Author's notes: Many thanks to Della who so kindly volunteered to Beta this story. Any mistakes still here are due to my elderly computer which can't add the required accents, and to my being firmly stuck somewhere in between American and British spelling which leads to inconsistencies in spelling style.

To those non-American readers, next week is Thanksgiving and I'm away from home all week in a wasteland that contains no computers, so I'm sorry to relate that I won't be able to update for a week.

Thanks again to those who've taken the time to review. It means a lot to me.

Chapter 5

Steve awoke in the dark, his neck stiff from lying in an awkward position. It wasn't the first time he'd fallen asleep on the sofa, but it was more unusual to find himself covered by a blanket, and it didn't take extraordinary detective skills to recognise his father's handiwork. He was disappointed to have missed Mark, having waited up until after 1:00 a.m. in the hopes of talking to him. It wasn't often that the two of them exchanged angry words, and even if his father wasn't yet ready to discuss anything of import, Steve hoped at least to re-establish their usual easy rapport.

Since it was still several hours before he needed to get up, he relocated to the comfort of his bed, but his thoughts, now active, refused to settle and sleep eluded him. He merely lay looking at the shadows dancing on the ceiling and listening to the tiny motor in his clock radio until he finally surrendered to the inevitable and headed for the shower.

He lingered over his coffee in the vague hope that Mark might emerge, but there was no sound of movement from deeper inside the house. Feeling slightly hypocritical since his breakfast had consisted of nothing more nourishing than caffeine, he placed a box of cereal in a conspicuous place for his father to eat. Mark's usual healthy enthusiasm for food had waned recently. He'd been skipping meals in his preoccupation with other matters, and his weight loss was evident in the way his clothes hung loosely from his frame.

Lacking other distractions and feeling uncharacteristically edgy, Steve decided to go to work early. In the briefing the evening before, the Captain had assigned the Trenton case the highest priority, since Steve had omitted to mention Amanda's preliminary autopsy findings, but it wasn't his only case and he busied himself with paperwork. However, he was more engrossed in his own thoughts than the reports when a cup of steaming coffee appeared under his nose. He sniffed appreciatively and glanced up at Cheryl, who hitched a seat on the corner of his desk.

"Hey partner," he greeted her, throwing down his pen in relief.

"So, what's so fascinating about the ficus?" she asked him brightly by way of greeting.

"Huh?"

She twitched an eyebrow at the plant next to the filing cabinet that he been absently staring at for the last five minutes. "Oh that's what it's called," he nodded gravely. "Well, you know my fascination with horticulture."

She considered that. "No."

"Well, that's what happens when you go away on vacation. You miss all the exciting new developments."

"So if it wasn't the greenery, what kept you entranced for so long," she said lightly, not pushing but giving him the opportunity to talk.

"You know me, just thinking deep thoughts as usual." That earned him a snort.

He gave her a grin, knowing she wouldn't force the issue any further. Cheryl was a good friend as well as a dependable partner and had provided a harbour of sanity in the last few months, allowing him the haven of normality at work by behaving no differently to him. However, he had no intention of explaining that, for the twelfth time in as many hours, he had been pondering the wisdom of his decision to encourage Mark's involvement.

Saying no to his father was an aptitude he was aware he lacked -- the habit of trust between them was too deeply ingrained. However, he knew that the reverse was true also, that Mark would bend over backwards to accommodate his wishes. With a private smile, he remembered the time Mark had serenaded a witness in an effort to gain an audience to persuade her to meet with his son.

Noticing that Cheryl was still watching him curiously, he pushed his personal concerns aside and concentrated on bringing his partner up to date with the case, including the conversation the previous night at Community General.

"So your Dad's back." Cheryl looked around with comical furtiveness, making sure that there was no one within earshot. "I never thought I'd say this, and if you dare quote me I'll tell the whole station what the call girl on 10th said about you, but it's not been the same without him. He has a way of livening things up, you know."

Steve smiled at her obvious delight, unable to match her enthusiasm concerning Mark's involvement, but disguising it under his pleasure at her acceptance. Few people would be as tolerant of their partner's old man hanging around and, most annoyingly of all, almost always being right.

Cheryl wanted to visit Serena's apartment to get a feel for the crime scene and, while they were in the area, they also checked the local restaurants to try to discover where the murdered girl had eaten her last meal, but no one remembered seeing her. They took the opportunity to snack on a quick lunch and while they were eating, Steve received the call from Mark. He wasn't surprised to discover that his father's hunch had paid off and they had a bona fide homicide on their hands. Hearing about the pitiless cruelty behind Serena's death imbued him with a new determination to find her killer, and he hoped that they would narrow the search at their next destination -- the T&R Pharmaceuticals complex itself.

Steve remained preoccupied on the drive over, and Cheryl snuck several surreptitious glances across the car attempting to gauge the disposition of her silent partner. The last few months had been difficult for both of them; her usually good-natured partner had been uncharacteristically moody, wrapping his grief round himself in an impenetrable cloak of silence.

However, he'd never allowed the reservoir of anger she sensed smouldering inside him to spill over with either his colleagues or with criminals and had kept his personal life strictly separate from his work. She appreciated his professionalism and matched it, giving him the space he'd needed. Although she'd hinted at a sympathetic ear nearby, he'd never availed himself of the opportunity. She hoped he was talking to some of his other friends though she doubted it. She had a feeling that Mark was the only one he ever truly opened up to, but the Doc had been conspicuous by his absence. She knew she was lucky to have Steve for a partner and had learnt a lot from him, both in terms of procedure and investigational techniques, but perhaps most importantly, he'd taught her, by example, how to retain an emotional equanimity and to still care while maintaining enough professional distance not to burn out at the innumerable injustices, frustrations and brutality they witnessed every day.

Their partnership also existed on terms of remarkable equality, still a rare thing in the male-dominated world of law enforcement. In a dangerous situation he could be over-protective, but she'd learnt that that was one of his more endearing qualities, that he was overly protective of all the people he cared for regardless of gender.

The research facility for T&R Pharmaceuticals was immense, situated on drained marshlands near Irvine. There was a long driveway sweeping up a causeway raised above the flat, now dry, plain which was presently covered with trees. They passed the security gates with no problems and it was clear that all employees had been given orders to fully cooperate with the investigation. Maxwell Trenton wasn't present, but they were greeted by Judy Carrera, his personal assistant, who showed them into an office set aside as a base for their operations. They had to switch off their cell phones because of the sensitive electronic equipment in the building, but they called their location through to headquarters before entering.

Steve still placed his money on the fiance so, on the theory that anticipation would increase the pressure, they left his interview to last and started with Serena's co-workers. They learnt that, on the whole, she was well liked and highly respected, but also was regarded as being slightly distant probably because of her family's position, and no one socialised with her outside of work. Everyone expressed shock and regret and could think of no reason why anyone would want to kill her.

Steve's hopes of a speedy resolution were dampened when Owen Hogan entered the room. Serena Trenton's ex-fiance was a stereotypical scientist. Weak, pale-blue eyes blinked at them owlishly from behind glasses with lenses so thick that they must require a special prescription and, taking in his unimpressive physique, Steve couldn't imagine him hauling 143 pounds - Serena Trenton's dead weight - up onto a chair.

However, he was forced to reappraise his initial impression as he received a firm, brisk handshake in response to his introduction of himself and Cheryl.

"Dr. Hogan, thank you for seeing us. I know this must be a difficult time for you."

"Yes." Owen ducked his head, pushing his glasses further up his nose, but then he met Steve's eyes unflinchingly. "Let's not beat around the bush, Lieutenant. I presume from your presence here and from the fact that Serena would never have killed herself, that this is a murder investigation and, considering my relationship with her, I am probably one of your main suspects." He paused, looking inquiringly at the two police officers for confirmation.

"The jilted lover is a traditional suspect." Cheryl smiled to take the sting out of her words.

Owen nodded pensively, shifting slightly in his chair. "I understand that, and the only thing I can tell you is that I loved her very much and would never have hurt her. I also hoped that, given time, we could have re-established our relationship."

Steve kept his voice neutral. "Can you tell me why the two of you broke up?"

"She wasn't very specific, just that she was really confused about things and wanted some space." His face was bleak and set as he added with painful honesty. "However, I got the impression there was another man involved."

"Do you have any idea who?" This was the first they'd heard of a rival for Serena's affections and it could prove a useful lead.

"None at all." Owen's answer was immediate, yet Steve got the impression that this was a matter to which the young scientist had devoted some thought. "There was no gossip circulating, which is remarkable in a closed working environment like this, so she was very discreet."

Steve was frustrated by yet another dead end. "Was there anybody who might know? Any girlfriend she might have confided in?"

The scientist rubbed his palm with the thumb of his other hand, a gesture more thoughtful than nervous. "It may sound cliched, lieutenant, but I was her best friend. That's how our relationship began. We would hang out and chat. We had a lot in common and not just work. Did you know that she loved to roller skate?"

Steve shook his head with a smile. "Do you have an alibi for Tuesday night?"

"What time exactly?"

They hadn't pinpointed the exact time of death so Steve threw in an extra half an hour around Amanda's estimate. "Let's say, 7:30-10:30."

The young man's shoulders sagged slightly. "I was working in the lab till around seven, but after that I just went home. I met my landlady in the hall and exchanged a few words, but then I spent the rest of the night in my apartment. I haven't felt very sociable recently."

Cheryl felt that his self-possession was somewhat at odds with his profession of grief and decided to throw in a curveball to provoke a reaction. "Did you know she was pregnant?" She succeeded beyond her expectations. The young man's already pallid face turned a sickly white, an accomplishment beyond the grasp of even the most talented actor.

"Mine?" he faltered tremulously, pressing his palms against the arms of his chair as if he were about to jump to his feet.

"I don't know," Steve answered with compassion, seeing the misery in the scientist's expression, "but I'm sure paternity could be established if you wanted. She was about ten weeks along."

"Oh, God!" Owen collapsed back in the chair and buried his face in his hands. Cheryl caught Steve's eye with a slight grimace. One thing was obvious, if Serena had been killed by her fiance, he hadn't known about the baby, although the extremity of emotion could be accounted for by guilt if he had killed her and thus also his child unknowingly, but Steve doubted it.

He still didn't think the man was physically capable of the act, although an accomplice was within the bounds of possibility. Anyone capable of lifting Serena's inert weight without leaving evidence of such manhandling must be immensely strong or have had help.

The young man raised his face, mute testimony to his grief and shock staining his face. "I'm sorry," he said dully. "Is there anything else you need to know?"

"One more question," Steve continued reluctantly. "Do you have access to Tubarine?"

"Tubarine?" The surprise seemed unfeigned. "We're working on antibiotics in my department, not neuromuscular blocking agents. However, there are other departments that are, I think."

Steve had witnessed too much exhaustive grief recently to mistake its presence, and he allowed the young man to leave without further questions.

Cheryl gave him a quizzical look. "Well, what do you think?"

He shrugged, striving for an appearance of nonchalance. "We can't remove him from the list of suspects, but I don't believe he's the murderer. I think he truly didn't know about the baby and I'm struggling now to even find a decent motive for him. He had a lot more to gain if she came back to him as an inheritor of Trenton's fortune and, if it was a crime of passion, I can't quite see him choosing that method of killing."

"So what now?"

Steve leant back in his chair, trying to decide on the most effective line of enquiry. From everything they'd heard that day, there was little reason for anyone to want Serena Trenton dead. A memory from the previous day's interview with her father echoed in his head and he jumped to his feet and poked his head out the door to locate Judy Carrera.

"Yesterday your boss promised to compile a list of people who might hold a grudge against him. Do you know if he ever got round to working on that?"

She nodded efficiently. "Sure, he kept me and half a dozen of the secretaries working through the night, pulling files and digging through old papers. We gathered a whole box of stuff that might be relevant. Then I had a messenger take it over to Dr. Sloan early this afternoon."

"What?" Steve felt a frisson of unease snake coldly down his spine.

Judy looked flustered, her competent demeanor ruffled for the first time. "Those were Dr. Trenton's orders," she defended herself against the sudden wrath darkening the detective's blue eyes.

"I see," Steve responded icily, fighting back the anger that sprang from a sudden presentiment of disaster. "I need to use a phone."

"Please use the one in the room. Just dial nine for an outside line," she responded primly.

Steve strode back into the room and across to the desk, oblivious to his partner's startled gaze. He punched the numbers with more force than necessary then drummed his fingers impatiently on the desktop, waiting for an answer. As the answering machine at the Beach House kicked in, he disconnected and, without a pause, dialed Mark's cell phone. He tried to tell himself that he was overreacting, that there was no reason to assume the worst, but some instinct, born of profound insight into his father's ratiocinations, insisted Mark was in danger.

Even under normal circumstances, Mark was unequaled at unearthing trouble; his curiosity and passion for justice outweighing his sense of self-preservation, but now, with his usual common sense suppressed by grief and the urgency of the new crusade he'd adopted, trouble was inevitable.

"Damn," he swore as a mechanical voice interrupted the dial tone instead of the familiar tones he was hoping for. He took a deep breath, attempting to suppress the burgeoning panic that swelled within. Before he could try another number, his partner's hand on his arm distracted him.

"Steve, what's wrong?"

He gave her an unconvincing smile. "Perhaps nothing. Wait a minute." He punched in one more number. "Can you page Mark Sloan for me?" He turned back to Cheryl, rubbing his forehead in a futile effort to dispel the burgeoning headache, trying to recapture his thoughts on the investigation. "Our next step is to try to track down the Tubarine. It will tell us if we're looking at someone from within the company..." He missed Cheryl's reply as the operator came back. "Then please get Jesse Travis. It's urgent."

To his relief, it wasn't long before Jesse's cheerful voice responded. "Dr. Travis here."

"Jess, do you know where Dad is?" Steve asked without preamble.

"He's not due in today. Is there a problem?"

"I can't find him. He's not at home and he's not answering his cell phone."

There was a slight pause as if Jesse was wondering why this was a cause for such worry, but when he spoke his voice was businesslike. "What do you want me to do?"

Steve was grateful for his friend's dependability. It was a bit premature to put APB's out, Mark could be at the grocery store or taking a walk along the beach, but Steve couldn't ignore his premonition. "It's going to take me over an hour to get home. Just call around and see if you can locate him."

Steve hung up, feeling mildly more sanguine for having instigated some positive action. He turned to his partner with an apologetic grimace, wondering how to explain his erratic behaviour. He needn't have worried as she was regarding him with a sympathetic frown.

"So, we'll take a rain check on the Tubarine."

Steve hesitated, knowing that a delay might enable the killer to cover his tracks. His priorities were unequivocally clear -- police work could not compete with his father's safety. He'd always known that. When Mark had been kidnapped by an escaped felon and another officer adjured him to, "Think like a cop," his immediate response had been, "I'm a son first." Now, he had only the most unsubstantiated hunch that Mark was in danger, but even if there was just the slightest possibility he had to act on it.

"I'll take your rain check and raise you a dinner at BBQ Bobs," he teased, appreciating her unquestioning support.

She waggled her eyebrows. "Hey, big-spender!"

They gathered up their notes and assured Judy that they'd be back the next day.

"It's getting dark, I hadn't realised it was so late," Cheryl observed.

"Yeah, time really flies when you're having fun," Steve commented with mild sarcasm.

The last rays of the setting sun were shining directly in his eyes as Steve sped down the long road that connected the pharmaceutical complex with the main LA arteries. Squinting against the blinding light, Steve was reaching out to adjust the visor when the windscreen in front of him suddenly splintered into a spider's web of shattered glass with long tendrils splintering off from a tightly woven centre, and an unseen force slammed him back in his seat, wrenching his right hand off the wheel.

The car swerved violently, and Steve fought to regain control as it skidded on the loose gravel bordering the road, but his right arm was numb to his commands and the strength was draining with exponential speed from his left. Light sparkled in a dizzying kaleidoscope of broken glass around a hole like buffeting winds around the eye of a hurricane. He'd seen similar designs often enough to recognise it as a bullet hole, but couldn't quite make the connection between that and the numbness radiating from his chest towards his extremities. There was no sense of pain, just the shock of impact.

Cheryl was shouting something, but she seemed a long way away and he couldn't distinguish the words. The periphery of his vision was darkening and closing in as if he were reversing into a unlit tunnel, but he didn't miss the large tree looming ahead and he yanked the wheel desperately to avoid it. The car skidded round, hit the barrier then somersaulted down the incline of the causeway. The scenery dissolved in a whirling vortex that sucked in his consciousness just as the the impact of his head on the roof completed the process.

The vehicle slid to a stop, and only an ominous sizzling noise broke the sudden silence. A limp arm swung back and forth out of the passenger window before coming to a rest.