Lots of author's notes today...Anmodo, to be honest, I wrote that Danny scene hoping you'd like it! I'm glad it inspired you, 'cause I love reading your stories. EloiseTwo, it was good to hear from you! And ahem...I re-read your most excellent "The Lady Vanishes" just a couple days ago, and would love to read something new from you! Please! JackofSpade, I love your review style! Thanks for the time and effort you put into them!

Sun Walker, thanks for your oh-so-discreet requests for an update! And Diane, as always, thanks for the eagle-eyed beta-ing and warnings about being too Canadian! Sometimes it sneaks out when I'm not looking! Agent Pnk, Sara, serataja, agentspade and makemyday...you all do. Make my day, that is. Thanks for following this story throughout its twists and turns and letting me know you're still hanging in there. And Justine: thanks for the kiwi smiles!

Happy Monday, everyone...

Too Good To Be True
By: Mariel

Chapter 22

Samantha followed Jack through the parking garage, enjoying the thrill of anticipation that always flowed through her when she was certain they were about to discover something critical. Reaching the car, she looked over the roof of it before getting in and caught Jack watching her, a smile on his face.

She paused.

"What?" she asked.

"You look happy."

Her brow furrowed. "And I didn't before?"

He smiled more widely and shrugged. With a jerk of his head, he said, "Get in."

She did as he said, but continued to watch him as he pulled out of their parking space and made his way to the exit. She looked puzzled.

"Did I miss a spot shaving, or what?" Jack finally asked.

"No. I'm just wondering if you're going to tell me what you were talking about."

He turned the car out onto the street before answering. "Nothing much. I mentioned it last night- sometimes you don't look happy. You are at the moment, though. It's good to see."

He had no idea what impulse had made him say anything. Afraid he had somehow overstepped his bounds, he said no more, and turned his attention to the traffic.

Samantha, not knowing what else to say, just uttered a soft, "Oh." It was impossible to tell him that she was happy because she was working with him. Impossible to tell him about the relief she felt over Martin going away so she wouldn't have to think about what she was going to do about their situation for another few days. She knew things were coming to a head. Knew that Martin was bound to be angry for a while about the Jack-at-the-office-the-night-she-was-there thing, and knew that he was going to become more and more insistent about telling everyone they were seeing each other.

And she still wasn't ready for that.

She sighed, because deep down, there was a growing suspicion that she wouldn't ever be ready for that. Worse, she realised her indecision wasn't fair to Martin. Stringing him along had never been her intent - she really had hoped that perhaps, if she hung in there long enough, her feelings would change. Skidding her eyes towards Jack and then just as quickly away, she sighed. God knew her life would be a hell of a lot simpler if they had...but they hadn't, and now, her only excuse for still being in the relationship was a mixture of emotional inertia and the hope that perhaps he would realise things were going nowhere and end it himself.

Jack noticed the change in her demeanour. "I shouldn't have said anything. Now you're worrying about whatever it is that's been bothering you."

She looked at him, a frown creasing her brow. "How do you do that?"

"Do what?"

Knowing she was getting dangerously near personal ground, she hesitated, then said, "Know what I'm feeling without even looking at me."

He grinned at the windshield. "I told you: I know you."

"Yeah? Well, stop it." She knew she didn't sound as though she meant it.

His grin broadened.

They turned to look at each other at the same time, and their eyes locked. As simply as that, tension entered and filled the car. She became aware of him; he became aware of her. As their smiles faded, memories regained their clarity. Jack cleared his throat and they both turned and trained their eyes firmly on the cars in the street in front of them.

After a few moments of strained silence, Samantha forced a change of topic. Settling back into her seat, she asked, "So, what do you know so far about this Raphael?"

With practiced ease, Jack flipped from personal to professional response mode. Clearing his thoughts, he began his review. "Not all that much. You already know his name is Jonathan Smith. Viv called a few of the neighbours. The ones she found at home all say the same thing: it's not unusual for our guy to be away for a few days at a time. No one seems to know what he does for a living, but they all agree it involves travelling fairly regularly. He keeps to himself; no one knows much about him." He shrugged. "Just your typical city dweller drone." Drawing to a stop behind a taxi that had stopped in the middle of the street to pick up a fare, he refrained from joining in the cacophony of protesting car horns and instead sat patiently and asked, "What about you? What did you find?"

Samantha reached back for the slim file she'd tossed onto the back seat when she'd entered the car. Opening it, she commented, "No picture of him - in fact, not even a driver's licence to show us what he looks like - and no personal history available, except that his IRS returns indicate he's lived at this address for ten years, and that he was in Virginia before that." She looked up at him. "They're working on figuring out where he's employed. He must have a bank account somewhere, too, where he deposits his paychecks."

Jack nodded, knowing that it was possible he didn't. "He files his tax returns? Interesting." He thought a moment, then said, "If we don't have any luck here, we're going to have to take a look in Virginia; see if anyone there still has contact with him."

"His phone records don't indicate that he keeps in contact with anyone anywhere," she commented. "I'm surprised he even bothers to have a phone - about the only incoming calls he has are from telemarketers. And he only made three outgoing calls last month - to a pharmacy, a grocery store, and the weather line."

Jack cast her an interested look. "Did anyone call the pharmacy to ask about that call?"

Samantha shook her head. "I didn't have time. Vivian said she'd try to before she leaves."

"Good. Maybe she'll call the grocery store, too."

If not, he'd just add it to his list of things to do. A shadow of worry crossed his mind about the reason for Vivian's upcoming absence, but it was quickly replaced by other thoughts.

He turned onto a street and began looking for a place to park.

After they had gone the length of the block with no success, Samantha looked over at him and smiled.

"Forget to visualise a space?"

"Forgot to visualise," he confirmed. "You obviously did, too."

Her lips curved. "Guilty as charged."

Visualising an empty parking space waiting for them at their destination - and having one actually be there when they arrived - had been a running routine between them for years. The idea had come from a 'positive thinking' radio program they had listened to during a long drive several years earlier. Since then, they had made a habit of telling each other to visualise a spot so that there'd be one waiting for them. They had never quite worked out if the power of positive thinking provided them with their sought-after spot more times than it didn't, but it was a pleasant ritual that they enjoyed.

The third time around the block, with Jack growing more and more frustrated with each turn, they hit it lucky and pulled into a spot only a short walk from their suspect's apartment building.

Getting out of the car and slamming the door, Samantha looked over the car's roof at Jack. "Not at all like in the television shows, eh?"

"Maybe they visualise better than the rest of us," he quipped, trying to relax the muscles in his neck that had tightened during his search.

-XXX-

A few minutes later, they stood in front of the Jonathan Smith's building and looked with critical eyes up at the eight-story structure. It was neither terribly run down nor exceptionally well-kept. Built of sturdy red brick, and with regularly spaced windows sporting iron bars on the lower level, it had wide, cement steps leading to the front door.

"I phoned ahead. The super's apartment is on the first floor, to the right of the entrance," Samantha said as they walked up the steps. "He didn't sound terribly surprised that the FBI would want to go through one of his tenant's apartments. Said he'd let us in if we showed ID."

"I like it when they're accommodating," Jack said, pulling open the large entrance door and letting Samantha enter first.

The person who opened the super's apartment door was a small man, about five foot six, his face unshaven well past the fashionable five-o'clock-shadow look. When he saw who stood in the hallway outside his door, the man reached for the wad of keys hanging from a worn leather belt that failed to contain his bulging belly. Without even asking who they were, he told them, "I've been waitin'. Smith is up on the fifth floor. The damned elevator's closed for maintenance, so we'll have to walk up."

"Hello," Jack said with exaggerated politeness. "I'm Special Agent Jack Malone, and this is Agent Spade."

"Yeah, I figured that," the man said abruptly. Not bothering to introduce himself in return, he said, "And like I said, we gotta walk up."

He didn't sound too happy about it.

"Would you like us to take the key and go up by ourselves? We could return it when we're finished," Jack offered.

The man turned and glanced at the television blaring in his front room. Turning back to look at the two agents, he nodded grudgingly. "Yeah, that'd be fine. I got stuff I gotta get done. I'll need to see your ID, though."

Both agents flashed their FBI cards. Barely glancing at their badges, the man nodded and gave Jack the key.

-XXX-

"He didn't seem too interested in why we wanted to see the apartment," Samantha observed as they climbed a third set of stairs.

"Probably figured it was better not to know," Jack answered briefly. Feeling winded, he wondered when they had started building stairs so steep. Trying to control the need to breathe heavily, he thought perhaps a few days a week at the gym might be something to consider in the near future.

Finally reaching their destination, they were pleased to find that the key they had been given opened the door easily. Inside, they found an unremarkably furnished one-bedroom apartment with a galley kitchen just to the right of the entrance. The walls were painted a dull beige and the bent venetian blinds on the windows looked as though they likely dated back to when the building had been first built. The apartment itself was no neater than might be expected for the dwelling place of someone living alone - a few magazines lay on the floor by the sofa, an empty glass sat on a side table. Walking into the kitchen area, Samantha opened the refrigerator door. Looking in, she remarked, "No perishables in here. He must plan to be away a while."

"Must be on one of his business trips," Jack remarked as he left the living room to enter the single bedroom.

About five minutes later, Jack reappeared from the bedroom. He didn't look encouraged. Taking off his plastic gloves, he said, "Nothing much in there."

Samantha looked up from the small pile of mail she had found in a desk. "He doesn't keep much paper around."

She looked over at a coat hanging up by the door. On impulse, she placed the mail down and walked over to it. A few moments of rummaging around in its pockets produced nothing, except for a short receipt and a few coins.

"I can't find anything," she said. Looking at the receipt, she stopped. "Wait." She peered more closely at it, then looked at Jack. "This receipt is from a store in Houston."

Jack walked across the floor to stand in front of her.

"He buys groceries in Houston?" he asked.

"Bread, meat, and produce," Samantha said, noting the items on the receipt.

"What's the date on it?"

Samantha squinted, trying to figure out the small numbers on the bottom of the paper. "It's hard to tell. Why don't they use darker ink?" she asked. Finally, she said, "I think it says April 27. Of this year." She turned dark eyes to meet his. "Didn't one of the women go missing around then?"

Jack paused. "There was one this spring - I don't remember the date off hand." Nodding towards the receipt she held in her hand, he said, "We're going to need a search warrent for this place. That's likely a valuable piece of evidence."

Finishing a thorough examination of the apartment, they found nothing else of interest.

"There's not even a photo of anyone," Samantha said, looking around.

Jack looked pensive. In spite of their being finished their search, he made no move to leave and instead walked to the window and looked out.

After a moment of thoughtful silence, he said, "Maybe this isn't his primary residence."

Samantha frowned. "Why would he need two places in New York?"

Jack turned to look at her briefly. "I don't mean he has another place in New York. I'm thinking he has another place somewhere farther away." He returned his gaze to the view outside. "Like Houston. We aren't looking at a case of two men sending women to each other. We have a case of one man working two ends of a system so he can increase his opportunity to kill and reduce the odds of his getting caught."

Samantha looked at him, her mind quickly understanding. "So the original theory of one killer was the right one." She paused, then played devil's advocate. "It could be that there are two, and they're friends, and he was visiting..."

Jack shook his head. His eyes still trained on the view from the small apartment's window, he said, "I dunno. Maybe. But this apartment and that receipt says this guy doesn't really live here. This is like a hotel room to him." He continued to stare out the window a moment longer, then stirred himself. Taking a deep breath, he turned. "Whatever the case," he told Samantha, "we'd better get back and fill Terry in."

Taking one last glance around the apartment, they left.

-XXX-

Terry sat back and listened to Jack and Samantha as they talked about what they had discovered and what their latest theory was. As always, he was interested not just in the case, but in the two people sitting across from him.

Just as he had been the first time he'd observed them, he was struck by the amount of unspoken communication that passed between them. They had no problem talking with each other, but even while speaking, another, unheard dialogue seemed to be always taking place. Their minds leap-frogging each other, they would chase an idea and meet at the conclusion together, enjoying the exercise and any disagreement they might encounter along the way.

And all the while, a deep physical awareness of the other thrummed in the air around them.

He wondered if the whole love affair had begun as a verbal sparring match, each enjoying the conversation of the other, each intrigued by the other's thought process and what it revealed about them. It wouldn't have been the first time that intellectual stimulation had turned into something emotional and physical.

Uppermost on his mind, however, was the case. "So now we need to look seriously at what Danny and Martin find in Houston," Terry concluded. "Or do you plan to go now, instead?" he asked Jack.

"We'll stay here," Jack said, unconsciously putting himself and Samantha together. "Martin and Danny will do fine. They've got their flights booked already - they couldn't leave until first thing tomorrow morning, though. The last flight out tonight was at six, and that was booked solid."

Having not been privy to that information, Samantha looked at Jack in surprise. So Martin would be around tonight. She knew that meant they would spend the evening together. She sighed inwardly, wondering if he would need to continue his conversation from the night before. She understood his wanting to take the next step in their relationship, could understand, even, his suspicions about her reluctance to take that step...but for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to tell him he was right - that there was something wrong, and it was all about her and her lack of feelings. Or, she thought with a quick glance at Jack, her lack of feeling for the right man. Looking down at her hands, she tried to rid herself of the sense of being trapped. What she had with Martin most people would give their eye teeth for. And yet it seemed that all she wanted was to have back what she had once had with Jack.

When she lifted her eyes again, they were caught by Terry's astute hazel ones.

She looked away quickly, feeling as though he'd been reading her thoughts.

End
Chapter 22