Logan POV

Carolyn and I had been all set to help out Lupo and Bernard when we'd gotten a call.

I didn't ask why it was Kristin, Ross' secretary, instead of the man himself. I hoped it was because he'd skipped town like I'd suggested.

"There was a home invasion in Murray Hill," Kristin told me. "And from what I understand, it's pretty gruesome."

"Well then, lucky us," I responded.

I was kind of surprised that we were getting another call-out so soon. There were several other pairs of detectives in the department who hadn't gotten a call since we'd had the floater case. Usually the rotation went around the room.

"Or not," she replied. "The Chief got the call right before he left. He told me to put you and the other Detective Logan on the case. He said something about you two having experience with a case like this?"

A weight formed in the pit of my stomach as the case to which she was referring came to mind. Chesley Watkins. She was a foster mother who had groomed her boys to rob well-to-do homes. And while they were at it, they'd kill the entire family.

And of course, that was when I'd killed a police officer.

I could see it in my mind like it was yesterday.

"Detective Logan?" Kristin asked when I remained silent.

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, I'm here. Okay, give me the address."

I didn't mention my flashbacks to Carolyn.

Instead, together we went to the home in Murray Hill where a husband and wife along with their three kids had been bludgeoned to death.

"I'd say that it happened around two o'clock this morning," the ME said. And of course, it wasn't Liz. It was another guy, a guy named Rader.

And surely he was competent, but I instantly missed Liz's dry wit and astute observations.

"Who called it in?" I asked the officer on-scene.

"A neighbor. Apparently Mrs. Flynt," he began, indicating the mother who had bled out on the kitchen floor. "Missed a lunch date. The neighbor got concerned and called several times and then came to knock on the door. When she didn't get any answer, she looked through the garage window and saw that Mr. Flynt's car was still at home, in addition to the family minivan."

"That's great," I muttered. "These people were in here for almost twelve hours before anyone got worried enough to call it in."

"Mike, check this out," Carolyn said, calling me into the study. "The laptop is still here. And so is the IPOD. But there appear to be several things missing from the shelves."

I walked over to look more closely at the shelving unit that was encased in glass.

"Not much dust, but enough," I commented. There were a few circular patterns of clean wood where dust hadn't accumulated, which meant that something had definitely been sitting there.

"This feels awfully familiar," she remarked.

I was almost afraid to catch her eye. I specifically hadn't brought up the Watkins case because I didn't want to taint her perception.

"Mike," she said quietly when I still wouldn't look at her. I slowly turned around and faced her. "You already thought of that, didn't you?"

"I…yeah, I did," I admitted. "But I didn't want to skew your opinion."

"Just because it fits the pattern in certain aspects, doesn't mean that she's behind it."

"The whole family is dead and the only items stolen were high-end art."

"But this house isn't for sale. And the family wasn't killed with machetes. Besides, it's way too early to jump to those kinds of conclusions."

"I know."

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I insisted. "Let's take a look at the guy's laptop and see if we can find someone in his life who may have had a motive to do something like this."

"Okay," she agreed carefully. "And I'm going to place a call to Child Services."

"Why?"

"I want to find out if the moratorium on Chesley Watkins' foster mother status has been lifted."

By the end of the day, I'd gone through half a bottle of Tums and I'd bitten all of my nails down to the quick.

And it was more than the fact that the case was grisly.

It was that damn Watkins woman.

She'd done a number on me nearly five years ago and it looked like we were going to have to take another run at her.

Because she did have foster sons again.

Four of them, all in their teens. She'd been allowed to reopen her home to them only a year after the investigation.

Carolyn and I had gone to her place to talk to her, but she hadn't been home and so far we hadn't been able to track her down.

"How can Child Services allow a woman like that to take in children?" I mumbled as I sat next to Carolyn on the couch. We had cartons of Chinese food on the coffee table, but neither of us had touched it yet.

Instead, I was working my way through my second Jack and Coke.

"There are more kids than caregivers," she replied as she ran her fingers through my hair. "And we never could get anything concrete on her."

"So it's my fault that she's ruined more kids," I stated.

"No, Mike. It's not your fault. We did everything we could…"

"It wasn't enough. If this is her…if she's behind this again…we have to get her. We can't stop until we catch her."

"I know."

"I mean it, sweetheart."

"I know."

I leaned my head against the back of the couch and she moved her hand around to my face.

"Are you okay?" she asked, repeating her question from earlier. Only this time, we were alone and we were off-duty, and maybe it was time that I answered a little more truthfully.

"I'm not sure."

"Which part? Are you thinking about Tarkman? Or Watkins?"

Tarkman, the officer I'd shot. Of course, I'd been cleared, but the whole thing had been a mess.

"Both, I guess."

"You know what I remember about that case," she said, easing closer to me. Then she leaned in and pressed a kiss against my cheek. I closed my eyes and tried to relax as she repeated the gesture again and again. "I remember you hitting on me in the bar."

I barked out a laugh, but kept my eyes closed.

"I didn't hit on you," I denied.

"You asked me to stay at your place."

"Hey, I said I'd sleep on the couch."

"That's not what you meant and you know it."

"Yeah, okay. Maybe not," I admitted. "But you turned me down flat."

"I didn't want to," she said quietly. Now I did open my eyes to look at her.

"You didn't?"

"No. But the timing wasn't right and I figured that you'd regret it."

"I can't imagine ever regretting it," I replied. "But you're right. My head was in a bad place. You know, I went to see Olivet that night, after you left the bar."

I could feel her tense beside me, so I put my hand on her waist and guided her to sit on my lap.

"Not like that," I continued. "Just to talk."

"And did she help?"

"She told me that sometimes it was possible to do everything right and still have a bad result."

"That sounds like a shrink thing to say."

"Yeah," I chuckled. "And no, she didn't really help. Do you know what did?"

"What?"

"You. You stood beside me and supported me, even when it wasn't the popular choice. It would've been just as easy for you to turn the other way, but you didn't."

"You didn't do anything wrong," she reminded me. "It was just a bad situation."

"Maybe," I agreed with a nod. "And now this case…the idea that she's starting all over again…"

"It might not have anything to do with her. She certainly hasn't cornered the market on senseless violence."

"I know. But we still have to talk to her. As soon as we can find her."

"And when we do, she's going to try to get to you. And you're not going to let her because you're stronger than that."

"I'm not going to let her because I'll have you with me," I countered.

And it was true. It was amazing how much better I felt already just from talking with her about it. I wish I'd said something when I first took the call, but at least I'd gotten it off my chest now.

"You had me back then," she said quietly as she leaned down to kiss me. "You just didn't know it."

"Back then you wanted to cast aspersions as to the size of my couch," I teased.

"Not my smartest moment," she replied. "Because you have the biggest couch…"

She trailed off when I started laughing and she smiled at my change in mood.

"I love you," I sighed, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her against my chest.

"Right back at you. And we'll solve this case. If it's Watkins, she's going down. And if it's not, who knows? Maybe we'll stumble across something else she's done wrong. I find it hard to believe that she's on the straight and narrow."

"Her? Definitely not."

"Good. It's settled then. It's past time to get a little justice."

Mary Eames POV

I'd had about enough of secrecy from my husband.

Ever since my stroke, he'd been handling me with kid gloves.

And I know that it scared him.

It had scared me, too.

But I was better now.

Much better.

And the idea that he still insisted on withholding information from me just so that I could remain stress-free was absurd.

It's not like I didn't know the man well enough to know that he had a secret.

It was more stressing for me to watch him try to pretend as though nothing was wrong.

I'd just as soon he come straight out with it.

But my hints had gone unnoticed and my requests unanswered.

So I was done being subtle or nice.

When he came home with our oldest son in tow and then tried to play it off that it was because one of the kids was sick and Kevin didn't want to catch it, well…that was the final straw.

Because first off, these were my grandkids he was talking about. And none of them were sick.

Aside from that, Kevin had stayed in his own house when two of them had the chicken pox, an illness that he'd never had which meant it was quite dangerous for him to be exposed to it and yet he'd never batted an eye.

So my husband's excuse was lame at best.

Besides, I know my son.

Something was definitely wrong.

He looked worried and exhausted and sheepish.

Not a good combination.

But I gave him a welcoming hug and then held my tongue while Johnny got him settled in the den.

They talked in hushed voices for nearly an hour before Johnny came up to bed.

"I guess you're forced to sleep up here now that you've loaned out your lair," I told him without looking up from my book. And no, I wasn't reading. Instead, I'd been staring blankly at the pages, thinking about everything I wanted to say to him.

"I was coming up anyway," he answered.

"You've been down there for two nights in a row," I reminded him.

"I've had some things on my mind."

"Clearly. Things to do with Kevin, I presume. Our son."

"No," he said on a sigh, finally picking up on my mood. "And it's nothing you need to worry yourself about, Mary."

I slammed the book closed and got up from the bed.

"Nothing I need to worry about?" I repeated, my voice coming out louder than I'd intended but I didn't back down. "How many times have I heard that over the past several years? And yet I worry anyway. In fact, I worry more when I have to guess as to what's going on. So just come out and say it, Johnny."

"There's nothing to say. I'm handling it," he deflected.

"Like you handled the situation with Alex and Bobby? You almost ran off your own daughter just because you couldn't accept Bobby as her husband. You've known for years that she was in love with him but instead of being happy for her that they finally admitted it to each other, you insulted him and pushed him away…"

"Mary," he interrupted. "I've apologized to him. We've moved past it."

"All I'm saying is that your way of handling things isn't necessarily what's best. You slept on that couch when you got into trouble at work. You slept down there when you were worrying about how you'd been treating Bobby. And now you've been sleeping down there again. So are you going to tell me what's going on, or do I need to go downstairs and get my son to confess? Because you know Kevin. He'll tell."

I followed-up my threat by taking several steps toward the door, but Johnny stopped me with a gentle hand on my arm.

"Don't go down there," he said quietly. "I'll tell you."

"All of it," I insisted. "Not just some half-assed version of the truth that you think will be enough to get me to shut up."

"Okay," he conceded. "Just…let me get a drink first. I'll be right back."

I watched him as he walked wearily out the door.

I was a little nervous about what was going on.

Because it was obviously something big.

But I'd weathered many a storm in my day.

I was married to a cop.

Two of my four kids were cops, and one of those had married a cop. Twice.

Aside from that I had two brothers who were retired from the NYPD and of course, Kevin was a fireman.

Danger ran in our family, but so did courage.

And I wasn't about to duck and cover just because there was another storm brewing on the horizon.

I sat down in the window seat and waited for my husband to return.

It only took him a few minutes, and I was surprised to see that he carried two glasses in his hands.

I didn't drink very often, and he knew it.

Since he had fixed me one anyway, that meant that he deemed his news as something that would make me need it.

I held his gaze and took one glass from him.

"What do you want to know?" he said as he sat down beside me.

I took a sip of the Jameson's and waited until my throat stopped burning before I answered.

"Everything. Start from the beginning."

TBC...