. "Captain Ross?"

"Yes?"

"If it's all right with you, I'd like to just drop you off at headquarters and take Bobby home. You can debrief him tomorrow, after he's rested."

Goren shook his head. "We need to find out who she is, Eames. And then go out to Long Island with a warrant."

"Long Island?"

"She lives on Long Island."

"You believe her?"

"I have no reason not to."

When she began to shake her head, he added, "If I'm wrong, you can say 'I told you so'."

"You always tell me that."

"How often have you been able to take me up on it?"

"Bite me, Goren. Besides, you think she's going to be sitting on her living room couch, waiting for you to come calling?"

"She thinks I don't know who she is."

"You don't."

"But not for long."

As much as he found himself enjoying these two partners in action, Ross interrupted the discussion. "All right. We'll compromise. Go home, both of you. Get some sleep and come in this afternoon. Then we'll talk and you can continue investigating this case."

Goren opened his mouth to protest, but Ross cut him off. "Think of your partner, Goren. She drove to Allentown and back yesterday and then, after midnight, to Schenectady and back. She's pushing 24 hours with no sleep. If you stay to work on this case, she will as well. You know that."

Eames looked in the rearview mirror at the captain, her face dark. "Do not use me as a pawn to get him to do what you want, captain."

"Fine. You reason with him. He's your partner."

Annoyed at being spoken about as if he were not there, Goren snapped, "I have work to do. Eames can go home if she wants to. I don't need anyone to hold my hand."

"I'm fine," she replied.

Ross threw his hands in the air. "All right, fine. But Logan or Wheeler can drive if you have to go anyplace. I don't want either of you behind the wheel. And that's final."

Neither detective spoke again for the rest of the ride, to Ross or to one another.

Goren found an empty conference room and tossed the files onto the table, pulling a chair up and dropping into it. He was angry, at Ross and at Eames. He hated being treated like he was made of porcelain, and he would not be pandered to, like a child. Even more, he hated being talked about right in front of his face. They knew he was pissed, too. When he got out of the car in the parking garage, he'd slammed the door and ignored them when they called to him. He'd taken the stairs up and gone directly into the conference room. He knew he wouldn't be alone for long, but it would give him time to calm himself down. Dealing with his partner when he was angry was, historically, a very bad idea.

By the time the door opened and Eames came in, carrying two cups of coffee, he was much calmer. She kicked the door closed, set down the coffee cups and pulled up a chair, sitting near him. He took his coffee cup and raised his eyes toward her without moving his head. "Thanks. I, um, I just had a really bad day and a half. Sorry." He laid a hand on the three open files on the table in front of him. "We need to figure out who she is...and find her."

Rising, he walked to the bulletin board and tacked up the three photos from the files. Pointing at the young boy, he said, "Connor, her brother...tortured and killed by a repeat offender when he was twelve." Next, the little girl. "Chelsea, her daughter...tortured and killed by a repeat offender when she was six." And the couple. "Harry, her husband..."

"Don't tell me...tortured and killed by a repeat offender?"

"Indirectly. He couldn't handle what was done to his little girl. He committed suicide during the trial. She found him."

"Geez...no wonder she snapped."

He moved over to the easel in the corner and uncapped a marker. "She was careful to mark out every surname in the news articles, as well as the paper's edition and the dates they were published. But she grew up on Long Island, according to the article about Connor, and she still lived there when she lost her daughter and her husband, in Syosset. My car was dumped near Manhasset, and that's not far. The little girl's body was found in Morningside Heights, so guess whose case it was?"

"Manhattan SVU."

He half-grinned. "Time to do some more touching."

"I hope you mean that figuratively."

His face eased into a full grin and the hard edge left his manner. "Come on, Eames. Let's get Logan to drop us off over at the Special Victim's squad room."

The SVU squad room was its usual bustle of activity when they arrived. Munch was the first to spot them. "What brings the two of you to our humble hole-in-the-wall?"

Eames smiled. "We have some questions about a case from last year. The body was found in Morningside Heights, so it would have been your case."

"Do you have a name?"

"Just a first name," Goren answered. "Chelsea."

"Chelsea...How old?"

"Six."

Goren handed him the picture. Munch shook his head. "She doesn't belong to Fin and me. Ask Stabler or Benson." He looked around for one of the detectives, and pointed. "Over there."

Eames nodded. "Thanks, John."

"No problem."

As they headed toward Stabler and Benson, Eames said, "Let me do the talking. This is their turf, and not the place for you and Elliot to play alpha dog."

He looked wounded. "I don't."

"Yeah, right. Just remember I'm wearing boots today."

Stabler had seen them approaching and was moving toward them—to greet them, in Eames' mind, and to challenge them, in Goren's. His first comment was "I saw the paper. Just how close are you to finding him?"

"Her," Eames corrected. "And very close. Is there someplace we can talk?"

"Yeah, sure." He motioned to Benson. "C'mon this way."

He led them to a conference room, where Benson joined them. While Eames said hello to the two detectives, Goren walked to the table, sat and opened his binder. Eames watched him for a moment, then sighed silently and walked over to sit beside him as Stabler and Benson sat opposite them.

Goren set the photo in the middle of the table, turned it toward them and moved it closer. "Her name is Chelsea. She was six. They found her in Morningside Heights after being abducted from her yard in Syosset. She was tortured and killed by a man named Steven Thomas Turner."

Stabler studied the picture, eyes filled with recognition. He leveled a suspicious glare in Goren's direction. "What about her?"

Goren was quickly losing patience. "What can you tell us about her?"

Stabler's eyes narrowed. "We closed her case last year. What possible relevance can she have to anything you're working on?"

"Does it matter?"

At exactly the same moment, Eames and Benson each smacked their respective partners. When they turned to object, Eames placed a finger against her lips and said, "Just keep quiet, will you?"

In a voice carrying more of an edge, Benson told her partner, "Let me handle this, Elliot."

Eames held Goren's gaze for a few moments more, long enough to assure him she wasn't mad, but to also warn him that she would be if he didn't behave. His expression told her that he didn't think he'd done anything wrong. She turned back to face the SVU detectives, giving his leg an affectionate caress of reassurance. Her mouth rose in a half smile when she heard his breath softly hitch. Satisfied that she had made her point, she gestured toward the picture of the little girl. "We are not invading your turf, Stabler," she said, her tone clearly relaying the fact that she meant business. "If you will help us out, we'll be able to decide if your case has any relevance to ours."

Before Stabler could reply, Benson said, "What do you want to know?"

"Her full name, parents' names and address at the time she disappeared."

Benson turned to Stabler. "Would you please go and pull the file, El?"

"A closed file a year old? I'll have to go down to records..."

She smiled. "Thanks."

He stared at her for a moment before getting up from the table, glaring at Goren and leaving the room. Eames was frowning. "What is his problem?"

"Elliot has a certain way of seeing things and set ideas about how people should behave in certain circumstances..."

Goren turned his attention to the file in front of him. "He doesn't like me."

Benson watched him, uncertain how to interpret his tone or his manner. "In a nutshell...yes."

He shrugged. "I'm used to it."

Trying for reassurance, she said, "You shouldn't be. You're a good cop."

"I know that. But I don't do things the way everyone else does." He looked up and waved a hand dismissively. "Never mind; it doesn't matter. The only one whose opinion matters to me is my partner."

Eames suppressed a smile. She would have been embarrassed if she didn't know he really meant it. He returned his attention to the file and did not look up when Stabler returned, which annoyed the SVU detective. He slammed the file on the table and sat down.

Benson opened the folder and looked for the name they wanted. "Here it is. Her last name was Adenauer. Chelsea Adenauer. Her parents are Harry and Larissa."

"Do you have an address?"

"Why?" Stabler demanded.

If Eames hadn't known Goren so well, there would have been trouble. But when she grabbed his knee and squeezed, he forgot about Stabler and shifted his gaze toward her. Her eyes blazed a warning, which she knew he understood. Withdrawing her hand, she turned back to look at Benson. "Would you mind writing the address down for us, Olivia?"

"Sure."

Stabler continued watching them. "Why do you want it?"

Goren studied him for a long moment before he finally answered, "Because Mrs. Adenauer is our vigilante."

He got to his feet and reclaimed the photo, returning it to his file and closing it as Benson handed Eames the address in Syosset. Eames smiled at them as Goren headed for the door. "Thanks, guys."

"Eames..." Stabler called to her as she got to the door. "What are you going to do?"

She met the man's bright blue eyes. "Our job, Stabler," she answered without hesitation, and she followed Goren out of the conference room.

Goren put in a call to Logan. Fifteen minutes later, the car pulled up and they got in. Logan looked from one to the other before he pulled away from the curb. "So, how'd it go?"

Goren was shuffling papers. "We got what we wanted," he answered absently. "Um, we need you to take us out to Syosset."

"Exactly why does Ross think you need a chaperone?"

"Chauffeur, asshole," Goren snapped. "Neither of us has slept and he thinks we're safer riding with you. Obviously, he's never been for a ride with you."

"Ha, ha. You could always take the subway."

"We could. You're more interesting, though."

"Thanks...I think. Syosset, huh? You looking for a hit man in slippers and an ascot?"

"Slippers and a housecoat, more likely. It's a woman we're looking for."

He looked surprised and shifted his gaze toward Eames. "A woman, huh?"

"Surprised, Logan?"

"Not really. Women are just as capable of committing crimes as men. They're just normally less inclined to do it."

"Not if they're pushed over the edge, like she was," Goren answered.

Logan raised an eyebrow. "Defending her?"

Goren shook his head, still not looking up. "Explaining her."

Logan looked at him, then glanced at Eames. "You ever get the feeling he's ignoring you?"

"Never. Don't let him fool you; he doesn't miss anything, do you, Goren?"

"Not usually."

Logan laughed, amused. "Okay, fine...Syosset, here we come..."