It has taken a while, hey? Okay well this is my chap, probably my last... I just wanto to say thanks to mum, dad... haha in Logies mode here guys! Thanks to all the reviewers, you've been great!

Chapter 14: Blame Game

It was as if he'd sailed off the face of the earth. No one had heard a hide or a hair of the killer that had had Federal Agent Charlotte Fox stumped for 10 months before she came to Boston.

The lot of them hovered in the months that followed the attack on Marcus. Every body that came into the morgue was suspected of being his work, everyone managed to find something to link him too it. But Garret and Foxie, rational beings that they were, stamped on that. He hadn't reared his unscrupulous head for six weeks.

In that time, nothing much had happened. Marcus, who had been near death at the time of his rescue, had thankfully made an almost full recovery and had been discharged from Boston General. The poison, however, had rendered him out of action as far as his job went as he had not yet regained full co-ordination of his body. Garret and Jordan watched, pain filling their hearts, as he attempted physio-therapy, but when he had fallen, bringing the table with the vases and flowers crashing down to the floor, and they had seen the look on his face, the twisted look of pure hatred and rage, and heard the scream of self-loathing, they hadn't been back to his room much. He needed space, Garret had told Jordan. Space to recover in his own mind.

Jordan herself had managed to completely recover from her ordeal within a week of Marcus being out of danger, much to the relief of Foxie, who felt personally responsible for everything that had happened. As she had earned a respect for Marcus when she was in Nebraska, so to did she feel a deep respect for the good people who lived and worked in Boston.

Kade's arm was fine as it had nicked no arteries or anything else of great importance. If anything, her ordeal bettered her. It was the first time she had shot someone, and the first time she had been injured on the job. A cop's life was becoming clearer to her. It had been her dream job, her Uncle had been a cop and her cousin now was one, and it was more than an honour for her to be working with him. She liked Woody immensely, had always done, even when they were kids in Wisconsin. Nothing much ever happened there, and she, like her cousin before her, had applied for a transfer as soon as she could. Never in her wildest dreams, however, did she imagine she'd land herself in Boston along with him. And what should the first case she'd really worked on be? The one case that was eluding her hero and his friends, not to mention an FBI agent! And it had been she who crippled him. Shot him! It sunk in all of a sudden – I shot a man! Even though he had more than deserved it, it still ate at her.

Jess and Caroline fitted in wonderfully at the morgue in the aftermath of the first wave of killings. Their strength and senses of humour as well as their skills as medical examiners made them fast become friends with the staff of the morgue. All of them felt the weight lift, for too long had they been understaffed; now all they had to hope for was that nothing untoward would happen to them, as they had previous medical examiners.

Dreams had plagued Foxie, ever since Alex had crawled away to lick his wounds. Dreams of him finding her, catching her, and making her pay. As he ultimately would. A deep depression beset her and she sank into the pits of her despair. She reported back to her base in Washington DC on a fortnightly basis, and her boss, knowing she probably needed a break after eating, breathing and sleeping the killer for 10 months, let her stay in Boston until he reared his head somewhere else.

That's what everyone back at the base thought, Foxie knew it. They thought Alex had evaded her once again, had fled to another state. But she knew better. No one was dead yet, no one who mattered to her. Besides, she knew that he thought of this place as a challenge. The prowess of the Boston crime fighting team was nationally renowned, and he wouldn't leave without a peep like this. Both she and Marcus would have known, as they knew last time.

Thinking about Marcus made Foxie's face contort. She was a loner at heart, and he had been the only one who'd managed to get through to her. When she was with Woody, well, he was great, but he was no Marcus. It was so strange, the turn of events that had seen them all here in Boston at this point in time. She and Marcus show up, to confront Jordan and Woody. Jordan had been involved previously with Marcus, and she herself had been involved with Woody. Woody and Jordan, coincidentally, had also probably been involved. Not that they let on, but she could just tell there was something there. And they suited each other, they really did. Marcus and Jordan also went well together, but that was only because they were so incredibly alike, Foxie could see that after only a short time with Jordan. Both were fiercely passionate about their jobs, and both hid it well. Both were stubborn asses that she had wanted to murder at one point, and both were sarcastic and brilliant in their own way. And both, she mused, were ready to run at a word. Marcus had packed up and left Nebraska within a day, even though he had family and friends there, and she sensed Jordan would do the same if the need arose. It was probably this that meant that they did not suit each other, and saw them fall apart in the first place.

She wasn't kidding herself, she still had feelings for Marcus. It had been he who was always good at switching off his feelings, even though she still sensed some chemistry between them. It pained her, to have feelings for him. She did not want a weakness, and he was most definitely hers in that department. She wanted him back, wanted the passionate and carefree relationship they once had. And in telling herself this, her feelings mounted. There was nothing she could do about it, so why fight it?

She pulled herself out of her reverie and shifted her legs slightly on the couch, where she had been sitting for at least 10 hours, give or take the 10minute breaks she took to relieve herself and eat. She'd been watching TV, old taped episodes of shows long dead, an array of unrealistic nonsense that was her escapism. To think of Alex made her skin crawl, she had been so in love with him once, she had run her hands through his long, dark hair and stared into his dark, damaged eyes. She'd been entranced by the mystery surrounding him, but now to think of the many loving nights they spent together made her want to throw up. He was her cousin, for god's sakes! And he knew it! He must have specifically sought her out. But to what end? Why had he wanted her when there were so many other eligible females out there? When her father had told her of the relationship after seeing them together one day, she'd confronted him. Begged him to tell her it wasn't true, that it was just her father trying to make her miserable again… and he had just looked away. The memory caught a hold of her.

"Alex…" she whispered. "Tell me it isn't true…"

His head turned and he stared out the window, breathing in deeply.

A tear wound its way down the pretty redheads face. "No," she had said. "It's not true!"

"What does it matter?" he had asked calmly. "If the Bible speaks the truth then we're al related anyway."

She was sickened. "You knew," she suddenly realized. The young woman scrambled off the bed and backed away. "You knew!"

As he turned his cool, gorgeous gaze upon her, the truth of it smacked her in the face.

Her eyes changed. It was as if something had erupted within her.

"Bastard," she'd said steadily, before running out of the room.

She sighed. She'd loved him, really loved him, but had managed to get over the hurt she'd felt. Obviously he had not. She didn't know what he expected her to say, "Oh, well, we're cousins but hey we can shag anyway." A sour taste filled her mouth and she turned her head like he had done, tears spilling out of her eyes and splashing on the black tracksuit pants she'd been wearing. Decisively she stepped up from the lounge, grabbed some clothes and walked into her shower.

The knock on Marcus's door startled him, and he hissed quietly and cursed himself and his weakness. He stood from the couch where he'd been watching reruns of Survivor, and looked through the hole. Upon seeing a pale face with a deep red mane framing it, he smiled to himself and opened the door.

"Morning," he said.

"Afternoon," she replied. He stepped aside and let her in. Foxie didn't know what she expected to find, but a fully clothed Marcus with absolutely not trace of bags under his eyes standing in the middle of a brilliantly cleaned lounge room was not it.

"You've been busy," she said. He wrinkled his nose.

"I can't stand mess," he said, and she smiled.

"Were you born in September by any chance, detective?"

"I was, in fact," he said, knowing full well she knew that. She grinned.

"Go figure. My mother was a Virgo. Never a cleaner clean freak you would meet."

Suddenly Marcus's face became serious. "What did you stop by for?"

She wavered, and Marcus took in her face and the despair hidden deep in her eyes.

"I…" she hesitated, and the despair took over her, consuming her. She swallowed, desperately trying to hold it back, but this was 10 months worth of pain, 10 months worth of guilt, 10 months worth of dirt to be washed away. Marcus saw the struggle, and whats more, finally, he understood it. Wordlessly, he pulled her into an embrace, and she melted, feeling months and years inextricably entwined of frustration and anger spiraling out of control through her body. She clenched her teeth together, and Marcus felt her uncontrollable trembling against him. He squeezed her tight, now feeling terribly ashamed of the fact that he had, in some small way, blamed her for Alex, blamed her for Jordan's ordeal, blamed her for his attack.

"I'm sorry," he whispered into her hair. "I'm sorry."

Garret sat, musing, at his desk in the morgue. He was thinking about all the events that had transpired since the red headed FBI agent turned up. This bastard had eluded them, again.

His office door opened and a dark headed figure looked at him.

"Do you think he's left?" Jordan asked, stepping into his office and closing the door behind her.

"I thought you went home."

"Home?" she asked, chuckling. "I have probably spent more hours here than any houses combined!"

He smiled. "No I don't think he's gone," Garret said, watching her reaction. She nodded gravely.

"I fear you're right."

"Fear?" he asked. "I didn't think that was in your vocabulary."

"It wasn't, until I saw Camerez in that hospital bed," she said. He sensed there was something more to the statement so he waited for her to explain. "He is so strong. I would have thought he was indestructible. I mean, physical affliction is one thing, we've all been in the hospital for one thing or another, and I know for a fact he's been in there once or twice for serious injuries, a gunshot amongst them. It was that look. The bastard got to him, killed something in him. Have you heard a sarcastic comment since?" Her mouth twisted. "If he can get to Marcus, then he's a virile little bastard."

"But who has he got?" Garret said in a deep voice, one Jordan recognized as the voice he used after coming out of a spell of deep thinking. "He is alone, he is unloved."

Jordan made a cynical noise in her throat, but heard Garret out.

"I don't mean it like that," he said. "You should know me. What I'm thinking about is Kade's gunshot. You get shot, do you spend the rest of the night trying to pull the bullet out of your torn leg?" he shook his head. "He's got to have gone to a hospital."

"But we checked back then," she said. "We checked, and no one fitting the description had a gunshot wound to the leg. I'm sure Foxie had tabs on the hospital system in surrounding districts."

"But what does he want?" Garret asked. "Does he want her dead? Or does he just want her?"

Jordan shrugged. "He's mad. Who knows what he wants?"

"No serial killer is insane, not really," Garret said. "That's just their lawyers attempt to get them off."

Jordan cocked her head to one side. "Do you think?"

"I know."

They fell silent, each thinking their own thoughts, each comforted by the company of the other.

"Well it's been fun," Kade said to her cousin as they left the restaurant they'd had dinner at. "Just like old times, eh? Where's Cal when we need him?"

Woody smiled at the memories. "And what about Andrew?" he asked. Kade made a face at the mention of her little brother's name.

"Little terror," she smiled. "He's running Dad's shop now, you know."

"Oh?" Woody said, grinning at the thought. "And how does your mother feel about that?"

Kade grinned with him, heart swelling at the camaraderie of the whole night.

"She says 'well its about time the little blondie started taking some responsibility!'" They both laughed, and Woody put his arm about her fondly as they walked out into the street. He'd really missed the times he, Kade and Cal who were of a similar age, (Kade a bit younger) and Andrew who was 5 years younger than his sister had all had together in the relative wilderness of Wisconsin.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a huge bang resounded into the night and the girl he held fell limp against him. He started to lose his grip on his cousin, and his eyes widened as he tried to fathom what had happened. Kade kept slipping from his grasp, a rush of breath leaving her mouth. He made a grab at her, a sound of horror escaping his mouth as he eased her to the ground.

"No." The hollow, guttural sound came out, delighting the man who stood watching from the shadows near them. Planting a concerned expression on his face, he joined the bystanders before the throng grew too great.

"Someone call 911!" he shouted in a voice that everyone would obey but no one would take much notice of.

"No!" the noise came again, and Woody tried desperately to put a hand on the gaping hole in his cousins chest. He pressed down hard and Kade's eyes rolled around in her head.

"Bastard," she whispered. The pain was searing, tearing her apart. It was greater than everything she had ever felt combined. She would die, she was sure of it, and she knew exactly who the culprit was.

"Woody," she gasped, reaching for him. The tears blinded his eyes and he pushed harder on her chest.

"It doesn't have to be this way!" he said to her. "Don't you dare leave me, little doe!"

The use of her childhood pet name brought a smile to her face.

"Oh Woody," she said. "I….was sent here … for a reason, I think."

"Don't you dare give up or Cal and I'll both give you grief, girlie." He furiously but unashamedly blinked the tears from his eyes as he surveyed her. She did not deserved to die here on the cold, hard street of Boston by a maniac killer who didn't know when enough was enough.

"You get him for me, you hear?" Her voice held complete clarity, then something left her eyes and she started mumbling.

"Did somebody call 911?" Woody screamed at the top of his lungs.

"They're on their way mate!"

Woody turned his gaze back to the closed eyes of his cousin.

"No, no, no, no…" he said under his breath, looking around for some way out, some loophole, but there was none. He gathered her limp, fragile body to him, trying to lend some of his warmth to her, but he knew it was too late.

Paramedics came skidding down the road, and pulled up beside the kerb. They jumped out, but Woody's vision had blurred and his head was pounding.

"He's here," he said, letting go of Kade and standing, letting the paramedics in. "He's here."

A police car screamed to a halt beside him and Hannah jumped out, taking in the scene before her.

"Woody!" she said sharply. He turned a lost, forlorn gaze upon her, backing away from the figure.

"It's too late." The words thumped into his head. "Time of death, 8:48pm."

"Woody!" Hannah grabbed the tall detective's shoulders and shook him around to face him. "Did you see who shot her?"

"No," he said in a low voice, one that was almost a growl.

Meanwhile, a man was making his way around the throng towards the grieving relative. Walking briskly past, he managed to push something into his hand. Woody's mind registered too late, and the man was already around the corner before he and Hannah could give chase. The street was full of people, and it could have been anyone of them.

Hannah put a hand to her head and began to dial numbers on her cell, chatting away frantically. Woody stared at the thing in his hand, before crushing the leather-like material in his hand. A red hot rage swept over him and he wrenched his own cell phone out, flipping it open and dialing a number.

"Foxie?" he said in a dead voice. "He's back. And he's accomplished his criteria."

"What?" Foxie's confused voice came. "What are you talking about?"

There was a pause, and dread settled in Foxie's belly, she knew exactly what he was talking about. Who, however, was another matter. The voice came, sounding like a death knell. The words resounded in her head, and they would always haunt her, for many years to come.

"Kade's dead."

And it was all her fault.