A/N: When I first started posting, I honestly thought it was a matter of days to throw the last couple of scenes together (actually, when I first started, this was supposed to be a little twenty pager for Virtual Seasons - still don't know how it got so long). Of course, as is so often the case, I was wrong - two remaining scenes turned into four as I tried to nail down all the loose ends and now I am, due to one interruption or another, still trying to finish up. Right now I post on a pretty regular schedule, fanfiction.net permitting, and I'm afraid to crank that up any until the final scene is in the can, edits and all. I have visions of some sudden, awful, endless lag before the ending, and I would hate that - I'd much rather go slow and steady (What do you mean, obsessive? Yeah, okay - maybe a little. All right, a lot.). If I finish soon, I will pick up the pace. Otherwise, I hope you'll bear with me. I probably would be wiser and make sure all was done before posting another story.

Chapter 16

Cheryl replaced the radio mike. Good - a unit in the area would meet her there - things were looking up. She glanced in her rear view mirror, did a double take. If she had been going at a slower speed that didn't require so much of her concentration, she would have been tempted to take a second to bang her head against the steering wheel. Not that it would help. She had told him not to try to keep up - hadn't she told him that? Did he ever listen to anyone? He probably didn't even have training for driving at these speeds…wonderful if she was going to have to explain to Steve how his father had lost his life riding in hot pursuit with her. Always assuming that Steve himself was still in any condition…really, those two deserved each other - both making her old before her time. Like father, like son.

She saw the mall entrance speeding toward her, spun the wheel to take it at a run. The red and blue flash of a patrol car's lights across the parking lot made her smile. Good. A little assistance. Professional assistance. Despite her determination not to, she peeked in her rearview mirror to see how Dr. Sloan had managed the turn, grinned involuntarily when she saw he was doing just fine. Irritating man. How old was he, anyway, to be doing this sort of thing? Poor Dr. Travis didn't seem quite so well off, though - looked a little green around the gills.

She vaulted from her car and went directly toward the patrol car, glancing around her. The lot had looked fairly normal at first, but now she could see signs of some sort of turmoil - a car with the hood popped, belching steam; a tumbled tree lying crushed on the pavement; a pay phone listing at an odd angle with the receiver off the hook and banging in the breeze; a crowd of shoppers rimming the parking lot in front of the mall but making no move to go to their cars. She noticed now that the patrol car was pulled alongside a Crown Victoria and noted the color and year in her mind. Could be Brian Fuller's. Would make sense. As she got closer, she could see that one of the officers had his gun drawn and was saying something to the driver. She patted her own gun reassuringly, just in case. Even closer, she could tell that the front end of the car had seen better days and that it was nosed up against a dumpster, which was looking a little chipped and mangled too. Now she was close enough to make out the conversation, and she heard the officer say flatly, "Step out of the car, please."

"But I'm not finished."

The driver's voice sounded calm and matter of fact, and something in the tone made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. She glanced around the parking lot again. Where the heck was…? "What have we got, fellas?"

The officer who wasn't occupied with the driver walked over to her. "Looks like someone driving with reckless endangerment, Sergeant. Haven't been able to determine much else - just got here ourselves."

Cheryl puckered her forehead. Now she could see the driver was definitely Brian Fuller - recognized the serious, clean-cut face from the photos. "Brian," she tried to keep her voice easy. "Can you get out of the car for the officers?"

"I'm not finished," Brian repeated politely, as though glad to see someone who knew him.

"You are for now," she stated bluntly. "Why don't you just get out of the car for us. We need to take you down to the station."

She glanced over the roof of the car to see where Dr. Sloan was, saw him walking in their direction from his parked car with Dr. Travis beside him, glancing around the lot as though looking for something, too. Maybe he could give her some idea of what to expect from this kid. Now that he had actually gotten here alive and unscathed, she could admit to herself that he did come in handy from time to time.

Brian hesitated, then dropped his hands from the wheel. "I'm going to the station?"

"That's right. Just open the door and step out, please."

Brian paused, studying her. The officer made a move to open the door, but Cheryl held up a warning hand. "No brute force. Not only is he a kid, but - well. I'll explain later."

Brian shifted, studying her thoughtfully. "Can I see my Mom?" he asked at last.

Cheryl sighed, feeling suddenly tired. "Yeah. Sure. I'm sure we can work that out."

Brian nodded, then pushed down on the door handle and shoved the door open. It stuck a little and Cheryl watched carefully, in case it looked like he was going to try something, but he seemed docile enough. "Turn around and get up against the car, please?" That car looked rough - like it had been through the wars. Brian obeyed promptly and Cheryl gestured to the uniformed officer to take over. The officer reached for his cuffs.

Cheryl took a step away, her eyes traveling in a more comprehensive sweep of the parking lot. She toed the splintered tree, crouched down to get a better look. There was a smear of red next to it - what looked like a bloody handprint on the tar. She sensed somebody next to her, turned her head to see Dr. Sloan's frowning face. She gave him a tight-lipped smile, then straightened and returned to Brian Fuller. The officer had him cuffed and was easing him into the car. "Brian - did Lt. Sloan meet you here?"

Brian's face went blank. "Am I going to see my Mom?"

Cheryl struggled for patience. "Yes, Brian - I'll make sure you see your mother. Now, Lt. Sloan - did he meet you here? Do you know where he is now?"

Brian's expression grew solemn. "My Mom would never hurt anyone."

Cheryl glanced over her shoulder for Dr. Sloan, her eyes asking for help. Mark shook his head at her and she sighed. "Yeah, okay, Brian - I'm starting to think that too." She pulled the other officer a couple of feet away. "Look, go easy with him - he has some kind of mental disorder. When you get back in the car, phone ahead for someone from Police Psychiatry to meet you there and a crime scene team to meet me here and help me take statements. In the meantime, don't push, but see if you can get him to tell you anything about Steve. Have you had a chance to question any of the bystanders yet?"

The officer shook his head. "We got here just before you pulled in."

Cheryl glanced up at the row of shoppers ringing the parking lot. She sure had her work cut out for her. "All right - thanks." She watched the two officers settle into the car and drive away, then turned to try and catch a glimpse of her unofficial assistants.

She spotted Dr. Sloan crouched near the car with the popped hood, staring at something on the pavement, Dr. Travis standing by his side. Don't touch anything, don't touch anything! she thought frantically. He knew better than to do that, didn't he? At least until they figured out what was going on and where the heck Steve had gotten himself to? She hastened her way across the lot and stood next to Dr. Travis. "Find any - ?" broke off abruptly when she saw the glimmer of brass occupying Dr. Sloan's attention. She pulled out a pen and used it to scoop the object up by the hook, turning it over to get a good look. It was scuffed, but it was for the rank detective lieutenant and besides, she'd know that number anywhere. "Steve's," she muttered, automatically fumbling for a plastic bag and dropping it inside. "What on earth went on here?" She caught a glimpse of Dr. Sloan's face and winced inwardly. And this is what she really hated about having civilians along - that look. She touched his shoulder lightly. "Hey, don't worry - that son of yours has nine lives. And when we find him, I get first dibs on relieving him of at least one of them."

"I don't know - we may have to toss for that," Dr. Travis muttered, "Say - what's that?"

But Cheryl was already moving toward it, knelt to get a better look at the smears further along on the pavement - three this time. She felt in her pockets again, for chalk this time. Her pockets always seemed to be brimming with odd things like chalk and rubber gloves and plastic evidence bags, she reflected absently - no wonder it was so hard for her to get a date. She circled the three smears for the evidence team and sat back on her haunches, thinking out loud. "There was a 911 call, officer in trouble, from this mall. I was sure it was Steve, and the badge tells us he was here - so where is he now?" She looked toward the stores, straightened suddenly. "Somebody has to have seen him. Do me a favor? Follow these smears toward those broken trees and see what else you find? Don't touch - just follow."

"I know enough not to touch anything at a crime scene," Jesse pointed out, insulted.

"Good," Cheryl stood up, brushing off her knees. "Dr. Sloan?" She glanced over her shoulder to find her other charge. He was standing where she had left him, looking uncharacteristically lost and helpless. Oh, damn. She strode back to him, took his arm firmly. "Hey," she said with determined brightness, waited until he seemed able to focus on her. "Got a picture of Steve on you?" He stared blankly at her, then suddenly seemed to catch on and patted at his pockets until he found his wallet. "Good. Let's find out who's seen him."

The crowd gathered along the edge of the parking lot was beginning to grow restless. Not a very big crowd, now that she looked more carefully, but she was regretting sending the patrol unit away anyway. One woman was not really enough to keep order here - not even one really stressed out, ticked off woman. "All right, thank you for your patience…" she raised her voice to be heard over the murmurings. "I hope to be able to let you all go home soon."

"What about me? After what happened to my car?"

She scanned the crowd to put a face with the voice, forced a stiff smile for the man in his late thirties, clutching a bag from the music store. "Your car the one with the popped hood?"

"That's right! I came outside and it was - well, it was how you see it now!"

"Uh-huh," Cheryl pulled out her faithful pad and clicked on the pen. "Once we've been over the lot we'll call a tow truck for you. Anybody see what happened?" A gaggle of voices started up at once and Cheryl lifted her hands to silence them. "Okay! I'll be talking to you one at a time, please! Hopefully somebody will be along soon to help me speed this up!" She was acutely aware of Dr. Sloan's silent anguish at her elbow. "In the meantime, we got a 911 call from here - officer in trouble. Anybody see the officer in question?"

"I made the call."

Cheryl frowned through the sea of faces to pick out the small voice that answered. She saw a young blonde woman, no more than her late teens or early twenties, self-consciously holding up her hand. "You, ma'am?" Could this girl really be a member of the force? "Are you a police officer?"

"Oh!" The girl looked startled. "No! I'm just - you know - going to school - "

"You do realize, ma'am, that impersonating a police officer carries a very serious penalty?"

"Hey - " She was distracted by Jesse's sudden appearance at her elbow. "I found a cell phone. It's pretty smashed up, so I can't be sure, but I think it's Steve's - "

Cheryl turned, trying to follow the direction he was pointing. "Where?"

"I didn't. I mean, I wasn't impersonating anybody - "

Cheryl swung back to the blonde girl. "Ma'am, 'officer in trouble' is a call reserved specifically for - "

"Over there." She pulled her eyes away again to pinpoint where Jesse was indicating - apparently somewhere by the island with the crushed tree. "I didn't touch it."

"Good - "

"Well, I thought he was."

Cheryl looked back at the blonde girl.

"So we have his badge and his cell phone - what else do we know that he took with him?"

Cheryl raised her brows at the familiar voice. Good. Evidently Dr. Sloan had come back to life. That was a good sign. "Just his wallet, I think you said - "

"I mean, he's the one who told me to say it. I just assumed - "

That snagged Cheryl's attention away from Dr. Sloan again. "Who's this ma'am?"

"The - you know - the man."

"If we follow the path from the badge to the cell phone…" Dr. Sloan began, his eyes focusing beyond her, trying to make sense of the evidence.

"Yeah, but we have no way of really knowing what direction he was actually going in," Jesse objected. "Could be cell phone to badge. Since the pay phone is off the hook, maybe he came this way after his cell phone got smashed, tried to make a call."

"True…" Dr. Sloan fell silent again, thinking.

Cheryl waved her hands at both of them as though brushing away a particularly pesky pair of flies. "What man is this, ma'am? Ma'am?" she repeated more emphatically, when it looked as though she had lost the blonde girl's attention.

The blonde girl looked embarrassed as all eyes suddenly swiveled toward her. "Um - he was - he was there - in the parking lot. I wanted to help him, but he waved me away."

"Help him." Cheryl studiously ignored Dr. Sloan's sudden stillness at her elbow. "Help him what, ma'am?"

The blonde girl glanced around and blushed. "Help him up. But he didn't want help. Well, except the call. He told me to call 911, officer in trouble."

"I see." Cheryl began to feel a little more relaxed. You'll never learn when to stay down, will you, Sloan? "Because he, what? Fell? Was he ill?" That was pretty easy to picture. Damn man thought he was The Terminator or something.

"Oh." The girl considered this. "Maybe. He didn't look too good. And he had - you know - a bandage - here…" She indicated her forehead.

Cheryl nodded with feigned patience. "So he fell and - "

"I don't understand. Why would he wave you away if he'd just fallen? Even Steve's not that foolishly proud."

Ah. She had almost forgotten about her shotgun-riding medical team. She turned a mildly reproving eye on Dr. Sloan. All right, he was anxious - she'd cut him some slack for that. She took the wallet from his hand and flipped through the pictures until she found a good one of Steve. "This the man who asked you to make the call?"

The blonde tilted her head at the photo, then bobbed it eagerly. "Yes, that's him. He told me to call. I really wanted to help him, but…. I think - you know - that he was afraid I'd get hit, too. I don't think I would, though. I wish he'd let me help."

"Hit?" Cheryl winced at the sudden bark of Dr. Sloan's voice. "What do you mean by 'hit'?"

The girl stared at him. "By - you know - the car."

"He was hit by a car?" Dr. Sloan's voice crept up a notch. He turned around again, eyes sweeping the surrounding area more frantically.

"What car?" Cheryl demanded. She was as baffled as the doctor. If Steve was hit, how could he go anywhere? Where on earth was he?

The girl seemed surprised that she didn't know. "That - you know - blue one. The one over there." She pointed helpfully to Brian Fuller's car.

Cheryl followed the direction of her arm, shook her head helplessly. "He was hit over there? This man - " she indicated the photo, and held up the other hand in a warning to Dr. Sloan to let her talk. "Lt. Sloan?"

The girl furrowed her forehead. "That's him. Oh. No. I don't think so. Not over there. Over here." She looked thoughtfully in the area of the car with the popped hood. "I think over there, too. But I'm not sure about that."

"Lt. Sloan was hit by a car - twice? How the heck is that possible?" She was just aware of Dr. Sloan performing one more frenzied scan of the parking lot, turning back in frustration.

The girl shrugged. "Well, you know - the guy was chasing him."

Cheryl felt her heart sink. Oh, God. Suddenly this was making some sense. "The guy - " she gestured toward the Crown Victoria, still abutting the dumpster. "Driving that car."

The girl seemed pleased to be understood at last. "Yeah."

"Then where on earth is Steve now? Did someone call for medical help? Was an ambulance here?"

Cheryl didn't bother to rebuke Dr. Sloan this time. The words seemed to explode out of him, almost beyond his conscious volition, and those were her next questions anyway.

The girl seemed more puzzled than ever. "Oh. No. You were the first people here. He's still right over there - from what I could see, anyway."

They both turned to stare at the Crown Victoria. Now, she had been standing right next to that car and she hadn't seen any…realization dawned all at once, and she started in the direction of the car at a run. Belatedly, she called back over her shoulder, "Don't anybody move! I'm going to need your names and statements! I'll be right back!"