Disclaimer: The characters used within this story do not belong to me, but were borrowed for the purposes of this story. They belong to CBS/Viacom and their associated copyright holders. No profit made, and I promise to return them un. . . well, relatively unscathed. The plot and original characters, such as they are, are of my own imagining.

Synopsis: Two dead doctors. A woman tried and acquitted for murder. Will Mark and Steve discover the real truth before someone else dies? Possibly someone very close to them?

Rating: PG

Author's Notes: Thanks to everyone who has been so encouraging and welcoming to me as I posted my first DM stories here. Thanks to Betty for being a patient beta reader as I jumped between stories. Comments and constructive criticism welcome. I hope you all enjoy the ride. . .

D O U B L E * J E O P A R D Y

Part One: The Verdict

"Madame foreperson have you reached a verdict?"

"We have your honor."

All sound ceased in the filled-to-capacity court room as the stern, somewhat motherly looking woman stared across at the judge. No papers rustled, there were no sounds of any of the many bodies shifting. It seemed that all those in attendance were holding their collective breaths.

"What say you?" Judge Benning spoke into the silence. Seconds previous he had read the verdict slip with a studied lack of reaction. His private thoughts regarding the trial that had waged in his courtroom for the past week was anyone's guess. Even the press, with its array of consultants was finding this one a hard call. No one was willing to say one way or the other how the case would fall. Certainly not Lt. Steve Sloan. He, like everyone else, waited on the next sentence that would come from the jury spokesperson.

The foreperson glanced briefly toward the defendant and then toward Steve before her eyes fell to the slip of paper before her. Steve felt his stomach tighten at the look, but he had little time to dwell on it as the woman was speaking.

"On the charge of murder in the first degree of Dr. Charles Bettinger, we find the defendant not guilty." A gasp sounded around the courtroom, but was contained as the woman continued to speak, pausing only briefly in deference to the crowd's response. "On the charge of murder in the first degree of Dr. Eliot Paul, we find the defendant, not guilty."

Noise erupted all around him as Steve sat in stupefied silence. He had known that the trial had been close, that the evidence was largely circumstantial. But he hadn't realized until that moment, when the jury had actually given its verdict how much he had hoped that his and his father's word would have been believed over that of the woman who had killed two of his father's colleagues.

The judge's declaration that Amber McPherson was free to go faded to the background as he first shared a look with his father, then turned toward the beautiful redhead who he was convinced had cold-bloodedly murdered two men.

She offered a wry smile and shrug, before fingering the thin gold bracelet that circled her wrist. A taunting reminder of the piece of jewelry that he had given her before Mark had become convinced of her guilt. She had worn it every day during the trial, playing to the jury about just how much Steve's friendship had meant to her, and how bewildered she was that he was trying to pin this horrible crime on her. She mouthed the words, "I'm sorry," even managing to plaster an expression of regret across her face before she turned toward her attorney.

As always when he was in her presence, Steve felt the anger erupt through him. Anger that he had once again been used in one of Amber's plots; anger that he had believed her innocent act enough to have played into her hands in the first place. Worse, because he privately suspected that the one act of giving her a cheap bracelet at a carnival was the thing that had undermined the defense's case, and tipped the jury in Amber's favor.

"Steve. Let's go." His father's voice sounded from beside him, pulling him back from his anger. He glanced over at his family and friends and heaved a tired sigh. This case had been tough on all of them, he realized. Though Amanda and Jesse's expressions mirrored disbelief and sympathy for he and his father, he knew it was a blow to the group as a whole to know that despite their best efforts a killer was going to go free.

"Yeah, let's get out of here. We could all use some fresh air."

They were stopped several rows back by Lily Paul, Dr. Eliot Paul's widow. She had a hug and a hand shake for Mark and Steve, thanking them for their efforts in her behalf. Lily was a striking woman in her mid-fifties who, even under the most extenuating moments of the trial had been quite poised. Her shell shocked expression now though reflected Steve's own feelings. Her sister, Margaret, stood at her side, mirroring a similar emotion.

"If there's anything you need, Lily," Mark was saying, as he held one of her hands in his. Steve looked on as his father worked his reassuring magic, battling the guilt feeling that due to himself, justice had not been served. He nearly missed her announcement that she would be heading back east for a while to stay with her sister's family. With final expressions of gratitude, she and her sister wound their way through the crowd ahead toward the door.

"Maybe we can all go and have a consolation dinner at Bob's or something before the rush kicks in?" Jesse piped up as they followed, moving more slowly amid the throng toward the back of the courtroom.

Steve looked back toward his friend. "I don't feel much like eating, Jess," he announced. "I was thinking more of something along the lines of pounding the sand into submission with a nice long run. Might help to clear my head."

Jesse nodded in understanding. "Right. Rain check."

Steve's gaze was drawn beyond Jesse toward a pair of gray eyes that were focused intently on his father's back. The expression in those eyes chilled him all the way down to his toes. Then, with a blink, Amber's eyes locked with his and she smiled softly and sweetly. He shivered.

"You okay, son?" A touch on his arm called him back.

"Fine, dad," he muttered in response before he stepped through the double doors into the lobby after his father.

-- -- -- -- --

Steve shot a cursory look toward the late afternoon skies as he set a brisk pace across the sands. Mottled gray, they threatened an impending downpour. And there was a decided to chill to the October air. Neither was of great concern. Both matched his mood.

His feet pounded relentlessly against damp sand as he pushed his body. The sounds of wind and surf raged around him, whipping at his clothing and hair, drowning out the sounds of his breath and the uneven thumping of his heart. Nature was a wild thing; her rage and actions much larger and stronger and uncaring of his. It served to calm him, to slough away the rougher edges of his anger and frustration. He eased off to a more normal pace and let the memories come. . .

The first thing he noticed were her legs. Encased in sheer hose beneath the hem of a short crème-colored skirt, they seemed to go on and on. He took in the rest of the package at a glance, even noting the naked ring finger of her left hand. She turned, nervously allowing her gaze to touch on him, before she continued an anxious perusal of the lobby.

Steve allowed a warm smile to spread across his features as he approached. After all, he was a public servant. It was his job to help damsels in distress.

"Excuse me," he smiled at her. "Is there something I can help you with? You look a little lost."

She looked up at him, startled. "Do you work here?" she asked, desperation tinged with hope in her voice.

Steve looked back into the stormy gray eyes and knew that somehow, this woman was going to change his life.

He came back to the present with a disgusted snort. She'd changed his life all right. She'd gotten the job, and a celebratory dinner with one Steve Sloan -- the son of the Head of Internal Medicine. He'd fallen for her game, hook, line and sinker. And now he was getting wet.

Another fat raindrop plopped against his forehead, splattering across his brow. Those first few drops were the opening bars of a chorus. Within moments the sky opened up, releasing a chilling symphony of moisture. His sweatshirt and pants were soaked through in a matter of minutes.

-- -- -- -- --

Mark Sloan watched his son's familiar gait as he ran through the pouring rain toward the house. Turning away from the scene as Steve closed the distance, he headed for the kitchen to prepare a batch of hot chocolate. As he was probably soaked through, Mark suspected that he'd head directly to his unit to shower and change before coming upstairs. The beverage should be ready just in time. And then he planned to have a talk with his offspring.

During the drive home from the courthouse, Steve had been unusually quiet. And once they'd arrived home, he'd gone almost immediately downstairs to change. Mark knew that part of the reason was the outcome of the trial, but some internal parental twinge told him that there was also something more. Although, the fact that he had systematically checked all of the windows and doors before he'd left was probably a clue.

Precisely 17 minutes later, Steve arrived upstairs, his hair still damp from the shower. "You made hot chocolate?" he asked unnecessarily, moving toward the counter for the cup that was obviously his.

"How was the run?" Mark asked, easing into the conversation.

"Wet," Steve replied.

"Yeah." Mark chuckled. "I imagine it was. I think a storm's been brewing since we left the courthouse." He took a sip from his mug, waiting to see if Steve would catch the double-meaning. He didn't have long to wait. Steve's brow furrowed and he settled his mug against the counter with a sloshy thump.

"I can't believe she got off!" He fumed. "I can't believe the jury believed her over a respected physician in the community. After all you've done for this city, it came down to your word against hers and they went with the pretty face."

Mark scratched his brow and stifled a grin. "I think my reputation will survive, son, although my ego might not."

Steve blew out an exasperated breath. "Dad. . . It was me who ruined our case. Me and that. . . damned bracelet. I caused the jury to lean in her direction."

Mark's expression sobered. "You didn't ruin anything, least of all the case. Amber is simply a very good actress. She started a relationship with you knowing that if there was a murder at Community General, you would end up working on the case one way or another. Which would have, and did, put her in a very unique position."

"I know you're right," Steve agreed grudgingly. "It's just galling to know that I fell for it and that she's gotten away with it. There's got to be something more we can do."

"She had a very specific agenda, Steve. She wanted to kill the men who she felt caused her mother's death. She didn't do it for money or property. All she wanted was revenge, and unfortunately, she's gotten it."

"So you're just going to let it go? Just like that?"

Mark's smile was back. "Now, I didn't say that, did I?"

"No you didn't."

Mark noted that Steve's returned smile was distracted. Shadows of worry were still there in his eyes. He allowed his own smile to fade away, and his voice deepened as his tone became more serious. "You're worried that I'm her next target for revenge, aren't you?"

His son's expression and body language all geared toward denial, but then he stopped and nodded. "Yeah, I am."

"I'll be careful," Mark assured him. He would trust Steve's instincts on this one. He allowed the humor back into his tone as he began to clear away their beverages. "Although, I do think she'd be a little more subtle than breaking into the house."

Steve grinned sheepishly. "Caught that did you? Well, maybe I was battening down the hatches. For the storm, you know."

Mark laughed. "Oh, I think it's blown its course for now."

-- -- -- -- --

Jesse Travis stifled a yawn as he stepped into the Doctors Lounge. He'd come on at 6:00 A.M., and an hour later, his body was still studiously trying to convince his brain that it was an insult to be expected to function at such an hour. And with the decided lack of traumas in the ER, his brain was inclined to agree. Stumbling around a pair of legs, belonging to a softly snoring body, he made a bee-line for the coffee pot. Caffeine. Yeah, that was the ticket.

A sigh of satisfaction escaped as the aroma of freshly made java drifted from the brew that was cascading wonderfully into his mug. Setting the practically full pot back onto the burner, he wondered that he'd managed to get the first cup of what was obviously not the hospital's usual brand. He looked back toward the lounge chair where the apparent coffee maker had drifted off listening to early morning radio. He was one of the new interns. Poor kid had probably been on for more than 12 hours. Nice of him to bring in gourmet coffee, though.

Jesse took a couple steps toward the young man, sipping his coffee as he went. The least he could do was suggest the young man sack out in the on-call room. A few feet away however, his attention was caught by the sound of a familiar voice and a familiar name.

"There you have it, Los Angeles. . . Amber definitely loves Officer Steve."

Jesse spewed coffee, and that which remained in his cup was in imminent danger of spillage as the sleeping intern came to startled wakefulness. All six foot four gangly inches of him shot to attention, nearly knocking the shorter doctor over in the process.

Jesse dismissed profuse apologies as he headed for the door. He had a phone call to make.

(to be continued)