Since the laboratory that Natalie had commandeered was right there in the hospital, it took only minutes for her and Stephen to make it to Miles' room. What they found there was a mess.

Dr. David VanWingen was sitting on a stool just inside Miles' room getting a nice row of fifteen stitches in his scalp, insisting to the intern doing the needlework that he was 'not leaving his patient until he found out what the hell was going on'. Two uniforms were milling around uncomfortably under the glare of an obvious plainclothes detective who had the scowl of a drill sergeant and the voice of a T-Rex.

"Out!" The T-Rex said, finger pointing dramatically at the doorway Connor and Natalie had just entered through. He was mid-fifties, crew cut salt and pepper hair, bulldog face and evidently temperament to match and obviously in no mood to brook an argument.

"I'm his physician," Connor fudged and stalked right past the detective to where Miles lay pallid and unmoving on the bed. Natalie followed at his heels in spite of the "And then who is she?"

"She's his physician too," Connor said as he watched Nat gently lift one of Miles' eyelids, then lay her hand against his ashen cheek.

The detective turned his glower onto VanWingen and said, "And you're his physician too. Sure does seem in bad shape for having half the hospital as his attendings, wouldn't you say?"

Connor ignored the snipe. "What happened?"

VanWingen looked up at him as well as he could with someone doing needlepoint on his forehead. "That's exactly what I'd like to ask you, Dr. Connor. Why weren't there any police the first time Dr. McCabe was attacked?"

"Doctor McCabe?" the detective mimicked. "What is this, a convention? And, thank you, Dr. VanWingen, but why don't you let me ask the questions here?"

Connor turned cold eyes onto him. "And you are…?"

"Relling," came the reply from the stocky detective as he pulled a fairly ragged business card from somewhere inside his trenchcoat. "Detective Mark Relling, though I figure you'd already guessed the detective part. Now, I was so gracious as to introduce myself, how about returning the favor and explaining… one: why this kid has so many doctors, and two: why no one bothered to call the cops the first time he was assaulted?"

xxxXXXxxx

Before anyone could answer Relling, the convention suddenly nearly doubled in size which did not please Dr. VanWingen in the least. Claire and Joe arrived with Frank in tow.

Connor opened his mouth to answer Relling, but his attempted reply was cut off.
"Is he okay?" Frank could barely speak, his face grey, casting anxious glances at Mile's sleeping form.

"Who the hell are you?" Relling turned to face the newcomers, hands planted on his wide hips. "What the hell are you doing here?"

Connor ignored the stocky detective. "Dr. VanWingen caught somebody in his room with a knife, trying to cut his throat." Bastard. Twice he'd gotten close enough to Miles to hurt him. He wouldn't get a third chance. "Son of a bitch clocked the doctor on the way out."

"That doesn't explain what Detective Maryland and Detective Kerrigan are doing here," Relling demanded with a nasty edge to his tone. "Or are you just hand holding for our friends?"

"It's our case, Mark, so what the hell are you doing here?"

"Your case?"

"Yeah." Claire hastily followed Joe's lead. "We caught the initial assault, we've been following up on some leads."

"So you don't need us here? Is that what you're saying? And you have jurisdiction in this precinct?" Relling's disappointment was almost palatable, another big case slipping
through his clumsy fingers, but he wasn't quite sure what was going on or how far to push it. For all he knew, politics were at work here.

"No, you guys can clear out. We'll handle it from here." Claire waited until the uniforms had left,closing the door after them. "I need to talk to Dr. VanWingen. In private."

Joe nodded. "I'll go see if I can get the surveillance tapes. If Reilling hasn't gotten his fat
hands all over them already."

Connor started to shake his head. "Detectives..."

Claire took a step closer to him, lowering her voice. "I know you don't want the police involved, Dr. Connor, but this is different. If this is the same guy, we might be able to trace him. It might help us to find your friend. This is an attempted homicide, and that's what we'll be investigating."

He opened his mouth to argue. And then thought of Eva, alone, in the dark and frightened. He had to find her, had to let them find her. "Okay."

Claire looked at the still form lying on the bed. "We're going to have to talk to Dr. McCabe as well."

"No, not yet, please," Natalie begged, seeing the pain and agony sketched in every line of Miles' restlessly sleeping body. "Give him a chance to rest."

"Okay, I'll speak to Dr. VanWingen first. Is there someplace private we can talk, Doctor?"

"The lounge." Dr VanWingen stood, unsteady on his feet, groggy. "It's this way."
"Thanks, Doctor. Joey?"

"I'll go talk to the hospital security." Joe walked off, scratching at his beard, feeling the photo inside his pocket brush against his heart.

She was all alone. All alone and frightened.

'Please Eva. Be brave. Give me a chance to find you.'

xxxXXXxxx

"Please..."

Her voice cracked on the word, swallowed by the darkness around her, before it had even passed her lips. Almost inaudible, fragile and fluttering, tapped in the closet with her.

She didn't dare speak any louder.

Still as a mouse, quiet as a mouse.

She didn't want to make him angry.

"Please, let me out of here."

She rested her head against the door of the closet, her hair falling loose around her face. She could still feel his fingers, his touch, gentle against her face.

Could still feel his anger, harsh and cold.

"Please. I'll be good. I promise."

xxxXXXxxx

"What the hell's wrong with you?" Ginelle demanded, sliding across the hotel room bed, still clad in the silver blue teddy that she had thought would be irresistible to Jack when he'd returned from wherever the hell he went. She figured he was dealing. That would explain why he either had a wad of money or none. Dealing was like that. He didn't use though. She'd never seen him use.

He might drink occasionally but nothing like he was doing now, belting shots back one after the other and totally ignoring her in spite of her being in seductress mode. He said booze threw him off, made him careless. Yeah, she figured he was dealing, but it didn't matter as long he was bringing the money home and spending big chunks of it on her.

She'd been getting nervous lately though. He didn't seem like his usual self, he wasn't pawing her as much lately. He'd go to bed and roll over onto his side away from her and sleep. It was like being in bed alone some nights. When he did roll back over to her, it felt like sex, not love. She wasn't sure he'd ever loved her, but she had always hoped so. A junkie needed a supplier who wanted to supply for some reason and love was as good a reason as any. She didn't want to go back out on the street again. It was cold and dangerous out there. So she wanted to keep Jack happy and he hadn't seemed happy the last few weeks.

"C'mon, baby," she cajoled, trying to pull him back onto the bed with her, "look at me. I got all pretty for you. For no one but you."

"Leave me alone, Ginelle," he snarled and popped back another shot. His eyes were getting glassy now and his movements slow and clumsy.

She sat back on the bed, curled herself up with her legs crossed and her arms hugging herself, a little scared now. She knew there was a well of violence in him. He didn't hit her often, but he'd been known to pop her one and she was careful how far she pushed him. But this was different. This was deeper, darker and she was afraid, somehow permanent.

Finally, he screwed the top on the bottle and got to his feet, stuck the gun in the back of his belt and pulled a jacket on, then his raincoat. It was still pouring and snarling up a storm outside.

"I'll be back," he said.

There was a finality to the words and that scared her. She was terrified of being alone. She was right to be afraid.

She never saw him again.