When Garret woke that morning, he sighed deeply when he found that another day had started without him. He'd slept for almost ten hours but he still felt tired. He pulled himself out of his rumpled bed and glanced at the alarm clock that hadn't gone off in weeks. It was nine thirty in the morning but it was still dark in his bedroom. He had pulled down the window shades a week ago and hadn't opened them since. He was bitter and angry and he didn't want the sunshine invading his private depression.

He was well into his second month of his suspension and some days he wished he had just been fired. At least then he could have some closure, he could move on. Instead he was hanging here in limbo not knowing, from one day to the next, whether or not he would have a job to go back to at the end of his suspension. His actions almost twenty years ago were under heavy investigation and until the investigation was through, Garret could do nothing but wait. Every once in a while he'd hear something about it in the news but nothing could be confirmed until the investigations were completed.

Slokum had given him strict instructions to stay out of the morgue until the investigation was complete and Garret politely acquiesced. Although all he wanted to do was get back to work, he couldn't bare to face the people he worked with. Garret knew of his tendency to place people on pedestals and he knew that he had taken a tremendous fall from his own. As he looked in the mirror this morning, Garret felt completely useless. Wallowing in a pit of self pity wasn't doing him any good, but without his job he was utterly directionless. His job had kept him grounded for as long as he could remember but now he had nothing and no one to hold onto. He flirted briefly with the idea of calling Jordan today but quickly dismissed it. He had let her and everyone else down so badly, that he wouldn't even know where to begin his explanation or his apology.

Instead he wandered into his kitchen and flicked on the tiny television on the counter. He listened without interest as he dumped a heaping scoop of coffee grounds into the machine. A dark haired woman, shouting over the whir of helicopter blades, informed the city that this morning's three car pile up had been cleared and then directed the broadcast back to the studio. In the studio a reporter Garret had been watching for years announced that he had breaking news from the Boston Police Department. Intrigued by the excitement the story had sparked in the young journalist's voice, Garret turned just as the image of Woody Hoyt appeared on screen.

The detective tugged nervously at the knot in his tie and cleared his throat. He took a deep breath and gripped the podium in front of him. Looking out onto crowd of reporters and cameras and lights, Woody silently prayed that he could keep control on the nervous stutter that had followed him since childhood. He ventured a quick glance over his shoulder and gave a slight nod to the district attorney before beginning.

"This morning at about seven-twenty-five a baby was kidnapped from an apartment on Rosamun Street." Woody held up a photo for the cameras to see. All the reporters had already been given a copy and by noon, Grace's face would be all over television newscasts and by morning it would be on the front page of the papers. "Her name is Grace Walcott and she is six months old. The man who took her is about six feet tall, white, with a medium build and dark hair. At the time of the kidnapping he was wearing black pants and a black sweater." Woody held up the sketch artist's latest rendering of the kidnapper and cameras flashed all over the room. Slightly disoriented by the lights, Woody turned his microphone over Grace's mother.

Standing awestruck in only his boxer shorts, Garret watched as Renee made her plea for Grace's kidnapper to bring her home. Stone faced, she begged for anyone with information to come forward. Garret had seen her on television dozens of times before and she had always seemed calm and collected. Today was no different. Although she was talking about her own daughter, her voice was even and her tone was nothing less than professional. She was being watched by thousands of people all over the city, but not one of them would be able to tell that during her entire speech, she felt as though she might throw up.

When the broadcast flipped back to the newsroom Garret shook his head and snapped back to reality. In the corner of the television screen, beside today's forecast was the time.

"Nine-forty-three," he muttered and hurried out of the room. At nine-forty-five, Garret's coffee maker gurgled loudly and clicked off as it ended its cycle. Garret never heard the sound; he was already out the door and on his way to his car.

x x x

After the press conference Renee sat on her sofa with Detective Hoyt. He perched on the edge and turned to her so that their knees were almost touching. He spoke to her softly, as if he were letting her in on a secret. They had already worked out a short list of possible suspects, but Woody was talking her through things one more time just to be sure they hadn't missed anyone. Renee knew he was just doing his job and trying to be thorough, but she sick of his questions.

"The guy you're trying now," he said, "he's accused of…"

"Rape and murder of two teenage girls last year," Renee finished.

"And do you think he's got someone on the outside that might do this…for revenge?" Renee shook her head vigorously in the negative.

"No. His mother turned him in…he's got no family or anything left." Woody nodded and checked what she said now against what she'd said earlier.

"I need you to think about all the cases you're working on right now. Is there anyone who would stand to benefit from holding Grace for ransom?"

"You mean besides everyone?" Renee hadn't meant to be short with the detective but it was a rather ridiculous question. Since she'd become district attorney, family members of people she'd sent to prison and even the prisoners themselves had threatened to get revenge for what she'd done to them in the courtroom. For the most part, she'd accepted the threats as an occupational hazard. Even after Emmett Parker attacked her in the morgue parking lot Renee returned to work with the notion that her job was too important to give up because of one altercation. But now things were different. Her daughter's life hung in the balance and she was left wracking her brain for every psycho who had ever crossed her path.

"What about old cases?" Hoyt asked her then, "has anyone one you sent down gotten parole recently?" Renee tilted her head to the ceiling and tried to think.

"I-I-I don't know. I don't know. Maybe. I'd have to look at my files and see where everyone is." No sooner had the words escaped her, did three uniformed officers enter the apartment. Each of the men was wheeling a dolly stacked high with file boxes. Renee directed them to the kitchen and once the officers had gone, she started in on the thousands of folders. Detective Hoyt asked another detective to help her and left to interview Grace's father, Eddie, again.

As Renee flipped through the files she silently prayed to a god she had abandoned decades ago. She prayed that the name of her daughter's kidnapper would be in one of these boxes. Because of Renee's position in the city, no one thought Grace's kidnapping was random. Whoever had taken her had planned it carefully. They had waited until Renee was gone for the morning, charmed their way past Hank, the door man, and snatched Grace from her crib before the nanny even had a chance to scream. Renee, along with every police officer involved, believed the kidnapper's motive was ransom and everyone hoped they were right. If in fact the motive was ransom Grace had a greater chance of making it home alive than if she had been taken by a pervert who had know idea whose child he'd taken. Renee had money. It wasn't enough to pay a ransom but she'd get every last penny on earth if it meant she'd have her daughter back. With that in mind, she jotted down the name of a possible suspect, a pedophile named Jeffery Daniels who had gotten parole three moths ago.

In the next room Renee could hear crime scene investigators talking quietly amongst themselves. They'd been combing Grace's bedroom for clues for hours, looking for anything that might tell them who the kidnapper was or where he had gone. She closed the box she'd been working through and stood to get another. As she turned she saw a photo of Grace taped to the door of her refrigerator. Her eyes began to sting and again, she felt like she might be sick. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath and tried to pull herself together. The detective at the table must have noticed her effort because looked up at her and asked if she was alright.

"I just feel like I should be out there looking for her," Renee said, lifting the lid off another box. The detective looked her square in the eyes. His face was worn and his hands were calloused. He'd been on the job long enough to know just how to speak to mothers like Renee.

"If the kidnapper calls here, like we think he will, we're gonna need you here to talk to him," he explained. "We've got dozens of guys out there…they're gonna find her Miss Walcott." The detective's eyes softened and Renee was glad of his assurances, even though she suspected they were more rehearsed than genuine.

Two boxes and three potential suspects later Renee heard the door to her apartment swing open. Her heart leapt into her throat and she thought for a moment that one of the officers might have brought Grace home. Instead she twisted in her chair to see Garret Macy standing in the expensive modernity of her living room. She gasped audibly and clutched her hand to her chest.

"Oh my god, she's dead," she said, immediately assuming the worst. Garret was quick to correct her and crossed the apartment to the kitchen.

"No, no, no, no," he said quickly, "she's not dead." Renee's body unclenched then as she fought to control her breathing.

"Then what are you doing here?" she asked. Garret glanced down nervously at his shoes and noticed that in his hurry to get here, he'd put on one brown shoe and one black shoe.

"I just saw you on the news…I wanted to help." Renee looked at him hard to judge his sincerity. He looked like hell and she told him as much, even though it didn't matter in the least. He needed to shave and the deep circles under his eyes made him look five years older than he actually was. If she was being honest with herself, Renee could have admitted that she wanted his help. She could have had admitted that now that he was here, she wanted him to hold her hand and tell her everything was going to be okay. But she had too much on her mind to be honest with herself and she'd told too many lies to be honest with him. So instead she gave him a tight smile and turned back to the file on the table. When she couldn't see him anymore she spoke.

"Grab a file. We can use all the help we can get."