Maggie's lemon yellow Mustang had been parked outside the O'Hare house for fifteen minutes, but Steve could not find the courage to leave its safe confines and go to the door. Looking at Maggie, he pleaded, "Let's just leave."

She reached over, and put a hand on his thigh. Turning to look him in the eye, she said, "We will go, if that is what you really want, but first you must know…I have already told them who you are and why you are here. I called them when I went to the powder room at lunch. Her mother still wanted to meet you."

"Quite possibly to scratch my eyes out."

"Perhaps, but it didn't seem that way to me, querido."

"What about her dad?"

"I don't know, gringo, but by now they have to know we're here. This car stands up, and we're the only ones parked on the street. It would be rude to just leave, but if that's what you want…"

"Out, Maggie. The car stands out."

"Oh. So, do we go in, or do we go away?"

Steve thought a minute. Right now, he just wanted to go all the way back to Malibu, crawl in his bed, under the covers, and hide like a frightened child. So much for what he wanted. He *needed* to finish what he started. He needed to meet Lynn's parents, and then say goodbye.

"Let's go in," he said.





They went up on the porch of the small, white, two-story house, and Steve rang the bell. They waited for what seemed like forever, and Steve was about to turn tail and run when a tiny, slim, white haired woman in jeans and a pale yellow turtleneck opened the door. Her withered face rumpled into an uncertain smile as she peered at them through thick granny-glasses and said, "You must be Detective Sloan and Dr. Oviedo. I'm Elizabeth O'Hare, Lynn's mother. My husband, her father, Patrick, is out in the garage. I don't know if he'll be joining us, but please, do come in."

Mrs. O'Hare escorted them into a cozy, if somewhat cluttered, living room and bade them sit down. Steve wanted to hold on to Maggie's hand for strength but satisfied himself with simply sitting beside her on the couch, so close their hips touched. He couldn't bring himself to sit in Elizabeth O'Hare's, home holding Maggie's hand, while claming to have loved her daughter, and knowing that he had been the one to end her life.

The three of them sat for several minutes in agonizing silence, and then both Steve and Elizabeth spoke at once.

"So…"

"Well…"

"Oh, excuse me," Elizabeth said. "You first."

After fully another minute of silence, Steve finally spoke.

"Maggie says she told you who I am."

Elizabeth nodded, "Yes. You're the policeman who killed my daughter. I understand you were also dating her just before."

Steve nodded mutely. Her matter of fact tone put everything off kilter. He had prepared himself to be hated, reviled, and possibly even threatened, but he wasn't sure how to deal with…nothing. Finally, he had another thought.

"Why are you willing to see me?"

It was Elizabeth's turn to be silent. The conversation was obviously difficult for her. Steve didn't know what kind of answer he expected, but he was nonetheless surprised by what he got.

"Patrick and I hadn't heard from Lynn in three years. You were the last person to see her alive, Detective Sloan." She held up her hand as if to forestall any protests, though none were forthcoming. "I read the report. I know you were blind at the time, from an injury, but you were *there*. If you had lost a child to violence, wouldn't you want to talk to the person who was with her in her last moments?"

"I suppose I might," Steve admitted.

Elizabeth looked at him, her hard gray eyes magnified by her glasses. Steve could tell from that look that she didn't *wish* to hurt him, but she didn't wish to spare him either. She simply didn't care one way or another about how he felt. Her need to know about her daughter's end was too great to allow her to care about anyone else's feelings. Steve's heart twisted as he realized what he had to do, but he did it anyway.

"What do you want to know, Mrs. O'Hare?"

"Tell me what happened that night."

Steve's heart sank. He wasn't sure how he would get through this, but he would do his best to tell the woman what she had asked to hear.

"I was home from the hospital. I still couldn't see, but it was good to be home; and my dad was a great help. He was supposed to be receiving a well- deserved award that night, but he was worried about me. I finally talked him in to going to the banquet. He'd worked hard, not to win some trophy, but to care for his patients, and that's why he deserved the honor so much, because he hadn't been trying to get it. He'd just been doing his job. Besides, he was hovering, had been ever since I'd been injured, and my nerves were just about shot. I told him to go enjoy the banquet, promised him that I'd be all right. He invited me to come with him, but I said what I really needed was a quiet night at home, alone."

'So far, so good,' Steve thought, but he knew the next part of the story would be harder to tell. Unconsciously, he reached for Maggie's hand now, forgetting that he had decided not to do that out of respect for Mrs. O'Hare.

"I knew Dad had left some lights on, and I got up to turn them off before going to bed. What's a blind man need with lights, anyway? At some point, I bumped into something--a nightstand or a chair, I don't know. I can't even remember now…" he paused to draw a fortifying breath and stuff his roiling emotions down inside himself, and noticed Mrs. O'Hare watching with fascination and horror as he told the tale, "…when or how…I realized she was there. Maybe I smelled her perfume or heard her breathing. When I noticed her, she was so close it was frightening. Maybe I felt her body heat, I don't know. Anyway, she was there, and she had a gun. She took me to my bedroom, in my apartment on the lower floor of my dad's beach house."

Steve blinked back tears and bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. He'd never told anyone what had happened. He'd given his statement, yes, but that was just the bare facts, just what they needed to rule it a 'good' shooting, and he'd told Maggie bits and pieces about that night, but he'd never really told the whole story before, because he knew if he did, he would fall apart. Now, he could not allow himself the luxury of an emotional cave in. This woman, Lynn's mother, he reminded himself, deserved to know the whole, unvarnished, unedited truth, and he was determined to give it to her.

"Lynn tried to kiss me then, but I turned away." He let the tears go then, unable to hold them back any longer. "I don't recall who said what, when, but I told Lynn I would have stopped the men who hurt her, that I'd get her help if she'd give me the gun. She told me I was special, 'not like the others,' were her exact words, and that she hadn't decided to kill me until she realized I knew what she was doing, that she might have let me live if I hadn't found out."

Steve paused for a moment to collect himself. He wasn't finished with his story yet, and if he fell apart now, he'd never get through. He had to finish this for Mrs. O'Hare. For some reason, he felt he owed her that much. A deep, shuddering breath stilled his nerves, and he continued.

"I can't remember exactly what Lynn said next, I probably never will, but I know it was her intention for us to make love. Then she planned to kill me, and then herself. She explained that I had to die because I had figured out what she was doing, and she didn't want to go to jail. She had to die because she'd finally been caught, and couldn't continue…killing. She knew my dad would come home later and find us there, together. He'd know what it meant, and wrap the case up for the police."

Steve closed his eyes, remembering.

"She pushed me down on the bed, then, and kissed me again. This time, I reciprocated, and when she…got into…what we were doing, I shoved her away with all my strength. I heard her hit the floor, or maybe it was the wall, hard, and I ran away from her. The house was dark, I guess, because I had turned off most of the lights; and I have lived there since I was a kid, so I knew my way even in the dark. As I came upstairs, I thought to head out to the balcony, and down to the beach. From there, I'd try to get to the neighbors for help, but I tripped over something. When I fell, there were things on the floor under my hands, my wallet, my badge, I don't know what else, but my gun was there. I heard her come to the top of the stairs, and I rolled over and shouted something, trying to get her to stop, but she didn't, so I shot. It was the only thing I could do!"

Maggie's hand still clasped in his own, Steve had brought both his hands up to his chest now, where he clutched them together, over his heart as if trying to ease the pain. He hung his head and rocked back and forth struggling to quell the tide of grief and guilt inside him.

"I didn't want to kill her," he gasped out, "I loved her, but it was her or me."

"If you loved her so much," a hard, angry voice said, "why did you decide it had to be her?"

Horrified, Steve looked up and across the room to see a wizened old man with iron-gray hair and a bristly moustache, watching him with green eyes glittering with hate.





"Pat!" Mrs. O'Hare was appalled.

"Oh, screw it, Betsy. No answer he gave would ever be good enough, anyhow."

The old man walked off. Mrs. O'Hare patted Steve on the knee, placed a box of tissues in front of him on the coffee table, and followed her husband. With her free hand, Maggie pulled a tissue from the box and handed it to Steve to blow his nose. When he released her other hand, she slipped her arm around his shoulders and gave him a comforting squeeze. He rested his head on her shoulder, and closed his eyes, exhausted. She placed a soft kiss on the crown of his head and pulled him closer.

"Just say the word, Steve, and nos vamos…we will leave. We can show ourselves out."

Steve considered her suggestion a moment, then said, "No. Let's wait for Mrs. O'Hare. See if she has any more questions. Maybe she'll be willing to answer some of mine."

"Ok." Maggie continued to hold him and rock him gently.





By the time Mrs. O'Hare returned with a tray loaded with coffee and teacakes, Steve had regained his composure.

"You'll have to forgive my husband," she said. "Lynn was much more his daughter than she was mine, undeniably a daddy's girl. Losing her absolutely destroyed him. I doubt he'll ever be the same again…" She fell silent, suddenly realizing what she was saying, and to whom.

She sat on the chair across from Steve and Maggie again and filled their cups, then settled back, sipping her own coffee. The silence was no less awkward than it had been before Steve told her about Lynn's death, but at least the story was no longer hovering over them like a dark cloud.

"So…"

"Well…"

They laughed nervously as they both started to speak at the same time again. Steve smiled slightly, and said, "You first, this time."

As Steve had done earlier, Mrs. O'Hare was silent a while longer, putting her thoughts in order before she spoke.

"You say you loved her," she said, staring into her coffee cup.

"Yes, ma'am."

"Then how could you not know…" Elizabeth's voice was desolate, pleading.

After a bit, Steve explained, "My feelings for Lynn developed very quickly, much faster than my understanding of her. I didn't even realize until recently how much I had cared for her." Steve saw the woman's eyes flicker over to Maggie before coming up to meet his gaze. Not knowing what more to say, he remained silent.

In the next moment, Mrs. O'Hare gave his thoughts voice when she said, "Her memory has…come between you."

Steve sat silently for a long time. Mrs. O'Hare had been very kind in agreeing to see him, and he had hoped to spare her as much pain as possible, but she had insisted that he tell her the horrible details of her daughter's death. Now, it seemed, she wanted to make him admit that he was willing to put what had happened behind him and go on. He remained quiet, hoping if he didn't respond, she would go on talking about something else. Eventually, though, he realized she was determined to wait for his answer.

"Yes, ma'am," he whispered.

"Don't let it," she told him.