A/N: Don't kill me for the cliffhanger--please. I'm going on a mini-vacation for the weekend, but this chapter wanted to be written so I wrote it. Ya'll have a wonderful weekend--stay cool if you're living in this min-version of hell like I am at the moment--and if you have mid 70's weather--bite me. ;) Until next time--ya'll are the best--PCGirl.

John walked into the hotel room and threw the keys onto the couch, watching them bounce and land on the floor. The anger of everything was quickly coming to a head and he knew he needed to get out whatever frustration he had before he called Natalie. He looked at his watch—it was 6 there and she was probably about to have her dinner slash study session with Marissa. He dropped a few coins into the slot machine as he grabbed the cordless phone and dialed—his anxiety going away the second he heard her voice, "It's so good to hear your voice."

Natalie blushed at hearing him say that, "It's good to hear from you too. I'm surprised you called this early—is everything ok?" she asked and received silence. "John? What happened?"

"We caught him."

"Him? The killer?" she asked as her eyes got huge.

"Yeah, it was Marcie's agent—Hayes Barber. He held her hostage—and if I hadn't gotten there when I did Michael would have my head on a stick right about now," he sighed as he finally let himself sit down and all his emotions of the day's ordeal poured out.

"Whatcha doin'?" asked Michael as he walked into John's office and saw him looking over a yearbook.

"Lookin' at Marcie's yearbook. This one kid—Anthony Trayer—he died a few years ago after a nasty car wreck. From the reports I've gotten he lived, but then caught an infection at the hospital and died a week later. Who does he look like to you?" he asked as he pushed the yearbook across his desk and to his brother.

"He almost resembles Hayes," he said as he scratched his head. "You don't think—."

"Never say never," he said as he picked up the phone. "Yeah—I need birth certificates on Hayes Barber and . I want to see if there's a connection between the two. Half siblings or first cousins—but I need this yesterday, got me? Good."

"What do we do while we wait?"

"We go find Marcie and don't let her out of our sight."

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"I don't know why you're acting this way Hayes," said Marcie as she walked around the living room of the cottage.

"I'm just saying I think the killer is going to strike again soon, and I'm worried that it might be you—so will you please just sign these papers? It's for your own protection."

"You don't care about my protection, Hayes—you only care about selling books."

"That's not true, Marcie." A sudden knock on the front door made him look up, "Who is that?"

"Marcie?" called Michael from the other side.

"Just a second Michael."

"I wouldn't do that," said Hayes and she turned to see he had a gun pointed straight at her.

"Hayes? What's going on?"

"Tell him to leave now or I'll blow your brains out—do it."

A shaken Marcie turned and called back to Michael, "Actually Michael—I'm just about to get in the shower—I'll call you later."

"Is everything ok in there?"

"Yes, I'm fine," she said as she peered out the window and it seemed that he'd left. "Are you the killer?" she asked as she turned to look at Hayes who was holding the document.

"Does the name Anthony Trayer ring a bell?"

"Tony? He was in the Killing Club, but he died a few years ago—didn't he?"

"He was my half brother and right before he died he told me about this book idea he wanted to write. It was a take off of your little club from high school—and I was just finishing up my manuscript for it when you came waltzing into the publishing office in New York. That's why I jumped at the chance to be your agent—recreate a few of the murders and then suddenly—."

"The author dies by the killer?"

"But not before she signs over all royalties to her agent—because she was scared something was going to happen to her."

"Sounds pretty simple. So is there where I'm supposed to start begging for mercy?"

"No, first you're going to sign this," he said as he threw the paper at her.

"I don't think she's going to be signing anything," said John as he pushed the muzzle of the gun against Hayes' head. "Give me the gun," he said as he reached his free hand around and grabbed it from him.

"It's a joke officer, I'd never hurt Marcie. She's my star author," chuckled Hayes.

"Yeah—right," he said.

"You still there," said John on the other end of the phone.

"Yeah, I'm in shock. That day at Rodi's—what he said to Marcie and I—it creeped me out, but I brushed it off."

"Wait—did you ever tell me this?"

"I don't know John," she shrugged. "It was the same day as that last game of pool we played at Rodi's. He said he was sorry that Marcie wouldn't have my friendship and support while a killer was running around. I barely knew the guy and just figured it was something he'd say."

John sighed, "You know—taking him back to the station I had this thought cross my mind that maybe he would have used you and Marcie against me and Michael."

"And now?"

"And now I'm almost positive that's what he would have done," he sighed quietly.

"John. Listen to me—I'm here and I'm safe—he didn't get to me, and the first time he tried it was you that saved me then. Nothing is going to happen to me—I wish I could be there to prove it to you, but you caught the bad guy. The good guys won this time, ok?"

"Ok," he said with a slight smile. "I love you."

"I love you too. But Marissa is at the door—can I call you later tonight?"

"Of course."

"Ok, I will—and here's my parting shot to you for now—it's not your fault that you didn't catch him earlier, the guy is a psycho—just like Haver, and both Marcie and I are safe. There's nothing for you to worry about so don't you dare sulk in your room all night."

"Yes ma'am," he said with a grin and hung up the phone—realizing just how well she knew him.

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It'd been a week since they'd caught Hayes and life was starting to get normal again for John—except the impulse decision John had made last night was burning a hole in his pocket.

He whistled to himself as he brought out the files he'd finished looking at and placed them on Carly's desk, "I'm done with these. Is Bo busy?"

"I don't think so," she smiled at watching him.

"Is something funny?"

"The guys were just taking bets earlier on how long you could hold off on today before you started whistling," she laughed.

"Oh really? What did you bet?"

"I had more faith in you than most of them—they all said you'd be whistling when you woke up—I gave you til a few hours before the flight."

"Yeah, well that's cause your smarter than most of them put together," he chuckled and went to Bo's office. Walking into Bo's office he felt odd asking him something, not as his boss, but as Natalie's uncle. "Bo, you got a minute?"

"Sure, John what is it?"

John sat down in a chair and looked straight at Bo, "I hope I'm not over the line for asking you this—," he said as he started a conversation he thought he'd never have again.

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Natalie looked at her watch and tried to decide what she needed to do—reservations were set for tonight, and the apartment was spotless and she still had over an hour before John's plane landed.

Something kept tugging at her that tonight was going to be a night she'd always remember, but she didn't want to get her hopes up at anything. John wasn't the impulsive type—they hadn't even had discussed yet what was going to happen now that they'd caught the killer.

Her thoughts were stopped by a knock on the door and she smiled at knowing it was probably Marissa coming over. A smile on her face as she opened the door, "Hey—Cris."