With the remnants of the blisters on his back burning with every hastened step he took, Mike felt his stomach tie into knots at the absence of his partner, the abandoned storefront where he'd last seen him rush into standing there like an ominous warning to keep out.

The cool, damp air inside the condemned building reignited the irritation left in his lungs as he slowed down considerably to look around, hoping to find a trace of Steve, the man he chased after or even that godforsaken raccoon.

Much to his dismay, none could be found.

With the scent of gasoline and smoke buried deeply in his nostrils, barely allowing him to smell anything else, he swallowed hard, keeping one eye out for Osorro. With little wood left in the empty structure, a fire would prove to be hard to set.

Then again, he could always create an explosion, burying the two San Francisco Homicide Detectives under tons of rubble.

Walking deeper into the building, one hand cautiously resting over the grip of his .38, Mike squinted, hoping to make out anything beneath the foreboding darkness that even the few sunrays breaking through the cracks in the walls in couldn't drive off.

As he stifled a shiver running down his spine, Mike inspected every corner of the first floor, finding no evidence of recent activity, no footprints, no garments or anything that could have been dropped during a chase, no blood either, the latter giving him a slight notion of relief.

With his ears cued to any outside noise, he proceeded through the entire ground floor before climbing out of a hole in the wall where the old backdoor used to be.

A narrow alleyway greeted him, overgrown with grass and weeds that were covering up the gravel below, then, after a few feet, it dropped off abruptly, the property ending to make room for some train tracks located a few hundred yards out.

Mike approached the area, grunting in frustration when nobody could be seen. Before turning back around, he let his eyes trace the ravine below, hoping to notice any signs of recent activity when his gaze ended on his partner several feet off to the right, holding onto his ankle.

"Damnit!"

Speeding up his pace once again, Mike nearly tripped over a few weed-covered holes in the uneven ground before slowly making his way down the rocky embankment, taking one careful step at a time over the treacherous wall created by large chunks of concrete from the nearby demolition site.

"Are you ok?", Mike asked hurriedly and bridged the last of the distance to his fallen partner.

"Yes, I am fine…", Steve grunted, unable to hide the frustration in his voice as he leaned over again, both hands wrapped around his right ankle, his leg cocked, "I just stepped wrong when I came off the ledge."

"Twisted your ankle? Or broke something?"

"I don't think anything is broken…", Steve said between gritted teeth, then accepted his partner's hand carefully running along his leg to check for any injury, "I just can't…use it…really well…at the…moment."

"I can't feel a broken bone. Doesn't mean there isn't one though.", Mike finally noted and stood back up, his lips pursed in frustration at a hot lead gone ice cold once again, "Let me grab the car and drive over here to pick you up and get that…that ankle looked at."

Nodding in undisguised resignation, Steve pointed back at the road.

"Where did you go? I was getting worried when I didn't see you follow me."

Swallowing hard, Mike hesitated a few seconds, his active mind suddenly remembering the odor of smoke and gasoline that had vanished as fast as it had appeared. Then, with a slight shrug he cleared his throat.

"I ehm…I had a hard time keeping up with you."

Both men knew it was an outright lie, a cheap excuse for a situation that hadn't gone according to plan by any stretch of the imagination.

And yet, not another word about it was said, the incident swept under the rug, never to be mentioned in the bullpen.