Casey shivered in the night as she held the emergency blanket that the police officer, Officer Barone, gave her. Earlier that evening she was working in the local coffee shop, the Steaming Bean, when a robber had charged in, shooting one of the managers and narrowly missing Casey. She shivered with the thought as she saw Pat's dead face float through her mind once more. She felt over whelmed and bent over, resting her head on her drawn up knees. She was sitting in the passenger's side of the police car, having already been looked at by EMS crews who were no loading Pat's blood drained body into the ambulance. She let out a yelp and tried to fight back the wave of nausea and emotion that was threatening to over come her.

"Hey," a deep voice asked from in front of her, feeling a large, hot hand on her shoulder. "You okay?" She looked up, wiping her eyes with the corners of the harsh blanket.

"Yeah... It's just..." words stopped in her throat as she tried to express how she felt. She had just watched her boss get murdered and was robed, all at once. "It's not every day you see your boss get shot..." She felt another wave of nausea and doubled over.

The large, dark officer bent down, squatting down at her side and rubbing her shoulder. "I understand. Look, my name is Officer Robert Barone, if you need anything, anything at all, even if it's just to talk, call me." The man produced a card from his breast pocket, and to Casey's surprise it wasn't the crisis counselling number most officers gave out. It had his name, office extension and a cell phone number where he could be reached any time.

Casey felt better already and forced a smile for the benefit of the kind man, Officer Robert Barone. He was distinctly Italian, but in a dark and handsome way, despite his age; not in that creepy, James Gandolfini way. He smiled back at her and she felt even better. Casey put the card in her back pocket, standing up with the aid of the large officer who, even though Casey was tall in her own rights standing at five feet, ten inches, towered above her.

When she discarded the blanket he kindly took it and put it into the passenger's seat.

"If you need anything, just give me a call... Also, if you remember anything else," Robert smiled a little. After his last break-up, Robert was feeling really unsure about himself, but this girl, though she was clearly too young for him, was a sweet girl and seemed nice enough; it also didn't hurt that she was very pretty, in a "different", as Ma would put it, sort of way.

"Thank you," she smiled, her dark outlined eyes and black eye shadow were smeared from her tears and rubbings, and she looked some what like a miserable racoon, miserable, but still cute. Her long black hair was braided down her back and she wore black jeans and a black pull over sweat shirt that she had worn to work that day, having changed out of her blood stained work clothes earlier. "And I will." She nodded and gave him another smile.

"Are you okay to drive home?"

"I should be fine..."

"Are you sure, I mean if you aren't, I could give you a ride and then drop your car off for you..."

"I'll be okay, but thanks."

"No problem..."

Casey turned and headed towards the crimson 1992 Mustang that sat in the corner of the parking lot. She got in, turning the car on and letting the engine idle for a minute before she headed home for a long shower, a hot bath and a good, long cry.

Robert smiled to himself and then went back to the business of getting down the other employee's names, addresses and phone numbers. He circled Casey's, telling his partner that it was because she was a star witness, she had almost been shot herself and had gotten a really good look at the gunman. This, of course, was true; but Robert also wanted to make sure he wouldn't forget to write her number down when he got home, just incase she called.

Oh, how he hoped she would call... Just once it would be nice if something turned out for Robert.