A/N: Okay. First off, a huge apology to everyone who reads, and especially to the dozen or so people who've sent concerned and considerate PMs and reviews, wondering where the hell this chapter is. I know it's a pain in the ass, but if you find yourself feeling lost, going back to Ch. 12 should help.

Second, another apology to everyone who left such great reviews after the last chapter. Normally, I like to reply to them before I post the new chapter, but I have to be to work in an hour or so, and really wanted to get this up and running before I left.

Third: huge thanks to a slew of people who've put up with my neuroses, and my laziness, and my general irritability. Since the last chapter, I've moved to another state, cramming all of my belongings into a single room, started a brand new job which is just unfamiliar enough to turn me into a ball of anxiety, and spent 6 harrowing days and nights in a tiny tent in the middle of a field, dodging drunks on their way to watch a crazy country music concert. Summary? It's been stressful.

Anyway, thanks go to these people (and probably a few more that I've forgotten): this_moment_is_stardust, icewitch73, deedee920, loulabelle, kitkat, rookiebluefan89...and that's where I tap out.

ALSO - MASSIVE thanks to everyone who nominated and voted in the RB Choice Awards. I wish I had a picture of the grin on my face when I get the alert email. Seriously, even thinking about it now makes my day, and it's all because of you.

So, this chapter is dedicated to you loyal readers who've continued to have faith in me though it's been a ridiculously long time since I've updated. This chapter is a little shorter than the last few, (and possibly a little more...vague?) but that's because we're getting down to the big moment here. ;)

"You realize we're never getting them out of here, don't you?" Traci muttered as she leaned against the guardrail and looked down a floor to where Barber and Swarek were prowling around the open hood of a shiny 1965 Mustang. Positioned at regular intervals throughout the mall, more classic cars were on display, crowded by collectors, potential buyers, and oglers. Beyond the displays, the mall was bustling; people were everywhere, weaving in and out of stores, around kiosks. And it was loud; voices echoing around the open space, screaming children running by.

Andy rolled her eyes and braced her forearms against the smooth metal. "Well, we're going to miss the movie and Sam and I kind of got plans tonight, so…"

Traci shot an amused look over at her and set her shopping bags on the floor. "Hey, you were the one who suggested we stop for lunch. Besides, they can't help it." She turned around, back against the railing, and looked at her nails. "It's like they're genetically programmed to be drawn to big engines. You really should have known better."

"How was I supposed to know there was a car show here today?" Andy hissed defensively. She took one last look at Sam poking his head into the passenger-side window and then spun around, frustrated. "God, even if we get them outside, there's gotta be fifty more lined up in the parking lot."

"Fifty?" Traci asked, eyebrows up. "Probably closer to a hundred. Better accept it. We're gonna be here all day."

Andy took a deep breath and then nodded distractedly. She tossed one last look over her shoulder down at Swarek and Barber and then shook her head. "Well, might as well make the best of it," she remarked sulkily. She looked at her friend. "Coffee, cookies or ice cream?"

Traci gave her a sly look. "I can only choose one?"

Andy looped a few of the shopping bag handles over her wrists and gave her a sly smile. "No. Which one do you want to get first?"

A half hour later they were very slowly ambling away from the delicious hot grease smell of Sbarro and the rest of the food court and back towards the Mustang and Andy was licking a dribble of Jamoca Almond Fudge from her fingers while Traci made her way through her second double chocolate chip.

"So, these plans you have," Traci prompted, shooting her a knowing look. "Would they be naked plans?"

The corner of Andy's mouth turned up and she glanced away, focusing instead on a couple of teenage girls trying on sunglasses at one of the kiosks. When she didn't reply, Traci elbowed her a little. "Ow! Maybe," she finally conceded with a laugh.

"Ha ha. I knew it," Traci laughed. She used a finger to hitch her purse higher up onto her shoulder and then took another bite.

Andy swallowed a big mouthful of ice cream, feeling the brain freeze come on quick and then ebb an instant later. "We're just trying to soak it up, you know? Make these last few days really count." She didn't say anymore. Didn't explain how even though they still had those few days, she was missing him already. But it must have been written all over her face.

"So, it's serious then," Traci said, eyeing her carefully. "This thing with Swarek."

Andy nodded, no hesitation at all. "Yeah. Yeah it's very serious."

"I'm just asking. Because the last time I checked, you said you were still figuring things out. Having fun, or whatever." They stopped short as they reached the display area, and after a moment, started picking their way to the center of the crowd.

"Well, we're still having fun," Andy joked, shooting her a grin.

"But you're waiting for him," Traci replied. It wasn't a question, but Andy nodded anyway.

"Yeah. I am."

Traci stood up on her toes, scanning the crowd for Jerry and Sam. "That's a big deal, though. Right? I mean, you're basically putting your life on hold until he gets back."

"It's only three months," Andy said haltingly, almost choking on the words. Between the two of them, she and Sam had probably repeated those same words fifty times over the last three weeks; more often the closer it got to him leaving. With only two nights left, it was almost a reflex by now. "And it's not my whole life. It's not like I'm joining a convent or anything," she laughed.

"Might as well be," Traci muttered and Andy shot her a dirty look. "Well, sorry but you're going from all Swarek, all the time to a lot of lonely nights."

"I can handle it," Andy replied, her voice a little more sharp than she intended. Traci glanced at her and had the good grace to look rebuked.

"Are you sure?" she asked cautiously. "You're not going to be able to fake this one. You start saying you'll wait for him, and it's like a promise. The two of you are making promises to each other," Traci explained, making sure there was no mistake. Her gaze caught Andy's and held it. "Are you sure you're ready for that?"

Andy spun towards her, a frown twisting her lips. "What's your deal? I thought you were on board with this." She shot a dirty look towards her left as she was jostled by an angry wife dragging her husband away from the display. Then she turned back to Traci. "Why are you trying to get me to change my mind?"

Traci's eyebrows went up and she held up a hand defensively. "I'm not. I swear. I just have a feeling that this separation isn't going to be as easy as you think and I don't want you getting hurt, okay?"

Andy inhaled deeply and looked away, giving her head a barely noticeable shake. "Sam wouldn't hurt me, alright? And it is going to be hard, but we've been talking about it for a while now, and we're ready. Prepared." She nodded to herself, resolute. "I'll be fine. We'll both be fine," she added, giving Traci a serious look.

Traci didn't respond, and after a second of staring her down, Andy turned back towards the car. She got onto her tip toes and craned her neck, scanning the crowd for Sam's face.

The whole area was bathed in sun shining through the skylight, and people were moving in all directions, making identification difficult. But, she finally caught sight of him at the edge of the crowd, leaned up against a massive stone planter. He had his Blackberry out, tapping buttons as his head turned one way and then another, searching. Sam put the phone up to his ear, and after a second, Andy felt the phone in her back pocket come to life, vibrating and singing loudly, a tiny mechanical noise barely audible under the din of the crowd.

Instead of answering, she stepped up onto a short ledge setting off a small seating area and then waved. It only took a second for Sam to catch sight of her, a head taller than the rest of the crowd, bare arm outstretched. He stood and then, without looking away, grabbed a handful of Jerry's sleeve and dragged him from the car. Sam grinned at her, dimples cutting deep into his cheeks as he towed his friend through the crowd.

Andy beamed back and then looked down at Traci. "Besides," she added, all anxiety suddenly gone in a breath. "I'd wait a lot longer if I had to."

Sunday, June 17

Andy eased her foot off the accelerator and coasted down to a legal speed as she crossed the Willow Bend city limits. She was on autopilot, having made the same journey from Vancouver for the fourth week in a row. In the back seat, Brody started to move around, lifting his head to peer out the window as familiar buildings, streets, and trees all flew by. His tags jangled a little as he shifted, pushing himself up onto his haunches so he could see better.

She was grateful he'd turned out to be such a good passenger. She couldn't have made the last few trips alone, not to mention the one that had started it all, a month before. That night she'd hauled her duffel out from under her bed and they'd piled into the Escape; after the fight with Riley, after the breakdown she'd had in front of her dad. Andy and Brody had driven for a couple of hours, until she couldn't keep her eyes open anymore. She'd reluctantly parted with a wad of cash at the cheapest looking place she could find and laid down on top of the covers in her clothes with the dog butted up against the backs of her thighs. The thin walls had done nothing to disguise the activities of her neighbors on either side, but despite the noise, she'd slept and she'd slept hard. The back-to-back fights had exhausted her; had wrung every ounce of extra energy from her until she'd been running on pure adrenaline and stubbornness.

Sunday had dawned only a few hours later, and she'd awoken a little more clear-headed, a little less distraught, but just as determined. It took hardly any time at all to rinse off in the shower, get her duffel and her dog back into the SUV and take off once more. She'd known where she was going. Way back in Toronto, in that tiny room in the safe house, Sam had told her to be careful. So she was.

"No one can know your address. Not even your town, or your province."

Andy and Brody had traveled the remaining distance that day, nearly seven more hours until they'd reached Calgary. She'd popped the padded envelope into the first mail drop she'd seen, and then the two of them walked around a nearby park for an hour, stretching their legs. She'd gotten another hotel room for the night, and then had started back Monday morning. Her boss hadn't been exactly thrilled about her calling in, but there wasn't much to be done about it, seeing as how she'd been over 900 kilometers away at the time.

They'd made it back to Willow Bend before the sun went down, and Andy had slept straight through to 6 AM when she'd gotten up for yet another Tuesday morning at the bank. But though she'd gotten around ten hours of sleep, she was still worn out. In fact, as the days went by, she only found herself feeling worse. Even now, nearly five weeks later, she felt stretched thin. She was an honest-to-god maelstrom of emotion, and it was taking its toll.

After Andy crossed the bridge, she slowed a little, pulling off to the left, towards her street. A minute or two later, she was turning onto Juniper Drive and she tried to keep her eyes forward. She tried to resist. But her eyes bounced once over to Riley's house as they rolled by. His Suburban wasn't in the driveway, he wasn't outside at the hoop and his windows were dark. That was another problem. Time hadn't done anything to lessen the twisting in her gut she felt whenever she wondered where he was.

She hadn't spoken to him since the blowup at his house. She hadn't even really seen him in a month, except for a hostile glimpse here and there as they passed on the road. On the surface, she was still angry about it; about the kiss, about the assumptions he'd made about her relationship with Sam. But underneath, she was sad, and she felt guilty. Andy'd waited almost two weeks for him to come crawling back to apologize, sure that eventually, he'd have to give in. But when it didn't happen, she'd begun to worry. She'd weaseled the information about his past out of him, about his breakup, and Rebecca's rejection, and then had thrown it back in his face in one of the harshest ways possible. It had been a reflex, and it had been unplanned, but when she thought about it like that… If she were in his place, she probably wouldn't be in a hurry to forgive and forget either.

It was becoming obvious that if Andy had any hopes of mending their friendship, she'd have to be the one to make the first move. She missed him and she missed their friendship more than she ever imagined she could, but so far, she hadn't screwed up the courage to knock on his door.

Andy continued on down the road, slapped off the AC and cracked the windows until she could smell the smoke from someone's grill and hear the far off growl of a mower. Rolling slowly, two doors away from home, she glanced up the block towards Rebecca's. The blonde woman was on her knees in the flowerbeds surrounding the front door. AJ and Maddie were chasing each other around a large shrub halfway down the lawn. As Andy watched, AJ halted in her tracks, long blond braid flapping against her back, and she spun around and dropped into a crouch. As Maddie came around the bush, AJ grabbed her with a loud, "Boo!" Maddie's high-pitched squeal made Andy wince and made Brody whine and paw at the upholstery on the back seat, wanting to join in on the fun.

The sound also made Rebecca's head come up, and when she saw the Escape, she lifted a hand in a friendly wave, but didn't rise to her feet.

Andy returned the greeting, but frowned when Rebecca turned back to her gardening. Things were once again weird between them, and Andy knew it was 100% her own fault. But after Rebecca's confession about her feelings for Riley, and the subsequent misunderstanding, she couldn't be in the same room with her without suffering from huge amounts of guilt. She felt as if she'd betrayed her friend, though that wasn't actually the case. For some inexplicable reason, keeping her past to herself seemed like child's play compared to this. In this situation, she was feeling like the world's worst liar, and eventually it had just become easier to stay away. For sure, easier than coming clean about the whole mess. Definitely easier than seeing the devastated look on Rebecca's face.

It had taken a while; a few weeks of Andy being too busy to share a bottle of wine, too busy to go shopping. The few times she'd mentioned going to see Riley, Andy had swiftly and expertly blown her off, evading all questions with a practiced ease honed from months of keeping secrets. And finally, Rebecca had taken the hint. The phone calls and impromptu knocks at the door had dwindled to almost nothing. Andy should have been thrilled. She should have felt relief; but all she felt was miserable. Until her dad had shown up, Rebecca had been the closest thing she'd had to family here in Willow Bend. They didn't always see eye-to-eye, weren't always overly considerate of each other's feelings, but she'd been someone to talk to, and there was a very obvious caring between the two of them. It was just one more thing missing from her life at the moment.

But all that was coming to an end. The one phone call she'd received the past week had gone straight to voicemail, and it was simply a reminder that AJ was expecting Andy at her Little League game on Monday. So, ready or not, on Monday they'd be seeing each other and Andy was working up the nerve to lay it all out; the kiss, the fight, the loneliness she'd been suffering the last month. The ugly truth was that she was doing it just as much for herself – to get it off her chest, to relieve a little stress – as for their friendship. That conversation was bound to be either awkward or painful for both of them, but awkward and painful would be a step up at this point.

Because lately, life was pretty dismal. A lot like those early days in Witness Protection. Quiet and alone. Beyond the obvious lack of social life, she hadn't seen her dad since the night he'd left her in the living room, shaking with rage and tears. He'd stopped by a couple of times, and both times, she'd let him knock a few times, let him walk down the steps and back to his car. Whereas she was feeling no small amount of remorse over her argument with Riley, she was still livid with her dad. Out of everything that had happened, out of everyone she'd met since arriving in BC, Tommy had been the one person she knew she had on her side at all times, no matter what. The knowledge that he didn't have the same faith she felt in her relationship with Sam had been a massive blow to her confidence and her ability to just hold everything together. It had been the driving force in her bumping the plan up; it had been the one of the biggest things that kept her driving up to Vancouver every week. Proving once and for all, to everyone, that she and Sam were not over. And for that reason, until she no longer felt the anger rising up inside her at the very thought of him, she couldn't let Tommy in, couldn't pick up the phone and catch up. It felt like she'd be giving in. Like she'd be giving up.

Swallowing hard, Andy turned away from the Weaver house and hit the button on the garage door opener. She pulled the Escape up onto her driveway, watching as the door creaked up, slow as molasses. Out of habit, she scanned the interior, and then entered quickly, letting the door fall to the cement before she exited the vehicle. She got out of the car, put her bag over her shoulder and then opened the hatch. Brody jumped over the rear seat and out of the SUV. She felt him brush his side against her leg, crowding her a little, as she pulled out a box of fruit and vegetables from the farmers' market she'd passed halfway back from Vancouver. It had been her stock excuse for this trip, and the three that had come before. Not that anyone was around to ask.

Brody, walked up the steps ahead of her, stopped at the storm door and looked up at her. She unlocked the deadbolts and then let him in, smiling to herself as he wandered purposefully from room to room, nosing around, checking the place out. Her shoes came off next, toed off with a happy groan as they fell onto the mat next to a pair of running shoes, a pair of hiking boots and her old duty boots. Then, she relocked both deadbolts, and reset the alarm.

Her purse and the box were set on the counter and then she put the produce away, stuffing some of it into the crisper drawer in the fridge, leaving the peaches out on the counter to ripen a little more. She snagged the last apple from the box, a small one, picked too early in the season. She washed it, staring out the window into the woods the whole time. Like most days, Andy saw nothing out of the ordinary; no telltale signs of mystery guests. There had been no more broken branches, no more trespassers in the clearing as far as she could tell. And she'd been checking. Daily. The only motion she saw was the normal, natural movement she expected. The wind rustled the leaves on the trees outside, and the sun was shining through the branches on its long journey to meet the horizon.

Andy bit into the apple, feeling juice run down the side of her chin. She used the back of her hand to wipe it away and took a second bite, and then a third, realizing only a couple minutes later when she tossed the core into the trash that she'd been starving. She started to leave the room, but then thought better of it and refilled the dog dish, figuring he was probably hungry as well. Lastly, she reached over the sink and closed the blinds, shutting out the light. She walked out of the dark kitchen, her steps silent on the hardwood flooring of the dining room, and then hung a left.

Brody met her in the hallway and she murmured a soft, "good boy," as she held her hand out and he nuzzled it. She bent down and gave him a rough rub to his side. Her fingers slid in and out of his thick coat and then she straightened and walked down the hallway, her feet sinking into the plush carpeting. She made her way to the bedroom and when she got there, she stripped the clothing from her body and wrapped a towel around herself for the short walk to the shower.

Andy closed the bathroom door and then hung up the towel on the hook. She stepped into the shower, letting the hot water beat all the day's grime from her body and face. Apparently, summer was summer no matter where you were, and the heat and humidity were suffocating lately. It rained often enough that the moisture never seemed to disappear; the sun never burned it up, and it clung to her skin and her clothes any time she left the house and the comfort of her air conditioning. To make matters worse, she broke out into a sweat as soon as she stepped out of the house and her hair was sticking to her neck and shoulders if it wasn't in a ponytail 24/7. It was more than pleasant to finally feel clean and cool; it was a relief. After quickly soaping up and rinsing, she turned the water off and squeezed the moisture from her shoulder-length hair as she stepped out onto the mat.

She wrapped herself back up in the towel, walked up to the vanity and reached out, doing the same thing she'd done every day for longer than she cared to admit. With the flat of her hand, she made a small clearing in the condensation. As she looked into the wet mirror, the real Andy McNally stared back out at her. Because the circle framed her face, she could pretend that her hair was still long, and could pretend her skin didn't look as drawn and tight as she knew it was.

She stared at her reflection for a few seconds, thinking about what she'd be doing right now if she were still in Toronto. Would she be at home, or going out with Traci, or maybe looking over at Sam in the squad car, her eyes on his profile as he drove them both around town?

She took a deep breath as her thoughts went to him again. It felt like she'd been waiting forever for some sort of response to her message. For four Sundays, she'd woken up early, unable to sleep a single second longer, and had gotten ready. The normal routine: shower, breakfast, coffee for the road, and then she and Brody got into the Escape and drove west. And for four Sundays, she'd returned, disappointed and defeated; hopes dashed. After considering the time it would take for the package to get to Ontario, she hadn't expected anything the first week, but she'd taken the drive anyway. And she hadn't been very hopeful the second week either. But after four… After four, she was starting to feel the tiniest niggling shred of doubt.

There were a dozen things that could have gone wrong. She wasn't a criminal mastermind; the tiniest thing could have fouled up the whole plan. Maybe the envelope had gotten lost in the mail; maybe Sam didn't even know she'd made the effort. When he hadn't heard from her all these months, he could have gone back to work for Boyd and Guns and Gangs. Or maybe he'd gotten it, but hadn't been able to figure out the message. She'd tried to make it something only he would be able to work out, but it had been subtle; it was very possible he hadn't made the connection. Or maybe… Maybe her dad had been right. Maybe Sam was moving on.

Andy swallowed hard at the thought and then shook her head. She had to be more patient.

There were a lot of things to think about, lots of planning still required. It was perfectly reasonable to expect a delay, totally acceptable for it to take time. This wasn't a trip to the store; it wasn't as simple as making a list. It required thought, and money, and time. Lots of time, apparently.

She took another big breath.

Nothing was perfect; it wouldn't be out of the realm of possibility for the plan to have a hiccup or two, but the frustration was a very real thing. As were the nerves. The weeks of emotional overload had been good for one reason, and one reason only. As long as she was worried about Riley and Rebecca and her dad, she couldn't think about the possibility that someone had intercepted the package. That she'd intentionally opened herself up to danger. But she couldn't deny that she was reading license plates under her breath while she waited in traffic, or that she'd scan faces as she tore up and down the aisles at the grocery store; almost terrified she'd see one she recognized from her nightmares. Even now, as she considered it, as she thought about someone else making the impossible connection, it made her heart race.

Little beads of water were beginning to run down the mirror, making trails in the fog, interrupting the moment. Holding in a sigh, she picked up a hand towel and wiped it away and Abby McAllister reappeared; hair just brushing at her collarbones, frown lines carved a touch deeper than she would have liked. She made a face, then turned away from the reflection and walked out of the bathroom. Brody was lying in the hall and his eyes followed her as she walked around the corner and back into the bedroom to dress, kicking the door shut behind her.

She spent the rest of Sunday afternoon, and much of the evening, in a tank top and a pair of boxers, curled up on the sofa. Brody was wound into a tight knot behind her knees, his head resting heavily on the armrest. For a few hours they both dozed, neither one moving when the television programs changed or when the shadows started to darken the room.

When a brisk knock came from the garage, Andy jerked in her sleep. In fact, it took her another knock and another half a minute to sit up and become fully aware of her surroundings. Brody was stepping down off the couch, ears perked up, something between a snarl and a whine coming from his throat. She let him growl, let him lead the way into the kitchen. Only after she'd peered through the peephole did she use her leg to edge him out of the way and then hissed at him to keep it down. After he'd quieted down a bit, she swung the door wide and let in Stone and McBride.

"Hey," she said, greeting them with a modicum of tired enthusiasm. She turned and walked back into the kitchen, leaving them to file in behind her, and then turned, butt up against the stove. "So, what's up?" she asked through a yawn, hand held up to her face. She watched in amusement as Brody stood between her and the agents, muscles bunched, growl still curling from deep inside. Stone raised an eyebrow at her and Andy smiled.

"Brody, be nice. C'mere." She patted her thigh and he turned around, planted himself at her feet, still tense. Andy tipped her chin up in a nod. "I think he can smell the gunpowder. Or maybe the cleaner?" She placed her hand on her hip, patting the spot where her gun used to sit. "He gets a little weird whenever I take mine out."

Stone's hand automatically went to her holster and then she smiled. "That's interesting," she said, staring down at Brody curiously.

Andy looked over the two of them again. "So?" she repeated.

"Just passing through," Stone explained as she glanced up from the dog. "We brought you a present."

"Oh, yeah?" Andy asked. "You miss me, McBride?"

The blonde man gave her a quiet smile and shook his head. "Stone said you were setting up a gym. I had some stuff sitting in storage, and I thought you could use it."

Andy's eyebrows went up. "Wow, that's nice of you."

He gave her a cool shrug. "No one else was using it. Just tell me where to hang the bag."

She pushed her fingers through her hair, combing it back as she thought about it. "I guess the basement? I don't really have a spot for it yet," she warned. "Maybe by the treadmill?" She'd gotten that a few weeks before, after scanning the classifieds for used fitness equipment at local garage sales. She'd paid the woman $30 extra to get her husband and brother to deliver it and wrestle it down the stairs, Brody watching them like a hawk the entire time.

McBride shook his head and tossed a smile over his shoulder as he turned to go back to the garage. "I'll figure it out. You have tools?"

Andy made a face. "Just the basics." He nodded thoughtfully and disappeared through the door.

Stone waited until he'd returned, the weighty heavy bag tucked awkwardly under his arm as he headed for the basement. Then, she turned to Andy

"How've you been?" she asked, taking a step closer. It was a little disarming how Stone could stare at her like that, and Andy suddenly felt like she had no secrets. Like there was nothing Jill didn't know. She hoped with her whole heart that it wasn't actually true.

"I've been okay," Andy replied warily, brushing past her to open the fridge. She pulled out a bottle of beer, then after a second's pause, pulled out another and handed it over. Stone hesitated for a moment and Andy raised her eyebrows. "Off duty, right?"

Stone nodded and after shrugging, gave the cap a twist. She tossed it at the trash can and took a small sip. Andy just held hers, fingertips going a little numb from the cold glass as she waited for her to get around to the real reason for the visit.

It didn't take long.

"Listen, I got that information you wanted," she said in a hushed tone. Andy's eyes snapped up to hers, held them in a hard stare. "That information about Sam," Stone clarified.

She took an involuntary step forward. "I know what you mean. Let me see it."

"Nothing to see," Stone said and set her full bottle on the counter. Brody was lying on the floor between them, eyes traveling back and forth as their voices sounded. "The file is in a drawer in my office."

"What? Why?" Andy asked, her breath coming up short in disbelief.

Stone settled her hands on her hips. "Because I know you, and I know there's no way you would have let me out of here without getting your hands on it. You can ask me anything you want, but you know I can't let you keep hard copies of anything."

Andy shook her head, feeling the sudden surprise of angry tears pricking at her eyes. She turned her head and looked away, blinking a few times. The frustration she felt only compounded the disappointment of her earlier fruitless journey and it took her a few seconds to pull herself together, arms wrapped tightly around her middle.

"Are you okay?" Stone asked, knowing full well that she was clearly not okay, but Andy nodded.

"I'm fine," she said, sniffing loudly. "What did you find out?"

Stone leaned back against the counter, arms folded businesslike in front of her. "He's not undercover. So you don't have to worry about that."

Andy closed her eyes, giving herself a second. It was a relief to know that he wasn't doing that again; that he wasn't somewhere unfamiliar, surrounded by criminals. But if he'd been undercover, it at least would have been an explanation for why it was taking so long for him to get back to her. She tucked her hair behind her ear. "What's he doing then?" she asked, her voice little more than a croak.

Stone reached up and brushed an imaginary bit of lint from the shoulder of her jacket. "All signs say he's living a normal life."

"All signs?" Andy asked in a suspicious tone. "You didn't talk to anyone?"

Jill gave her a reproachful look. "I had a friend in the Toronto office check up on things for me. He called and got a pretty thorough update on the case; on all the players," she said, giving Andy a pointed look. "But it's not exactly like he could call Sam up and have a chat. Ask him about his hopes and dreams." Andy rolled her eyes. "I'm supposed to be doing this under the radar, remember?" Stone reminded her.

"Well, what did he find out? What's normal?" Andy asked impatiently

Stone took another sip of her beer and then put the bottle aside again. "At this point in time, it appears that things are okay with him. He's working with a partner, staying out of trouble. No write-ups, no official reprimands. All of that looks fine. And I checked his credit card usage, phone records, the usual. Both are being used regularly; the bills are being paid. He appears to be frequenting the same three restaurants. He likes to go to the bar every now and again, but I can't remember the name of the place…"

"The Black Penny," Andy said, trying to swallow down the knot in her throat.

"That's right," Stone continued with a nod. "Anyway, he hasn't been arrested. No public records have been filed in his name, except for two court appearances in non-related cases. Paychecks are being regularly deposited. He's made no major purchases…. What's the matter?" she asked, seeing the expression on Andy's face.

It was a little annoying, how six months' worth of pretending and acting and keeping secrets could be dissolved in an instant at the very mention of Sam. At the picture of him in her head doing all the things they used to do together, only this time, he was doing them alone.

Andy's eyes met hers a second later. "No. Nothing." Except nothing wasn't making her heart pound out of her chest. "It's just…" She lifted a shoulder in a half-shrug. "I guess it's just harder than I thought it would be. To hear, I mean. Even after all this time, you know?"

Stone nodded. "Yeah, I guess I can understand that. Are you sure you're alright?" she asked, and this time, Andy heard a little worry in her voice. A little softness. For the first time in a long time, Andy's curiosity about Stone was piqued. What happened to the sharp-tongued cop when she was off duty; did that hard-heartedness extend into her personal life? Or was it possible that these small slips, the brief moments of concern were hinting at the real Stone?

And then Jill frowned, and the moment was gone. "Andy?"

She nodded, once, and then again, picking up conviction with every tip of her chin. "No. Everything's fine. I'm just tired. Work," she explained with a weak laugh. "Who knew making change could be so stressful?"

Stone didn't return the laugh. Andy moved to the sink and started moving her dinner dishes from the counter and into the basin. When she glanced over her shoulder, Jill was still watching her, a frown marring the smooth skin of her forehead.

"I'm okay, Jill," she said, trying to keep the strain out of her voice. Trying to keep her body from reacting to the fact that as far as anyone could tell, things with Sam were business as usual, despite the fact that it had been a month since she had attempted contact. She inhaled deeply and turned back to the sink; started running the water. "Maybe someone should check on McBride," she suggested lightly, praying that she held it together until they left.

Stone didn't say anything at first, and Andy didn't hear her move at all. Not a creak in the floor underfoot, not a sigh of breath; nothing. She didn't look back at her. Andy kept her eyes out the window, on the darkness seeping out of the woods, creeping over the lawn as the sliver of remaining sun made its final descent. As the sink filled, hot soapy water rose up around Andy's fingers and Jill spoke.

"How're things going with your friends?" Stone asked quietly. "With your dad?"

Andy froze, feeling Stone's eyes drilling holes into her back. "Perfect," she replied in a deceptively level tone. "Why do you ask?" She picked up a coffee cup and ran the sponge around inside it, spell broken.

"Tommy mentioned he hasn't seen you in a while."

Andy snorted. "Of course he did. He's probably been on the phone with you every day for the last month."

"Actually, he hasn't."

Andy shook her head and squeezed all the water out of the sponge before tossing it up onto the ledge and then she spun around. "You're lying, Jill." This time she didn't argue. "You're checking up on me. Why make excuses? It's not exactly your style." She flung a hand towards the basement door, all of a sudden fed up with all the subterfuge.

"He said I shouldn't be obvious about it."

Andy didn't even try to conceal her disdain.

"Fine," Jill snapped. She was leaning casually back against the counter, ankles crossed in front of her, but her eyes were alert and probing. "I'm terrible at subtle. I admit it. But he's concerned."

"Well, he can be concerned somewhere else. Things here are good," Andy assured her.

"And things with Rebecca? Riley?"

Andy gave her a smile that was just shy of genuine. "Never better. I'm seeing Rebecca tomorrow actually. I promised her kid I'd go to her game."

Stone wet her lips and then walked to the center of the room, feet just inches away from Brody still lying prone on the floor.

"I know we've had this conversation before," she said slowly. "But you have to realize by now how important it is to have people in your life. You can't do this alone. And you were in a really good place the last time I saw you. So, what happened?"

"You're right." Andy glared at her. "We have had this conversation before," she replied tartly.

"Andy…."

"Mind your own business, Jill," she snapped.

The two of them faced off for a few seconds, neither one looking away, and then both their heads turned towards the basement door as heavy footfalls came up the steps. By the time McBride entered the kitchen, Andy was turned back to the sink, and Stone was tapping her foot in irritation.

"You ready to go?" he asked quietly and behind her, Andy heard Stone murmur a word of agreement. She heard them walk away, just a few steps towards the garage door. McBride tossed out a quick, "See you later," and then in the reflection in the window, she saw Stone pause. Saw her turn back and wait.

Giving an exasperated sigh, Andy spun around and met her eyes.

"What?" she asked sharply, completely fed up.

"Make up with your friends. Fix things with your dad," Stone said in a hard, but tired voice. Andy's mouth dropped open, and she took a breath, but Stone held up her hand, and her eyebrows lifted seriously. "I'm not asking."

Ten minutes later, McBride was aiming the black sedan out of Willow Bend, picking up speed as they headed back towards Vancouver.

He cleared his throat once and tossed a questioning glance into the passenger seat. Stone met his eyes for a second and then looked away, watching in the side-view mirror as the lights from Willow Bend faded away behind them. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him turn back to the road, saw one of his hands drop from the steering wheel to the console where he found his coffee.

"I should probably warn you," McBride said quietly, his tone intentionally light. "My parents have been asking about you. Mom's wondering if she's ever going to see you at Sunday dinner again. You're probably going to get another call."

Physically, Stone didn't react. She just pulled out her phone, opened up her email program and started tapping out a quick note to a colleague. She ignored the hollow ache that blossomed in her chest; just pushed it aside like something she'd deal with when she got around to it.

"Tell them I'm busy."

"Every Sunday?" he asked wryly, a smile curling at the corner of his mouth.

"For the foreseeable future," she muttered. "Besides. I don't know if you've realized, but today's Sunday. I don't recall you scrambling to get to the table on time either," she added testily.

"Jill…" He took a deep breath through his nose and his head shook almost imperceptibly in frustration. He hit the signal and then passed a maroon minivan doing ten kilometers under the limit. "It's been a while," he said simply as he moved back into the right lane. "Over a year now."

She rolled her eyes. "Nice try, but I'm pretty sure they only started asking a couple of months ago."

McBride was silent for a moment while the radio started playing some song about summer days and young love. And then she heard him release a long, slow breath. "That's not what I was talking about."

Her hand froze over her phone, index finger extended, and after a second, she turned her head and looked directly at him. "I'm not ready, okay?" He locked eyes with her for a second, and then looked away, giving a short nod. "And even if I was, I've got a full plate right now," she added.

A long moment of silence passed between them, and grudgingly, he let her steer the conversation in another direction. "How's she doing?" he asked, his voice low in the dark cabin of the car. "Andy McNally?"

Stone glanced over one more time, then back down at her phone as she started tapping again. "She's been better."

He arched an eyebrow and set the cruise, shifting his long legs. "You think she'll make it?"

She took in a breath and then after a pause, shook her head slowly. "If you'd asked me a month ago, I'd have said 'definitely.' Now?" She shrugged.

She felt McBride's eyes on her as he looked over and then back to the road. "You're worried about her."

"Wouldn't be doing my job if I wasn't worried," she replied stiffly.

"She looked okay to me."

She shook her head. "You didn't really see her." He didn't reply, and for a long moment, she listened to the sounds of their breathing. His was slow and steady; hers a beat quicker, it came a little more shallowly. She leaned her head back against the headrest and turned it to look at him. "When we were in Montreal, I got four very upset calls from Tommy McNally. And this week, he's called twice."

"You're not social services or family therapy, Jill," he reminded her in a gentle, but firm tone. "It's not your job to make sure everyone gets along."

"Sure it is," she argued. "If Andy McNally can't make a go of it here because she can't sustain her personal relationships, it's my problem." He gave her a quick glance. "I think I'm losing her, Mark."

He cleared his throat then reached over and flipped off the air. "You're not. You haven't lost one yet."

Stone took a deep breath and closed her eyes again, and kept them closed as they barreled along a dark empty highway. "I think she's going to run. Maybe not right now, but sometime. If things don't start getting better for her." She folded her arms across her chest and settled into her seat for the remainder of the drive. "I need to do something," she said with a yawn.

He rolled his shoulders a little, still trying to stretch out his long frame as best he could in the driver's seat. "Well," he ventured. "What do you want to do? Put someone on the house?"

She was silent for half a minute, and then she looked over, studying his profile. His face was lit queerly by the red illumination of the dash. It glinted off the ends of his light hair, off the barely-there prickle of blonde whiskers on his square jaw. Stone sucked in a breath and spoke, her words flowing quickly, crisply "I need you to give me one good reason why I shouldn't petition Sam Swarek into the Program."

McBride barked out a laugh, and then, seeing she was in no way joking, his expression sobered. "I can give you ten good reasons."

Stone sat up a little in her seat, her arms wrapped loosely around her midsection. "Well, line 'em up. Let's go."

McBride hit a button on the steering wheel and muted the radio. "For one, his life isn't in danger. That's the most obvious one." When Stone didn't reply, he reached up and scratched the back of his head. "Not to mention, you'd need his signature to file a petition."

"That's weak. We both know I could push it through without one."

He shook his head and exhaled loudly before turning to her. "The guy could have a whole new life by now, Jill," he reminded her in a gentle tone.

"He doesn't," she argued. His eyes slid over to hers, held them in a good stare, and then turned back to the road.

"And you know this how?" McBride asked, sounding like he had more than a vague idea as to how. Stone was silent, but lifted a shoulder in a helpless gesture and he rolled his eyes. "You just do whatever the hell you want, don't you?" he asked in quiet disbelief. She looked out her window, sensing an undercurrent in his words she almost never felt anymore. She ignored it.

"I had a good reason."

"Yeah," he muttered. "You always do."

Neither of them spoke for another few minutes. They passed through a tiny little town, a single gas station sitting at the top of the exit ramp. When the lights faded away again, she heard him take a deep breath.

"The only reason that really matters," he began, his voice slow, the timbre rumbling low through the quiet car. "Is that they'll never sign off on it. They'll reject this petition. The same way they rejected the first one," he said, giving her a knowing look.

Stone didn't even flinch. "I don't know what you're talking about."

He smirked, and flipped off his brights as a car approached. "Sure, you don't."

She rolled her eyes and fumbled in the console for her coffee. "You're an ass," she mumbled as she lifted it to her lips. But when McBride laughed, Jill smiled against the lip of her paper cup.

Monday, June 18

The next day, Andy got out of work about an hour later than she'd intended due to an impromptu one-on-one meeting with her boss. By the time she got home, Rebecca's minivan was already absent from the driveway, and the hour hand on Andy's watch was getting dangerously close to six. She got into the house, let the dog out and then changed quickly, pulling on a pair of denim shorts and a tank top. She threw her hair into a ponytail, slid her feet into a pair of sandals and then locked up the house before she headed out towards the park.

The ballgame had already begun by the time Andy walked the distance to the diamond. The bleachers were somewhat filled, over-eager parents and siblings sitting on blankets to protect bare legs from the hot metal. Others were perched in lawn chairs and camping chairs, shaded under the trees. There were coolers full of soda, water and snacks stuck in between the rows. Some of the younger children were tromping up and down the steps in the center and chasing each other around while the older ones were raising hell at a nearby playground.

As she moved closer, and got her hand up on the railing, she spotted AJ talking to the coach at the mound. Rebecca was up off the bleachers and at the fence behind the bench, Maddie's hand tucked tightly into her own. Her attention was on her oldest daughter who was nodding quickly as her eyes shifted from the spectators and back to the coach's face. As he backed away from the mound, Rebecca cupped her hand around her mouth, letting out an encouraging yell as Maddie gripped the chain-link with her free hand and rattled it a little.

"Come on, AJ. You've got this!"

As Andy moved slowly around the bleachers to stand at Rebecca's side, AJ threw one last pitch and struck out the tall thin brunette at home plate. The majority of the fathers in the stands let out a cheer as AJ's team ran in and the opposing team took their places around the field.

AJ grinned over at them, giving Andy an excited wave as she walked past and then found her place on the bench. Andy turned to Rebecca with a grin.

"So, how's it going?" she asked casually, trying to hide the unease she felt. But any anxiety and fear was dispelled as Rebecca's face broke into a huge welcoming smile.

"Great! We're up by two," she replied with a laugh. She gave Andy a quick once over and then looked her straight in the eye. "What about you? I feel like I haven't seen you in forever."

Andy stuffed her hands into her back pockets and took a breath, ready to spill her guts, but the look on Rebecca's face, the expectant smile that stretched from ear to ear gave her pause. At the last second, she shook her head, pushing out a nervous laugh.

"No, nothing really. Just busy I guess. You know."

"Oh sure," Rebecca replied evenly, nodding a few times. "But with what?"

Andy's mouth fell open, some ready-made excuse at the tip of her tongue, something vague about family drama, but the answering smile and response died on her lips as she glanced up, past Rebecca, and saw Riley approaching from her other side.

His eyes found hers, met them with reluctance, and then slid deliberately away as he handed Rebecca her keys and bent down to give Maddie a Ziploc full of animal crackers.

"How'd she do?" he asked as he straightened, nodding towards AJ.

Rebecca flashed him a grin. "How do you think she did?" she answered with a laugh. "And look who finally made it," she said, tipping her head towards Andy. Riley glanced at her for a fraction of a second, just enough to acknowledge her presence, and then looked away again. He didn't say a word. Any small amount of comfort Andy had started to feel dissipated in an instant and even Rebecca's smile dimmed a bit. Then she got a strange look on her face, somewhere between curious and conniving and she glanced between the two of them. "Listen, do you guys mind watching Maddie for a few minutes?" Neither Andy or Riley said anything. "I'm gonna go talk to AJ. And hopefully that will give you two time to catch up. Maybe even get over yourselves?" She didn't wait for an answer, just sidled by and crouched down behind the fence a few meters down, grinning when her daughter turned around.

Andy looked down at the ground, not entirely sure what to say. Maddie was settled down on her butt, chubby legs stretched out in front of her, hands fishing inside the plastic bag as she stuffed the cookies into her mouth; pretty much oblivious to her surroundings. It was probably for the best, considering Riley had turned toward the field, hands jammed into his pockets as he did his best to appear unflappable. However, the hard set of his jaw and the ramrod straight line of his spine suggested otherwise. Finally, Andy leaned her shoulder against the fence as she folded her arms and openly stared at him, waiting for him to say something.

When a minute had passed, she rolled her eyes, and after glancing down at the two-year old at her feet, and back at another family sitting a few rows up on the bleachers, she took a step closer.

"I guess we got ambushed again," Andy said, attempting to joke, trying to get him to give her a smile. Instead, he just tossed an annoyed look over at Rebecca and then went back to the game.

"What? So, you're just going to pretend we don't know each other?" she continued in a tight voice, trying not to feel hurt by the heavy dose of cold-shoulder.

He kept his eyes on the kids running the bases. "We don't know each other," he said icily. "Not really."

"Oh, give me a break," Andy grumbled. Riley very pointedly didn't say a word; though she saw the muscles in his arms tighten up, like he'd just clenched his hands into fists in his pockets. "Look," she started, tone a little softer. "I know that we…that I haven't been…" She rolled her eyes again, and gave her head a frustrated shake. "There are things that I can't talk about."

"Yeah, right," he muttered, not quite under his breath.

Andy ran her lower lip through her teeth and then turned her head and looked directly at him. "That part of my life is off limits. It's none of your business. And it has nothing to do with us being friends." She took a breath, pausing a second, hoping he would interrupt. But he didn't. "Anyway, I guess I just thought…" She shook her head and turned away. "I guess I thought I'd hear from you or something," she finished quietly.

"Phones work both ways, Abby," he replied, voice still cool.

She was silent for a moment as she watched the batter pop up a ball and saw the pitcher race up to catch it. Finally, she looked down at her feet, scuffed her toe in the tuft of grass that was growing up around the fence. "I'm still mad at you," she admitted quietly.

Riley snorted, but still didn't look over. "Yeah, well, you're not exactly at the top of my list, either." A movement caught her eye, and Andy glanced over, watching as Maddie tugged at Riley's pocket. He looked down and Andy saw a smile flicker over his face as he reached down and hauled her up. "Want to go swing, kiddo?" he asked quietly.

"Yeah," Maddie answered her voice soft and shy. Riley plucked the almost empty bag of animal crackers off the ground and picked her up, tucking her onto his hip like it was something he'd done every day since she was born. He turned then, without a word, and set off past the bleachers. Andy gripped the fence with a tight fist and watched as he quickly strode across the street and reached the playground. He dropped Maddie into one of the bucket swings and gave her a push.

Andy snuck a quick look at Rebecca. She was making some weird, complicated motion with her hands as she discussed the game with AJ, seemingly paying no attention to anyone else around her.

Andy sucked in a deep breath, readying herself, and then started down the dirt path. She moved past the families watching their kids run the bases and over to the road where she crossed, feeling more frustrated with each step. Finally, she found herself at the swing set, watching as Riley pushed Maddie from the front, making her giggle each time. He glanced over at her, and then away, dismissing her.

"We need to talk," Andy said suddenly, watching as Riley's eyes snapped to her once more and his gaze held. "It's not like we're never going to run into each other again." She swung her arm towards the ball field in a frustrated gesture. "Besides, Rebecca obviously knows something's up."

Riley smirked and finally looked away. "She knows everything."

Andy arched an eyebrow. "How?"

He shot her a look. "Because she's not stupid? She asked, and I told her."

Andy crossed her arms, feeling much more than uncomfortable. "Well, is she okay? What did she say?"

"Why wouldn't she be okay?" Riley asked, giving her a bewildered look. Then he looked away again and for a few seconds, Andy was almost positive he wouldn't say another word. But then, his eyes flicked towards her again and he spoke. "She told me I was an idiot, which I already knew," he admitted in a somewhat embarrassed tone as he gave her a sheepish look. He took a big breath. "And she said I need to fix it, which I ignored." He gave a small shrug. "Wasn't quite ready then."

Andy stepped closer, curling her hand around one of the support poles, feeling the heat of it seep into her skin.

"And now?" she ventured quietly, keeping her eyes on his hands as he reached out and grabbed front of the bucket swing, holding Maddie up, letting her hang in the air until she laughed and squealed for him to release her. He let go, dropping her back into a gentle arc and then he turned to face Andy.

"Now…" He shook his head and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I don't know."

She nodded, once more looking down at the ground. "Yeah. Okay." When she glanced up again, a few long seconds later, Riley had turned back to the swing, apparently done with the conversation. "Okay," Andy mumbled again and tucked her hands into her back pockets and turned back towards the ball field.

But she was only four steps away when she heard a muttered "Christ" come from behind her and then the sound of footsteps in the tiny pebbles under the swings.

"Wait!" he called after her, and when she glanced back, he was tugging Maddie out of the swing and setting her on the ground, letting her run ahead of him towards Andy. The small girl blew past her, headed for the smaller slide. Riley stepped up next to her and they both watched Maddie climb up the heavy plastic-looking ladder, then sit down at the top. There was a brief hesitation while she screwed up the courage to send herself down, and then she let go, hurtling all the way to the end, feet slapping heavily on the ground at the base. Then she got up and did it all over again.

Next to her, Riley was smiling a little, watching Maddie as she ran around the slide, and for a second as she looked at him, Andy let herself think about it. About what things might have been like if things had gone differently that night. If she wasn't still holding on so tightly to the idea of Sam, of what they had.

Her and Riley. It wasn't hard to imagine. Quite the opposite actually. It was almost too easy for her to picture him wandering barefoot through her kitchen in the mornings, the crisp, clean smell of his shampoo on her pillow. And for a second, she thought about how simple it could be. How simple it would make her life. Stone and her dad would be elated, and Andy would have someone to count on, someone to cut through the loneliness. Something to anchor her.

But it would never last. She didn't love him. And the way Riley was with Rebecca, with her kids, it wouldn't be fair to any of them, Andy included, if she let herself fall into a relationship with him purely because it was easy. Rebecca would pretend otherwise, but she'd be heartbroken, and for good reason. One day, however long down the line, months, maybe even years from now, Andy would wake up and realize that Riley was still holding a torch for Rebecca after all that time. There were dozens of things in her life that Andy wasn't sure of, but she didn't have a single doubt in her mind about that.

So, no. It would never work; not when they were both clearly in love with other people. But she wasn't quite ready to give up the small piece of him she could have.

"I'm sorry," she blurted out, cheeks coloring a little when Riley looked over at her. "For what I said that night."

He winced a little and then looked away. There was silence for a few breaths, and then he gave her a short nod.

"Me too." He reached up and ruffled the hair at the back of his head. "I shouldn't have kissed you." He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. "I knew better."

Andy looked down, dug the heel of her sandal into the grass, feeling embarrassed and confused. "So why did you then?"

He inhaled deeply through his nose and folded his arms across his chest and then shrugged. "Because I like you," he said simply. "And you had this look on your face. This really happy look, and I guess I thought it was because of me." He tossed a glance over at her and gave a sheepish smile. "Couldn't help myself."

"Riley…" Andy said, frowning.

"Don't," he said, shaking his head. "It's fine. I just thought maybe if you knew you had another option, you'd realize that he's not being fair." He turned his head and looked her straight in the eye. "Expecting you to just wait."

Andy swallowed hard, and brought a hand up to push a loose strand of hair back behind her ear. "One thing I've learned since I moved here? Fair doesn't have anything to do with this. Shit happens and you have to deal with it the best way you can. And I'm going to keep waiting. No matter how many options I have," she added, giving him an apologetic look. She rubbed her hands up and down her bare arms, feeling weirdly chilled though it was still brutally hot for evening. "Besides, I'm expecting to hear from him any day now."

"Yeah?" Riley said, looking over at her.

Andy nodded. "Yep. Any day." Though the longer it took, the more hollow that expectation became.

Riley turned back, watching Maddie again. After a few seconds, he nodded back. "Well, good. I'm happy for you." Though he sounded neither happy nor confident that Sam would get in touch.

From across the street came the crack of a ball against a bat and Andy looked over, saw Rebecca and half a dozen other parents on their feet, cheering their heads off. She turned back and found Riley staring past her towards the field. He was squinting into the sun, but the brief flash of longing that crossed his face was easy to see and it made her sad and made her smile all in the same instant.

"Listen," Andy began, waiting for him to give her his attention. When he did, she held his gaze, but folded her arms across her chest. "There's something I should have told you that night. I mean, I was going to, but I was going to wait, and then all that stuff happened, and I haven't seen you since then, so-"

"Spit it out, Abby," he said impatiently.

"She loves you."

The words hung in the air between them, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Like he hadn't heard a word she'd said. She was about to repeat herself when Riley gave his head a shake and focused his attention back towards the slide where Maddie was now sitting on the end, kicking her feet in the rocks at the base.

"Yeah, okay," he muttered, sounding like he didn't believe a word of it.

Andy turned towards him, whole body facing him, her back to the ball field. "No, really. She's in love with you. And I know you still love her. Even if you say you're over it." She caught his eye. "You need to talk to her. Try again."

Riley looked past her, towards the ball park and for a second the tense set of his jaw relaxed, and then, a moment later, she saw the corner of his mouth twitch.

"She'll say no," he argued, his voice quiet.

Andy nodded. "She could. But I don't think she will. Not this time."

Riley took a deep breath in through his nose and then tore his eyes off the baseball diamond and settled them back on Andy's face.

"And if she does?"

Andy gave him an encouraging smile. "Then you keep asking."

For a long second, he just stared at her, and then, right before he looked away he gave a short nod. "I think maybe I'll give it some time. Let everything settle down first."

"Yeah. Yeah, makes sense," she replied. Andy took a deep breath. "Just don't wait too long, okay?" she said, her voice a little more unsteady than she'd intended. "I mean, you two have waited long enough, and if you have a chance to be happy, you should take it."

He gave her a look. "Maybe you should take your own advice."

She smiled back, thinking of the way her heart fluttered every Sunday as she got into her car, and then she nodded. "Don't worry. I'm working on it."

The moment stretched out between them, and just that quick, Andy realized it was back; the comfortable familiarity in his smile, in the way he tilted his head towards her when he spoke. After a few seconds, Andy looked back towards the ball field and hooked a thumb over her shoulder. "I think I should probably head back. Maybe actually watch some of this game." She started backing away, and Riley nodded again.

"Yeah. We'll be right behind you," he replied, giving her a smile as he stepped towards the slide to collect Maddie. "Save me a seat."

.

Tuesday, June 19

"So, how are things today?" Dr. Curtis asked as she settled back into her chair, fingers wound around her pen.

Sam leaned back into the sofa, ankle balanced on his knee, his arms crossed loosely, and gave a quick nod. "Things are okay."

As he sat there in front of her, relaxed and calm, he cast a quick glance across the interior of the office, remembering the first day he'd come here. How cold and impersonal it had all seemed; the sharp corners of the frames surrounding her degrees and certifications, the crisp edges of the files stacked in her baskets, the neatly maintained magazine rack. But now he was seeing that there were plants flourishing on the tops of the filing cabinets. The walls weren't the same institutional white found in most of the other offices; instead they were a soft beige. There were pictures, small ones albeit, but pictures nonetheless, of children on the desk behind her computer monitor; hidden from her patients, but there when she needed to see them. He'd spent hours in this room over the last few months, but it seemed like during each session, he noticed something he hadn't seen the time before. It all sort of worked to pull the room together to create a place where he felt comfortable; maybe even safe. Which he supposed was the entire point.

"Care to expand on that?" Dr. Curtis asked, and Sam looked back at her, feeling not so much startled as interrupted in his perusal of her office.

He took a deep breath in through his nose and shrugged slightly. "Work's good; everything else is good. So…yeah. Things are good."

"How's the sleeping?" she asked tilting her head a little, narrowing her eyes as she observed him.

"Getting better," he replied, only partially lying. He never slept more than five hours a night, but once or twice a week, he'd fall into bed, about ready to drop dead from exhaustion and he'd sleep hard, waking up with pillow creases and sweat at his hairline, actually feeling rested.

She crossed her legs and set her notepad on her knee, foot swinging slightly.

"Your friends? Family?"

He bobbed his eyebrows. "Like I said. They're go—"

"Good," she finished, giving him a small, polite smile, like she'd grown used to this; having to draw him out every time he sat down in front of her.

He nodded, a little self-conscious. "Yeah."

She inclined her chin a little. "Still spending a lot of time alone?"

Sam inhaled through his nose and then shook his head. "Not as much as before."

"So, you're spending time with your friends?" she asked, eyebrows raised in surprise as she set aside the pad. "With Shaw and Barber?"

Again he nodded in confirmation.

"What about your sister? Sarah, right?" She asked the question with a small smile, not even glancing down at her writing for the name. "Have you talked to her?"

He blinked solemnly at her. "Not as much as I should, probably," Sam admitted. He shrugged, feeling a touch guilty because he'd been so wrapped up in everything with Andy and his downward spiral that he hadn't really given Sarah much thought lately.

"Contact is contact," she assured him. "When did you last speak with her?"

He scratched his head as he tried to remember their last conversation. "Talked to her on the phone a few times last month."

"And how is everything going there?"

For a split second, Sam felt himself retreat a little, the way he always did whenever Sarah came up. Some long-cultivated instinct to watch out for her, to protect their past together. But Dr. Curtis was watching him, a guileless expression on her face. She was sitting comfortably in her chair, fingers linked on her knee as she leaned forward a little. She needed to know because of her job, to be sure. But there was more than that in her face, in her posture.

She was interested.

Sam felt some of his reservations ebb and cleared his throat.

"She's okay. I think she said she was going out of town for a couple of weeks. Some trip with her roommate." He gave her a wry smile. "She wanted me to help her pack."

She paused for a second and then gave him a quick smile. "If I remember correctly, you told me a few sessions back that you and she don't always get along. Any progress made on that front?"

Sam winced. "It's the same. We don't…" He took a breath as he tried to figure out a way to say it. "We aren't the kind of family who calls each other every day. Our lives don't really… They don't really intersect."

"And you're okay with that?"

He blew out a deep breath and then crossed his arms. "It works for us, I guess." He hesitated for a second or two and then flung out a hand in an annoyed gesture. "I mean, do I wish things were different? Yeah, I guess, but she's living her life, and I'm living mine and sometimes when we get together we're fine. But other times, things just…" He pressed his lips together and shook his head.

"Collide?" Dr. Curtis guessed.

"Explode," he corrected, raising an eyebrow at her.

She drummed her fingers on her thigh but didn't reach for her pen. "Why do you think that is?" When he hesitated, she amended her question. "What I mean is, is there a trigger, or some topic of conversation that sets one of you off? Some behavior you don't approve of?"

Sam snorted. "I'd be here all day if we got into that."

She checked her watch. As she turned her wrist, the light caught the face and reflected off, flashing quickly. "We've still got a little time to kill. How about you give me the basics."

He took a deep breath, feeling his T-shirt stretch tight against his chest as he inhaled then relax again as he exhaled. "Basically," he began, feeling a little antagonistic. "She's always on me to fix something, or help out at the store. To bring her things from the city."

"She's needy?" Dr. Curtis summarized, arching her eyebrows. He nodded after a beat, eyes skating off to the side, feeling a little guilty about the label. "So, what happens when she asks?"

He shot her a look. "What do you think?"

A smile quirked at the corner of her mouth. "You do what she asks you to do." When he didn't disagree, she continued. "You could always say 'no'."

"I do." He leaned forward, got his forearms on his knees and spread his hands wide. "I say it over and over again, but I always end up there, fixing her plumbing or putting in new floorboards. Moving crap out of the basement, or… Whatever." He ran a hand over his face, fingers and thumb brushing his jaw on the way down. "She's been a little worse since everything happened with the case."

She bypassed his mention of Andy. "Why do you give in?" she asked instead. He shrugged, hands coming together to wrap around each other. "Do you feel guilty? Obligated?"

He nodded, bobbing his head a few times. "Yeah. Both." He waited for her to say something, to ask him to go on, but she didn't. And after a stretch of silence, he felt himself wanting to validate his statement. "I mean, I feel like I have to look out for her, you know? Take care of her."

"She's older than you," Dr. Curtis prompted. "She's not the one putting her life on the line every day. She's not the one going through a rough patch right now. Shouldn't she be looking out for you?"

He made a sound, a single noise pushed out on a breath as he stared at her. He wanted to laugh, but there wasn't really anything funny about it. "This is how it's always been with us." He blinked as he remembered a flash of a memory; Sarah at 10, almost twice his age, shoving some kid on the school bus after he'd teased Sam almost to tears. He did a rapid fast forward through her attack, through his mother's death, his move from St. Catharines and admission to the academy, to 15 Division. He felt the corner of his mouth turn up and shrugged. "For a long time anyway."

Dr. Curtis was quiet for a few moments as she watched him, and then she kicked her foot a little, obviously intrigued, obviously wanting to ask more, but afraid to push too hard. "How does she feel about your job?" she finally asked, her voice quiet and patient.

Sam sat up; let his hands slide up his thighs as he straightened. "I don't think she cares one way or the other." He shrugged. "She never really brings it up."

"You never talk about it? About the cases you work or situations you've been in?"

He shook his head. "She doesn't want to hear about that. It upsets her."

"Why do you think it upsets her?"

He shook his head. "She can't deal with the violence. And I guess…. I guess I try to keep it away from her, if I can. She's…I don't know. Fragile or something."

"But she knows how dangerous your job is. She knows you go undercover."

Sam shrugged. "I downplay it. Tell her it's mostly paperwork and planning. You know, that I'm more like a…a sidekick or a wheel man or something. She doesn't know everything I do."

"Are you sure?"

This time he did laugh. "Yeah. I'm sure."

She licked her lips and then brushed at a wrinkle in the hem of her skirt. "Is it possible she knows more than you think she does?" She paused, waiting for him to answer. When he didn't, she continued. "Could it be that the reason she asks you to come down to see her, the reason she keeps telling you she needs you is because she's worried about you?" Sam just looked at her. "And maybe she's been worse since Andy left because she knows it's been tough for you and just wants to see you and know that you're okay. Maybe this is her trying to take of care you," she added as an afterthought. "The only way she knows how."

Still, Sam said nothing, but he wasn't looking at her anymore. He was looking down at his hands, at the fingers flexing against the denim of his jeans as her words tumbled endlessly through his brain. There was a long stretch of silence as she waited for him to say something, to respond, but he had no words. He had nothing to offer up. Generally when he spoke to Sarah he went from zero to monumentally annoyed in about four seconds. It had never occurred to him that she might pull at him, badger him, because she cared. He took a deep breath, let it out slowly, but still, said nothing.

Dr. Curtis picked up her notepad from the crease in the chair and returned it to her knee. "We can come back to this, if you want, but let's move on for the moment. You said work is going well. Anything there you'd like to discuss?"

Sam stretched an arm along the back of the sofa and shifted, making himself a little more comfortable. "Not really. Nothing too special."

"Any interesting cases?" she prodded.

He shook his head. "Not really. The usual stuff. I'm still not really allowed to do much more than patrol because of…" He made a vague gesture towards her. "A lot of DUI's, picking up speeders. That kind of thing."

"You're not helping with the Bishop case anymore?"

Sam looked at her, his gaze level, steady. "There is no Bishop case," he replied quietly. "We've got no leads, no tips, no more witnesses. It's dead."

She looked at him carefully, a very fine line creasing the skin between her brows. After a few seconds, she set her pen down and flapped the edge of her pad against her thigh, then tossed it on the table beside her. "Well, since everything is going so well, I'd like to ask you again." Sam lifted his eyes from her discarded notes to her face. "Where do you see yourself in five years?"

Sam was quiet for a moment, then his arm dropped from the back of the sofa and he pulled it in, folding them both against his chest, shifting instantly into defense-mode. "I'm not sure." Which wasn't to say that he hadn't been thinking about it. He had. A lot. But no matter what, no matter which choose-your-own-adventure ending he picked, it always circled back to Andy. "I don't really have a solid plan or anything."

"But you've been thinking about it?"

After a beat, he nodded; two bobs of his head. "Yeah, a little."

"Well, let's talk it through. What do you want professionally? Do you want to go back to undercover work?"

He shook his head quickly. "No. No, I'm done with that." He'd thought about it, about losing himself in the job, in another identity. It was easy to recall the rush that came every time someone threw a suspicious glance his way; never knowing when he'd get that last bit of info to sew up his case. But it simply didn't appeal to him anymore. He wanted to be settled, stable. Ready.

In case she came back.

"You ever think of applying for a different position? You could take a shot at the detective's exam." The corner of Sam's mouth twitched as her remembered Green saying something similar. "What?" she asked as she saw his amusement.

Sam shook his head as the grin snuck up on him. "Second time I've heard that in a month."

She returned his smile. "Well, it's not out of the realm of possibility; I've seen your jacket. You've got a pretty good record of arrests and interrogations. You've had a few commendations. Plus, from what I've seen and what I know of you personally, I say you'd be a shoe-in. Smart, resourceful, respected," she added, raising her eyebrows for emphasis. "Your colleagues look up to you. That goes a long way."

Embarrassed, he ran a hand up the back of his neck, gave it a scratch and then he shook his head. "I don't know. It's not really my thing." He shrugged and smiled. "Suits, you know."

Dr. Curtis glanced down at his T-shirt and jeans and smiled. "Fair enough," she conceded with a nod. "But don't dismiss the job just because of the wardrobe."

"Hey, I like working the streets," he argued. "It's more exciting than sitting behind a desk, kissing ass."

She smirked. "Okay, patrol then. At 15, I presume?" At his puzzled look, she sat back in her chair a little. "Sarah's your only real family and she's in St. Catharines. Have you ever thought about moving? Getting a fresh start?"

Sam stared at her, then after a moment, he blinked and shook his head. "No. I guess I haven't." For a second, he imagined packing up his belongings, every single fork from the drawer in the kitchen, every tool hung up on the pegboard in his garage. Pushing his furniture into the back of a moving van, standing in the middle of his empty living room… He waited for that old instinct to kick in; the one that told him to dig in his heels, to hold tight to everything he had left.

It never came.

Instead, he felt an unfamiliar lightness and a strange clutching in his heart that he hadn't felt in months. Anticipation. Six months ago, he would have balked at the thought of leaving Toronto; his home, his friends, his job. But now? There was something appealing about it. About packing up his belongings and starting over in a new place, with new people. And he could wait for Andy in St. Catharines. She'd be able to find him there. Sam drew in a deep breath, and waited for the feeling to pass. It didn't.

"No pressure," Dr. Curtis said, her tone sincere, though she was smiling at the expression on his face. "It's just an idea." She reached over towards the end table, grabbed up her notes, and started flipping through the pages once again. "How's the new partner working out?" She glanced back through a few earlier dates. "Officer Green. You've been working together…what? Four months?"

Sam nodded and swallowed hard, looking down at his lap. He rubbed his palms against the denim of his jeans and leaned forward. He had to clear his throat; had to get his head back in the conversation. "She knows the job, and she's good at it."

"Explain."

He lifted a shoulder. "She's got a good eye, she backs me up. She doesn't take any shit," he added with a short laugh and a quick shake of his head. "Doesn't let me get away with much, that's for sure."

"What else?"

He shrugged again. "I don't know."

She looked at him, curious. "Would you consider her a friend?"

He hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. "Yeah. I would."

"Why?"

He leaned back into the couch with a heavy sigh, and crossed his arms over his chest once again. "I just do, okay? She doesn't…" He sucked in a breath and then let it out. Dr. Curtis was watching him, waiting for him to speak. "She doesn't see me like the rest of them do. I mean, Shaw and Barber, they're getting better about it, but every now and again, they still look at me like…like I'm broken, or something."

"Like you're fragile?" Dr. Curtis asked, keeping a careful eye on his expression, as he realized she'd thrown his own description of Sarah back into his face.

He gave her a tight smile. "Like they need to fix it. To fix me."

"And she doesn't?"

He shook his head. "No."

"Well, she didn't know you before. She didn't have a baseline to go by." There was a pause as she gauged his mood. "Does she know? About the case?" she added curiously.

"What case?" Sam asked, playing dumb.

Dr. Curtis didn't even blink. "Does she know about Andy?" she clarified, a no-nonsense sharpness to her words.

Again, Sam paused but then nodded once. "Yeah, she knows everything."

Dr. Curtis smiled as she looked over at him. "So, you trust her then."

It took a second, but he nodded, remembering the night in the alley when they were looking for Malone, and the way he'd basically spilled his guts to her in the wire room a few weeks back. "Yeah, I do."

As he watched, she scribbled a little on her notepad and then the hand holding the pen stalled for a moment. "Let's shift gears for a moment. What about your personal life?"

"Hmm?" He looked over at her, wrenching himself out of the hazy memory of that whole fiasco; the drinking, the kiss, the hangover.

"Where do you think you'll be in five years?" she queried.

Sam winced, bringing a hand to scrub at the back of his neck. "Ah, I don't know." He knew where he wanted to be, but where he'd actually end up… He had absolutely no clue.

She looked over at him. "Do you think you'll be married?"

An image of Andy entered his mind; curled against him in bed, her shoulder soft under his palm, warm thighs stacked against his, a ring glinting gold in the early morning light. He nodded, mouth suddenly gone dry. "I hope so," he said earnestly.

She tried to conceal the smile, but he saw it working at the edges of her mouth. "And kids?"

Again, the nod. Two or three, if he had anything to say about it. With his dark hair, their mother's brown eyes; chubby cheeks and sausage thighs toddling across the living room floor, the smell of powder and Johnson's filling his nose. "Yeah." He laughed a little through his nose. "Yeah, I think I'd like that."

She drummed her nails against the notepad and then wet her lips before looking at him. "Any idea who the woman is?"

He shifted uncomfortably against the cushion and then blew out a long breath. "Just have to wait and see, I guess," he replied, sounding a hell of a lot more upbeat than he felt.

"I guess," she repeated, looking almost surprised. For a second, he worried that he'd gone too far; that he'd played it a little too casual. His worries were dispelled a second later when she shook her head a little and looked down at her watch. "We're about out of time. Anything else you feel like sharing?"

"Honestly, I didn't really feel like sharing most of that," he joked, giving her a wry smile.

Dr. Curtis smiled back and got up from her chair, then circled around her desk to her filing cabinet. She pulled open the second drawer and dug around inside, flipping past folders until she came to the right one and pulled out a sheet of paper. She laid it on the desk and bent over, scribbled on a few lines and then signed her name with a flourish at the bottom. Leaning over the desk, she extended her arm with the paper held between two fingers.

"This is for you. All it needs is your signature, and then you never have to see me again."

Sam's eyebrows shot up. "You're clearing me?" he asked in disbelief, as he reached out automatically and took it from her.

Her expression was politely sympathetic, but not pitying.

"Sam, you've been through a lot, but you're a completely different person than the man I met six months ago. No, things aren't 100% better, but it is progress. You say you're sleeping again, and you look like it; no more dark circles, you're alert. You're socializing again, making new friends. You're thinking about your future. You don't need to have a plan. You just need to be open to possibilities. And it seems like you are. It's a big step forward from where you were even a few sessions ago."

He just stared at her, dumbstruck. She put out a hand, sort of a 'hold on' motion. Like 'whoa, buddy.'

"Now, there are some very obvious issues with your sister, with your past and your family that I think should definitely be explored, but like you said at our first appointment: my job is to make sure you're able to do your job. And you are." Still, he said nothing, almost frozen in place like she'd renege at any second. "It's okay to smile," she joked. "It's a good thing."

Again he looked down at the paper, read over the words; technical jargon that said she was recommending any remaining restriction be lifted from his daily duties. And then, the smile came, starting small, spreading wide in a matter of seconds. Sam glanced over at her and then stretched an arm out, snatched the pen out of her hand. He bent over the end table, scribbling his name quickly on the line below hers.

"I just bring this to Best, and we're done?" he asked, standing up and folding the paper, rolling it in his hands.

She nodded. "Yes. Of course, if you ever feel you need to talk, to sort things out, I encourage you to do so. About anything. Sarah, Andy, whatever. This ordeal is probably going to stick with you for a while, and there's nothing wrong with that. Just know that if it gets difficult again, you can always come see me."

He nodded, and spun toward the door, took a step forward, but then turned back. He moved up to the desk and stuck out his hand, grinning at the surprised smile that came over her face. After a pause, she shook his hand, her cool small hand dwarfed as it was enveloped inside his for a few brief seconds.

"Thanks, Doc. For this," he finished, waving the paper.

"No problem. Enjoy the rest of your day," she said, dismissing him with a smile as he strode out the door.

A few hours later, he was still in a sort of disbelieving fog about the whole thing as he entered his final report of the day. Across from him at, at her own desk, Green was flipping through her note pad, adding items to her own paperwork. She was bobbing her head to some imaginary beat, humming to herself as she worked, and he caught her eye, laughing when the tips of her ears turned pink in embarrassment.

"There's a happy guy," Shaw said as he walked quickly towards them. "Haven't seen that on your face in a while. That whole 'smile' thing. You win the lottery?"

Sam showed him his teeth. "Close enough. What do you want?"

"Well, since you two are on desk, mind running a couple names through the system?"

"Where's your rook?" Sam asked.

"Epstein?" Shaw tipped his head towards the exit. "He's wrestling a suspect into interrogation. We found a couple of wallets on him. Not his. He might be that mugger that's been targeting college kids."

"And you can't use a keyboard because..." Green prompted, her heel planted on the floor as she swiveled her chair.

"Carpal tunnel's acting up," Shaw replied with a straight face. "Old ping pong injury." He tore a slip of paper from his notepad.

"He means band," Sam said to Green. "An old marching band injury."

"Hey," Shaw warned, pointing a finger. "Watch it. The French horn is hardcore. They're like the Marines of the marching band." He swung his hand between the two of them, and Piper glanced over at Sam, a smile wrinkling the corners of her eyes. After an exaggerated sigh, she reached out and snatched the paper from Oliver's hand.

"Thank you, Green," Shaw said loudly and looked at Sam pointedly. "Why can't you be as nice as her, huh?"

"She's not nice," Sam said with a laugh. "She just wants you to leave." Green didn't respond, didn't even look over as she opened the computer program, but the corner of her mouth twitched.

"Yeah, well, lucky for you both, I have dangerous criminals to intimidate," Shaw said with a mocking bow, and then he turned on his heel and walked away.

Sam was still grinning when his phone rang a couple minutes later. He pulled it out of his breast pocket and held it to his ear.

"Swarek." He leaned back in his chair.

"Wow, that's polite. No 'hello'?" Her voice sounded a little tinny, a little far away.

"Sarah, I'm working," he complained. "What do you need?" And then, because he'd been talking about her, because he'd been thinking about her earlier in the day, he felt a flash of regret at his tone. For a second, he held the picture of her in his mind, the way she'd looked the last time he'd seen her. Dark hair curling down to the middle of her back, threaded with silver that reflected in the light. She was small, with tiny bones and lean muscles, and her clothes always hung just a little too loosely for Sam's comfort. But the natural blush in her cheeks attested to her health, as did the sparkle of green in her eyes. For the first time in a long time, Sam was glad to hear her voice.

"You act like I only call you when I need something," she said with a laugh.

"That's because you only call me when you need something," he teased in a voice that was so patient it surprised him. "Seriously, what's going on?"

"Actually," she said, pausing for nothing more than dramatic effect. "I'm calling to see if you got that letter I sent."

"Since I have no clue what you're talking about, I guess I gotta say no," he said, stretching to snatch the papers coming off the printer. "Listen, I'm at work. Can I call you later?"

"Like you would," she replied sharply. "Anyway, it's good that you're at work. That's where I sent it."

"What?" he asked and froze, arm halfway extended across the desk to hand Green the documents. "Why?"

Piper leaned up and took the papers from his hand, watching him carefully as he sat there, looking down at the surface of his desk, trying to make sense of what Sarah was saying.

"I was on vacation for the last few weeks. Adam and I went to this seminar and then we went on that cruise. Remember? Anyway we got back week before last, and while we were gone, Hilary – you remember Hilary? That blonde girl that was there the last time you came by? She's been working for us for a while, and she's actually doing pretty well…"

"Sarah…" Sam ground out. "Get on with it."

"God, you're touchy. Anyway, she was watching the store while were gone, and she opened most of the boxes, took care of all the inventory, but she left all the personal mail in a pile on the desk, and I thought I got through it all." Sam leaned back in his chair, and rubbed his eyes, waiting for the punch line.

"Okay…."

"So after a while, I realized I was missing a few bills, and started looking around, and found a whole bunch of stuff that had fallen behind the desk. And there was this big envelope addressed to me. You know, one of the yellow ones with the bubble wrap on the inside?"

"Mhmm." He cracked open an eyelid. Across the desks, Green was watching him with a confused, but amused expression on her face, tossing him questioning glances as she stapled together the personal information on Shaw's mugging victims.

"So, inside this thing was another envelope, smaller and all sealed up. But this one had your name on it."

Sam's eyes snapped open.

"And you sent it here?" he asked, his eyebrows rising in disbelief. His eyes scanned the squad room, looking for the woman with the mail cart. She was nowhere to be seen. His eyes went to the clock on the wall. Almost four. She was long gone.

"The address was already written on the envelope. It already had a stamp on it," Sarah was saying, her voice growing a little more agitated as she picked up on his sudden panic. "I just dropped it in the mail. I didn't open it, if that's what you're freaking out about."

"Hold on, Sarah," he said and then set the phone down on the desk before reaching towards the large wire in-basket, overflowing with crap that had been dropped off during the day. He could hear her chattering away on the other end, but paid her little attention as he started scooping papers out onto the desk. When it was empty, he dug through them, setting each page into a neat stack, one by one, until about 2/3 of the way through, he found it.

Sam pinched the corner between his thumb and forefinger and held it up off the surface of the desk. It was probably one of the smallest manila envelopes they made, not quite twice the width of a $20 bill, with a silver fastener pressed flat against the flap. He tipped it, and felt something shift inside, moving against the thick paper. Then, he flipped it over, and his breath caught in his throat. His name and the station's address were printed in capital letters, virtually indistinguishable from any other handwriting, unless someone knew what to look for. It was unmistakably Andy's writing; the slight slant of the "D" in "Division" and the swoop of the "K" at the end of his name solidified that fact in his mind.

He could hear Sarah calling his name, a small electronic noise, barely audible over the sound of his quickened pulse, and he picked up the phone, held it to his ear.

"Sarah," he said, interrupting her story about the Bahamas or wherever she'd spent her vacation. "There's no return address on this."

Something was happening to Sam's heart. It had gone from a slow, steady beat, increasing in pace the longer he talked to Sarah, but now, it was trip-hammering all over the place; beating in his ears until he had to physically pause to collect himself.

"Yeah, I know," she was saying. "There wasn't one on my envelope either."

"What about the postmark?'

"God, Sam. I know I looked at it, but I don't remember."

"Jesus Christ," he exclaimed loudly, feeling bad the second the words left his lips.

"What?! Do you have any idea how much mail a bookstore gets in a month? We get stuff from all over. It could have been from Mexico for all I know." She kept talking, a long drawn out excuse about how she'd been opening mail, paying bills, responding to emails since she'd gotten off the plane the week before, and Sam rolled his eyes.

"Sorry, Sarah. Gotta call you back," he said quickly as he sank back into his chair and then he set his phone on the desk and opened the envelope. He pinched open the fastener, ran his finger under the flap, tearing the last inch or so. He tipped it, but nothing came out; so he looked inside. Wedged in, nearly buckling against the tight confines was what looked like an index card. Sam stuck his fingers inside, felt the slick surface of a photograph, and pulled it out.

He didn't even realize he was holding his breath until he flipped it over.

It was a standard size, a little creased and bent back at the top so she could fit it into the envelope. For a moment, he looked at it, not even hearing the hurried slap of feet against the floor, or the telephones ringing, or the chatter of Peck and Diaz behind him at the coffee cart. Sam just stared at it, taking in the image, memorizing it.

It was a tourist picture, of a group of people standing along a guardrail, waterfall in the background. He scanned the surface, looking for a familiar face; in the foreground, around the edges, in the groups crowing around a large boulder, on benches. He recognized no one. But the setting… The setting he'd seen before.

Someone said his name. Once, and then a second time, and Sam finally pulled himself out of the picture.

"What is it?" Green was asking, and he lifted his eyes to her face. All trace of amusement had disappeared, and instead, concern was drawn in fine lines across her forehead. "Swarek," she said again. "Are you okay?"

But he still had no words. Nothing he could offer up in explanation. So instead, he just shook his head and rose from his chair. Then he tucked the photo into his breast pocket and pulled the keys to the squad car from the drawer. Finally, he looked once more at Green.

"I gotta go. Can you cover for me?"

"Yeah," she said, still looking at him a little strangely. "Where are you going?"

He shook his head. "Just gotta run home quick."

"Well, what if Barber or Best comes looking for you? How long are you going to be gone?"

He shrugged as he swung the keychain around on his index finger and started backing away. "I don't know. An hour? Maybe longer." He spun around, took a step and then turned back. "Look." He glanced around. "Just tell them I went for coffee or something. Tell them I had an errand."

Her eyebrows shot up, but after a moment, she nodded. "Yeah. Okay."

Sam turned around and strode out of the room before she could get any more questions out, hitting the door with his shoulder and jogging out onto the lot. He broke probably half a dozen traffic laws trying to get home, moving around traffic, rolling through a stop sign, and speeding the rest of the way, finally screeching to a halt in front of his house.

He was out of the car, up the walk, and got his key into the lock so quickly, he barely even remembered any of it. In fact, everything was pretty much a blur until he was pounding down the hallway to the bedroom, shoving open the door and standing in front of the closet.

He wrenched open the doors, and shoved blankets and pillows out of the way until he got his hands on the banker's box he'd taken from his sister's place in St. Catharines. He pulled it down, flipped the lid off with a flick of his thumbs and dumped the whole mess onto his bed.

Back out in the hallway, the door to the linen closet crept open, just an inch, and Jimmy Weston peered out the crack. He was practically holding his breath as he stared into the bedroom. As he watched, Sam Swarek was digging through a pile of crap on his bed. A minute ago, Weston had been picking through the bookcases flanking the entertainment center for what was probably the third time, pulling out anything that looked like it could be a photo album, or a file. He'd just replaced a stack of old car magazines when he'd heard the vehicle outside, heard the footfalls on the landing, and finally, heard the key in the lock. He hadn't had time to book out the back door, but the closet had been close enough. He'd just pulled the door closed when Swarek came barreling down the hallway, and then he'd squatted down into a crouch, his knife pulled from his back pocket, and tucked tightly into his fist. A dozen or so old coats and discarded shirts hung behind him, their sleeves draping over his shoulders and arms as Swarek turned to enter the bedroom.

Over the last month or so, Weston been waiting for something. Anything, in fact. A confirmation. The barest hint that Swarek knew where Andy McNally was being hidden; that they were somehow in contact. And up until now, there had been nothing. Not even the promise of a clue. But this…coming home early, the crazed pace as he stormed through the house, the rough toss of the box onto his bed; in short, the change in his routine… It was unusual. Noteworthy, even.

Weston spied on him, a shaft of light falling through the crack in the door and across the length of his face as he watched Swarek pawing through the pile of papers and old junk. From a messy pile of old ticket stubs, ragged birthday cards, and other faded memories, he finally extracted a small piece of paper, just the right size for a photograph. Swarek never took his eyes off the piece of paper, not even when he pulled out his phone and hit a single button. He brought it to his ear, listened for a few seconds and then turned away towards the window as he spoke.

"Yeah, we need to talk."

Thanks again for putting up with my pokey-ness. I'm sincerely hoping the next chapter won't take so long :)