Notes: Well, sorry for the delay. Sometimes the muse just isn't there. Thankfully, I'm back into the swing. I also hope this is a good chapter, you never can tell when you're the writer. I want to say a big thank you to all my reviewers so far, I really appreciate the feedback. And a big *wave* to the Maple St. Crew. Well, enjoy!

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He had his memories of her safely tucked away in that little part of his heart where even the strongest of griefs and trials couldn't penetrate the layer of hope and love he'd put into building this bridge between himself and her.

Her hair clip lay by the sink where she'd carelessly discarded it that night which seemed decades ago.

It had been a cold, rainy night--and her skin was equally icy as it caressed a pattern on his cheek, toying with his hair, leaving sweet honey and strawberry kisses on his lips, smiling against him as their breaths met in time.

His warm hand had lingered on her blouse and he'd begun to gently unbutton it, embracing her cold skin against him as they danced to his bed. He watched her sleep in the moonlight, her hair falling over her eyes as she looked back at him with sad, questioning eyes.

"Jack?"

He shut his eyes against the whisper. He could hear her in the room, as though she were with him, and the memory became so real he wanted it to end.

"Do you love me?"

He hadn't answered her then and that was another mistake he tucked away in the other part of his heart where his sins lingered in his blood, building scars that never faded with time and continuously reminded him of his failures.

He dwelled on another memory then, as his hand fluttered over her casefile where her face smiled back at him, taunting him, begging him to find her.

The first time he saw her, she'd been haggard and frustrated and nervous, shaking with excitement and anxiety, brushing snowflakes off her coat as she came in from the cold. Her cheeks were rosy and cold, and her bare hands were white and frozen as she shook his hand.

She had these layers and depths that he picked up on from the start as she rambled on about her, as of yet, uneventful life; her need to help in any way she could. She had been young and part of him would always associate her face with that beaming, idealistic smile and innocent eyes that looked up at him with all the ambition and hope in the world, daring him to beat her down.

They finished and she'd stood up, shaking his hand again and smiling, completely unaware that from the moment she'd entered his office, Samantha Spade had saved him.

From what, he wouldn't know right away. In fact, that little revelation had only come to him just now in retrospect, as he sat in his eerily quiet apartment, trying to separate his past from his present. His nostalgia was sending him to places he didn't want to go, didn't want to dwell on, simply because it hurt.

It always hurt.

And right now, his reality was wrapped up in her, in Samantha; in memories and faded images, mistakes, whispers, laughter, tears. Everything that was Samantha became him and he needed her, needed to feel her and be with her in every way possible.

He took her picture from the file, his sight blurry from the tears he didn't bother to wipe away.

She'd loved him. She'd loved him with every smile she faked, lie she told, tear she hid, and heart she broke. She'd loved him through everything up until the night she said goodbye, and his heart ached for her in a way he'd never thought possible.

And he--well, he was completely in love with her, that much he knew. If he had nothing else, if he never found her, that was the one thing he knew for certain he'd always have.

Jack downed the last of his amaretto and smiled sadly at Sam's picture.

"I'll bring you back, Sam. I promise."

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Danny paced around the room, taunting the man who cowered in front of him.

"Come on, Jeff, I know you saw her get off that subway. We have surveillance tapes. You were the only one to get off with her. You saw her get knocked down, you saw that man drag her away."

Danny's temper was rising as he fought against the images that came to mind. He'd watched the tapes over and over, dissecting each frame and motion, willing her to come back.

"Yet you did nothing. Didn't want to get your business suit dirtied up, hmm? Just another poor person in the wrong place at the wrong time in a little subway station in New York. Just another person, right Jeff? You didn't know her, barely saw her face, didn't know her name. Why get yourself hurt too?"

The man squirmed under the interrogation. Danny had dealt with tougher, more stubborn witnesses before. This one would be easy to break. He sat on the table, leaning down to get into his face.

"Well you know what? Her name is Samantha Spade."

Danny pulled out the picture of her and held it in front of the man.

"This is what she looks like. And if you could've stopped her from getting taken, getting hurt...if she'd dead, no power on Heaven or Hell can stop me or Martin or Vivian...or Jack from bringing you down," Danny spoke, carefully choosing his words and the tone he used to get his point across.

The man finally broke, waving his hands nervously, as he spoke with an unmasked fear in his voice, "All-all right, I saw her. I-I saw her walk over to her street and-and this guy came behind her and knocked her out with this pipe. I didn't see what happened after that, I swear. I was so scared, I just ran. I'm sorry, I-I was going to call the police-"

"Going to? Heh, you're a real hero, aren't you? And you didn't see his face?"

"No, he had a mask on and it was so dark I-"

"All right, that's it for now. I don't want to hear your sob story."

Danny got up and left the room, meeting Jack in the hallway, whose face held an equally unmasked anger.

"I don't think we're going to get much more out of him. Our next best bet is to scrape the place she was knocked down for fingerprints."

Jack stood for a moment, thinking about what had been said and then spoke in a far-off, lost voice, "She's been missing for 40 hours now, Danny."

There was a fear they all felt at the possibility they might never find her, or at least, not in time, but Danny patted Jack's shoulder again for the second time in the last two days and walked away.

This time, he had nothing to say; no words of encouragement to offer because he, frankly, he wasn't sure he would believe them himself.

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TBC....uh, do you like? What did you think? Let me know.