Two months later…

d2: + 2 years, 1 month

d3: − 11 months

Part XI: Introduction to

Nick took the bag from the grocery store out of the trunk and slammed it shut, locking the car before he walked to the house. Not like it was necessary up here, but some habits were hard to shake.

He liked the sound of his footsteps on the gravel and took a moment to look out over the lake, marveling at the view. He had to admit it still fascinated him although he had been up here for quite a while now. He had expected to get pretty tired of it. Instead he realized he would actually miss it. Not so much the lake itself or the house but the sound and scent of nature almost unaffected by human colonization, the silence and seclusion, the peacefulness beyond civilization. Yeah, I also miss my TV set. He shook his head and moved on. He was a bit young for a hermit's life.

He stepped onto the porch and fumbled for his keys when he noticed the door had been left ajar. Knowing for sure he had locked it earlier, he hesitated. He could have sworn break-ins or burglaries didn't exist up here - but every paradise had a snag to it, he reckoned.

He strained his ears but there was no sound coming from inside. Maybe it had just been someone looking for food or a place to sleep. Or maybe some bored adolescents looking for something to do. There couldn't be a whole lot of options around here.

He reached into the paper bag he was carrying on his arm and grabbed one of the bottles. Red wine, Italian. Not the most appropriate weapon to ward off an intruder but it would have to do. He took a careful step but then realized if there really was anyone still inside, he couldn't have missed the car arriving.

He took a deep breath and pushed the door fully open to peek inside. He could at least not detect an immediate sign of an intruder. What he could see from here seemed exactly like he had left it.

He took another step and entered the cabin, casting his eyes round the room now that he could overlook all of it. The sight of her sitting at his desk, seemingly absorbed by something on his laptop, made his heart skip a beat and his blood freeze in his veins. So much for she's out of my life.

"Structuring the crime scene," she read out loud, quoting from his script. "What's important and what's not." He could see the familiar smile on her face. "Sounds like a real page-turner."

His mind started racing. Besides the fact that he wondered how she had found him, he could only think of one reason for her presence. And it's not to review my writing attempts.

"In general, at a crime scene, everything is important, starting with the location itself," she continued unmoved, still not looking up from the screen. "A location that was deliberately picked by the perpetrator contributes to his profile by a variety of factors. A site that stands in relation to the victim doesn't necessarily any less. Inducing from the site to the victim's personality can help deducing the perpetrator."

He couldn't seriously be surprised. She had told him and he had said it himself – she couldn't just let him walk around. There was too much at stake for her. And he hadn't expected the events of that night to have a sustainable or lasting effect either. The only reason she hadn't showed up earlier was probably that she had been busy recovering from her injury and making sure there was no risk in returning. He was an idiot

"So let's see," she stated, finally meeting his gaze. "What can we induce from this location." She gave him a short smile and then turned to have a look around. Just for the sake of her presentation, of course, she had undoubtedly inspected the place thoroughly before he had returned.

"No personal items of emotional value, scanty furnishing, a minimum of personal belongings in general. A remote place, isolation, seclusion, solitude…" She met his eyes again. "A troubled mind, I'd say."

He swallowed, finally able to move again.

Still sitting in his chair, she looked him up and down.

"Were you going to offer me a drink?" she sneered then, motioning at the bottle he was still clutching with his right hand.

"Actually I wanted to smash your head in," he retorted dryly. "I'm sorry, but I don't have any guns lying around." If she was going to kill him anyway, it hardly mattered what he was saying.

Still smiling, she got up and he halfway expected her to pull her gun and point it at him, but she didn't, just took a few steps to stand by the window and have a look outside. He wondered if he could take her. If he was quick and tackled her… After all, she was smaller than him, and although he wasn't exactly well-trained and his last tackle had been ages ago he was probably still stronger. He was weighing more to say the least.

"So, what's the title of your book?"

But he would have a better chance if she was a little closer. Just a little bit.

"A general introduction to criminal psychology," he played along. "And it's not my book. I'm just contributing a few parts."

"That explains it then," she stated, still peering outside. "I couldn't find the part about the criminal mind."

Just a little closer. But how, without making her suspicious. The surprise effect would be his strongest weapon since she was probably not expecting him to attack her other than with words.

"I mean, you must have a whole lot to say about that. With your first hand insights."

"I would call them second hand insights."

"I wasn't talking about Division," she explained, turning her head to look at him again.

She was guessing. Of course she was guessing. And waiting for a reaction now, studying his features to pick up a tail. He didn't have to fake the smile he revealed.

"Didn't you leave the field of induction now? Isn't this rather…what did you call it…projective self-reflection?"

She smiled as well but remained silent, lowering her gaze and turning back to the window.

He wiped the smile off his face and stared at her, suddenly becoming aware again of the grocery bag he was still carrying and the bottle in his hand.

"You want a drink?" he asked, and saw a slight frown play over her face.

"Sure," she sneered then, and he slowly moved towards the sideboard that was separating the kitchen area from the rest of the room. He didn't want to provoke her or get her suspicious and he knew she was watching him out of the corner of her eyes, following him as he increased the distance between them.

He put the bag down and reached for one of the cupboards, finding two clean glasses. All he needed now was an opener and she would either have to come and get her wine or he would have to bring it to her.

"Red is okay?"

"Sure," she repeated.

He opened a drawer.

"You have a nice place," she stated, and he opened his mouth to object when he realized she wasn't talking about the cabin.

She had been in his apartment.

Of course she has, he thought angrily. How else would she know I'm here. The idea made him feel uncomfortable and he tried to remember how exactly he had left everything, what she could have found.

"Doesn't seem like anyone's really living there though."

"I'm traveling a lot," he muttered, opening another drawer as he couldn't find the opener.

"No phone numbers, no handwritten notes, no snapshots of friends or a girlfriend. The only photograph is one of your parents, and they are dead if I remember correctly."

He found the opener and straightened up.

"What's your point?"

"I think I was right," she said, turning around to face him. "There is something in your past, something happened. I just don't know what."

"Why would you care?" he sneered, screwing the opener into the cork. We both know why you're here, so save us the charade and let's just get it over with, he thought but kept his mouth shut. Pushing her wasn't going to help him.

"Because it would help me understand."

Pulling the cork out, he rolled his eyes and smirked. "What – you need that for your inner peace?" He shook his head, pouring some of the wine into the glasses. He had no interest in giving her anything. If she wanted to kill him, she could try but he wouldn't participate in any soul-stripping rituals.

He put the bottle down and picked up the glasses, slowly starting to move towards her.

"Inner peace." She tilted her head. "You think there's any such thing for me?"

There was the usual mocking expression on her face and her voice was heavy with sarcasm, but something in the way she shrugged her shoulders then and turned back to the window took him aback.

He stopped.

Something was different about her. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something was not the way he would have expected it to be. He watched her more closely.

Standing by the window in a grey sweater and a jeans jacket, neither her physical appearance nor her posture indicated what she was capable of. And although she wasn't tired or in pain this time, something about her seemed less composed. Less alert, less self-assure. Almost careless. No, not careless. Just…hesitant. Insecure?

Was it possible? Could she be that uncomfortable with the situation, with what she was about to do? Had he been more right than he had thought – did she have something like a conscience that was plaguing her now?

He shook his head inwardly, starting to walk towards her again. So what? Even if that was the case, it wouldn't keep her from doing what she thought she had to do. And it couldn't keep him from doing what he had to do either. If she really had another emotional haze, another brief moment of weakness, he had to take advantage of it as long as he still could.

Taking another step, he wondered where she had her gun. Probably on her back, under her jacket. He just had to be quicker than her.

¤¤¤

She knew he was up to something and considered putting him in place. But taking her anger out on him would be weak and pointless. It wasn't him she was angry at. He wasn't the problem.

"I didn't come here to kill you," she stated, still not looking at him but instantly feeling him hesitate. "I would be lying if I said that I don't think it would be the safest option but – I didn't come for that."

Again he had stopped, standing rooted to the spot with the silly wine glasses in his hand.

"Why not?" he asked, quickly recovering from the initial shock.

She turned her head and gave him a meaningful look. Don't push it. They both knew why, and she surely wouldn't spell it out for him.

But either he misinterpreted her silent warning or he decided to ignore it. Or he really wasn't sure why.

"Because you forgot your gun at home? Because you suddenly developed a sensitive stomach? Or because I saved your ass?"

"If it's so important for you feel free to pick one," she replied sneeringly, but he wasn't done yet.

"Or," he implied with a low voice, "is it maybe because I was right?"

Of course. His ego needed another round of confirmation. She shook her head. She couldn't believe he could be so good at what he was doing and yet so ego-driven.

"I said I didn't come here to kill you, I didn't say I came to let you play me again."

"Fine," he exclaimed, passing over her admission that he had worked her pretty well last time. "Then why did you come?"

"I told you. I need to understand."

He frowned. "Understand? Understand what? Why I didn't turn you in? Why I helped you?"

Yes, she thought but didn't say anything. Why did you? She needed to know.

"Oh, I see," he nodded and broke into a sarcastic smile. "You don't wanna understand anything. Not really. You're just looking for some kind of assurance that I'll continue to keep my mouth shut. So you figure if you know all about me, maybe you can dig up something to gain some leverage."

She had to admit the thought had crossed her mind.

"I was more thinking if I knew why you did what you did, I could maybe believe you won't do anything stupid in the future." And I won't have to kill you, she complemented in her head.

"Whatever," he shrugged, clearly irritated and annoyed. "The fact remains: this is not about me. It's about you. You have to make up your mind. Either you trust me or you don't."

"Trust you?" she asked with an amused smile but quickly turned serious again at his response.

"Yes, trust me," he repeated angrily, his voice louder now, almost shouting. "For Christ's sake – I had all the chances in the world to turn you in but I didn't. Instead I risked my own ass by helping you, by saving you from getting shot, saving you from bleeding to death. What more do I have to do?"

She tried to hold his gaze but for the first time felt she couldn't and cast her eyes down to avoid him. It sounded so simple when he said it.

"What more do you want?"

She didn't know. What did she want? Cause he was right - ultimately, it was up to her. It didn't matter what he would or wouldn't tell her about his past. Maybe trust wasn't the best choice of words but she would have to decide whether she thought she could rely on him or not, whether he would keep quiet or not. But she couldn't even think about that now. All she heard was the despair in his voice, all she saw the disbelief in his face as he seemed to try to determine whether it really meant nothing to her that he had risked so much. Maybe not his life, but his own freedom for sure.

Of course he risked his life, she objected surrendering. He had risked his life every time he had been in the same room with her.

She felt him taking a last step, minimizing the distance between them, urging her to look up again.

And she did, although she knew all her doubts had to be obvious in her face, that she was making herself vulnerable by letting him see what state she was in. But she had nowhere else to turn to, didn't know what else to do. She felt cornered, and somewhere in the back of her mind a silly, girlish voice started telling her to run, to simply get out of there. She couldn't remember having felt that way, not since her early childhood when shame had made her want to run.

"What do you want?" he asked again, calmer now yet still irritated, almost whispering while his gaze flickered back and forth between her eyes.

What she wanted? She didn't know anymore. She had thought she knew but now…

She saw him raising his brows, giving her a questioning look that almost seemed well-meaning.As if he was really waiting for her to tell him, hoping for an answer that could put an end to all this. What do you want?

Maybe it was just that expression in his eyes, the way he almost seemed pained, asking her to find a way out of this, for both of them, that made her realize the one thing she wanted more than anything right there and then.

Forget. That was what she wanted. She wanted to forget. And leaning forward she refused to think or analyze any further.

The kiss was demanding and shocked her about as much as him but lasted nonetheless. She could feel him freeze at first, then trembling under her touch, but when her hands started moving, snaking around his body and traveling lower, he still didn't push her away. There was no sign of resistance and then she felt his hands pulling at her jacket, clutching her hair, hesitantly at first but soon more determined as well. And she let go, leaving it to her body to tell him what she wanted. What she needed.

Just forget. Forget all of it. Just for a little while.