Title: Mine

Summary: Mac has a stalker… (Harm/Mac Romance, Drama).

Part Eighteen

Chegwidden

Tuesday, March 12, 2002

I step into the smoke-filled dive bar, and my eyes begin to water. I hate places like this – McMurphy's looks positively high-class in comparison. I spot Harm at the bar almost immediately, and I catch the eye of the young man behind the counter. He doesn't look old enough to buy beer, let alone serve it. I point to Harm and see relief spread over his face. I slide onto the barstool next to my… I don't really know what Harm is to me. He's more than a subordinate, but those three ranks and 20-something years keep us from actually being friends.

Harm looks up at me and rolls his eyes before tapping his finger against the edge of his glass. "My babysitter is here," he says, "so you can fill my glass again." His voice is slightly slurred, and it's so jarring to see him this way. It's been eight years, and I can't say I've ever seen this man tipsy or even slightly out of control. But this man isn't the controlled, respected officer I work with and like. This man is distraught and broken and trying to numb the pain and fear I can only imagine he's feeling.

The bartender reluctantly pours another finger's worth of liquid into the glass and looks at me. "Can I get you anything, sir?"

I nod and reach into my back pocket for my wallet. "Just a beer, please. Whatever's on tap." He nods, turns to the beer taps, and fills a tall glass. He sets the beer on a paper coaster, glances at Harm, and then moves down to the other end of the bar, giving us privacy. I take a sip and then push the beer away. "Are you drunk," I ask.

He lifts his hand, his thumb and forefinger less than an inch apart. "A little bit." He sips his bourbon and shakes his head. "He's got my car keys. Take them and go home. I'm not stupid enough to drive."

I know that. After all, he did call me for help at 2:00 in the morning. I ignore him and grab a pretzel from the bowl in front of him. "Why don't you finish that drink and let me drive you home."

"I don't want to go home," he says stubbornly.

"Harm," I start, and he shakes his head.

"I'm not going home," he says. "She's not there. She's not at my home or her home. She's not safe or warm. How can I go home and sleep or be comfortable when she could be hurt?"

His rawness and vulnerability and the drunken ramble make me uncomfortable, and I lift my glass to my lips and drink. "We'll find her," I say quietly. "We'll find her, Harm. I promise you."

He runs his finger over the edge of the glass and shakes his head. "You can't make that promise," he says, his voice breaking.

I reach over and clap his shoulder. "We will," I say. "I'm a SEAL, Harm. We don't leave our men behind." He swallows hard and takes a sip of his drink. I reach over and take the glass once it hits the bar again. "Getting drunk isn't helping anything. Let's get some coffee."

"If I'm drunk enough, maybe I'll stop thinking about what she could be going through." I wince, and he stares glassy-eyed at the shelf of liquors. "I tried going home and going to bed. And whenever I closed my eyes, I started thinking about what he could be doing to her." He looks back at me, and his red-rimmed eyes are startling. "And that's a dark place I can't afford to go to."

I shudder at the thought and nod. I can't say that I blame him. I remember when Laura died – I saw her whenever I closed my eyes. "So, what are you going to do," I ask. "This place is going to close up at some point?"

He drowned the remainder of his drink and pushed the glass away. "I'm going to go back to his apartment."

"Absolutely not," I say. "I can take you back to my house, and you can spend the night there." Harm shakes his head, and I sigh. "They searched his apartment, and they didn't find anything. What do you think you're going to be able to do?"

"I don't know," he says. "But I have to do something, and it's the only thing I can think of."

"Last call, guys." We both look up, and the young bartender has reappeared, and he gives me a nervous smile. "Anything else you need?"

I push the mostly full beer away and nod. "Yeah," I say. "Can we get two very strong cups of black coffee?"

"I don't want coffee," Harm says.

I roll my eyes at the petulant tone in his voice and ignore him. "Two coffees, please." The bartender nods and scurries away, and I turn back to Harm. "Drink your coffee, and I'll take you home."

"I don't want coffee," he repeats, "and I don't want to go home."

I know I'm fighting a losing battle, and I sigh. "Compromise," I offer. "Drink the coffee, and then I'll go with you to the apartment."

It's just after three am when we leave the bar, and neither of us says anything while I drive through the abnormally quiet streets. When I woke up this - yesterday morning, I did not anticipate my day moving in this direction. I make a mental note to call Sturgis at some point and tell him he'll need to be in charge tomorrow today – I'm too old to stay up this late, and I know I'm going to be utterly worthless tomorrow.

I briefly consider ignoring his wishes, but I know if I take him to my house or his apartment, the first thing he'll do is call a cab and head back out into the night. Harmon Rabb Jr. isn't a man who is used to the word 'no.' He's always done what he thought was right and dealt with the consequences later.

I may not be able to do anything for Mac now, but I can help him. And hopefully, minimize the consequences.

Finding the apartment complex again is easy enough, and I pull into a parking space near the front of the building. There isn't any activity at this time of day, and I follow Harm as he runs into the building and takes the stairs two at a time. The door had splintered when we had broken in early, and the police had lazily nailed two pieces of plywood over the opening. Harm easily pulls the flimsy wood down and sets it aside. He goes inside, and I take a deep breath before following him. I'm not comfortable breaking this many laws, but I can't let him go through this alone.

"What are you looking for," I ask. "The police went through this place with a fine-toothed comb earlier," I remind him.

"I don't know," he says and hesitates when he passes the wall covered in pictures of her. "I just have this feeling that I need to be here. The answer has to be here."

I glance at the photos for a moment and then pick up an address book from the edge of the desk. "So, how did the two of you get together?" He looks at me, and I can tell he's surprised by the question. I shrug and look away. "We've all been waiting for it to happen for years. I have to admit I'm curious about it." I think he will ignore me for a moment, and I start thinking of other things to ask him. I want him to focus on the good moments with her and not the fact that she's with someone who's been taking these creepy pictures of her for months.

"It was Christmas Eve," he finally says. "We kissed under the mistletoe at Bud & Harriet's. And then she came over later that night to tell me that the kiss was unsatisfactory. We talked, and we…." He blushes as he trails off, and I can't help but chuckle. He offers a tiny smile and kneels to rifle through one of the desk drawers. "We've been together ever since."

"You love her." It isn't a question, but he nods, and his hands go still on the folders he's holding. Pain radiates from him, and it's hard to watch, so I turn away. I finish with the address book and set it aside. Nothing in there jumps out at me, but since all I know about him is what Erin and his personnel file have told us, I can't imagine anything would. I move over to the bookshelves by the window and frown. There isn't any order to the books, but a couple immediately strikes me as odd. One appears to be a library copy of a book on Red Rock Mesa, and the other is about the history of the Marine Corps. I pull out the book about Red Rock Mesa and wince when I open it and see the message scribbled inside.

Sarah-

Found this at a used bookstore last week. Thought of you and your bravery and determination. I'm proud of you, sweetheart.

-Matt

I grimace and call Harm over. He hurries to me, and I hand him the book. His jaw clenches when he sees the note, and then he glances at the shelves.

"Anything else there that could be hers?"

"I don't know," he says. "She reads a lot and has a ton of books." He lowers himself to the ground, pulls out an ancient copy of 'Pride and Prejudice', and clutches the book as he stands. "This is hers," he says quietly. He grips the book and takes a deep breath. "I bought this for her." He opens the book and winces as he holds it up to me. I can tell by the jagged edge that a page had been ripped out. I take both books from him and tuck them under my arm.

"We'll take these with us," I say.

He stares at them but doesn't say anything. "I'm going to go check the bedroom," he quietly says and turns to go down the hall.

I watch him walk away and then turn back to the bookshelf. I'm reaching for another book that could possibly be hers when I hear a car start, and I glance at my watch. It's almost four in the morning, and someone being out now gives me a moment of pause.

"Harm!" The younger man comes running, and I step back from the window and point. "Someone's out there, I say." We look outside and notice the headlights light up on what looks like a gold Honda Accord, and watch as the car turns left out of the parking lot. His eyes go wide, and he glances at his own watch.

"Let's go after them," he says and runs out of the apartment.

I hurry after him and grab his arm. "You don't know that it's him," I say.

"It could be," he exclaims and pulls open the passenger door of my car. "I had a feeling that I should be here tonight. Maybe this was why!"

I puff out my cheeks and let out a breath. "Okay," he says. We climb in the car and take off in the direction the Honda went. He pulls out his cell phone, and I frown. "What are you doing?"

"Calling Erin," he says.

"Harm, it's four o'clock."

"I need to know if he has any connection to that car." He pulls a piece of paper out of his pocket and dials the number. She doesn't answer, and he ends the call and dials again. And again. And again. She finally answers, and he lets out a breath and introduces himself.

"I'm sorry to call at this hour," he's saying, "but I need to know if he has any connection to a Honda Accord. A Honda Accord," he repeats, a harsh edge to his voice. I glance at him and watch as he goes still and then closes the phone shut without saying goodbye. He looks at me and then smacks the dashboard. "His mother inherited a gold 1992 Honda Accord from an elderly friend of hers. She tried to register it in Tyler's name, but it needed a lot of repairs before they could get the title switched over. He parked it at his place and vowed to do the work himself when he had more time, but it's still registered to the friend."

"Call Detective Bigi," I order. "Tell him about the car, and tell him to put an APB on it." He does as I ask, and I keep my eyes peeled for the gold car, feeling a rush when I see the lights of another vehicle a few miles ahead of me. I accelerate while I listen to Harm argue with the detective and frown when I lose sight of the car. We're leaving the city, and the townhomes and apartments slowly turn into ranch homes with backyards and garages.

Both of us are getting increasingly frustrated while we drive around the increasingly rural streets looking for the car. He tells me to turn right, but I ignore him when I think I see headlights on the left.

"What if he's parking in a garage," Harm finally says. "We won't be able to see the car."

"Don't think that," I say.

We're both quiet again as I reach the end of one street and turn down the next one. The street is dark with only a few streetlights, and I slow the car just a bit and look for other signs of life.

"There!"

Harm gesture to a shabby house further down the street. I can't tell if it's gold or silver from his difference, but the make and model of the car looks the same, and I press down on the gas pedal. I turn off the headlights as we get closer, and immediately notice the seriously expired tags. Before the car entirely stops, Harm jumps out and runs over to it. It is a late-model gold Accord, and he places his hand on the hood and looks at me with wide eyes.

"It's still warm."

He starts toward the house, but I grab his arm. "Call Bigi, Harm."

He shrugs me off and shakes his head. "Are you crazy? She's in there with him, and I'm not leaving her alone for one more moment."

"Think about this rationally," I argue. "Neither of us has any kind of weapon, and since she's still with him, we have to assume he is armed. We could endanger her more by busting in without any kind of plan."

"No," he says. "I'm going in." He begins to run toward the house and I'm chasing after him when the sound of a gunshot makes us both go still and makes my blood run cold.

End Part 18