A/N: So... yeah... been a while. It would take far too much space to go into detail about what's been happening in my life over the last several years, but I've had major changes, some health scares, crazy times at work... etc. I wouldn't entirely blame you if you stopped following this one. I've been blocked for a while on this particular story, so I'm hoping a few reviews will help me get going again. I desperately want to finish this story, because I'm super proud of it. Got a couple other things in the works too for a different fandom, but hope you enjoy this chapter after forever.

Chapter 6

Unfortunately, I didn't have much time to mull over the stranger in the back room. For a brief second, I thought it had been Mac, but there was no way to prove it. Besides, I hadn't seen Mac with a lighter yet; even in 1938 I couldn't imagine him picking up a cigarette.

Of course, it seemed like everyone smoked around here. It was like living in a chimney.

Anyway, I slipped the lighter in my pocket, positive my mystery stalker was someone in the club – maybe Sid or Mac or Adam or Danny. Or even Kate, Lindsay and Stella. There was no way to tell. I'd only caught a glimpse in the darkness, and even that was out of the corner of my eye. My cop instincts taking over, I bent down and searched the doorknob for prints.

Nothing.

And even if there had been something, I had no way to lift prints and nothing to compare them to if I had.

I frowned, frustrated. Something was in that back room. Something they didn't want anyone to know about. Leaning against the wall, I ran through the list of possibilities in my head. It was 1938, so Prohibition was over, which meant alcohol was out. Drugs? Weapons? Worse? I really couldn't see Mac allowing anything illegal in his club. It wasn't like him. He was the epitome of honor, the shining white knight high up on his pedestal, and nothing could knock him off of it, not a war, not the loss of his wife… not anything.

So what did it all mean, then?

I didn't have much of a time to ponder that, unfortunately. "Don?" Kate's voice called from outside the open doorway. "Don, are you there?"

"Yeah!" I called back, taking another look around the dark room. Whatever mysteries this place held would have to wait until later. Flashlight in one hand and the soda bottles in the other, I walked out into the lit corridor. Kate stood at the curtain separating the hall from the rest of the club, arms folded and an amused look in her eyes.

"Did you get lost in there or something?" she said, smirking.

I returned her grin as I slid my hand into my pocket, feeling the cold metal of the lighter against my fingertips. "Had a little trouble finding the soda bottles."

"Hawkes was getting worried. He and Mac were about to send in a search party."

"I'm fine." I held up two fingers in the Boy Scout salute. "Honest."

Kate grinned and fell into step beside me. "Good." I pulled the curtain aside, allowing her to go into the club ahead of me. The stage was empty; apparently the band had finished their rehearsals and was allowed a couple of hours to rest before going on at seven. Hawkes, Stella and Mac were at the bar chatting lively. They looked up as Kate and I approached.

"Hey, pally, thought I'd have to come in and find you myself," Hawkes called, the corner of his mouth tilting up.

I held up the soda bottles. "It would've helped if the soda bottles hadn't been hiding from me."

Stella chuckled. "I've been trying to get him to organize that store room for years."

"Hey, it's organized," Mac protested defensively. "I've always had it organized."

"Yeah, but then you don't bother to let the rest of us know what your methods are," she argued good-naturedly.

"A method is a method is a method."

Kate rolled her eyes as Hawkes and I laughed. "Oh, brother. Get a room, will ya two?" Grinning, Hawkes pulled a cigarette from his pocket and stuck it between his lips.

Mac grinned. "We have one, thank you, Kate."

"Then go use it and save us the torture. Jeez."

I watched as Hawkes slid his hands back into his front pockets, frowning as he searched for a match or a lighter. Suddenly I remembered the lighter in my pocket. Maybe Hawkes had been the one spying on me in the store room. Maybe that was his box back there. "Need a light, man?" I asked as nonchalantly as I could manage.

"Nah." He produced a shabby-looking lighter from his pocket. "Got one. Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem." I set back to work drying the glasses that Hawkes had washed, but my mind whirled. So Hawkes was out as a suspect, unless he had more than one lighter, which I doubted. This one looked and felt like solid silver, and I would've been willing to bet that even with Mac's generosity, it would've taken more than half a year's salary to pay for it.

In other words, that left everyone at the club except Hawkes.

I sighed to myself. This was like looking for a needle in a haystack. Actually, it was like looking for a needle in a stack of needles.

A loud squeak from the front door as it was flung open startled me out of my thoughts. The silhouette, outlined in the bright sunbeams from the gleaming November sun, made its way toward us. I squinted in the sudden light, just barely making out the outline of a fedora atop a head that stood maybe six feet off the ground.

"Close the door, Morris," I heard a soft but authoritative voice, just tinged with an accent, say.

And then I knew. Boyle.

It was my first real up-close glance of the man whom the entire city seemed to be afraid of. I mean, I'd seen him before, when he first arrived at the club last night and then after he'd nearly crushed Mac's nose. He was about Mac's height – nearly a head shorter than the two goons who accompanied him. Just like yesterday, he was dressed in a pinstripe suit, complete with gold cufflinks that probably cost more than a year's salary in 2012. His blue tie looked like it was made of silk. His narrow jaw was clean-shaven, and his eyes, which were close-set at the bridge of his aristocratic nose, glittered in the low light.

I glanced at the others. Mac had moved in front of Stella protectively, and Kate had almost instinctively moved behind me to the other side of the bar. Hawkes just stood there, cigarette in hand, staring at the gangster.

"Don, Sheldon," Mac said in a low voice, "take Stella and Kate to the office please."

Stella and Kate protested immediately and loudly. "Uncle Mac!" came from Kate, and Stella followed with a familiar-sounding "Absolutely not, Mac Taylor!"

Mac fixed them both with a stern stare. It seemed to satisfy Kate, though she folded her arms and glared like a kid whose candy had been taken away. But stubborn Stella stared right back. I looked back and forth between them, getting the usual sense that an entire conversation was going on just by a look. My suspicions were confirmed when Stella sighed in resignation. "Fine," she said, rolling her eyes for emphasis. And then, to my utter surprise (and delight), she marched over to him and planted a deep kiss right to his lips. I grinned like an idiot. I've always been a sucker for a romance, especially between my two best friends, so such a reaction was perfectly justifiable. I'd waited for years to see that.

When at last they separated, Stella gently patted his chest, right above his heart, and gave him another look. He smiled at her then nodded at me. Carefully I grasped her elbow. "Let's go, Stell," I said softly, tugging her toward the back. Hawkes had his hand on Kate's shoulder, and the two of us ushered them in complete silence behind the black curtain.

Neither of them was happy with this, but Kate had no trouble voicing her opinion. "This is ridiculous," Kate muttered as she flopped down onto Mac's chair at the desk.

"Mac's just tryin' to protect you, Miss Kate," Hawkes replied, leaning against the back wall.

"If he was really trying to protect us, he wouldn't be in business with that man," she retorted.

"Katherine Tierney!" Stella scolded. "Don't say that about Mac. You have no idea what he's done to protect us."

So Stella did know something, I silently noted from my position by the door. It wouldn't have been surprising before, with how close she was to Mac; it was even less surprising now. I should've known that he'd tell her everything. He always did. Was she my mystery stalker from earlier this afternoon?

I glanced at Kate. The younger woman stared at her aunt incredulously. I wondered if she'd made the same connection that I had, that Stella knew more about Mac and Harry Boyle than she'd let on earlier. Or had she made that connection earlier?

One thing was for sure. I didn't like sitting in here twiddling my thumbs.

Sighing, I pushed myself off the wall. "Where're you goin'?" Hawkes asked.

"To listen."

Stella straightened up so fast that she knocked a paperweight off Mac's desk. It clattered to the floor. "You can't do that!" she hissed.

"Oh, no? And why not? Is it because I might find out whatever you and Mac are hiding from everyone?"

She folded her arms and glared at me in silent obstinacy. Kate looked back and forth between the two of us, green eyes wide. I glanced at Hawkes. The bartender shrugged helplessly. He didn't know what was going on either.

"Fine," I growled. "If you won't tell me, I'll have to find out myself."

"And if you get caught," Stella retorted, "Boyle will kill you."

Of course, there was a simple solution to that. I just wouldn't get caught. I gave her my most reassuring smirk. "Don't worry," I replied. "He's not that good." And with that, I slipped out the door.

I could hear two male voices on the other side of the thick curtain. One had a slight brogue - Boyle. The other had a Midwestern lilt – Mac. I couldn't tell if Boyle's two sidekicks were around or not. I sort of guessed (since guessing is one of the things I do best – it is my job, after all) that Boyle would've sent the goons away. Even in the brief moments we'd met, I could tell that they didn't appear to be the brightest bulbs in the box.

Slowly I drew just enough of the curtain aside so I could peek into the main dining room. Mac sat at the bar, arms crossed at his chest. Boyle stood in front of him, hands in his pockets, looking as relaxed as ever.

Something I definitely didn't like.

"It needs to be moved by tomorrow night," Boyle was saying. "I've got a guy who'll pay top dollar for it."

Mac shook his head. "That's your problem, not mine."

Boyle grinned almost sadistically. "You forget, mate, I can make it your problem. Or have you forgotten your deal? I do something for you, you do something for me. That's what you said, isn't it?"

Mac said nothing.

"You wouldn't go back on your word, would you? Major McKenna Taylor, pride of the 77th Division, served his country with distinction."

The mocking tone in his voice made my blood boil so much I was itching to go out there. I could tell Mac felt the same way; his fists clenched against the bar and his jaw tightened visibly. His reaction only made Boyle even more delighted.

"Tomorrow night. A copper named Gerrard has been sniffin' around. He finds out, it's all on you." Boyle smirked. "Plausible deniability."

Finally I couldn't stand it anymore. I cleared my throat loudly and practically threw the curtain aside. Boyle and Mac snapped their gazes over toward me, surprise etched on both their faces. I smiled. "Oops. Sorry. Am I interrupting something?"

Boyle glanced at Mac, his eyes narrowing. "Who's this?"

"Don Flack," I quickly replied. "Just started working here. Sorry if I'm intruding –"

"You are," Boyle interrupted.

I continued, unfazed, "But Stella needed a glass of water."

I motioned to the bar then looked at Mac. He stared at me, a blazing question in his eyes. He was wondering what the hell I was doing, barging in on a man who could easily have me killed. But he didn't get it. I wasn't afraid of Harry Boyle. I wasn't even sure Harry Boyle was real. So I stared right back at him, trying to convey assurance in my gaze. I guess it worked, because Mac gave me just the briefest of nods.

Flashing my most charming grin at Boyle, I moved toward the bar. "Sorry. I won't be long."

"That's all right, Don," Mac spoke for the first time in a while. "Mr. Boyle was just leaving. Weren't you?" he asked, his tone clearly implying that it was a command, not a request.

Apparently Boyle wasn't a man used to taking commands, and he definitely didn't take one coming from Mac very kindly. He stared icily at the man. I held my breath, waiting for a tommy gun to come out or something very, very bad to happen. But nothing did. After several tense moments, Boyle smiled humorlessly and nodded. "All right, boyo. I'll be back 'round tomorrow." He took a couple of steps toward the door and then stopped, as if he remembered something. "Oh, and say hello for me to your lovely wife and niece, mate. Tell them I can't wait to see them again."

I gritted my teeth against the thinly veiled threat against Kate and Stella, and when I glanced over, Mac's expression looked the same as I expected mine looked. "What the hell was that about?" I growled, pointing so violently at the door it almost threw my shoulder out. "You're in business now with that son of a bitch?"

Mac just sighed and looked at me wearily. "Let it go, Don."

"No, I won't let it go!" I was shouting now, and I didn't really care. I was tired of getting the run-around with Mac and Stella. It wasn't something I was used to by any means. "Something is going on here, Mac – something not good. Boyle threatened to let you take the fall for something –"

"You were listening?" Mac interrupted, a dangerous fire lighting in his blue eyes. But I could've cared less.

"Damn right I was," I snapped, "and now he just threatened your wife and niece! I don't know what the hell is going on here, but you've got to get out."

"What do you think I'm trying to do?" he shot back.

"Yeah, well, from what I saw, you're not doing a very good job of it."

"I'm handling it, Don."

"No, you're not! You think you are, but Boyle's got your back against the ropes, and you're too deep to see it until somebody gets hurt! And I can help, but I can't do a thing until you tell me what the hell is goin' on!"

He pursed his lips in his usual thoughtful way. I waited several minutes, breathing hard with all the emotions coursing through me. I was angry with him. Genuinely angry. And the thing was, he always did this. He and Stella. They were exactly alike in that respect. Both of them always thought they could handle things themselves. Which is how Stella wound up in the sights of a Greek criminal, and Mac ended up on the wrong end of a shotgun-wielding stalker. I usually found out after things went south. Well, I was tired of standing on the sidelines to help my friends.

Even if my friends had no idea who I was.

Sighing again, Mac slid off the bar. "You can't help, Don," he said quietly. "This is something I have to handle myself."

"But –"

"Leave it, Don!" he snapped sharply, so sharply it stung. Hurt, I glanced down at my feet. A heavy hand clapped my shoulder, and I looked up to see him staring down at me. I tried to read his gaze, but I couldn't. "You're a good man, Don Flack. But there are some things that even good men can't help with."

He lifted his eyes suddenly, and I whirled around to see Hawkes, Kate and Stella gathered behind me. Stella and Kate looked worried. Hawkes just looked awkward. I glanced back at Mac. "All right, Mac. If that's how you feel about it."

"Sorry, Don." His apology sounded genuine, but I didn't care. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I trudged toward the trio at the back. Stella gave me a sympathetic look, but she said nothing, choosing instead to make a beeline for Mac. Hawkes wordlessly clapped me on the back, gave me a slight smile and headed over for his bar. Only Kate stayed behind, staring at me with concern etched across her pretty face.

"What happened?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Ask your uncle." I waved my hand over to Mac and Stella. The couple huddled together in the far corner by the front door, their heads next to each other, whispering.

"Did he give you the high hat?"

"Uh… yeah." I had no idea what it meant, but by the tone of her voice, I assumed it wasn't a good thing.

"I can't believe he'd do that," she shook her head incredulously. "To completely exclude you from this."

"Well, I can," I muttered, but she didn't hear me. I cleared my throat and said a little louder, "Did Stella say anything after I left?"

"Only that you were nuts for barging in on Boyle." She brushed a chestnut strand from her face. "I've never seen her look so worried before."

"Listen, Kate," I said, turning my body so that my back was to Mac and Stella. She looked up at me, green eyes surprised at the urgency in my tone. "Do you think Stella knows about what's going on around here? With Boyle?"

She pressed her lips into a thin line. "I didn't before. But I do now."

I'd figured as much. Mac always told Stella everything. That was how they operated. Now the foremost question in my mind was whether I could trust Kate. She seemed genuinely concerned about her aunt and uncle. But what if she was in on the plot? I didn't know her here or in my time.

But then again, if this was all a figment of my imagination, what did I have to lose?

"Kate," I began. "That back room, the storage room. What's kept there?"

She thought for a minute, then shrugged. "Extra booze. Some other supplies, like paper and such. Why?"

"I think your uncle and aunt are hiding something back there. Something that has to do with Boyle."

Now that it was out of my mouth, it sounded like some crazy conspiracy theory. Kate apparently thought so too, because she stared at me incredulously, and her reply to my hypothesis was succinct: "That's whacky."

I opened my mouth to explain about my shadowy stalker in the back room, but the front door, which had somehow managed to stay unlocked, flew open. Lindsay stood in the doorway in the plain black dress she'd worn earlier today, a bag in her hand. She stared at the five of us, all huddled in our little corners. "All right, who got the kiss off?" she asked with a grin. Mac and Stella each said hello and then went back to their little pow-wow. Lindsay raised her eyebrows at me. "Was it something I said?" she asked as she walked up to Kate and me.

"Boyle was here," Kate replied, sotto voce.

"Boyle?" Lindsay's eyes widened. "What'd he want?"

"Ask them," I nodded toward Mac and Stella.

Lindsay laughed at that. "Yeah, right, genius. Not gonna happen." She slung her bag over her shoulder. "Listen, if Danny shows up, tell him I need to talk to him, okay?" Kate said she would, and Lindsay disappeared behind the curtain to change.

"What time is it?" Kate asked.

I glanced at my watch. "Half past six."

She gasped. "It's late! Stella!" she shouted. Stella looked over, and Kate tapped her wrist. "We've gotta change," she explained as Stella rushed over toward us. "We'll finish this later?"

I nodded. Quickly they dashed behind the curtain.

"Don!" Hawkes called from across the room. I stepped over to the bar, pointedly ignoring Mac still sitting there. "Start setting out these glasses, will ya? Friday night, bound to have a ring-a-ding-ding 'round here."

I translated that as it was going to get busy. Sid and Danny came through the front door next, chatting animatedly about something I couldn't overhear. Mac quickly excused himself to go talk to them. Just before he left, he gave me an apologetic look. I sighed. He'd already apologized for the way he spoke to me. That look was an apology for the fact that he still wasn't going to talk.

Not that it mattered, I thought as I started setting glasses on the marble countertop. I'd investigate anyway. Boyle was a menace. He'd threatened women. And that was something nobody should do, no matter what century it happened to be.

Suddenly Joe the very unpleasant drummer burst through the door, his bow tie askew and his dark hair mussed. "Anybody seen Ross?" he shouted.

Danny shrugged. "Just got here myself. He was at rehearsals."

"I know, but he was supposed to meet me at Clancy's an hour ago. Never showed." As nasty as he'd seemed the night before, Joe actually looked concerned about Adam.

Danny, on the other hand, didn't seem so concerned. "You know Adam," he said dismissively. "He probably got caught up in the newspapers or something."

I nearly laughed aloud at the idea of Adam reading newspapers, but of course he'd have to find something to do other than surf the net in this day and age.

"He'll show up," Danny continued.

Joe shrugged his broad shoulders. "If you say so." He strolled over to his drum set and sat down to adjust the instruments.

Suddenly a muffled scream pierced the quiet club. Thinking it was Kate in trouble, I dashed toward the curtain, Mac and Danny practically tripping over my heels. But when we flung the curtain aside, Stella and Kate peered out the office door, dressed in their fancy evening gowns. "What happened?" Mac demanded.

"I don't know," Stella answered. Both the women's eyes were wide with fear.

"Help!" the scream came again, louder this time, definitely from a woman, and definitely coming from behind the back door.

"Lindsay," Danny breathed, and shoved his way past me. He threw the door open so hard it bounced on its hinges. The cold November wind whistling down the alley slapped us in the face, but I hardly noticed.

Lindsay was standing next to the back stoop, hands over her face, sobbing uncontrollably. Danny immediately wrapped her up in his arms. "There, there, doll," he soothed, but she still shook like a leaf.

Something dark on the ground caught the corner of my eye. I peered into the deepening dusk –

And suddenly wished I hadn't.

"Mac," I whispered. He looked at me. I pointed toward a dark form lying next to the brick wall of the club, about seven feet from where we stood. A pool of crimson had spread around a shock of reddish brown hair.

It was Adam.

And he was most definitely dead.