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The detectives learn more about the fire. Faith and O'Shea go home to their separate families.

Faith studied every detail of the darkened apartment she entered, wondering if she had opened the wrong door. The kitchen and living room were spotless. Fred and the kids had been outstanding during the past week. Taking care of their own meals and cleaning up afterwards took a huge burden off her shoulders. She was immensely grateful for the help. There was far too much on her mind for her to worry about housework.

She set down her keys and duffel bag on the table. What the hell was wrong with Andy O'Shea, anyway? Why was he bent on shoving away everyone who tried to help him? The whole point of their working together was for her to keep him out of trouble. Swersky was all for the idea when she had presented it to him. Andy himself appeared favourable to the pairing, even asking before a shift if she was willing to partner up. What the hell had changed his mind?

"Faith?"

"Yeah, it's me. Ssh, I'm coming."

Fred's outline was visible in the doorway of the bedroom. She moved toward him. "What time is it?"

"Almost midnight."

"You're home early, then."

"Yeah."

"Did something happen at work?"

She shook her head and slid her arms around his waist. "No. It was a quiet shift."

"That's good." Fred said, kissing the top of her head. "You're so tense. What's wrong?"

"Nothing, I'm just tired."

"Come to bed, then." Fred murmured. Faith followed him silently. "Still working with that O'Shea guy?"

"Not now, Fred, please. I'm too tired for an argument over that."

"Okay," he answered, rolling over in the bed so that his back was toward her.

"Don't be like that." Faith chided softly, tucking herself close to him. "Please."

Fred said nothing as she ran her fingertips along his shoulder, but he rolled back over. For a moment, they only looked at each other. Then he relented and cupped her chin with one hand. "Okay."

Faith smiled a little, resting her head against his chest. "Okay."

"You think they'll try anything tonight?"

Andy O'Shea shrugged, using an old toothbrush to scrub out the exposed breech of his old Marlin .22. "I dunno. With Hanscom and Puller outside, it ain't all that likely."

"This'll be something great to tell the guys when it's all over with," Jamie said as he worked the stiff wire brush down the barrel of his disassembled Glock. "I'd like to see Billy Halloran top this."

"Havin' a police guard at your house is hardly something to brag about," his father remarked. "Besides, I know Billy's pa. If he's anythin' like his old man, he'll think of something better within a week."

"Yeah, that's probably true. But this is pretty big. I mean, how many dads can say they took down a regional drug dealer?"

O'Shea chuckled. "Not many, that's true. It's still not something I'm terribly proud of."

"Why not?"

"I'm takin' too many lumps in the process. You've seen it and the girls have seen it, too. Hardly somethin' that they should have to live with."

Jamie paused in his work. "Yeah, Sarah was pretty shaken up that last time. She told Nana about it. That didn't make her too happy."

"No, it probably didn't," His father agreed. "Ain't a whole lot I can do about it now, though. It's just one more thing she can use to make me life hell."

"What, you think she'll try to have us taken away again?"

"She might. But it's still a good thing your grandmother didn't mind takin' the girls for the week. It ain't safe for 'em round here."

"She wasn't too thrilled about it. She still doesn't like you all that much."

"She never did. It must be the mindset of the neighbourhood and all. Your mum's from Midtown, you know, and your grandmother was about as uptight and class-minded as they get. Havin' her oldest daughter marry a cop from Brooklyn wasn't her idea of a suitable match. I guess it didn't matter we were both Irish." O'Shea cracked an amused grin. "It was 'cause I was Catholic and she wasn't."

"Was it really that divided?"

"Aye, and still is. Half the time, your grandmother won't even say hello when I go pick up the girls."

Jamie shook his head, replacing the spring that operated the weapon's slide. "I've noticed that, but I never thought it had anything to do with her being Protestant."

"She's old Irish, like my folks, except her family's from Dublin. You'll find most O'Sheas hailing from Mayo, where Gaelic's still a common language. That's all I heard and spoke growin' up."

"And Nana doesn't like that either?"

"No, she don't. I reckon that she figures everybody should speak English and that's it. Bloody narrow-minded point of view, but that's a Dubliner for you."

His son laughed and reattached the slide. "She's not the only with a bias, then."

"Not by a long shot. Your mum was the only one who could see both sides and be the impartial one."

"Yeah. She always was good at settling stuff."

A silence fell over the two of them as they sat in the living room, reassembling their weapons. O'Shea glanced up at a picture of his dead wife, hanging next to the front door and a heavy wave of sorrow washed through him. Lord, he missed her.

"She's still with us, Dad."

O'Shea brought his attention back to the cramped living room and the scattered gun cleaning kits on the floor, slightly embarrassed to have been caught staring at the picture. "Aye, I know."

"You think about her a lot, don't you?"

"Every spare thought," he admitted. Jamie nodded, a solemn expression lending premature age to his young face.

"Me too."

The Irishman tightened the screws that held the scope to the rifle and held it up to check the sights. "Come on, let's put these away. What do you say to a burger down at Haggerty's?"

Jamie managed a smile to break the sombre and reflective mood. "Sure."

"Toxicology's back on the gas can."

Wickes picked his head up from his desk, where it had been resting and yawned. "And it was inconclusive, right?"

"Such lack of faith in our lab department. Far from it, actually. The techs say there are trace amounts of black powder all over the pieces of the can. They estimate, based on the quantity of powder residue, that the can had been filled to the top."

"All the more to make a big mess. Wonderful. So it is definitely arson."

Asheby nodded. "There's more. The fire marshal revisited the scene as per Marsh's request and stumbled across a small fire-proof safe buried under a pile of wall beams. He took it straight to the lab and the techs broke it open. You won't believe what they found."

"Enlighten me," Wickes said, getting up from the desk to refill his coffee mug.

"Half a dozen cases of 7.62 calibre bullets and four fully automatic assault rifles, not to mention more than enough full magazines to hold off ESU for days. Morris was prepared for Armageddon, Dave."

"Good. We took away one of his stashes. How many more are there? Who's gonna find themselves on the wrong end of the stick if we storm one of his other strong-houses?"

"We're more than prepared to take him and whoever else he cons into joining him. That's what ESU is for."

Wickes shook his head. "That's not the point. The point is not putting any of our people in that position. If we can take him out quietly, we will."

"He has to go down, Dave, and he's not gonna go quietly. Someone's goin' down with him."

"I'm not about to let anyone else get hurt or killed if I don't have to."

"Then what the hell is the point? Morris knows he's in deep. What's it matter if he takes another cop down? He's already done too much. I say we raid the place on 123rd first thing tomorrow and grab whoever or whatever is there. It's better than nothing."

"No, Mark, you're missing the point. We're at a delicate spot right now. Morris is laying low and that's probably a bad thing. But it beats the hell out of the alternative, which would be him targeting the cops on the beat. I'm not going to gamble with any lives until I know more about what he's up to and where he's at."

"Dave, he killed a cop!" Asheby shouted. "He shot and killed a New York City police officer and you're givin' him a free pass to run!"

"He won't run! We're watching every bus, train, and subway station and both airports. The Port Authority has everyone checking vehicles going out of the City. If he makes a move to run, we'll know about it."

"It's all reactive! We should be out hunting him down, not waiting for him to call the tune for us to dance to."

"He's already called the tune, but we're hardly dancing to it. If anything, we're proving pretty horrible at keeping step."

"I can't, I can't deal with this. We're goin' in circles. I'm going home."

Wickes shook his head as his partner grabbed up his jacket and stormed out of the otherwise quiet squad room. "He'll never learn."