A/N: Hi everyone. Sorry for the long delay in posting this section. Real life just got ugly-busy there for a while. But I'm happy to say that the story is finally finished! After this chapter there is only one more to post. It'll be going up here in a couple of days. Stay tuned!! Thanks so much to all of you who encouraged me and made this process so much fun. **Extra special thanks to the Bash'em Babes. You know who you are.**

--WJC

Chapter Seventeen: Final Jeopardy

"Framed how?" Steve demanded.

Cheryl moved more fully into the room, satisfying herself that her sometimes partner was on his way to recovery. His voice seemed a little weaker than usual, and he still looked pale and tired, but the subject matter seemed to be putting some color into his cheeks.

She moved toward the foot of the bed, where what she said could encompass everyone. "We examined the package that was sent to Bright. It has your prints on it, Steve. And as for the Vodka: Mark asked me to have it checked. It was spiked with Sodium Chlorate, too, and it had been opened as if someone took a drink from it. Then there's the fact that the crime scene team found Sodium Chlorate in your bathroom. It looks as if you had the poison and you sent it to Bright. If we had not found the salad or the possibility of the keys, you would be under suspicion right now."

Steve rested back against the pillows. "How'd you know, dad?"

Cheryl listened as Mark began to explain. She was always amazed at the older man's intuitive abilities. But there was no way he could know of the other thing she'd discovered.

"The open bottle of vodka. I asked myself why she would send a bottle of vodka that was already open, in a box clearly from Bob's. Especially when she had already poisoned the salad."

"So why poison me at all if she was setting me up for Bright's murder?" Steve asked.

"Because, you weren't supposed to get ill so quickly," Mark continued. "The amounts of the drugs you would have generally gotten from your daily routines were small enough that they would have had a gradual building effect in your system. One of the drugs in particular, a pergolide, commonly causes nausea and lightheadedness upon standing during the initial therapy. So my guess is that she got the drugs in the house that day that we went out to Riverside.

"If all had gone according to plan, your nausea and dizziness would have tapered off. Jonathan Bright would have gotten the package, eaten the salad which would have gotten rid of the evidence. He would have become ill but would probably have brushed it off as food poisoning. Within 4-5 days he would have died. His death would have clearly been a homicide due to the effect sodium chlorate has on the body post mortem. The police would have found the package and the note and your prints and the vodka bottle."

"I would have been taken off the case," Steve said. "Someone else assigned."

"An argument could have been made that you did it to implicate Amber. Everyone knows how you feel about her."

"Yeah." Steve agreed.

"Meanwhile," Mark continued. "You would still be getting doses everyday in your mouthwash. Along with the stress of an investigation, and the worry over the loss of your career, possibly even your freedom, no one would be surprised if you had a heart attack."

"So I was saved from death and disgrace by being scared half to death in the bathroom. Was there anything in the salad that could tie back to her?"

"Not that we found," Amanda spoke up. "Amber's prints weren't on the container anywhere."

"But we do have something else," Cheryl's face spread into a wide smile as she prepared to share the final bit of information. "I got a call on the way over here. Breckish and Stoner talked when threatened with attempted murder of a police officer. Seems neither of them want to be on the hook for life in prison."

"Well what did they say?" Mark asked, his eyes lighting up. Cheryl could almost feel the tension level of the room's occupants decreasing.

"It looks as if she really kept both of them pretty much in the dark. Breckish said that he was only helping her take care of an old boyfriend who needed to learn a lesson when he assaulted Steve. He's willing to testify that he gave the keys to her. The money from Bob's was the pay off. And Stoner said that he distracted the manager during her interview long enough for her to get inside of his delivery truck. He says that the story she told him was that she was sneaking something into the rehab center for a friend that she owed a favor. Oh, and guess who else has Carlo's delivered?"

Cheryl wasn't at all surprised that Mark was the one who guessed. "Doctor Gibsen. The psychologist."

"Absolutely right," Cheryl said. "Stoner admitted to allowing Amber to ride along on one of his deliveries there. The keys for the file room were in the secretary's desk, along with the petty cash box."

"Which she used to pay for the pizza," Steve volunteered.

"You got it. So now, my next step is to pick up our friend Amber. DeCarlo is working on the search warrant as we speak."

"We got her. Finally." That from Amanda.

"We got her," Cheryl agreed. "Any physical evidence we find will just be more nails in her coffin."

"When you bring her in, I'd like to talk to her," Mark said.

"I don't see why not," Cheryl shrugged. "I'll give you a call when we're ready."

"Thanks Cheryl."

"Bye everybody."

-- --

Mark released a huge yawn and stretched before walking into Steve's new room. After a little under twenty-four hours it had been decided that he no longer needed to remain on the cardiac ward. During that time, Mark had gone to his office and managed several hours of sleep. He felt as if a giant weight had been lifted from his shoulders. His son would be allowed to fully recover under relatively normal circumstances without the worry of a mad woman hanging over his head.

As he crossed the threshold, he was happy to see that Steve was awake and flirting with one of the ward nurses. Things were very much on their way back to normal.

"Hi Dad," Steve said, his voice sounding much stronger than it had earlier that morning.

"Hi," Mark smiled at him as he picked up the chart, noting that in typical fashion, his son was continuing to progress well. "Feel up to a couple laps up and down the hallway?" He nodded a thanks to the nurse as she passed on her way out of the room.

Steve watched her go. "Absolutely."

Mark chuckled. "Okay. Let me help you out of that bed." Yes, things were definitely back to normal.

-- --

Cheryl blew out a breath as she pulled to a stop in front of Amber's apartment building. It had taken much longer to get the search warrant than she had expected. Interrupting a judge at a golfing event wasn't exactly at the top of her list of things to do on a Saturday. It was a good thing Steve was well liked. She decided that she wouldn't tell him until later how many favors she'd had to pull in on his behalf.

She met DeCarlo and the other two officers outside of the vehicle and pointed toward the squat building near the pool which was labeled 'Management Office'. "Why don't we split up? You two go see the manager about a key, in case she isn't in. We'll go on up and have a few words with Ms. McPherson."

The two men agreed and set off for the building, while Cheryl and DeCarlo continued cautiously toward apartment 7. Sounds of splashing and squealing from residents who were visiting the pool sounded through the air, at odds with the very serious duty they were there to perform. Cheryl wondered if Amber would come easily.

The curtains visible from the outside of the apartment were drawn, giving the place an empty, still feeling. A sliver of anxiety edged along Cheryl's spine. Something was wrong. She released the safety on her holster and moved closer. Her senses began to scream high alert as she came even with the door to find that it was slightly ajar, revealing a hint of the dimness beyond.

She glanced meaningfully toward DeCarlo and flattened herself against one side of the door, drawing her weapon. "LAPD!" She called, loud enough to be heard above the sounds of splashing and playing at the pool.

There was no response.

She measured out a silent count of 3 on her fingers, before swinging into the apartment, gun level. The door slammed against the jamb with a melodramatic thump. Otherwise, nothing in the apartment moved. It was as still as a tomb.

Following procedure, they made their way through the apartment, scanning each room for occupancy or signs of foul play. After satisfying themselves that they were alone, Cheryl lowered her weapon and began the more intensive search allowed by the warrant. As she moved into the room that she guessed served as an office of sorts, she found that Amber's computer was up and running. She had to shake her head at the scrolling marquee screensaver. The words 'Justice Is Served' ran across the screen in boldface white letters against a black background. Amber had some really serious issues.

Moving toward the machine, she slipped on a pair of gloves and nudged the mouse. The screen saver flashed away to reveal a word processing program. The program was opened to a file that appeared to be a letter. The letter was addressed to Cheryl. Her blood ran cold as she began to read the message.

-- --

"I think she likes me," Steve stage whispered, grinning tiredly toward his father as they made their second lap toward the elevators, moving away from the pretty nurse who had been in his room earlier. He wouldn't admit it out loud, but her presence at the nurse's station was one of the reasons he was pushing himself to do a second lap.

"What was your first clue?" Mark asked with a chuckle, matching his pace along the corridor as the early afternoon visitors and orderlies picking up lunch trays weaved around them.

"I'm a detective, I know these things."

"Oh," Mark teased. "I thought it was the fact that she brought you an extra serving of green jell-o because she knows it's your favorite."

"Okay. Well, that, too." Steve said. Then a thought occurred to him. "Wonder how she knew it was my favorite."

A smug look crossed his father's face before he quickly attempted to conceal it. The innocent fatherly smile dropped in its place.

"What do you know, Dad?" Steve asked, almost afraid to ask.

"About what?" Mark asked, feigning confusion.

Steve shot him a look and would have said more, but the sound of his father being paged for a phone call interrupted. "That's probably Cheryl," he said. "If you want to go on and take it at the nurse's station, I can make it back to my room."

"Nonsense. I'll call her as soon as we get you back and settled in bed."

"That could be a while at this rate," Steve said, surprised at how tired he was feeling and how slowly he was moving. Instant worry lines appeared on his father's face. Steve belayed them with a reassuring smile. "That's what I get for showing off for the nurses."

Mark's expression cleared a little. "You really are doing well, you know. It was . . . uh. . . touch and go there for a bit. Reminds us of what's important in life."

Steve noted the slight hint of sadness in his father's voice. "Dad. . . " he began, but was interrupted by a page.

"Dr. Mark Sloan, please call Pathology stat. Dr. Mark Sloan, please call Pathology stat."

Steve frowned. "That was Amanda. Sounded pretty urgent."

Mark's brow creased in concern. "Yeah. Maybe I should get that," he said, steering Steve in the direction of the nurse's which was closer than the room.

Steve leaned against the counter as Mark reached over it and settled the phone on the desk before dialing the Pathology Lab. "Wonder what it's about?" He asked as he leveled a thoughtful gaze Steve's way before turning and looking off as Amanda came on the line.

Just as Mark turned away, Steve caught a motion beyond his father, from the direction of the elevators. People were behaving oddly, ducking and rushing to either side of the hallway. One woman screamed as she dropped a basket of flowers before being dragged down by the man with her.

Steve hardly had time to react to the people, before he saw his father, who was then facing him, pale dramatically, before the phone fell from his fingers and banged against the side of the counter. That was when he felt something hard and cold pressed against the back of his skull. His spine stiffened in reflex at the silky sound of the woman's voice behind him.

"Hello Steve. And goodbye."

Steve stared into his father's stunned expression for a long moment, noting the shock and the fear. He had absolutely no doubt that the woman standing behind him would pull the trigger. He should have known that she wouldn't go down so easily. If he was to have any chance of preventing his father from seeing his son splattered all over the walls of Community General, he was going to have to do something. Something dangerous. Communicating his love as best he could with his eyes, he raised his hands non-threateningly and slowly turned to face Amber.

She kept the gun on him. When he was fully turned, it was pointed at the center of his forehead. "Goodbye so soon?" he asked. "I thought you had a little something more planned for me."

"Oh but I did," she sneered. "But you went and ruined it. It was flawless."

"Apparently not," Steve pushed her a little, hoping to buy time by keeping her talking. "Your little plan seems to have fallen apart. I guess good help is hard to find."

She smiled then. "Perhaps. But that isn't where it all went wrong, is it? But don't worry, I've taken care of things. Once and for all."

Steve didn't like that sound of that. "What have you done?" he asked.

"Oh, wouldn't you like to know. But first things first." She reached a hand into the pocket of the nurse's uniform that she was wearing and retrieved a pair of hand cuffs. "Aren't they lovely?" she asked, then tossed them on to the counter of the nurse's station.

"Mark dear, would you be so kind? And don't try anything. I really don't need him standing for what I have in mind."

"I won't try anything," Mark assured her, his voice tight as he reached for the metal bracelets.

She made a small gesture with the gun, indicating that he should place his hands behind his back. "Slowly," she added aloud.

Steve did as he was told. He moved his arms slowly and carefully behind his back, felt as the metal, still warm no doubt from being on Amber's person, slid into place over his wrist. He couldn't help the small shudder that went through him as his father slid the first of the metal latchings home.

"I'm sorry," his father spoke from behind him as the latch of the second bracelet clicked closed and the metal settled against his palm.

"It's okay," he said softly, reassuring.

"How touching," Amber smirked. "I've always wanted to see you in cuffs. Where you belong. Our other friend is getting what he deserves as well. If you were to leave right now you'd find that there was a little something extra in his IV. But there won't be time, of course. He'll die. Just like you."

Steve focused intently on her as he caught sight of a movement behind her. It was Cheryl creeping around a door leading up from the stairwell. She crept silently through, several officers following behind her. They all moved to find quick cover in doorways and behind carts. They would be in place soon.

"Why are you admitting all of this now?" Steve asked. "Why after all of the lies and subterfuge."

"Justice Steve. After all of this, I never would have been able to get close to dear Mr. Jonathan Bright again. But I believe in Justice. Strongly. I'm willing to die for it. A blaze of glory is so much more honorable than prison, don't you think?"

The awful truth of her plan hit him. "You don't have to do this," he said. "You can stop this right now."

She smiled and took a slight step back from him, her gun arm still extended toward his head. "Is your partner here yet? I'll bet she's behind me. Took her long enough." Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Tell me, if I shoot you in the head, will she do the same for me? Let's find out."