Fearing the extent of the FBI wire taps at the morgue, Asten pulled Sam into the deep freezer, which, in Quincy's absence, was piling up with bodies.

"I need you to put together a field kit, plus DNA analysis equipment, fragment scopes, tacks and wires."

"Bone analysis?"

"Yes."

Sam looked hard at him. "Dr. Asten, why are we in here?"

"Because I'm pretty sure the FBI doesn't have a tap in here, that's why."

"Where are you going with all this equipment?"

"We, Sam. We're going to meet Monahan and Quincy."

Fujiyama's face lit up. "Good!" But the look on Asten's face said otherwise. "Dr. Asten?"

Asten looked away, then up at Sam. "Quincy's been shot."

"Oh no..."

"And I'm going to have to get the bullet out without hospital equipment, without a sterile field, without anesthesia..."

Sensing that Asten was overwrought, Sam said, "I'll pack everything that we might need, Dr. Asten, don't worry." He stared at the director who hadn't moved. "How are we going to lose the agents?"

"Monahan said he'd take care of it, whatever that means...you get on the equipment, Sam."

"Yes sir."


Brill and Danny checked into a small motel in Clark County under assumed names, keeping a low profile until the morgue closed for the night. Danny turned on the television and sat down on one of the beds as the evening news began.

"Tonight's top story is the hit that went wrong this afternoon on the Las Vegas strip in the penthouse of the Sands hotel. Resembling the St. Valentine's Day massacre, mob boss Anthony Vandano and several of his associates were involved in a shoot-out with members of the FBI, along with rival turf captain, Daniele Tovo--"

"--What?" Danny exclaimed.

Brill held his hand out. "--Shhh..."

"...the forces battled it out for several minutes, until the FBI, led by Special Agent Rick Sequana, stepped in, ending the bloody shoot-out. During the confusion, Tovo and three other men fled the scene. The FBI asks for the public's help in the capture of these very dangerous fugitives."

Danny's eyes grew wider as pictures of him, Monahan, Brill and Quincy flashed across the screen.

"Daniele "Danny" Tovo, Frank Monahan, Joseph Brill and a man identified as a Los Angeles County Corner, Dr. Quincy, have been placed on the FBI's most wanted. Anyone who may have seen these men, or knows of their whereabouts is encouraged to contact his local police department immediately..."

Brill switched off the television and plopped on the other bed. "Well, this just became a helluva lot more complicated."


It was right before dusk when Monahan pulled next to the small white house that had belonged to his mother's sister. Nora Brandon had preferred the quiet of the desert, and had moved out to a house in the middle of nowhere, with the nearest neighbor residing seven miles away. Having no children of her own, she left the house to her nephew, Frank, and fortunately for Monahan, he had yet to change the name on the title, so it was doubtful that the FBI would find them quickly. He figured they had a lead time of at least three days. He put the car in park, stepped out and walked over to the front door, pulling a key from his pocket. He unlocked the door, then went back to the car to get Quincy.

"Quincy?"

But the coroner had passed out from pain or blood loss, Monahan didn't know which. He gently scooped the medical examiner up by the shoulders, preparing to lift him out of the car, but Quincy screamed in pain.

"Aw, Quincy, I'm sorry..." He tenderly held his friend for a moment, hoping the pain would pass. "I'm gonna carry you into the house, Quincy, and it's gonna hurt a bit when I lift you." Quincy swallowed hard and nodded. Frank tightened his grip. "Okay, buddy, here we go..."

With all his strength, Monahan hoisted Quincy up, causing the coroner to cry out in distress, but this time the ex-cop pushed through it, quickly carrying the injured man into the house, lying him as gently as he could on the bed. Quincy was holding his abdomen with both hands, whimpering softly, tears pooling in his eyes.

"Lie still, Quincy, I'm going to pack that wound in ice."

Again Quincy nodded wordlessly, and feeling the sting of emotion, Monahan quickly went about his business.

After setting the bags from the car in the kitchen, Monahan went to the bathroom to get a towel. He walked to the freezer in the kitchen, filled the towel with ice and took it to the bedroom. As carefully as he could, he pried Quincy's hands away from the wound, placed the ice-filled towel on his belly, replacing Quincy's hands on top of it. Monahan went back to the kitchen, filled a bowl with cold water, stopped in the bathroom to get a washcloth and proceeded into the bedroom. He put the cloth in the water, set the bowl on the nightstand and softly sat on the edge of the bed. He wrung out the cloth and laid it on Quincy's forehead. The doctor opened his eyes slightly.

"Try and relax," Monahan said softly. "The ice helping at all?"

Quincy nodded slightly, his voice colored with pain, "Yeah, a little."

Monahan could easily see the distress in the soft gray eyes. "Asten's on his way, Quincy, and he made me promise to keep you alive 'till he got here, so don't you even think about makin' a liar of me."

"He just wants a chance to cup open a live patient..." Quincy winced in pain at his own joke, and Monahan set a soft hand on top of the coroner's.

"Don't try to talk anymore, Quince, just lie still. I'll be right here."

In response, Quincy pulled one of his bloodstained hands out from under Monahan's, rubbing the top of the Irishman's. The gratitude on Quincy's face pushed Monahan's emotional control over the edge, and his eyes filled with tears, one sliding down his cheek before he could choke them off. Quincy gently reached up and wiped it away, patting Monahan's face. Frank grabbed his friend's hand, holding it tightly. Quincy met the pressure with a squeeze of his own hand, and closed his eyes in distress, pressing his head into the pillow

"You stay with me, Quincy," Monahan said softly, "you just stay with me, buddy."