Hiya, first thanks for the follows, faves and reviews on the last chapter Much appreciated. Oh, and I'm very sorry for the false alarm on the load of chapter 11 a few weeks back. It was meant for another story (I was tired and not concentrating…)

This chapter will stay put, I promise!

I hope you continue to enjoy…

X x X

Wu walked out of DeMarcos' office at the same time as Jan strode in and Nick noticed the discreet bopping of fists. Wu looked wound up tight, though. Nick waved Wu over and the Sergeant swung his way to Hank's desk, where he'd been left by Jan in a state of bewilderment. The left side of Wu's face was covered in bruises that were only just starting to yellow. Nick stared. This didn't happen to Wu: he was the king of self-defence.

"What happened?"

"I tried my disarming smile on someone. Didn't work."

"Wu, seriously!"

"I unintentionally went mano-a-mano with a baseball bat. One of the guys that smacked you around before you went on leave really didn't want to be arrested. Nice guy. Jan sorted him out, but... problems ensued. And of course, just to stick the knife in, one of nice guy's buddies is claiming that he was 'Jan-handled', too."

"Did he lose his temper?"

"No, he didn't. He coolly and calmly made a perp-shape dent in my squad car. As much as I'm rooting for Jan, that was a little hard to explain away." Wu looked over to Renard's office uneasily, where Jan was sitting very still, and DeMarcos was going into an animated rant.

Nick felt a little sick. "Is he going to be ok?"

"I hope so. He's got a good track record and all his voluntary stuff should swing things his way, but then there's the DeMarcos factor." Wu's radio crackled and he moved off to one side. "Gotta get this, sorry..."

Nick leant against Hank's desk and felt his cell buzz in his pocket. His alarm. He fished it out and turned it off, and then a text came in from Aunt Marie.

I'll be in town a few days and need a rest stop. I'll come for dinner Wednesday night. M.

Will you? Right. Nick huffed in irritation. Apart from the odd text to make sure he hadn't killed himself on vacation or at work, she'd become so aloof over the last couple of years, not the warm but weird aunt who'd told his principal that he didn't need to do track ― he was fast enough ― but that he was going to do archery instead, outside school. So random. And her idea of a vacation break was a week in the middle of nowhere. He'd visited many a middle-of-nowhere. Desert resorts off-season. Ski-resorts in summer. The Appalachian trail in winter. His aunt wasn't big on him mingling with other kids of his age. Still, he liked those holidays in one way. He actually got to spend some time with her.

He texted back: Pls confirm ETA, etc. Don't just show up, alright? I need to know what time to leave office, figure out where to leave a key for you... yada yada.

But what if Juliette wanted a date on Wednesday...? Juliette! He needed to reply ― hence the alarm being set in the first place. He switched to her text and considered his reply. He wanted to sound happy about hearing from her, but laid-back about it. What did Dula call that tone? 'Breezy?' Though admittedly, Dula wasn't really the girl to get girl-training from, since she only had two settings: off, and tornado.

"Hey, looks like you got a date!" Hank said from behind him, and Nick jumped a little, but after Freebie's appearance behind the fridge, he doubted anything could seriously shock him for the next, say, ten years.

"You reading my text?"

"Reading your face, too man. You look happy about it, so reply happy. Don't be nonchalant. Made that mistake many times, trust me."

"Alright, thanks." Nick thumbed out a quick reply.

Great to hear from you! I hope you didn't have to hit Abby too hard with the pan for my number. I've seen pan-damage first hand, trust me. When are you free? Can't do weds but otherwise, I'm good.

Hank hmmmmed.

"What?"

"That might be a little too keen. I mean, why not just say 'My life is empty without you! Fill my void!'"

"You just told me not to be nonchalant!"

"Sure, but maybe just offer her a couple of days you're free? So then you're kinda... half flexible. You know… you're a cop. You're busy. But you're completely making time for her."

Nick rolled his eyes. "I'm not playing games. Besides, she's a vet. She's hardly ever free, so I'm not about to create obstacles."

"Maybe just take out that exclamation mark?" a female voice suggested from behind his other shoulder. He turned to see Livvy Andersen straining over his shoulder. And Jack Halston straining over her shoulder. What the hell...? He looked up just to check that Wu wasn't dangling from the ceiling.

"Guys! Can I get a little space, here?"

"The rest of the message is fine," Livvy advised. "Who got hit with the pan?"

Nick wasn't going to get into that. Jan wasn't left with much dignity after the kitchen incident and Nick was happy to help preserve what was left. Inching away, he removed the exclamation mark, replacing it with a smiley, and pressed send, which in turn sent his little crowd of live commentators into a murmured debate about the use of smilies in a pre-first-date text. Hank shook his head at him doubtfully.

"Hello! Privacy!?"

"Never compose in a squad room, then," Jack winked and wandered off to his desk, taking Livvy with him.

Wondering when Livvy and Halston became buddies, Nick dipped his voice and leant over to Hank. "They seem tight all of a sudden. Last I heard, she'd put mayonnaise in his shoes."

"That's because she thought he'd put fake jizz on her uniform. He didn't, and has since pounded the guy that did. And he's decided he likes her because she's woken Simon up again."

He frowned. Ok... that kind of explained why Halston homed in on Jan rather than Livvy as the mayo-prank-perpetrator. "Simon as in Jan's former nightmare rookie? How do you mean 'she's woken him up?'"

"She called in on Halston at home to apologise — again — saw what he had to deal with day in, day out, and ended up bullying Simon into going out for a beer. And he went! Wheelchair, body odour, twenty-day beard and all. I don't know what the hell she said to him, but he got himself organised into his own flat with concierge service and he's looking for work. Without Simon to worry about, Jack's a little more... normal."

Nick felt like he'd been away in Mexico a few months rather than a fortnight. Everything had changed. Good change, but still... "Has he apologised to Jan?"

Hank pulled a face. "So-so. They're civil at least, but Jack still can't hold back on the rich-boy snarks."

"He's not that rich."

"Oh he is, buddy. Might not flaunt it, but he is."

Wu came back over with an address slip, which he handed to Hank. "We've got a serious assault and a body at the Chandler hotel down on South West Taylor St. Oh, and by the way, the manager is a piece of work. You remember the stink he kicked up about Aldous House?"

Must be new. It wasn't ringing any bells for Nick. "What, is it a flop-house or something?"

Hank groaned, stuffing the address in his pocket. "You'd think so, the way the Chandler's manager goes on. It's a rehab centre for people with substance abuse problems and other chemical… issues. The guy felt that the place lowered the 'local tone', but it's not like he's running the Excelsior or something. You're lucky to get a bar of soap or a hairdryer in those rooms."

"He'll meet you both round back of reception."

Nick blinked. "I'm riding along?"

Wu nodded grimly. "Both the body and the assault are… kinky-nasty so it covers both your fields. I'll let Jan know where you've gone."

"Alright." Nick waited for Hank to pick up all the gear he'd only just offloaded onto his desk and was halfway out of the squadroom with him when Jan and DeMarcos emerged, both now in full combative form.

"... there's political work that would suit you a damn sight better, Vergeer. You're an intelligence guy and you damn well know it."

"I'm making progress where I am. And with respects, it's Fver-gk-ay-er, not Ver-gear. Put a little more 'a' in your 'e'."

"How the fuck do I do that? An 'a' is nothing like an 'e'. Is there any other small crap you'd like to argue about?"

Jan loomed over DeMarcos, his hands on his hips. "Protecting informants isn't small crap!"

"It's not part of your spec! If you're that worried about them, buy them a fuckin' hotel or something. Now get your prissy ass back to Gresham before I change my mind about the informal warning."

"Oh! Screw—"

Jan caught himself, unbunched the fist that had just curled up, and exhaled sharply. He turned on his heel and marched out, leaving everyone staring after him except DeMarcos, who just reclaimed Renard's office with an irritable grunt.

Hank prodded Nick. "You go talk to him. I'll wait in the car."

"Thanks…" Nick took after Jan at a run, catching up with his partner at the bottom of the stairwell, pacing like a caged beast. He approached cautiously and sat on the steps. "Jan? You going to be alright?"

"Yeah." Jan slowed, kicked the wall half-heartedly, and came to join him on the steps, stretching his legs out. "No action taken against me, but ... as you probably surmised... our AC doesn't like me a great deal. He doesn't think that operational duties are 'my bag.'"

"He was talking about other roles," Nick said quietly, feeling a little shitty that this whole debacle was about Jan arresting guys who'd hurt him. "What did he mean?"

"There was a little discussion about the paper I handed in on territorial policing. Apparently I should leave the 'broad thinking' for policy-holders. Or better still, get my 'prissy ass' out of his jurisdiction by taking one of those posts myself. He said he'd leave me some papers to look at."

"And... you're not interested."

"Not before I've finished what I started." Jan looked at him seriously. "I know there's such a thing as getting too close to the job, but... it would be a huge case for you to take over if I got booted."

"You care about what happens to the girls, don't you?"

"I refuse to believe that any of those girls had this life in mind when they were doing their career interviews as kids."

Except perhaps Gianna, Nick thought. Frickin' towel-dropper. "You can't save them all, Jan."

"I'm not trying to 'save them all'. I'm trying to help them to help themselves. I have really simple ideas, alright? Most of these girls won't talk to us about the guys that attack them, because according to cops like DeMarcos, getting attacked is an occupational hazard for a prostitute. But these girls do talk to each other. And they need a way of warning each other about who to run the hell away from before it's too late."

Nick sighed. "How many bodies are we talking about, so far?"

"Four bodies. Three attacks."

"Jesus! Since when?"

"Over the last five months. I allowed myself to get distracted by Berlingo's mating―" Jan broke off to clear his throat. "Sorry… Berlingo's sharing of girls between mates, and didn't get back on top of intel leads again until recently."

"Don't beat yourself up about it. It's not like you haven't been busy." Nick glanced over at his partner, who seemed lost in thought. "The girls don't talk to each other that much. At least not to confide in each other. How do you think this is going to work?"

"Freebie mentioned that most of them go to the same free clinic and drop-in centre. They can report assaults anonymously there at the moment, but there's this guy who's working his way towards being a police artist who is happy to take down descriptions and digitise the pictures so the girls know who to look out for. Somewhere down the line, they'll be able to forward the pictures to each other by email."

"They'd need smart phones for that."

"I can work something out."

Nick had never heard of an easy solution to an expensive problem, but Jan seemed quietly definite about it. "Alright, so let's try and close the case. We might be up to five bodies and four attacks. Hank's waiting on us to join him on a homicide and sexual assault at the Chandler hotel. Both girls tied up."

"Sounds like their MO." Jan looked genuinely worried. "Look, these guys are nasty in a way that I can't even begin to describe. They won't wait to decide whether you've got something on them or not. They will shoot you as soon as they look at you."

"So we take Kevlar."

"Kevlar only covers a third of you. But alright, let's get going."

They strolled out into the carpark and met Hank already loading two jackets into the trunk of his Impala. Hank offered a hand to Jan as he approached, and they shook briskly.

"Good to hear you're still with us, man."

"By a hair." Jan managed a small smile.

"I gotta say, that shout-off with DeMarcos would've gone better without you trying to get the last word. There are good times and bad times to be specific about your name, bud."

"Yeah, I know. He was trying to get a rise, and he got one. Stupid, really, but..."

Nick Jan a little nudge, hoping to lighten him up a little bit. "Well, your pronunciation isn't always 'all that' either."

"No?"

"No. You need a little more 'u' in your 'screw you'."

Hank broke into open laughter as he hauled open the driver door and it took a moment for Jan to break into a slow grin.

"Thanks. I needed that. I'll just go get my jacket."

X x X

"You said WHAT?" Helen thundered around her apartment, purportedly tidying, but mostly slamming things back into place to vent her temper as Tony relayed the disciplinary conversation back to her, his voice a nasal squeak in her ear. Steve caught her wrist on her third lap of the couch and held up a sign:

Helen, you're making me feel seasick.

Sorry, she mouthed back.

"I told him he's not a natural operational cop!" Tony barked. "We do not need a guy who has absolutely no idea how strong he is 'strong-arming' the perps, even if they do deserve their faces shoved through a window."

"This is the first time something like this has happened with him," Helen said. "In three years!"

"And he was only supposed to be here for one year! How the hell did he manage that? He could've blown a hole through the Lieutenancy interviews and tests a long time ago, but he's still dragging his heels. He's still toddling around as Acting Lieutenant. Why?"

"We can't promote him. He belongs to Interpol."

Helen felt Steve move his legs and pull her down on the edge of the couch. She sunk down wearily and squeezed his hand back while trying to marshal her temper. "So you do think he's capable of more?"

"Do you think I go into these interviews without checking a track record? C'mon, now!"

Steve held up another sign: What do you think he should be doing?

Helen relayed the question and Tony sighed. "There's intelligence liaison post at Multmonah County PD that deals with relations with the Feds. I think he'd be good there. He's natural at all the people-person bullshit, and he is an intelligence guy, first and foremost. He takes a wider view of stuff."

Helen was a little surprised at the positivity, but nonetheless resented Tony's cheerful assumption that she'd give up her deputy and head of SVU without a fight, particularly when Tony had yet to assign her a permanent Lieutenant.

"So, how did you leave things with Jan?" She turned her phone to loudspeaker, since Steve was clearly listening in, anyway.

"Well, I made it clear I wouldn't take any crap from him."

"He gave you crap? Tony, I just don't believe that. Sorry, but I don't."

"He sat silently through ten minutes of me ripping him a new one for excessive force and trying to encourage a career move — and then bitched at me about his name."

"Good for him!" Steve rasped. "You've only had three years to get it right…"

"Oh, you're there, are you? How's my favourite unsupportive asshole doing?"

Steve couldn't reply, having used up his voice supply for the day. Helen passed him a glass of milk and pressed him back on the couch. "He's getting better."

"Vergeer has an arrogance problem. He's precious because he can afford to be precious. He has no deference for his seniors―"

"Are we talking about the same guy, here, even?" Helen stared at her cell in disbelief, and then over at Steve.

"…You know what his issue is? He doesn't even need to be a cop. He's got money coming out of his ears. Police work's more like a hobby for him―"

"Now, hold on!" Helen prodded the air angrily. "Does someone who doesn't care about being a cop spend that much time putting together a paper on holistic policing? Really? And did you even acknowledge the quality of the paper he submitted? Because you said initially that it was one of the best examples of cross-agency cooperation―"

"Hell, no! He was in my office to get his wrist-slapped! I'm not going to throw garlands at his feet at the same time, am I?"

Steve rolled his eyes almightily and scribbled. YOU'RE A THIN-BRAINED DICK, SOMETIMES. IF ONE OF US STEPPED ON A COP BECAUSE HE WAS HARD-UP, YOU'D HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY ABOUT IT. THE REVERSE SHOULD APPLY. NOW DROP THE ATTITUDE OR I'LL BELT YOU.

She grinned and duly repeated down the line to Tony.

"I'd like to see you try! Unless you get Vergeer to do it for you? Incidentally, are you two at work, or having a hypocritical lay-in at home?"

Helen ground her teeth. Steve stayed with her for a couple of days after every session of therapy, because it completely wiped him out, but Tony saw this as a direct conflagration of the no-office-relationships rule. Steve seized his pad and scribbled frenetically, and she put proper feeling into the words she read as he turned the pad back round to face her.

"Mind your own business. And I'm not being hypocritical. You're not the only one with undisclosed career plans, Mr Area Commandant. Talk to you later. I have things to discuss with Helen."

"Fine, I'm going," Tony muttered. "Look guys, they've got a new director over at Interpol. Some rude asshole called van Maarten. I'll let you know if I get any luck releasing him from the European agency for the Fed post." Then he hung up.

"Goodbye to you too," she muttered, putting the phone down. With her gaze resting on his pad, it occurred to her to ask. "What 'undisclosed career plans', by the way?"

Steve held up a finger to pause the conversation, pushed himself off the couch, and set off for the spare room, walking very slowly. She held back from going after him. He'd lost about 20lb during his recovery because he couldn't keep much down the first few weeks. It seemed unfair that the cure for his cancer was making him feel as bad as the cancer had itself, even if the treatment was working. She could hear him breathing hard from the other room as he looked for something, but hung back to let him do it. Steve couldn't stand being cosseted any more than she could. He was back a moment or so later, sitting back down on the couch, a series of laminated flashcards in his hands, some of them separated by stickies. He put those to one side to write on the pad. She leant in next to him, trying to resist the urge to nestle into him. Their urgent closeness while he was in hospital seemed a long time ago, now.

Are you still mad about him getting the AC role?

"Well, yeah! That was yours! He totally jumped the queue." She was still steaming about that. Tony voted to bring the AC interviews forward when the query was raised by the mayor's office. That was unforgivable, as far as she was concerned. Talk about taking advantage of Steve being sick.

Steve shuffled through his flashcards and produced: I thought so.

And then: don't be.

"It's easy for you to say. I've now got a shit for a boss."

Steve had clearly prepared a speech, because he re-stacked his cards and turned to face her, turning them slowly.

It went out for interview in the first place because I was offered the role and turned it down.

Helen shrugged. "Alright. I feel two percent less like killing him."

He flipped the card. I had other priorities.

flip: And If I became AC, I would be your boss.

"That... would be beyond awkward," she agreed. They'd had plenty of practice holding back from one another, but always in the capacity of peers. He nodded, and shuffled to the next card.

More than awkward... impossible. I can't be your boss.

"You really prepared for this discussion, didn't you?" She sighed. "Where did you get the cards laminated?"

Steve rolled his eyes and produced the next card. But I still need to work and I don't want to go far. I've been offered Captaincy at Fairview PD when Morris retires in November, presuming my voice comes back and I get cleared to return to work.

Helen caught her breath, missing him already. She put her hands up to her face and breathed hard into them, feeling her eyes sting. Steve tapped her arm, and she gave a wet smile as he produced a card from the back of the stack: Hey! I'm not done!

"Alright, sorry. I'm still listening."

You're a dream to work with, but more to the point, you're a dream to live with, and I really don't want to move out, this time.

I don't want you to be one of my Captains. I want you to be my wife.

She bit her lip and found herself half laughing and half crying into the back of her hand as he slid off the couch, went down on one knee, and removed a box from his pocket. It was a simple ring that suited her perfectly: a crossed-over band of white gold with three tiny diamonds inset over the upper cross. He scrabbled for the next card.

So, will you?

"Steve, we haven't even DATED!"

He pinkened a little and snatched for his pad. I didn't prepare for that comment, sorry. But really! What do we not know about each other? We've done the important part, which is to be completely inseparable. I don't know about you, but I'm really looking forward to the 'unimportant' part, too.

His roguish grin gave way to an expression of appeal as he handed her his last pre-prepared card.

I love you too much to not take this risk. I hope you love me as much. Even by our outstanding stalling standards, I think 15 years of hiding behind work is pushing it. Don't you?

"I do," she chuckled, then realised what she'd said, but she meant it in every way. Steve's eyes widened from hope to joy, and he pulled himself back onto the couch at a scramble, sliding the ring on her finger. He slipped his fingers through the back of her hair and she enjoyed a long, warm head-rush as their lips met and they kissed for a very, very long time.

She lay down on the couch with him for a while, just resting, feeling him tease the back of her neck with his thumb. A tiny, grown-up part of her chided her for moving impulsively from friends to engaged in a single leap, but she booted that tiny little part out to weep alone on the sidewalk. Her 'grown-up' part had made her decisions for her long enough.

Steve cleared his throat and reclaimed a little voice. "I say we book a day the moment I can talk without sounding like Darth Vader."

"Uh uh. Now that I've said 'yes', I'm not putting the day off that long. I can marry Darth Vader if I have to. No cloaks at the wedding, though." Something struck her. "And no evil emperors, either. Tony's not coming, is he?"

Steve grinned apologetically, but she knew she was fighting a lost cause on that one. They were partners a long time before she'd become Steve's rookie.

"If he brings Stormtroopers, I'll shoot him. Bridal gear has discreet pockets these days. He'll never even see the muzzle flash."

Steve chuckled, and she loved the feel and sound of it through his chest. She wanted to call Jan in a short while, see how he was really doing, but he'd probably need a cooling off period first. So she relaxed a little while longer. She was technically off-duty, after all. And if Jan's intel turned out to be correct, they'd have some nasty cases coming through.

X x X

Franco leant into Hank's window and grimaced apologetically. "New kid on the crime scene team. Threw up everywhere. They're trying to rescue forensics around the scene of the hurl, right now. Hang in there another ten minutes?"

"What about the survivor?"

"Eh... we're down a survivor and up two bodies."

"Shit. Do they have bruises on their fronts? Clustered bruises?" Jan asked, and Franco nodded. Jan exhaled slowly, feeling queasy. "That fits a pattern I've been following."

Nick spoke up from the front. "Got a name on either of them?"

"No. No IDs."

"We can hope," Hank muttered as Franco walked away.

Jan felt the beginnings of a significant headache growing and tried to chill in the back seat while Nick and Hank whiled away ten minutes arguing about the benefits of aikido versus karate in the average cop's self-defence repetoire. Nick was arguing against aikido, having apparently been forced through to blue belt stage by his aunt before deciding that if he ever wanted his arms to work as an adult, he'd better not pop his shoulder out of joint again.

When he went into that hotel room, he didn't know whether he would smell lowen, or Coyotl. The previous scene he'd attended showed quite a few of the hallmarks of a Coyotl fertility exercise, but the treatment the poor girl had been given afterwards was more in line with 'hobbling' beatings given to sacrifices meant for the 'prey' in the lowen games to make sure they had little chance of rising as underdogs. He had his money on gladiatorial lowen, perhaps with help from Coyotl. Team work. Great. One of the first times that wesen breeds cross the great understanding divide, but only to commit violent crime.

Jan's cellphone buzzed in his pocket and he fished awkwardly for it, keeping his voice low when Cleo's name came up on his screen. "Hey, you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm good. Get rid of Gianna ok this morning?"

"The girls all left together," he abbreviated, and she didn't press, as Cleo never did. It was nice dating someone who 'lived' the concept of not being able to talk about work in any depth. He felt like he should make it up to her for yet another date being screwed up by one of their jobs. His job, this time. "What're you doing this week?"

"Well, on Wednesday, we are helping Dave with Susie, remember?"

He didn't. "Susie?"

Hank turned in his seat and cocked an eyebrow.

Jan pretended not to notice and tried not to look too chagrined as Cleo reminded him that he was supposed to be watching Susie while Dave the keeper cleared out her mom's enclosure. Oh yes. Susie. He thought of her as 'lump'. Nearly three hundred pounds of undiluted grey cheekiness with a thing for affectionately squashing him against the wall or belting him with her trunk. He wondered if he could book another stakeout for Wednesday night. But then, he had agreed to help so that Dave could get away earlier to do the barbeque at the Foster Home summer party. Apparently. He made a mental note to drink less around Cleo. Or wear darker shadeswhen she came over all persuasive.

She huffed at him. "You're trying to get out of it now, aren't you?

"No, no... I'm just trying to remember why I'm doing this with you, rather than another more qualified guy."

"Oh there'll be two keepers there. And me, of course."

"Well thank god there're four of us to deal with her!"

"We just need a bigger guy to help herd Susie into the corner if she gets a little playful."

"A little playful? Cleo, she weighs a half-tonne and keeps smacking me across the backside! And then she giggles! And she's not as easy to manhandle as she used to be."

Both Nick and Hank peered into the gap between the front seats, their eyebrows in their hairlines. Jan climbed out of Hank's car, closing the door quietly behind him as Cleo protested at him down the line.

"Well think how hard it is for Dave and Mike! They're not even six foot. Look, Dave's got a deadline to keep and we need a bigger pair of arms, so please don't back out? And Susie's really cute."

"I didn't say I was backing out. I just don't like getting squashed by elephants, however cute they are."

"She likes you. She usually tries to charge people."

"Getting squashed is one thing, but if I get charged, too, I'm out of there. But I'll be there, alright? Bye now- yes?"

"Can we skip dinner after and head straight back to yours?" Cleo asked suddenly, her voice sounding a little subdued. "My boss wanted to talk to me first thing this morning and there's stuff we need to discuss."

"Of course. I'll get some food in."

"Thanks, Jan."

As she hung up, he put his cell away and turned back to the car, peeved to find the front windows open and to see theatrically innocent expressions on Hank and Nicks' faces. Pair of bloody eavesdroppers. He climbed back in awkwardly, trying not to catch his head on the door edge.

"So..." Nick ventured. "A fivesome, huh?"

"I finished that call alone for a reason, you know."

Hank clicked his tongue. "Calling a girl an elephant. Oh boy. That's cold! This is why you never get past the third date, Jan."

"He's had lots of third dates?" Nick gazed back at him in shock and awe. "Where were all these third dates when you borrowed your male partner's sex life to get Jason out of his cave?"

"They were uneventful, and we were going for a propulsive response at the time.." Jan was saved from having to elaborate as Franco waved them into the building. "Ah, we're good to go."

They were met behind reception as promised by the Chandler's manager, who led them stiffly to a room in the rear wing of the hotel and pointed through the open door. "Both found trussed up this morning. No one heard a thing."

Jan sniffed once and caught the old game smell of lowen in the air, with a higher, sour smell of coyotl fringing it. He really, really didn't want to be right, but the pairing made sense. The coyotl were the hunters: the lowen, the gatherers. No wonder the two drangzorn down at the docks fled as soon as they anticipated arrest: they feared not him, but the reprisals of leading him to their 'bosses'.

He met Nick's eye as he glanced queasily at the second girl to have died, already photographed and laid out on a coroner's gurney, the black bag zipped up to her hips. The first girl was already being wheeled with respectful care down the corridor to the coroner's van. Nick looked the injuries over gingerly, slapping Hank's arm as he went a little green. The coroner strolled over, looking grave.

"Ah, Burkhardt. Out of uniform. Very good. I knew it had to happen before I retired."

Nick flashed a grin at the reedy medic and held a hand out in greeting as Dr Harper was introduced: a very pretty, portly lady in her late thirties or so who was soaking up the atmosphere like she was at a rock concert, while trying to look suitably horrified at the case in hand. Nick helped her with the stubborn zipper on the bag so that there were no indignities to the girl who'd died. Jan sighed a little and moved away. It was little moments like that, and the teasing, that had Nick increasingly creeping up in his train of thought. Nick and Hank made the new coroner feel 'at home', or as much as anyone could feel 'at home' at a crime scene, and then Jan tuned back into the conversation. While he was sensing, trying to get an impression of assailant size from depth of footprints, grease stains on the edge of the doorway, and so on, Nick was digging conversationally.

"Can I just ask... did either of the girls have bruises on their inner thighs? Or legs?"

Harper pointed down. "This one, no. I think she fought back more. The other girl… I'm afraid so."

Jan looked over. "Are you thinking of Teeny Phoebe?"

Nick nodded and shot Hank a wry smile. "One of Jan's girls."

"Jeez. Susie, Phoebe… I thought he was so pure."

"So did I," Nick mumbled, but said it with a cheeky wink.

Jan pretended to be offended and stalked off, following the footprints down the corridor. The heavier ones suddenly became solo, and heavier, and branched off to the fire exit. How did someone suddenly make bigger indents in the carpet? Woge? No… probably not if it was a half-woge. What he was seeing was nearly a whole extra person's weight… on the balls of the feet. The big guy was carrying his accomplice? Maybe there was a fight. A kick between the legs, perhaps… the girls' hands were tied, but not their feet. He drew his gun and went out through the fire escape, and damn near tripped over the body as soon as he got outside.

But not a body… the guy was still moving. Jan called dispatch for a bus and escorting officers and felt for a pulse. It was there. The guy had a stab wound to his left side at the waist that didn't look fatal, but which had incapacitated him for the time being. It wasn't a huge blood loss externally, yet. Jan rolled the man onto his back, ripped a length of his pants leg off and folded it into a wad. Then he straddled him and applied heavy pressure to the wound, making him grunt.

"Help's coming. Who did it?"

The guy's face was white and sweaty and he woged just enough for his eyes to flash yellow.

Jan wasn't surprised: the smell gave it away. He suppressed his Koninglowen completely and stared down at him evenly, keeping eye-contact to keep the guy awake and alarmed, as much as anything else. "Coyotl. I thought I recognised the vile string-up style on those poor girls indoors."

"Grimm?"

"No. What I am is for me to know and you to have nightmares about. I'll ask again: who stabbed you."

"Dun't matter. He's just a thug. There's more girls coming. They dock east of Rodger's Marina, bring 'em in ten at a time. Tonight, another ten."

Jan nodded. That fitted with the shipment times he'd been given by Gianna, and there was only one berth left of Rodger's. Further down that road everything went back into hotel territory. "I can get a warrant, now. Why the sudden cooperation?"

"Wanted out. I thought I was… part of a breeding programme. But the girls who didn't want to play… well, you saw what my partner did to 'em."

Jan could've kicked himself. Yes, that made a lot more sense than a big sex ring. And it tied in the Berlingo case, too. The Lausenschlange were going through a mating season and partners were scarce. "All these girls are wesen?"

"All breeds. They hit the streets, guys pick them up… they know where to look… the girls get pregnant, the pure world lives on."

"At a cost," Jan barked. "What happens to the girls? To the babies?"

The guy's eyes went wide and Jan stared him out. He didn't know. Genuinely. Jan kept the pressure on the wound to prevent a death but had no inclination to be compassionate as he passed out. Not after seeing the state of those girls in that room.

Nick and Hank came tumbling out of the fire exit, but both were nimble enough to leap over the obstructive legs rather than nearly tread on them, as he had.

"Get anything from him?" Nick asked.

"Yes. It looks like we have a low-key raid on, tonight. I'm starting to put together the bigger picture."

"Woo boy." Nick scratched the back of his head. "We spoke to Harper for a little while, and she unzipped the bag so we could check out those bruises you were talking about. And the girl had a tattoo."

Jan's heart jumped into his throat. Tattoos and pure breeding programmes? Verrat? "Was the tattoo a pattern of interlocking chevrons?"

"Huh? How is it worth having a tattoo of a messed up road-sign? No, it was a small lion on the outside of the wrist. Harper said she'd check the other girl back at the county morgue."

"And I'll revisit the photos from the other crime scenes," Jan murmured. He was able to stand at last as the EMTs emerged with their gear and took over with the stabbed perp. "This guy apparently wanted out."

Hank snorted. "That's what they all say."

"Agreed." Jan had absolutely no idea how he was going to explain the whole breeding motivation for this crime to Nick and Hank. The perverse sex angle probably made more sense to them. "Anyway, what we know is that groups of girls, between 18 and 24 years old, have been brought here in small batches and that they're mingling with the local prostitutes. Or not, depending on how unwelcome they're made to feel. This has been going on for six months."

"Yeah, but… why bring them in through the Columbia?"

"It's probably a multi-stage journey." Jan dreaded to think how long it took them to get here, and what state they'd be in by the time they arrived. "They'll use small airports, trucks, charter boats under their exclusive hire on a retainer…"

"How'd they get past immigration?" Hank asked.

Nick pulled a face. "I think we'd better check bank balances at the aerodromes where the girls are slipping the net. There's probably some bribery going on."

"I'd say call in Renard, but he's not white collar anymore. Good Captain, though." Hank followed them back down the corridor after the perp's gurney. "We doing a joint effort tonight on the raid?"

"If you can get clearance, great." Jan was grateful. The more hands, the better. He just had awful mental images of Nick trying to round up scattered girls with the lowen bearing down on him from behind. They headed back to the squad car and Nick's cell buzzed. Then Nick's face split in a broad, boyish grin.

Jan had an idea of what this was about, but Hank got in there first.

"Alright, what time are you picking this babe up?"

"I'm picking up Juliette tomorrow night from work. Seven-ish. Good… I was worried that might clash with my aunt visiting."

Jan felt a little cold and wondered if he could be out of the country, whenever that was. "When's she visiting?"

"Wednesday. Hey Jan, what are you doing Wednesday night? She's a little hard to get conversation out of these days and you can usually charm the socks off most people, so…"

"I'm restraining an elephant."

Hank cracked up laughing at Nick's flummoxed expression. "Wow. You really don't want to meet his aunt, do you?"

"I've got enough troublesome family of my own to deal with," Jan admitted, and remembered that he still hadn't replied to Annalise's email asking for a coffee meet to get Francine off their backs. He needed to do that once he got back to the precinct, before the delay became too rude. "Alright, let's get back and prepare."

X x X

"This is what we call 'bad intel'," Hank yelled as bullets sung past the crate they were hiding behind. He grimaced and clutched his left arm. "That is a lot more firepower than advertised!"

Nick's ears were throbbing so badly from the noise that he thought they might actually start bleeding. He didn't bother yelling, but mouthed at Jan "You going to fire Gianna?"

"I think I might kill Gianna," Jan replied, adding a mock throttle to the clarity of his message. "Nick, you need to run."

Nick gaped. "And leave you guys here? Come on!"

"You'll be out of range within ten feet of the crate. They've wasted a lot of ammo trying to shoot through this thing, and you'll be hard to hit moving at speed in the dark. So, you'll draw their fire while I go in from the side and get behind them."

Alright… so that was strategy. Nick could handle a little running-away for strategy. But not for Jan's eternal brother hen routine. It wasn't like they'd turned up without back-up. There were two cars of back-up, and four cops had been shot. Just as Jan said, the moment these guys thought their game was up, they just opened fire.

"What are you going to do?"

Jan crawled to the edge of the crate and peeked round the darker corner. "There are only three of them, and their sniper isn't paying attention. One of the girls is out of the boat and trying to sneak off, and he doesn't know whether to go after her, or stay on this box. There's a lot of glancing towards the girl. I'm counting at the other two trying to chase you."

"And my role in all this?" Hank panted.

"Stay safe, and keep calling for back-up and buses. And if any more girls get free, get them into that copse of trees over there."

Nick followed Jan's finger over to a thicket blending into blackness. Good plan.

Nick peeled off his Kevlar, then his hoodie. He tied the hoodie round Hank's arm and put his Kevlar back on again. He had a black-and-white striped teeshirt under the hoodie, which while being a horrible mistake of fashion would at least create frustration and optical illusion to anyone trying to shoot him on the move.

"Nice zebra look there, Nick."

"Post-vacation laundry crisis," Nick muttered. "It was never supposed to appear from under the top." He looked over at Jan, who'd hopped up onto the balls of his feet, still hunkered down as he re-loaded the clip in his gun. "Jan, what if there are more guys round that corner than you think?"

"Don't worry about me. You focus on running, alright? I'll just… make discouraging noises. Do not turn back until gunfire stops, and then sprint the hell over to us again."

"Great! That sounds terrifying!"

"Good luck, guys."

Nick knew a hint when he saw one and crouched into a starting position. Now he really wished he'd run track rather than did archery, but hey… he was still pretty fast. Another gunshot acted as his flag and he pelted off into the night, hearing bullets whistle near him, but not close enough. He banked a sharp right into the copse, intending to wind round the marina's little warehouse and come back full circle, ready to help.

From way behind him, he heard an intense roar that was so sudden he went sprawling over a tree root and felt himself a little breathless as he picked himself back up again. But the roar was cut off by a gunshot, and then there were no more shots at all.

Unnerved by the silence, Nick sprinted back to the crate as instructed, to find neither Hank nor Jan where they had been. His heart racing, he looked round the entire berth until he caught sight of both guys helping the girls out of the boat onto the dock. Oh thank….

He sprinted over. "What the hell was that noise?"

"Discouraging, wasn't it?" Hank spluttered, all the colour out of his face. Nick made him sit. "Jesus, it put me right off what I was in the middle of trying to do, that's for sure. I think it scared the crap out of dispatch, too."

Nick raised his brows at his partner. His weirdness was just mounting. "Explain the freaky lion noise. Now."

Jan looked innocent. "Well, it wasn't me. I was busy fighting, as you can probably tell from my shirt."

"How do I know it wasn't you?"

"I only roar in D flat." Jan demonstrated. "See? That wasn't me."

Nick wiggled his finger in his ear. He had no idea that one guy could physically make so much noise. "How… how did you do that?"

"Loose hyoid bone, alas. I had quite a few operations on it in my teens, but with the right lung capacity… can't physically scream or even shout very easily. Can only roar." Jan was absolutely pink with embarrassment. "So now you know why I rarely get past a third date."

Nick scratched his head. "You don't have to roar at your dates."

"Not in the course of peaceful conversation, no, but if you thunder away like that at the precise moment of—"

"We get the picture," Hank said hastily. "Thanks for the back-up, man. Weird as it was."

"I'm going to help those paramedics with the uniform guys. They were taken down, but not killed, thank God." Jan gave them both a nervous smile as he walked towards the approaching buses.

Nick met Hank's eye and shrugged. "You know what? I think I'm going to have to do research on that guy."

"I know a good place to start." Hank grunted as Nick hauled him off the dockside and towards one of the rigs. "His family has a website. I'll show you when we get back."

He didn't exactly know why Hank would've looked Jan up, but he didn't seem sinister about it. "Alright, we'll check it out. AFTER you've had your arm looked at."

"Deal, partner."

Nick grinned as Hank realised his mistake, but it was kind of cool. It was starting to feel that way. It was like having two partners, and he liked it.

X x X

TBC… prob another 2 parts left….