It was early enough that she didn't mind taking the subway. Her steps were even on the pavement, flooding down the stairs and through the token booths with numerous other businesspeople retiring home after a long week. None of them paid any attention to her as she stood waiting for the train to pull in. Fingers rubbing her neck where McCoy had caressed her, Claire tried not to think of the feelings it had aroused. She had not been touched like that in a long time, not since the judge that had nearly ruined her reputation and practice. Her hand fell as the doors opened and she stepped inside, taking hold of one of the handles hanging from the ceiling. They pulled away with a jerk, and she exchanged tired smiles with a woman seated nearby, holding her rambunctious child by the back of his coat.

Even though the subway car was crowded, and numerous eyes flashed in all directions, Claire felt she was being observed. It was an emotion she repressed instinctively, but she switched hands on the handle and discreetly looked around. No one appeared to be watching her, beyond the teen slumped to the back of the car, and he only held her gaze for a moment before turning away, his head moving to the headphones blasting rap into his ears. Attempting to calm the butterflies in her stomach, she watched the lanes as they passed, and disembarked on the landing two blocks from her home. It was a well-observed area and she normally felt safe returning this time of night. Her neighbors were on their way out of the building when she passed, and exchanged pleasantries with her. She had once had to use their phone.

Removing her keys from her purse, she ascended the stairs and fitted the key into the lock. It happened again, the sensation of being watched. Her head turned toward the right, sending a scathing glance toward the rear of the hall and the door that lead out to the fire escape. Nothing moved. No sound could be heard beyond the dim noise of a television beyond one of the numerous closed doors. Forcing herself to remain calm, she turned back to her door—and gasped. He was standing only a few feet from her, his tranquil green eyes studying her with the utmost curiosity. She fumbled with her keys as he came toward her. They turned, unlocking the door. She ran inside but he prevented from closing, jamming his body through the opening.

The phone started ringing. Claire threw her weight against the door, receiving a profane curse as he threw it open. It struck her across the face and sent her crashing to the floor, dazed. The phone was still ringing, dimly, in the background. She knew it was Jack.

He stood over her. She could see his faint outline in the darkness. It was fuzzy, the pain in her head escalating. He lifted his hand, a distant motion as she struggled to maintain consciousness, and brought the back of it down across her face.

The phone was still ringing.

------------------------------------------------

Slamming down the phone, Jack McCoy bolted for the empty corridor. The janitor looked at him strangely as he passed, stepping neatly out of the way as Jack's long legs carried him at a rapid pace down the stairs. He didn't have the patience to wait for an elevator. He had phoned Lennie Briscoe at the precinct, but knew he could get there faster. The cab he caught at the curb seemed to take an eternity to reach her apartment. It was an enclosed building, but there was an older couple leaving that let him in. Her rooms were on the upper floor. It was strangely quiet as he approached, and the sense of dread settling into his bones increased as he reached her door. It remained closed.

He reached out to knock, and the motion caused it to slide in several inches. Jack froze, his pulse quickening. Then, tentatively, he pushed it open into the looming darkness within. The chain swung, his shadow falling into the living room in the open square of light the corridor provided. He knew the apartment was empty even before he turned on the lights. Claire was meticulous, but something was wrong. Her case lay open on the floor by the couch, its papers scattered across the carpet. Distantly, he could hear sirens.

He then did something he hadn't done in years. He prayed.