Disclaimer: I still do not own L&O: CI. All the honour and glory should go to Dick Wolf. I'm just messing around with his inventions. I make no money from this. Don't sue.
Warning for major angst and character death.
Goren got out of the car as soon as Eames pulled up the handbrake. She'd parked the Crown Vic alongside the curb on the other side of the street from the warehouse. The place was swarming with beat cops trying to control the crowd of bystanders, and police cars took up what was left of the road. What with the flashing strobe lights whipping through the darkness and the hubbub of activity, he was already getting a headache.
"Hostage situation," Barek told them quietly. She looked strained. "His name is Harold Weaver. He's a schizophrenic off his medication and he's armed with a .44."
"Who's he got?" Eames asked at precisely the same time that Goren questioned, "Where's Logan?"
Barek bit her lip but didn't speak, and turned haunted dark eyes to the warehouse, where they could hear the faint sounds of a madman yelling.