Fifteen minutes later found Jesse preparing to leave his apartment, trying to figure out how to get the four heavy bags of laundry to his car in one trip. At a quarter till eleven, it was way too late to be tackling complicated problems like this.

He sighed and looked around the apartment while sitting on one of the nylon bags, taking a moment to reflect on the room's cleanliness. "I should do this more often," he spoke to the staring fish. "The place looks a lot bigger."

The fish agreed.

"Alright," he sighed, standing up. "Time to get this show on the road." Jesse grabbed two sets of drawstrings in each hand and hauled the bags through the door in a burst of energy. Smiling at his accomplishment, he said goodnight to the fish and locked his apartment door. Now for the hard part.

Jesse was panting by the time he made it to the elevator and just plain exhausted by the time he got to his car. He was sweating after loading two bags into the trunk and the other two in the small back seat. Jesse sank into the driver's seat and allowed his weary body a short break before starting his journey to Mark's house.

As he looked down to turn on the radio, Jesse missed the movement of a black sedan taking up a predatory position on the road behind him.

o0O0o

The next morning, Steve was awakened by the alarm clock automatically filling the room with the voice of an annoying radio personality. He groaned and rolled over, away from the dawn's warming sun that pressed down on him through the window. Steve reached towards the bedside table in an effort to hit the 'off' button of the small black clock. When his hand hit his gun, he sat up and remembered where he was.

The small apartment was actually pretty nice considering the price tag. Steve had only taken small notice of that since the police department was paying the rent, but it was affordable. There was only one bedroom, a bright kitchen, a large living room with sliding glass doors that led to a balcony over looking the pool, and a moderately sized bathroom. Overall, it reminded Steve of Jesse's bachelor-style apartment.

Steve got out of bed and finally turned off the radio. They shouldn't let hosts like that on the air at eight in the morning. It could ruin a person's day. Steve stretched and headed out to the living room, and the real reason he was in this particular apartment.

A movement below caught his attention and Steve looked just in time to see a young blonde dive into the deep end of the still-watered pool. He watched in a dreamy haze before he remembered the other reason he had chosen this apartment. He grabbed his police-grade binoculars and searched the targeted apartment in the complex across from his. A known member of the terrorist gang was living there, and Steve's apartment had the perfect inconspicuous vantage point. Looking across the pool and playground area, Steve could see into the criminal's apartment undetected.

Last night had not revealed anything of use for the detective. The criminal known as Tony Darnell got home late and seemingly went straight to bed. Frustrated, Steve had done the same. The guy's car had been bugged by Steve himself with a tracking unit to aide in the investigation. Not seeing any movement within the apartment, Steve sighed and set the binoculars in their place on the floor. He glanced at the pool. He picked them back up. Scolding himself, he set them back down.

Steve had just finished pouring the milk into his bowl of cereal when a rhythmic beeping started in alarm. He looked to the small flashing red light of the GPS vehicle tracking unit set up under the window. Curious, Steve carried his bowl across the room to stare at the screen.

o0O0o

"Jesse, I'm heading out! There's a plate for you in the microwave!"

A few moments later, Jesse realized that someone was talking to him. "What?" he called out, but it was muffled by the pillow he was face down on.

He heard a sigh, then the voice was closer. And slower. "Me work now. Food in microwave."

Jesse picked his head up and looked around. It looked like he was in the guest bedroom of Mark's house. "Oh yeah." He looked at the digital clock and focused harder on the red numbers. Eight o'clock. IEight o'clock!?

Jesse jumped out of bed. His shift at the hospital started in an hour. With groggy panic, he ran to the door and flung it open.

"Sleep well?" Mark stood in the hallway, arms crossed and an evil smile on his face.

"Mark!" Jesse was stunned as sleep still clung to him. "I-"

"You're late?" Mark asked. "I made as much noise as I could this morning. You sleep like the dead. Now I have to go, your breakfast is in the microwave."

"Thanks," Jesse replied, his mind finally coherent enough to think clearly. "I owe you one."

Mark laughed as he walked down the hall towards the front door. "One? Oh Jesse..."

Wanting to supply a comeback but more afraid of being late, Jesse opted to shut his mouth and take the world's fastest shower. Once he was finished, Jesse ran into a problem. A huge one.

"My clothes!" Jesse stood in the bedroom with a large towel around his waist and an 'I Am So Screwed' look on his face. When he arrived at the beach house late last night, Mark had been sleeping so Jesse chose to wait till morning so he wouldn't wake the older doctor. Now, he only had half an hour for the hour-long process.

Jesse cursed under his breath as he dug through one of the good-sized bags and dug out an outfit. He ran it to the laundry room and shoved the clothing in the washing machine, dumped in a scoop of detergent and turned the dial to 'on'. Jesse let the lid shut with a metallic clang as the unit filled with water. "Come on!" he urged, but the Sears appliance continued at it's own pace.

Jesse growled as threw his hands up in the air. After tightening the towel around his waist, a gurgle in his stomach ordered him to the kitchen. After setting the microwave for thirty seconds, Jesse grabbed a fork and a glass of milk, then his warm plate and sat on the couch. Watching a little TV wouldn't hurt anything since he already had to wait for the stupid washing machine.

About 17 minutes later, the buzzer went off signaling the clothes were clean. Jesse raced to the laundry room and grabbed the wet clothes out of the washer and threw them into the dryer with lightning speed. He was already planning on wearing damp clothes, knowing they wouldn't get completely dry in the remaining time. Oh well, wouldn't be the first time.

Jesse tightened his towel once again before nervously straightening everything he had displaced this morning. Time had slowed to the achingly slow pace that always occurred when you were running late for something important. Jesse started praying to the traffic gods that he may be blessed with green lights this morning.

When he had waited until the last possible second, Jesse opened the dryer and ducked at the wave of dry heat that billowed into the room. He dropped the towel and pulled his boxers from the small heap of hot, damp clothes and proceeded to get dressed in record time. The 'Hurry Hurry Hurry ' mantra chanted over and over in his head, pushing his movements even faster.

Jesse ran to the bedroom to grab his wallet, then stepped further in the room when he saw his keys on the floor. "Alright, that's everything," he said aloud as he turned on his heels...

... and landed face down on the carpet with a surprised cry. Jesse pushed himself up right and glared at the offending laundry sack. "Tryin' to trip me huh?" he threatened as he rose to his feet. "That's it, you're coming with me." Jesse grabbed the evil-minded bag by the drawstrings and started pulling it towards the door. A sharp pain exploded in his shoulder. "Stupid heavy sack of..." he trailed off, grunting as the bag slid across the floor. He really needed to work out more.

Jesse reached the doorway and stopped, rubbing his shoulder. As vengeful as he was feeling right now, he didn't have time for this. The laundry's punishment would just have to wait until he got home. Jesse glanced one more time at the clock beside the bed and cursed. He was late. "Great," he muttered and turned to leave.

That's when it caught his eye. Jesse stopped and squinted at the window. Something marred it's perfect clarity. Something round. A bug? Jesse cocked his head and stepped closer. It was a hole. A perfectly round, small hole.

"What the..."

Jesse turned around and found another hole in the opposite wall. Jesse crossed the bedroom for a better look.

Realization hit like a really big, speeding train.

It was a bullet hole. Numb with shock, Jesse reached out to touch the hole in the smooth white wall. For a split second, his heart stopped.

His hand was covered in wet blood.

Jesse yelped and jumped in panic. Suddenly his heart was pounding in his ears as he looked down at the pain in his shoulder. The muscle wasn't sore from the heavy laundry sack, he had been shot. Rich, warm blood had soaked his clean dress shirt down to the elbow. His own blood was glittering in the innocent morning light. He was bleeding.

Now that Jesse was aware of the wound, it began to throb with fiery pain. Completely in shock, Jesse used his bloodied left hand to cover the open wound. Applying pressure sent a whole new kind of pain through his body, Jesse leaned against the wall before sliding to the floor. He had been shot. A bullet had traveled through his arm and was lodged in the wall of Mark's guest bedroom. He had been shot.

With a hand that was shaking worse then some Parkinson's victims, Jesse reached his sticky hand into his pocket to dig out his cell phone. He was going into shock and he knew it. His mouth was dry and the world around him was fading away. He struggled for a deep breath. But he needed help. The simple act of pushing the number one button on his small phone caused enough pain to elicit a whimper.

His breathing was fast and shallow but he needed to pull it together long enough to call for help. He had been shot in the shoulder, not the chest. He wasn't going to die. It was just a flesh wound. Jesse swallowed thickly as he struggled to let the doctor within him ease his panic. With a tremulous hand, Jesse raised the cell phone to his ear and listened to it ring once before it was answered.

"Hello?"

Jesse smiled through the pain. Mark only answered so informally when the caller ID revealed Jesse himself, Steve or Amanda as the caller. "Mark? It's me."

"Jesse? You were suppose to be here fifteen minutes ago. Is everything alright?"

Ha. Understatement of the century. "Well, um... no." Jesse tilted his head back against the wall with a grimace as a wave of pain pulsed through his arm.

There was a pause and Jesse guessed that Mark was waiting to find out if it was a joke. "No? What's wrong?"

Jesse swallowed a hard lump in his throat as he looked down to the growing puddle of dark blood collecting on the floor under his elbow. "Well-" his voice broke, "I think I've been shot."

Jesse heard a loud thump and Mark's voice rose in pitch. "Shot? Good Lord Jesse, where are you?"

He swallowed some more pain before answering. "I'm still at your house."

"Stay there. I'm on my way."

"Okay," Jesse replied softly and he hoped Mark heard him. Darkness was seeping into the room at the edges of his vision and Jesse felt his strength leaving him as fast as his own warm blood.

"Stay with me Jesse," Mark's voice interrupted. "Talk to me. Where are you hit?"

Jesse thought he heard the sound of a car starting. "Um, my shoulder." He didn't have the strength nor the will to elaborate. He looked over his knees to the small droplets of blood on the clean carpet, letting his vision blur for a moment. He was getting tired.

"Did you see who shot you?"

"No... through the window." Jesse found himself staring at the sunlight pouring in through the bedroom window and wondered if this is what it felt like to die. To 'see the light'.

"Like a sniper?"

"Yeah..."

"So someone did this on purpose..." Mark's voice trailed off. "Any idea who?"

Jesse winced as he pulled himself to a more comfortable position against the wall. His arm ached relentlessly as fresh blood continued to drip from his elbow like water from the faucet in his bathroom. He was making a huge mess and didn't even want to guess how many pints of blood was seeping through the carpeting.

"Jesse!"

"What?" he countered, then heard a door slam downstairs. His heart crawled into his throat in an effort to hide since his wounded body could not. Mark was still talking as Jesse set the phone on the carpet and sat still, listening to heavy, hurried footsteps. He knew he was going to die now. He was sitting here like a broken-winged bird while his death was closing in. He would never get married. Have kids. Tell his friends how much they meant to him. Jesse swallowed and tipped his head back against the wall, powerless to do anything but wait for his killer and pray for a quick death.

The door was pushed open so hard it bounced off the rubber stopper mounted low on the wall. Jesse winced and looked at his executioner...