Hi, everyone. Sorry for the long delay in posting this latest update. Took me a while to figure out which twisty road to take the story down. Hope you enjoy it and thank you for your reviews and continued interest. It means a lot to me.

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"My gun discharged," a worried Jo said. "What do I put in my report about that?"

"We don't have a bullet," Reece quickly pointed out. "I'm sure we all know why that is and I'm sure you can come up with something same as you did before whenever you omitted certain things from your reports about Dr. Morgan and/or his son."

vvvv

Jo, after leaving Reece's home ...

A long, hot shower and a warm glass of milk laced with brandy had worked wonders to soothe her tired limbs. Unfortunately, they had done little to ease her troubled mind. Although the Lieutenant had apparently been quite thorough in having the bullpen's surveillance footage sanitized of Henry's recent self-demise, it had been left up to her to figure out how to explain her gun having been discharged that day. And how, exactly, was she to do that?

They now knew that Henry was an Immortal and couldn't permanently die. Mike was probably some kind of keeper of the spirit of an ancient warrior who could kill Adam. And, of course, she was some kind of magician who could make evidence of a gun discharge disappear.

"Abra cadabra presto!" Jo sarcastically recited and took another swig of her milk and brandy.

She'd just gotten off the phone with Mike, who promised to help her come up with a believable scenario. Reece had said Liz Chamberlain removed the sound of Henry having fired her weapon.

"Just have her put it back in," Mike offered as a viable solution. "Doc reached for your weapon, you tried to keep it away from him and it fell to the floor and discharged."

"That might work," she replied.

"Not as simple as I like things to be but - workable," Mike said, hopeful.

"And the bullet?" Jo asked. When met with silence from Mike, they both knew that they had to go back to the drawing board.

It was assumed that the bullet had lodged in Henry's brain and vanished along with his body when he'd died. But it had all happened so quickly after he'd pulled the trigger. What if the bullet had gone straight through and was lodged in the wall or ceiling in the bullpen? She had to do a trajectory study but thought it best not to contact Liz again nor get help from one of the precinct's techies. Fortunately, there was the next best thing in the form of an Assistant ME who fashioned himself an undiscovered filmmaking talent, eager to help his boss, and who was being discharged from the hospital the next day.

In the meantime, she really felt the need to call Henry and find out how he and Abe were doing. Who was she kidding? She needed to hear Henry's voice. To make sure he hadn't decided to run. To let him know that they were working hard to clear the path for him and his son to return and resume their lives here in New York. And ... to make it clear to him that he would break her heart if he didn't.

After she'd spoken over the phone with Henry for nearly two hours into the wee hours of the morning, Jo finally relaxed enough to fall asleep with a smile on her lips.

vvvv

The next morning ...

Lucas' mother, Dora, had driven him home from Bellevue Hospital around 11:30 AM to his apartment after he'd been cleared for discharge. She'd camped out in his room every night in spite of both Eugenia's and his pleas for her to bunk at his place while he was hospitalized. His Mom was a gem and he loved her dearly but she had a tendency to be overly dramatic at times, usually expecting the worst. And right now she tended to expect the worst from his continued association with his boss, Dr. Henry Morgan. But no matter how much she had argued against it, Lucas was determined to retain his employment with the OCME and under the tutelage of his very learned boss. He knew that she only wanted the best for him but his mind was made up. He was sticking with Team Morgan!

Shortly after she and Eugenia had left to return to their home in New Jersey, he'd barely had a moment to really kick back and relax in the blessed silence of his apartment. He settled back onto his familiar old futon and flipped the TV on to the Golf Channel because some of those women golfers were stupid hot. No matter how pretty a couple of the nurses had been, he definitely wasn't going to miss those periodic blood draws or that cold bed pan.

vvvv

At the same time in the bullpen, Jo and Mike sat at their desks lost in their own thoughts about this very unsual case of Lucas almost being drowned by one Immortal and saved by another. Since Reece said they had to build the case against Adam - they preferred to call him by the name that Henry did - brick by brick, that's exactly what they were going to do.

In keeping with that directive, earlier that morning they had met at the Harbor Unit's mooring location and searched just about every inch of the tour boat Adam had rented. His doctors had been able to determine that Chlorasone had caused Lucas' nausea and vertigo but not even in the galley where Adam may have prepared the drink or in the seating area where Lucas had consumed it, was that or any similar substance found. As good as they both were at detecting, in this moment, they felt the void of Henry's all-seeing eye and verbose hypotheses.

"Phoned Toliver, the Boathouse Manager," Mike told Jo. "Told him that he could pick up his boat anytime from the Harbor Unit."

Jo sighed. "Yeah. No use holding it any longer. Adam left no smoking gun clues for us to find."

"Except Lucas' side effects," Mike pointed out. "That psycho laced his drink with some kinda rat poison," he angrily rasped. The doctors had attributed Lucas' recovery to his youth and great physical condition.

Mike left his desk and paused at Jo's before walking toward the elevator. "Gonna have a look-see again in his office, uh, Farber's office."

"Need another eye?" Jo asked.

"Nah," he replied, hitching his pants up. "But thanks. See ya later." He walked toward the elevator and hoped that she didn't see through his facade. For his main reason for searching the office again was to see if there was anything there that could shed any light on Adam's connection to the dagger. The same dagger he had spirited out of the Evidence Locker the night before. Maybe, he thought, he could find a written warning in the office or a set of directions he'd kept on how to avoid getting killed by a sleeping warrior. It was a long shot, Mike knew, and a crazy one but he had to pursue it.

Once he arrived at Bellevue, he quickly gained access to the office Adam had used while posing as Farber, a psychotherapist. He, Jo, and Reece had gone over it with a fine toothed comb and surprisingly found the diplomas on the wall to be legitimate. He really had obtained a degree in Psychology - in 1932. His most current records on file, like Henry's, appeared to be fake. The photos of him posing with a woman may also have been fake but they had not been able to identify her to question her.

Mike removed the smaller 3" x 5" photo from its frame and flipped it over. He already knew that there was nothing on the back to identify where or when it had been taken. So start with the basics - the photo paper itself. Because Reece had cautioned them as much as possible not to utilize the techies in the precinct, another source came to mind. Someone who knew a lot about photography, film, and special effects: Lucas. He stuffed the photo into his jacket's side pocket and apologized to the young man while he dialed his number from his cell phone.

"Sorry to interrupt your recuperation, Lucas, but this is top priority," he muttered to himself while he waited for Lucas to answer on the other end. When he got voicemail, he left a message bidding him a quick recovery and for him to call back as soon as possible.

vvvv

Back at the precinct, Jo had given up on any trajectory scenarios that pointed to the bullet fired from her gun being lodged anywhere else but in Henry's brain and having vanished along with his body after his demise. So Mike's suggestion of having the sound of the gun discharge added back to the surveillance footage that Liz Chamberlain had altered seemed to be the only workable solution. IA would just have to accept her explanation of a loose strap on her holster which helped to facilitate Henry's "attempt" to obtain her weapon.

But why? Why? Oh, she thought, because he'd panicked. Yes. And, um, he'd tried to grab her gun to go search for Adam and ... kill him. No. She heaved a deep sigh, deciding that that explanation wouldn't do.

Okay, then. Her strap was loose. He had merely tried to prevent the gun from falling out of it. But it had fallen to the floor anyway and ... discharged. She had then picked it up from the floor and they'd all left to go to the river to retrieve Lucas. Ohhhh, geeeezzzz, would that satisfy IA?

So many holes to plug up in order to help Henry keep his secret from being revealed, she ruefully concluded. It was no wonder that many times in the past, he'd simply chosen to run and hide until the coast was clear after enough people with inquiring minds had passed on. And, of course, it didn't help that the enormously wide amount of exposure given to anything posted on social media increased its longevity exponentially. It wasn't so much the bullpen's surveillance footage being posted online that worried her; it was the numerous bystanders' cell phone videos of a naked Henry after he'd rescued Lucas from the river and administered CPR to him. Reece was convinced that no one had captured a clear picture of Henry's face that day and Liz had also successfully obscured his face on the surveillance footage from the camera facing the rescue location near the river. Jo sincerely hoped her boss and the former computer hacktivist were right.

vvvv

Despite Jo having left Lucas a voicemail two hours ago wishing him a speedy recovery and for him to call her as soon as he felt up to it - and not too subtly reminding him it was urgent - he hadn't called. She was sympathetic to him needing his rest after nearly being drowned by a psycho but she felt that time was of the essence. Each day that same psycho sat in holding was a gamble for when, not if, he'd find the opportune moment to obtain his freedom by suicide. Even though both the East and Hudson Rivers were being guarded, they couldn't count on that to prevent him from still chancing an escape. Jo's impatience was getting the better of her, though, and she decided to pay Lucas a visit.

Once she arrived at his apartment building in Brooklyn Heights and parked her car, she realized that the car in front of her was very familiar. Her eyes traveled from it and up to a familiar figure pressing the buzzer at the entry door. She quickly left her car and jogged up the steps behind her official crime-solving partner.

"Hold the door, Mike!" she called to him just before the door closed. He held onto the door until she'd entered and then he let it close, clicking loudly to ensure it was locked.

"Sooo, Lucas?" Jo asked as they walked the short distance to the elevator and punched the call button.

He nodded sheepishly and pulled out the photo from Adam's office and showed it to her. "And you?" he asked her with a smirk.

"Taking your advice," she replied. "Gonna see if Lucas can work his movie magic and add the sound of the gun discharge back into the bullpen's surveillance footage." Mike nodded and knocked on the door.

vvvv

"Stehlman's Photo Shop in Tarrytown," Lucas informed Mike. "The serial number on the back of the photo was from a batch of photo paper discontinued in 2012. Purchased online from Durmont Photo and Film Supplies. I bought some of the same batch back then. It was a steal at 70% off," he added.

"Tarrytown," Mike repeated. "Lieu said that during her conference call with General Austin, Henry, and Abe, she found out that Adam had made more than one excursion there over the decades, including the time when as a motorcyclist, he was hit by a car in 1985 and critically injured."

He now knew from Henry that the accident had led Adam to Abigail, who'd attended to him while she was working as a nurse at St. Timothy's Hospital and eventually to the discovery of his fellow Immortal, Henry.

"I'll work on getting that gunshot sound added back to the bullpen's surveillance footage," he promised Jo. "Sure you don't want me to just ... erase that whole portion?"

"No," she quickly replied. "It might just bring up more questions. Do your best, okay?"

"Will do," Lucas said.

vvvv

After having unexpectedly met up at Lucas' place an hour before and submitting their individual help requests to him, Jo and Mike now motored in his assigned vehicle out to the home of Ken Halsey, the owner of Stehlman's Photo Shop in Tarrytown, since it would be closed by the time they arrived.

"Must be a pretty important photo to bring two NYPD cops all the way out here," Halsey dryly remarked as he opened the front door and allowed them to enter. Once they were seated, he said, "Lemme have a look at it."

Mike gave him the photo and he and Jo waited patiently while Halsey adjusted his glasses to study it. He stiffened slightly and a cloud passed over his face but he quickly covered it with a forced smile, saying, "No. Never seen him before."

"Him?" Jo asked, skeptical. "You recognize both of them," she stated, picking up on his body language. Halsey startled at her accusing statement but remained silent.

"Who are they?" she asked more urgently. When Halsey still gave no response, she reminded him that it was a felony to withhold material evidence. "Add obstruction of justice to that and being an accessory after the fact, you're probably looking at spending the next 15 to 20 years behind bars."

"Okay, okay, okay," Halsey finally replied, holding up both hands. "Says his name is Peter Cooley."

"What do you mean by that?" Jo asked. "You don't believe that's his real name?"

Halsey hesitated again, running his hand over his bald crown. "He blew into town on a motorcycle about four years ago. It broke down and he had to wait on the parts. Took a fancy to my daughter. Seemed like a nice guy ... at first."

"What's your daughter's name and where can we find her?" Mike asked.

"Her name's Lindsay. That's her in the photo." He looked from one to the other of them and asked, "Look, uh, you guys say you're homicide detectives. Is my daughter in any trouble?"

"We just want to ask her some questions," Jo replied. But if Lindsay was associated with Adam, that put her in deep.

Further questioning of Halsey resulted in them finding out where his daughter lived in Tarrytown but he had insisted upon accompanying them. It was getting late and the drive back to New York was a long one but they were on a mission. Once at Lindsay's home, they knocked on the door. There was no answer so Mike knocked harder, loudly calling out to her and identifying themselves. An anxious Halsey told them that there was a spare key under the mat. Mike retrieved it and unlocked the door. The house was dark and quiet as they slowly entered.

Halsey quickly walked in front of them and called out to his daughter. "Lindsay? Lindsay! It's Dad!" He turned around to face them and said, "I don't understand. She should be - " A soft moan from the back of the house caught their attention and the three of them converged on what was a bedroom. Confusion and horror overtook Halsey's face when he saw his daughter lying in bed, an empty pill bottle on its side on the nightstand. "Lindsay!" he yelled and flew to her side.

Mike drew up beside him and placed two fingers on the pulsepoint on the side of her neck. He let out a sigh of relief. "Her pulse is weak but she's still alive." Jo was already on her cell phone calling 9-1-1 while an anguished Halsey murmured his daughter's name over and over. Jo put her phone on speaker and laid it on the nightstand on the other side of the bed. She and Mike nodded to each other as they lifted Lindsay off of the bed, holding her up on either side and walking her around the room.

"Keep an eye out for the paramedics," Mike instructed Halsey.

Five minutes later, they'd arrived and rushed her away in the ambulance to St. Timothy's Hospital. Jo, Mike, and Halsey followed behind in the car.

"Any idea why she would try to take her own life?" Jo asked a distraught Halsey as he sat in the back seat of the car.

"She ... she did tell me a couple of days ago that she might be pregnant," he replied. "Said she didn't want his baby."

"Whose baby?" Jo asked even though she had a pretty good idea who.

"Peter's," Halsey replied, his voice crumbling. "He's had a stranglehold on her and me almost ever since he got here. I hated not being able to do a thing to help her. If I could have, though, I would have ... I would have killed him for her a long time ago." His voice now trembled from the anger darkening his countenance. "But ... that was impossible," he sighed.

The two detectives shared a knowing look and pulled up to the hospital behind the ambulance.

vvvv

Two hours later they were able to leave the hospital. The same one they'd visited separately in 2015 in conjunction with the investigation into the deaths of Belinda Smoot and Abe's mother, Sylvia Blake aka Abigail Morgan. It felt surreal to both of them to be there once again, this time to question a young, suicidal woman about her connection to Adam. It relieved them to know that the bottle of sleeping pills, although found empty, had only six pills remaining in it that she had ingested and that the prognosis for her recovery was good. Her physical recovery, that is. They were also relieved - probably as much as Lindsay was - to find out that she was not pregnant.

"What a coincidence. Timothy is the patron invoked against stomach and intestinal disorders," Mike observed.

"And your point being?" Jo asked.

"We're here ... at a hospital named for him and this chick decided to cash it in by dumping a load of gunk into her stomach," he clarified.

"I'm just glad she was wrong about carrying Adam's baby and that they were able to pump that 'load of gunk' out of her," Jo said. "But I can't imagine what it was like to be with him, someone like that. To, to have him touch me, ugh!" she added, shuddering and running her hands up and down her arms.

"And, uh, it's not because he's an Immortal," Mike smirked. He chuckled when she gave him a 'really' look. "Some guys got it and some guys don't, right?" he added, chuckling more, and ignoring her glaring eyes. "That blush, Detective," he teased. "You're blush-inggg."

"Just drive, Mike!" Jo demanded, trying to hide her embarrassment. "Grrrr!"

While they motored from Tarrytown back to the city, miles away at the Greenbriar Hotel, General Austin was having a phone conversation with his superior, also a general but who's rank held more stars than his did.

"Pardon me, Sir, but in my opinion, Morgan presents no threat to our national security." Austin glanced at the time displayed on his cell phone: 1:03 AM and winced. "He just wants to be left alone to live his life the best way he can ... I understand that, Sir, but he's already stated in no uncertain terms that he has no desire to become one of our - Tomorrow? With all due respect, Sir, I think it would be a big mistake to - " Austin sighed and squeezed his eyes shut. "Yes, Sir, but I'll, I'll need a little more time ... I understand, Sir."

The call ended, Austin released another deep sigh, dreading what was to happen to their two newest guests in the next few days. It was times like these that made him question his decision last year to delay his retirement. That made him ashamed of some of the orders he was charged to carry out.

Notes:

Information on substances that cause nausea and vertigo, and St. Timothy found on the Internet

Slight reference to "Forever" TV show S01/E21 "The Night in Question"