Hey! No one's gotten any action . . . yet. So, no. Irons did not have one of his little 'oh . . . that's nice . . .' sessions. And my definition of a major character is some one with their name in the opening credits.

Go sign my guest book.

::::review-a-saurus chases the humans down who did not do their duty. It's buffet time!:::

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XVII. Sanguine

"He's out done himself this time, hasn't he?"

Sara Pezzini could only nod her head. She had left the bakery a few minutes after they had walked in. She thought she was going to throw up. Jake had followed her to make sure she was all right. She was kneeling in the snow in the alley next to the crime scene with her partner rubbing her back. The nausea slowly subsided.

Jake was right. Their guy had out done himself. Literally. The owner of the Italian baker had been twisted and shoved into one of the ovens in the kitchen. And cooked. The smell of burnt human flesh didn't sit too well with her. How could Jake stand it? She lifted her head to look at him. He wasn't as unaffected as she thought. He was looking a little green.

But that wasn't the worst part. Sophia Spertnetti's fifteen year old daughter had found her mother this morning. Along with her four year old brother. They had no other family in the States. Social Services had come and taken them a few minutes ago.

From inside the building the forensic team hooted and hollered.

"Oh yeah, baby!!! Found a boot print in the flour!!!"

Sara let Jake help her to her feet.

"Better?"

"Yeah, yeah. It's just really nasty in there. I don't know how the techies do it."

He shrugged and led her back inside. Tim Rykles and his team were doing their best to not disturb the flour on the floor.

"Hey you guy. Try not to move too fast. We don't want this thing blown away."

"What have you got, Tim?" Sara asked.

"Well. We have our prints all over the place," he pointed to the solid marks on the floor, "But our shoes don't have any tread on them. There are the prints from the kids' shoes over there. And the mother wore heals. But this one," He took another picture of the print, "this one comes off of some kind of combat boot."

"Military issue?" Jake added in.

"Don't know yet. We'll have to run it. It could be. It could also be a set that some one picked up at the Army/Navy Surplus store. I mean," He made his way to the two detectives, "there are some objects that are never released to the public. I can tell you that he wore a size twelve and a half."

"The minute you find out come and find us, all right?"

"Sure thing, McCartey. Listen we have to wrap it up. We've been holding the coroner at bay so we could get this thing while it was pretty much undisturbed. Have, uh, have you two seen everything you need to see?"

Jake looked over at Sara and raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah, Tim. We have."

"Well then, I'll find you guys when we figure out where this thing came from. Good luck on your end."

"You too."

Tim began to walk back into the building, "Oh, nice work yesterday, Jake."

"Thanks, dude."

Sara handed him her spare helmet. He didn't take it.

"Jake?"

"Huh, oh." He took the molded thermoresin out of her hands. "Sorry."

"What are thinking about?"

"Military issue."

"Care to expand on that thought."

"I've been tossing something around in my head since yesterday."

"Well," She leaned against her bike, "spill it, partner."

"There was something familiar about that guy yesterday. Not . . . not how he looked or anything like that. It was how he moved, how he held his knife. I know it sounds funny but-"

"No. It doesn't. Keep going."

He nodded his head.

"We have a dead navy SEAL and a military issued boot print."

"And a missing operative who was in the same unit and the same project that involved people with mental abilities." Sara finished.

"Right. So, I think it's time to find out what happened to James Broody."

* * * *

Bruno Dante walked out of his office to see Detective Pezzini balancing two cups of coffee and a stack of folders. He walked over and picked the mugs off of the top of the files. She looked at him with wide eyes.

"I hope that you are here to get work done, Detective."

"Jake and I just had a break, sir."

"Oh, good for you. Of course you wouldn't need a break if you had caught the guy yesterday."

"Sir. I looked own to see Jake and the girl's mother fall into he river. When I looked up, he was gone. I've told you all of this!"

He motioned to her office door. He followed her and shut the door behind him.

"Morning, Captain."

"McCartey." He set the cups down on the desk. He noticed that Jake was wearing more than usual.

"Still cold, Jake?"

He nodded while he took a drink of the hot brown liquid.

"Is there anything else, Captain." Sara tried to keep the venom out of her voice.

"No. Get to work, Pezzini."

He left the small room, and a pissed of woman.

Dante smiled. He always looked forward to riling her up.

It made his day.

* * * *

Jake watched his partner all but slam the files down on her desk. She sat down and almost ripped the the cover off the first file. On her wrist, the Witchblade as glowing an angry red.

"Pez?"

She didn't answer him. She continued to tear through the pile of papers in front of her.

"Sara. Calm down."

"I am calm!"

Jake flinched.

"Of course you are. That file is a real bitch, isn't it?"

Sara looked up at him through her lashes then moved the rest of her head to follow the motion. She sighed.

"That man . . . do you know what he told me to do?!"

"No. I don't." He spoke softly.

"He told me I should have left you and Kate Morgan! Just . . . leave you there to freeze to death! How can he say that about any one?!"

"That's what I'm here to find out, Sara."

Her expression morphed into one of bewilderment. He gave her a weak smile in return.

"Him?"

He nodded.

"You're here to . . . 'look in' on that asshole?"

Another nod.

"Then what?"

"What do you mean?"

"When you're done with what it is you're doing. Then what? Do you stay? Do you . . . do you leave? Because, um, you-you can't-"

"I'm not going anywhere, Sara. When I'm done. I'm done. I'll still be with the NYPD."

She nodded her head.

"Good, good."

She went back to searching through the file. Slower than before. Jake took the last sip of his coffee and booted up his computer. A chill ran down his spine. He pulled his jacket closer to him. He shouldn't have answered his phone earlier this morning. He should have ripped the cord out of the wall and continued on with what he had been doing.

He entered his password in the correct field and waited for his authorization to come through. Maybe if he called up General Banner, he would send Broody's file straight over. Now that he knew who Jake was, it wouldn't hurt to try. The page began to load up. He hated how long it took.

He glanced over to Sara. She still looked kind of angry, with a little sadness thrown in. She sensed that she was being watched and returned his stare.

The computer beeped to signal that it was ready. Jake broke off the look and began to enter in the search information.

* * * *

The Lady Detective hadn't liked his picture. He thought it had been a good idea. So had the white-haired man. He had told him that it would work, and it did. He thought in was interesting to see how Sophia's picture ended up. The flour was a nice touch too. You could do a lot with that stuff. It was fun.

Her children had found the picture. They weren't seers, but the white-haired man had told him that it would be best to stay away from the little one's. Children drew too much attention. He had found that out with Mary. It was a good idea. Sometimes you couldn't tell if they had the sight until they were older. But he wouldn't forget Mary. He would keep track of her.

He stood on the dock and watched his newest picture come to life. He had tethered Paul to the pilasters of the wooden platform, and held him under the water. Paul didn't really like this. He guessed that Paul wasn't a very good swimmer. Soon the splashing stopped and there were no more bubbles coming up from the water. He took out his serrated hunting knife and began to saw at one of Paul's feet. He had tied rope to each of his limbs. The fish were coming.

He wondered why the fish liked the smell of blood. How could they even smell? They didn't have noses. He would ask Seiji. Seiji was smart, but he wouldn't be happy to know that he had helped two more people in less than two days. Seiji didn't care who was who, he didn't like to see people die.

He had asked Seiji why. Seiji had admitted to killing others before. He told him something about a big war that not many people knew about. It hadn't happened in this world. He knew about war. People got hurt in fights that big. Then he had asked Seiji about his threat to kill him if the Atlanta girl didn't.

Seiji never gave him an answer.

It bothered him. He didn't like not getting answers. It made him worry. No one in the world enjoyed worrying.

He finished separating the correct parts and stepped back to watch the fish come up. He took out his camera and began to hum. He had gotten into the habit of taking two pictures. One for him and one for the white-haired man.

He took one last look at Paul's body and began to walk away. He had risked doing this during the day. It was the only time he could get to Paul. There were no problems.

He checked his name off of his mental list. It was time to move on to the next, person. If he did this right, he would have an easier time getting to the Lady Detective.

He smiled and walked out onto the sidewalk.