Pain. Searing hot pain and intense pressure competed for dominance within his chest, making it difficult to breathe. He heard voices accompanied by heavy footfalls echoing through the nave, but he only had one focus. By sheer force of will, he moved against the pain and shifted himself around to grasp MacIlvey's shirt, fisting the fabric as he jerked it toward him. Eyes moved in response, already beginning to glaze over. "The bomb..." Goren demanded. "Eddie!"

MacIlvey tried to see through the haze that veiled his vision, and he wondered where the pain had gone. His body jostled and words broke through, shattered into their component syllables but not reforming. Then a single word penetrated. Bomb!

Bomb? The bomb...where's the bomb...?

He tried to moisten his lips but his tongue was dry as his body continued to lose vital fluid through the hole in his chest. Bomb...

It wasn't supposed to end this way. He was supposed to get the girl. But he had a sinking feeling it was over, and he had to concede victory to the other guy. He forced himself to form the words. "Broadway...virgin...m-my...my love..."

Goren's hands released the shirt, now dark with blood. He watched the life continue to fade from the man's eyes until he was pulled away, rolled onto his back. The church's ceiling seemed impossibly far away. He forced himself to draw in another breath, shallow and staggered. The pressure now eclipsed the pain. His pulse was pounding in his ears, drowning out the sounds of the people around him. He shifted his eyes from the ceiling, and there was his partner, kneeling at his side, her hands wet with his blood, face damp with her tears. He had to tell her something, something very important. But what?

He watched her, unwilling to look away, and it was the tears that troubled him, not the blood. Was it time to say good-bye? As a paramedic grasped her arm to draw her away, it hit him. The bomb...she had to find the bomb... He reached out, closing his hand on her wrist to pull her back to him. He tried to speak, but it was so hard to force out the words. He had barely enough air to breathe; talking would cost him precious breaths he could not afford to waste. But he had to tell her. She leaned in to hear him. "Bomb..." he managed with difficulty, shallow breaths now coming rapidly. "Broadway vir-virgin. F-Find it..."

The pressure was worse and now so was the pain. It was an uphill battle to draw breath, but the pounding of his pulse eased a little after they slipped an oxygen mask in place. He never felt the IV being started in his arm, but the warmth that enveloped his brain like a hug was welcome, and so was the darkness it brought. The last thing he saw was his partner's troubled face as she was drawn away from his side.

Eames stepped back, watching in muted horror as her partner's eyes drifted closed. Her gaze shifted to the paramedics who worked on MacIlvey. Both sets of attendants were focused, working frantically to stabilize the two men. Her attention shifted back to her partner's abnormally still form.

"Saline's up, Rog," said the younger of the two men working on Goren. "Wide open. The sedative helped some; he's not struggling so hard. I already relayed that to the ER."

The senior paramedic nodded absently, intent on making a fast, but thorough assessment of Goren's condition, including his injuries. He'd quickly removed Goren's tie and unbuttoned his shirt, pushing it open. The worst thing medical first responders could do for a patient was 'swoop and scoop'. They had to assess his injuries so the doctors had an idea of what they were facing when they wheeled him into the emergency room. Quickly and professionally, the two medics examined the man, giving him the best chance possible to make it to the hospital alive. They gently rolled the injured man onto his side as Roger spoke. "We have two entry wounds here, Marty. One on the right side, with an exit wound to the left of his spine, and one just to the left of his sternum, near the base of the rib cage, damn close to his heart. No exit wound. He still has a bullet in him."

They placed a pressure bandage over the one exit wound to control the bleeding and rolled him onto his back. Marty scribbled on the chart as Roger reassessed Goren's vitals. "BP 90 palp, pulse 145 and erratic, respirations thirty five and very shallow. Lungs are not clear, decreased sounds on the right, rales and crackles on the left. He's decompensating." He pulled the stretcher closer. "Let's get him the hell out of here. If we wait for him to fully stabilize, he won't make it. We've gotta risk moving him as he is."

With help, they lifted him onto the stretcher. Marty looked at Eames, who had been watching. They'd completed their rapid assessment in just a few minutes' time. "You're his partner?" She nodded mutely, unable to find her voice. "He'll be at NYU."

Again she nodded and they were gone. She was left alone, staring at the pool of blood that remained behind. Two entry wounds...two... There had only been two shots fired, and hers had hit MacIlvey, who was now being wheeled out of the church. Goren had not been in her line of fire; she was sure of it. So how did he get two entry wounds?

She remained there for several long moments, pondering the issue as she stared at the pool of Goren's blood, until someone touched her arm. She turned, startled, and met Logan's concerned eyes. Beside him stood Ross, eyes darting to the two areas of pooled blood on the church floor, then back to her. "What happened, Eames?"

Logan's hand remained on her arm and she moved a half step closer to him, glad he was there. She drew in a deep, calming breath. She couldn't talk about her partner and she would not allow herself to falter in front of the captain. She drew her gun from its holster and handed it to him, but she focused on the case. "There's another bomb, and we have to find it."

Another bomb? He was more concerned about his fallen detective, but something told him not to press the issue with her. He took the gun and handed it to Logan, who tucked it into the waistband of his pants. Ross kept his mind on the threat of the bomb. "Do you know where to look for the device?"

Slowly, she shook her head. "The only clue we have is 'Broadway virgin'. What the hell does that mean?"

"Where did that come from?"

"From MacIlvey, before he lost consciousness."

"'Broadway virgin'," he mused. "Did Goren say anything about that?"

She shook her head. "He wasn't in much condition to analyze anything. He was barely able to talk."

"Where did they take him?"

"NYU."

Logan tightened his hand on her arm when she looked away from Ross. He felt the subtle tremor course through her and was impressed at how well she hid it from the captain. She trembled harder when her eye caught the blood on the floor again. Logan tugged on her arm and, with a nod of his head at Ross, he gently guided Eames out of the church. By the time they reached the front steps, she had composed herself again.

Pulling her keys from her pocket, she stepped away from Logan and descended the steps toward the SUV. She desperately wanted to go to the hospital, but they had to find this bomb. Stopping at the vehicle, she leaned against it and breathed deeply. She forced herself to focus on the clue and away from her critically injured partner. Broadway virgin... What could it possibly mean? She wished she had Goren's insight. He was much better at puzzles than she was. He'd once said they had complementary skills, and that was what made them such a successful team. They had a connection most partners never developed. But the riddles were his domain.

Logan leaned against the Explorer beside her and Ross stood nearby, staring toward the church as he tried to figure out the clue. "What do you think it refers to, Eames?" Ross asked.

She looked at him and answered, "It has to refer to the location of the bomb. Broadway..."

Logan gave a brief laugh and crossed his arms. "That's a lot of street, Eames. It runs the entire length of Manhattan, through the Bronx and into Westchester County."

She nodded. "So what could 'virgin' refer to?"

"Some point along Broadway..." he mused. "Could it be a jab at Times Square? There used to be a lot of prostitution in that area. Maybe it's a paradoxical clue."

"I suppose. It gives us a starting point anyway."

"I'll go with you."

"We'll all go," Ross said. "We need to find this thing."

Eames stepped away from the SUV and Logan slipped the keys from her hand. "I'll drive."

She didn't argue. Walking around the vehicle, she slid silently into the passenger seat, and Ross climbed into the back seat. Logan started the engine, pulled away from the curb and drove toward Times Square.

She heard Ross talking on his phone, his voice subdued, but she didn't even try to listen to his conversation. She looked out the window, and she thought about her partner. In her mind's eye, she saw the little boy smile he shined when the pieces all came together for him and he was excited about it. With her mind's ear, she heard his soft laughter when she said something to amuse him. Her thoughts tumbled around all the reasons he was important to her, and she knew her life would not be complete if he was no longer in it.

She was drawn from her thoughts when Ross leaned forward and placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. He spoke softly, tightening his grip on her shoulder. "Your partner made it to the hospital, and he's in surgery now."

She bit her lower lip and nodded. "Thank you," she said, her voice tight.

She looked back out the window and recalled something she'd once said about Goren. In open court, she called him an acquired taste, an assessment he agreed with. Now that she'd acquired the taste of having him in her life, she wasn't sure she could adjust if he were suddenly gone.

Running her hand through her hair, she took another deep breath and turned her mind to the task of finding MacIlvey's Broadway virgin. They had to find it in time. No other outcome was acceptable.