Notes: Thank you to everyone who has made suggestions for improvements and pointed out plotholes! I have been taking all of that into thought and tweaking the story to hopefully make certain things clearer.

Chapter Four

When Conan and Ai arrived at Ayumi's home, to their astonishment they found that the front door was wide open and the living room was in an uproar, with overturned furniture and appliances everywhere. Quickly they ran inside, knowing that this did not look good at all. Maybe, they worried, their suspicion was correct and Ayumi had not been alone in the house when Conan had called.

Conan pointed to the stairs. "It doesn't look like anyone's home, but we should check everywhere. You look upstairs, and I'll search down here," he directed, but then trailed off when he heard a moan coming from the kitchen. As he and Ai watched in alarm, Mrs. Yoshida stumbled out, gripping the doorframe as she held her other hand to her head.

"Yoshida-san!" Conan gasped. "What happened?"

The woman blinked, trying to focus on the two supposed children in front of her. "I . . . I don't remember," she admitted weakly. "I came in and found everything was a mess, so I called for Ayumi . . . and then something struck me on the head." She swayed slightly, and Conan and Ai hurried forward to assist her, but then she managed to get her balance again. "Is . . . is Ayumi here?" she asked them now, worry obvious in her voice and her eyes.

Conan swallowed hard. "We're not sure yet, Yoshida-san," he admitted, but he was increasingly afraid that she was not, and that she had been taken by whoever had broken in and hurt Mrs. Yoshida. Carefully he took her hand and tried to guide her to a chair, which Ai righted from its upsidedown position. "You should sit down, Yoshida-san," he directed, and she did not protest.

She plopped into the soft furniture and leaned back, continuing to rub her head. "I can't imagine what happened," she said woozily. Ai went to call a doctor while Conan stayed with her.

"Yoshida-san, I know it must be hard right now, but I need you to tell me if you remember anything else," he said now. "Did you hear anything before you were hit---a strange sound, a voice?"

Mrs. Yoshida tried to concentrate, but found it difficult. "I . . . I don't think so," she said slowly, and then looked at him with concern. "But where's Ayumi? Was she here when the house was wrecked?" Through the fog in her mind, she recalled that she had not seen Ayumi since arriving home, nor any sign of her at all. This deeply concerned her, but in her current state she had not yet come to the conclusion that Conan and Ai had.

Before Conan could answer, Ai came back into the room. While telephoning the doctor, she had been walking around the house with the cordless phone, searching for any sign of Ayumi. "She isn't here," she said grimly, "and she left this." She held out Ayumi's detective badge, which Conan stared at with alarm. That meant they would not have any way to trace her! But had she left it on purpose, or had she been forced to by her probable abductor? Or had he simply taken it from her?

"Does this mean someone took her?" Mrs. Yoshida cried now, the shock of this news bringing her further into the present situation. She grabbed at the badge, turning it over in her trembling hands.

Conan took a deep breath. "I'm afraid that's a possibility, Yoshida-san," he replied grimly, and looked to Ai. "You'd better call the police too."

"I have," she answered, her blue eyes narrowing. "They're sending Inspector Megure over now."

Conan nodded, satisfied. "Alright. In the meantime, we should search the house for any possible clues," he directed. "Yoshida-san, you just rest until the doctor comes. Haibara-san and I will take care of it." He looked to Mrs. Yoshida, seeing that she was about to attempt standing. Gently he held her down, knowing that she was still too weakened to move.

"I'm alright," she frowned in reply. But as she tried to get up, dizziness overwhelmed her and she had to sink back into the chair. "Maybe . . . I'm not that alright," she said sheepishly.

Conan sighed and shook his head. Since Ai had already looked upstairs, they both began to go through the downstairs rooms. Everything was a disaster, but it did not look like any clues had been left, nor was anything material missing---or so they thought.

After the doctor and the police arrived, and the house was scoured again for any evidence, Mrs. Yoshida suddenly realized something. "The picture of Ayumi that I keep on the bookcase is gone!" she gasped, pointing to the large, wall bookcase in the corner. A third search of the house proved that it was, indeed, gone and that it had not simply been kicked underneath something else. This deeply concerned the police, as well as Conan and Ai.

"I don't think Ayumi was here when the house was torn apart," Conan said to the redhead as they stepped out of the way of Megure's men. "I think whoever it was wanted her, though. He probably took the picture so he'd know what she looks like. If he already had her with him, it isn't likely that he'd want a picture."

Ai narrowed her eyes. "If he hasn't found her yet, we have to prevent that from happening," she said grimly.

Conan nodded. "And we've got a lot of ground to cover, especially since we can't just track her down with the badge. Let's start now." He headed for the door and Ai followed him. Don't worry, Ayumi-chan, he said silently. I won't let anything happen to you!

Gin was throwing a cigarette out the window when he happened to glance into the mirror on the door. "Hasn't that car been behind us for a while now?" he growled, indicating a dark Chevrolet convertible with the top up. He was almost sure that he had been seeing it for several blocks, and he was starting to suspect that it was not a coincidence, especially when he realized that he could not see into the vehicle. Its windows were tinted.

Vodka glanced up at the rear view mirror. "I think it has been," he frowned. "But I don't recognize it."

Ayumi also tried to look up, but it was too high for her to see from her position on the floor. "Why would someone follow us?" she exclaimed, feeling a new burst of alarm. What if it was Ushio? Maybe he had not believed anything Gin had said and he was coming for her! Maybe he would hurt Gin and Vodka and take her away with him!

Gin cursed and sped ahead, wanting to test the other car. Sure enough, it did the same, and when the Porsche crossed into the next lane to turn the corner, the convertible did as well. Now they knew that it truly was following them. And Gin had the feeling that the mysterious driver knew that they knew it.

"What do we do now?" Ayumi cried in fright. She started to rise up to see what was happening with the car that was shadowing them.

"Stay down!" Gin snapped harshly, and tore around another corner. "We'll have to try to get rid of whoever it is. Otherwise we'll be leading them straight to your place." He was also starting to have suspicions that Ushio, or someone who worked for him, was their stalker. That would make sense. It had seemed strange to him that Ushio had approached the car in the first place, and now he was wondering if the unwelcome visitor's sick question about where Ayumi was buried and wanting to "pay his respects" had three meanings instead of two---the surface meaning, the true explanation of why Ushio wanted to visit the grave, and . . . perhaps he had known all along that Gin had not killed her, and that there was not actually a final resting place to go to. But how would he have found out? Could he have seen Ayumi get into the car?

Ayumi tried to sit back down on the floor, but as the Porsche whipped around another corner, she went sprawling on Gin's lap instead. The blonde barely paid attention at the moment, as he was focused on getting away. But it seemed almost impossible to do.

"Do you think they might start shooting?" Vodka asked now. He drew his gun, just in case.

Gin turned another corner, heading into a parking garage. "It's possible," he replied, "but I don't think they will, unless they don't care whether we're dead or alive." And he had the feeling that they were wanted alive. Ushio would want to know what Gin was doing with the girl, if he indeed did know that Gin had her. And he would probably want the girl to be alive too---though, Gin thought in disgust, he might not actually care much one way or another, as long as he got to have her.

Ayumi gripped at Gin's coat in terror. Her thoughts were tumbling over and over in a whirl, and she felt frightened tears coming to her eyes again. Would they make it out alive? Would Gin-sama end up hurt? She knelt on the seat, hugging him tightly as they went up each level of the parking garage. The other car was still behind them. It must be, or else Gin-sama would not be driving so fast. She had been through so many life and death situations since meeting Conan-kun, and during each one she wondered if it would be the last. This time was not an exception.

Then she heard a whistling sound go past the side of the car. They were being shot at! She crouched down further, burrowing against Gin's dark coat.

Gin cursed again. "Shoot back!" he ordered, and Vodka leaned out the window, taking several well-aimed shots at the other car. One slammed into the tinted windshield, cracking but not breaking it. Another bounced off one of the side mirrors. The convertible swerved when another clipped a tire, but then came at them again.

"You'd better do something fast, bro!" Vodka exclaimed as they emerged onto the roof. "We're running out of room!"

Gin growled. As they neared the edge, he began to calculate in his mind the distance to the next building, and the speed they would need to reach it. Then, while the convertible was still delayed, he put the car into reverse, intending to shoot forward.

Vodka gaped. "You're not going to do what I think you're going to do, are you?" he cried. Ayumi looked up in alarm.

"It's cliché, but right now it's our best chance," Gin grunted, and then fully realized that Ayumi was on his lap. That was extremely dangerous. Muttering, he looked to Vodka. "Take the girl," he ordered. Vodka did, holding onto her tightly. There was not time for her to get into the back seat right now.

Pressing hard on the accellerator, he drove off the edge, and for one of the longest moments in Ayumi's life, they were airborne. Then, thankfully, they came down on the other side, just as the convertible was arriving on the roof they had just left.

Vodka dared to look up, still feeling shaken from what they had just done. He breathed heavily, slumping back into the seat and still holding Ayumi in his arms. "Do you think they'll try to follow us?" he asked finally, and was glad that it had been Gin driving and not him. He doubted that he would have been able to pull off such a manuever successfully. Most likely, he thought, he would have gotten all of them killed.

Gin was already heading for the inside of the new parking garage. "We can't take any chances," he answered.

Ayumi shuddered. "Gin-sama," she said weakly, slumping against Vodka, "I don't feel so good. . . ." That had been worse and more frightening than any amusement park ride. It reminded her of when she and the other Detective Boys had had to drive a car out of an exploding building into a swimming pool at the next building over, and that had not been something she had wanted to repeat.

Gin felt exasperated. "You're not going to be sick, are you?" he snapped as he wound the car down the various levels. He did not want to be saddled with this responsibility. It had been years since he had looked out for any child, and he did not want to start again now. Besides, he was not fit for any such thing. He was a ruthless killer, not someone that an innocent girl such as Ayumi should have as a role-model or idol. Even he recognized this.

"I hope not," Ayumi said softly, wishing that they would stop moving.

"That makes two of us," Gin grumbled. "Maybe you'd feel better if you went to sleep." And if she was asleep, then Gin would be able to concentrate better on what needed to be done. Having her awake and talking to him and hugging him and calling him "Gin-sama" made him quite nervous. It made him feel as though she was expecting the impossible of him, that she believed him to be someone that he was not and could never be.

And yet, he reflected, why should that bother him so much? It was not as if he had been afraid to not live up to what those other than his superior expected of him. He always felt that if they did not like him, that was their tough luck. He would not change for anyone.

"I don't think I can sleep," Ayumi answered now. It was always hard to sleep when she was not feeling well, though maybe if they could just stop, then she could.

"Well, try it anyway," Gin retorted as they finally exited the other parking garage and turned a corner.

With a sigh, Ayumi snuggled against Vodka's chest and tried to will herself to doze. The motion of the car did not make it easy, but she tried not to think of it. After a while everything blurred into a lovely sort of vague confusion as she fell into that bewildering state when one is not certain whether it is sleep or awareness that is present.

After several blocks of swerving madly in an attempt to get as far away from the pursuing car as possible, Gin finally parked around the side of an abandoned warehouse. In irritation he leaned back against the seat and looked to Vodka. "At least for right now, I think we've lost them," he decided, and narrowed his eyes. "But things can't go on like this. It's ridiculous!"

Vodka nodded nervously. "Do you think they were after us, or the kid?" he wondered, and glanced down at Ayumi, who was now between them and moving closer to Gin, having laid her head on his lap. She looked as though she had fallen asleep at last, and the sight of the innocent child dozing on the lap of the cold-hearted assassin definitely gave him pause. When he saw Gin following his gaze, and his resulting expression of consternation, Vodka found it hard to stay serious.

"I don't know," the blonde growled then. "Maybe both. I think it was probably Ushio or one of the men he's hired. You know how he hates being lied to. I wonder who he wants to get at more right now, her or me." He reached for a cigarette, but then seemed to think differently when he recalled how it had bothered Ayumi. Instead he glanced at Vodka and was annoyed to see that his ally seemed to be trying not to snicker and failing. "What's the matter with you?" he snapped.

Vodka grinned mischievously. "I just think it's kinda funny, bro," he admitted. "You're just sitting here with that kid sleeping on your lap, and you're supposed to be a ruthless assassin, one of the Organization's best."

Gin grunted and reached into his coat, pulling out his gun and pointing it at Vodka. "Supposed to be?" he repeated darkly.

Vodka gulped. "I . . . I mean, you are, of course," he stammered, staring into the barrel of the weapon. He did not actually think that Gin would shoot him, but it still made him nervous, to have the gun pointed at him while Gin glared at him with green eyes of emerald ice. Vodka knew that the blonde's targets were always upset when they learned that Gin had been dispatched to take them out. He certainly could understand why. Gin was very intimidating.

Sometimes he wondered if Gin cared at all about him or if it would not mean anything to him if he, Vodka, was killed. Gin was hard to figure out most of the time. Vodka would think that he had made sense of his nonconformist comrade, and then the green-eyed man would turn around and surprise him again. Vodka did know that Gin's obsession over eliminating the traitor Sherry all stemmed back to the close relationship that they had once had, and which Gin had never gotten over. He still loved her and felt that he had been betrayed. Vodka sometimes worried over what the conclusion of their feud would be, as he often had the feeling that neither Sherry or Gin would come out of it alive. And he hoped that it would not happen any time soon.

Gin put the weapon away and looked back down at Ayumi. Now that things were calm again, he wondered why on earth he had done nothing when she had hugged him and laid on his lap while he was driving. That was quite dangerous, and he knew he would have never allowed it if he had fully, consciously realized. But he had been too involved with getting away from the convertible to take much notice, and Vodka had been busy watching the other car and shooting at it. They were lucky that they had not all been killed, or seriously injured. People such as he and Vodka took risks such as that nearly every day, but Gin did not want the child to have to.

She looked peaceful at the moment, as if she was lost in childlike dreams of innocence and playing games. He simply gazed at her for a while, immersed in his own thoughts of long ago.

She was not the first little girl to have looked up to and adored him so much. In his mind, he still saw and heard the serious redhead whom he had been raised with. He was older than her, and had always felt a need to protect her. It had made him angry when she had been picked on for being different. The very fact that she was different was what had made her interesting to him. He supposed that he had originally thought of her as a younger sister. But they were not blood-related by any means, and as she had grown older his feelings for her had changed.

But he did not want to think of that at the moment. As he watched the slumbering child, he was reminded of a time when the redhead was six and he, fourteen. It had been at the end of her first week in the first grade of elementary school, and she had already hated it. . . .

He had come to get her when the school day had ended. He had waited by the gate, watching as all of the students came outside. She was among the last to leave, walking slowly as if either deep in thought or depressed, or both. He called to her and she looked up, an expression of relief coming over her sweet face when she caught sight of him. Immediately she ran to him, eager to be with someone who cared.

"Another bad day?" he asked as they left the schoolgrounds.

She nodded. Both of them were considered quiet people, and they did not always necessarily have long conversations with each other, either, but they were very close and enjoyed each other's presence.

"Why is it that we're not liked here?" she asked at length, looking up at him with sad blue eyes. "We're not bad people, are we?"

He blinked slightly in surprise, though he had really been expecting her to ask something of the sort sooner or later. His expression darkened as he gave her the answer. "We're not bad people, Shiho," he answered. "They hate us because we aren't like them. We look different. We've learned different customs. We aren't interested in the same things they are. We'll always be outcasts to them." He brushed some of his long bangs out of his eyes. Even as a teenager, he had preferred wearing his hair long, though at that point it was only a few inches past his shoulders and he usually kept it tied back.

She pouted, glaring at the sidewalk. "That isn't fair," she said softly. "We're still people, just like they are."

He looked ahead, seeing that they were coming to the crosswalk. "That's just the way it is," he answered flatly. "But we don't need them. Anyone who will dismiss you so easily without ever getting to know you isn't worth bothering about." They were speaking in Japanese now, as they always did outside of school. They preferred it that way, as their conversations could not be easily eavesdropped upon and understood.

She was silent for a long moment as they crossed the street. "Then . . . I guess hardly anyone's worth bothering about," she remarked then, sidestepping a crack in the road. It had been there for months, and no one had ever shown any interest in fixing it. Now she had grown used to seeing it every weekday. It was an interruption in an otherwise smooth surface, but no one cared. Much, she thought to herself, how it was for herself and for him at their schools. They were there, but unnoticed and uncared about, nothing more than an irritation just like that crack.

Or, she supposed, if she wanted to, she supposed that she could think of the unwelcoming people being the crack. The problem was, though, that she did care about not being accepted, unlike everyone's reactions to the torn road. He seemed resigned to the fact that he never would be well-liked, but she was not. She was still younger, and at an age where she had not learned to accept it. She wanted to be liked by the other people in class and in the neighborhood.

He grunted. "You catch on fast." But it made him angry that she had to learn about that. Her childhood was not normal, and he wondered if she was ever happy. Sometimes it annoyed him that they had both been brought here. He had lived in Japan for most of his early years, but a year before she had been left with him and the man who would be their mentor, they had relocated to America. He supposed that he had never actually fit in at either place; he was not a native of either America or Japan, and he was certain that he was often looked down on by people in both countries. But he had learned to deal with that and to not care what was thought of him. He lived his life the way he saw fit, and that was all that he cared about. But he had wanted her to have a better life than he had. That had been what her sister had wanted, too. She had discussed it with him when she had heard that Shiho was to be sent to America to live with him.

"I wonder if we'd be happier in Japan," she said softly. "It sounds like it's such an awesome place. . . ."

He shrugged. "In some ways we might fit it better than here," he acknowledged, "but in other ways it would probably be the same, or worse."

She bit her lip. "Then . . . where do we belong?" she whispered, sounding and looking lost.

"People like us . . . don't belong anywhere," he responded. Perhaps, he thought in retrospect, it was too depressing of a concept to have introduced her to at such an early age, but she had already been finding it out from others. If she had experienced the childhood that he and Akemi had wanted for her, then he would not be saying these words to her now. Instead, he would have let her enjoy childlike naivete for as long as it would have lasted.

Now she stopped walking and just looked at him, trying to digest what he was telling her. He stopped as well and watched her, seeing the emotions going through her eyes---stunned shock, sadness, and then understanding and resignation. She knew it was true, even though she did not want it to be. But then something else seemed to occur to her, and a new determination shone in the blue orbs.

Slowly, she moved forward and looked up at him, and in that gaze he did not see a six-year-old, but someone much older. "I don't think that's true," she said softly, and reached for his hand. He looked at her in surprise as she took hold of it. "People like us . . . belong together." A soft smile began to come over her face then, as if she realized that she had just resolved the dilemma and was happy with the conclusion she had arrived at. And, he imagined, she most likely was.

He gave her a soft look, though he did not actually smile in return. Maybe, he thought, she was right.

Gin started out of his thoughts when Ayumi started to shift position. He focused on her then, realizing that he had been simply staring at her all that time without actually seeing her. He also became aware that sometime during the moments when he had been lost in the past, he had laid his hand on her head. Grunting to himself, he removed it and glanced at Vodka, figuring that he had probably gotten a kick out of that. But the other operative actually looked as though he was half-asleep, despite trying desperately to stay awake.

Gin leaned back, looking up at the ceiling. Going to sleep did not sound like a bad idea in the least, but he knew that it would not be safe for both of them to rest at the same time. Someone would need to stand guard. And since Vodka seemed to already be more than halfway in another world, Gin decided that it would be pointless to make him take the first watch.

He wondered what on earth they were going to do with the child. At the moment, without knowing who had been after them and why, it seemed too dangerous to do much of anything. And that highly irritated him. He did not like the way she unknowingly dragged him into reminisces of years gone by, times that would never exist again. He was no longer the teenager who had been with Shiho on that autumn day, and she was not the same little girl. They had grown up, and apart, for better or worse.

He was startled out of this new reverie by the abrupt ringing of Vodka's cellular phone, which also startled the heavyset man out of his doze. He fumbled for the device and opened it, mumbling something that passed for "Hello." Gin then glanced down at Ayumi, and found that she was still sleeping. He shook his head. She could sleep through almost anything, it seemed.

The telephone call did not last long. After a moment Vodka pulled the phone away from his ear and simply stared at it as if it had just grown horns. Gin looked over and noticed this, frowning. "What is it?" he demanded.

Vodka looked over at him grimly. "That was Ushio," he reported. "He says he knows we have the girl."