Thank you for your continued support. I appreciate it.

I don't own anything. Not Glee or the characters, neither It Had To Be You.


Sam drove up the narrow road towards his grandma's house...his house now...the rocky landscape made up of skyscraper-tall granite boulders, that had been pushed here twenty thousand years ago, during the last Ice Age.

His passenger stared out her window at the rocks, as still and quiet as the surface of the water, in the harbor far below.

This was unusual enough, but there was an element to Mercedes' silence that worried him.

She was giving off a sadness and a sense of loneliness, that made him ache for her.

He'd seen her with her family, who probably rivaled his own family for the crazy quotient. But it was clear that she loved them with everything she had.

He understood that too.

"Thanks," she finally said softly, "For coming for me."

She hadn't called, and that got to him too. But he knew, she hadn't wanted to be a burden.

She'd asked him if he was worried she'd steal from him, but the thought had never crossed his mind. She had the face of an angel, but that wasn't why he trusted her.

It was her eyes.

God, those eyes.

And bastard though he might be, he wasn't usually wrong about people.


"You've done a lot for a perfect stranger you found squatting in your house," Mercedes murmured. "Or maybe not so perfect, when it comes right down to it..."

"Perfect is overrated," Sam said. "And you're welcome, but I didn't do it just for you."

She turned to him.

"No?"

"No."

"Then...why?"

There was a glint to her brown eyes and he wasn't sure if it was pride, temper, or intense curiosity. But any of it was hugely preferable, to the brief sheen of tears he'd caught before, which had struck terror in his heart, in a way that taking down hardened criminals never had.

It was now his sole goal to keep her from crying.

To that end, he answered her question more lightly than he would've otherwise.


"Because, the geriatric gang was going to drive me crazy until I did."

"My seniors?" she asked, shocked. "Why?"

Her seniors.

He paused, really not wanting to go there. He thought about omitting, evading, or even out-and-out lying.

He had no problem with any of that when it suited him, but for some reason, he had a problem with it now...with her.

So he drew a deep breath and concentrated on the road.

"Gary Winters is my grandfather."

Mercedes stared at him.

"Mr. Winters, the Dial-A-Ride driver? He's your grandpa?"

"Yeah. He was married to my grandma Francine a million years ago, for about ten minutes. When she left him, she changed her name...and my dad's...back to Evans. My dad's their only kid."

"Wow! Your grandpa lives next door to you."

"Next door to my grandma's house," he corrected.

"Which is now your house. So he made you come check on me?"

"He was worried about you."

"And you?" she asked.

Again, he answered lightly. But this time for him.


"I was worried I'd never get any peace, if I didn't do as they asked."

There was a long silence from the passenger seat, with Mercedes studying each passing tree, as if it held the secrets to world peace.

Sam sighed.

"Yeah, okay. I was worried too."

She said nothing to this, and he glanced at her.

"You okay over there?" he asked.

"Just trying to picture you as someone's little grandson."

"Hard to believe, I know. But I wasn't always this age and jaded as hell. I actually had a childhood, a lot of it spent right here in this town, as a matter of fact."

This got her.

She turned her head and stared at him.

"Are your parents here in town?"

"No, they raised me in San Francisco, mostly. They're doctors, both in Haiti now. When I was younger and they traveled, which was just about all the time, my sister and I came here to my grandma."

Mercedes shook her head.

"Still trying to see you as a little boy, having fun and playing in the sandbox."

Sam smiled.

"I was more of a blow-shit-up kind of kid. And believe it or not, I do know how to have fun."

Again she met his gaze, and the air seemed to crackle around them.

"Hmm," she said.

That damn 'hmm' left him tempted to pull over and show her exactly how much fun he could be.

But that would be a mistake.

Showing her anything over and above what they'd already done, would be a mistake.

Still, he was shockingly tempted, and he conveyed that, when he looked over at her.


Mercedes felt her cheeks heat from the look Sam gave her. It was pure, unadulterated lust...and maybe a bit more.

"You're a distraction," she said softly. "And I don't need a distraction. I need to do some problem solving."

"Are you going to ask me for help?"

"No," she said. "You're not getting involved."

Maybe, if they both kept saying it, it would be true.

"Right," he said, wanting to drive this point home. "I am definitely on a break from getting involved."

"Because of your last case."

"Among other reasons."

She fell silent, and he was a big enough jerk to be grateful.

"It wasn't your fault," she finally said, quietly. "What happened to that woman...Carolina Diaz..."

"She might feel differently, if she could say so," Sam said, with a lightness he didn't feel.


The typical late afternoon wind was kicking up, as they made the last hairpin turn to the top of the cliffs.

The water wasn't quiet now, and the sun shimmered on it, lighting up the whitecaps, as if they were a million bursts of fire.

Once upon a time, Sam would've been out there on that water with Jake or Mike, stirring up shit in one form or another.

Now, he was asking for trouble of a different kind altogether, by bringing Mercedes back to the house.


"The news accounts I've read, say that the prosecution's evidence got tossed out," Mercedes stated. "And we both know, that once they set the senator free, it was out of your hands."

The knife in Sam's chest twisted a little bit.

She was looking at him. He could feel the weight of her gaze.

"Must be a terribly helpless feeling," she said softly. "When something like that happens, and there's nothing you can do to stop it."

"Yeah."

"Why do you do it?" she asked.

"The job?" He shrugged. "Someone's got to. And I'm good at it. Usually."

"You didn't fail her, Sam. The senator did. You didn't fail anyone."

"You're wrong there," he said. "I've failed plenty."

In his mind, he'd failed his sister and his grandma. And no matter what Mercedes said, he'd also failed Carolina Diaz.


Sam pulled into the driveway, turned off the engine, and got out of the truck.

Then, he came around for Mercedes, but she was already sliding out, so they headed up the walkway in silence.

Before he could open the door, she stopped him with a hand on his arm. And he felt the zing of her touch all the way to his soul.

"You manage huge amounts of responsibility," she said quietly. "You face so much, every day. I think you're amazing, Sam. I also think, a part of why you want to be alone, is because you're feeling vulnerable right now. You're afraid you're going to fail someone else."

And if it was her, if he failed her in any way, it would kill him.


"Sam?" Mercedes called.

"No," he said.

She was standing there in her muddy apron and wild hair, looking at him with those big, soft eyes, that said, she thought he was a hero.

But a hero wouldn't want to push her up against the door and kiss her.

"You haven't failed me," she whispered.

'Fuck it!' he thought, and giving in to the need swamping him, he backed her up to the door and kissed her.

And it didn't take more than a single heartbeat for her, to wind her arms around his neck and kiss him back.

"This is why I need to be alone," he said when they broke apart, breathless. "We have a chemistry problem."

"Yes. I think you're right." She wobbled, and he slid an arm around her, as he unlocked the front door, noticing he wasn't all that steady either.

"Food or shower?" Sam asked.

"Both." She was still looking a little shell-shocked at their combustibility. "Shower first."


Sam led Mercedes inside, blocking the view of the still-trashed living room, and stood there, until she'd gone straight into the bathroom.

Then, he turned and faced the destroyed house.

Shaking his head, he moved back to shut the front door, just as Jake pulled up.


Jake was a firefighter, who ran the local fire station.

He was still in uniform, complete with the radio at his hip, and he carried a bag of food.

Sam and him had been best friends...brothers really...since the summer after sixth grade. He would usually go to San Francisco at least once a month, and almost always stay with Sam.

And they'd seen each other two weeks ago, when he had gone down to go sailing on a friend's boat.

Since the two of them were such close friends, it meant there were no formalities.

"Yo asshole," Jake said in greeting, which was guy code for good to see you, man.

"Right back atcha," Sam said. And then, "How's your mom?"

Denise Puckerman was fighting breast cancer, and by all counts, winning the war, but it was costing her.

And Jake as well.

"She's doing better, much better actually," Jake said, and started to walk right on in, but Sam shoulder-checked him.

"What?" he asked.

But Sam took the food and said,

"Thanks for dinner. Add it to my tab." But before he could shut the door, Jake stuck his steel-toe, big-ass boot out, blocking it.

"The size of your tab could feed a third-world country," he said.

Actually, it was the reverse, but Jake had a selective memory when it suited him.

He also had the whole laid-back ski bum vibe going, but the truth was, beneath the deceptive playfulness, Jake Puckerman was anything but laid back and easygoing.

Yes, he made his way through women like some men went through socks, but he worked every bit as hard as he played.


Sam peeped in the bag, eyeing the contents.

"Orange chicken and spicy beef?" he asked.

"And fried rice, just in case the main course doesn't clog our arteries properly," Jake added.

He was trying to see passed Sam into the house, his sharp eyes missing nothing.

"Damn. They really did make a fucking mess," he quipped.

"What did you know about the missing fifty K?" Sam asked.

"I'm too hungry to talk, man. I'm wasting away as we stand here. I need to eat. In front of the game."

"The game's not on."

"Yeah, it is."

"It's not on in here," Sam said.

"The game's always on at your place."


Down the hall, the shower went on, and Jake's brow went up.

Sam blew out a breath.

"Mercedes Jones," he said.

"She's here?" Jake grinned. "You were holding out on me."

He pushed passed Sam and headed into the messy living room. Then, casually, shoved the cushions back onto the couch and dropped onto it, in a big, lazy sprawl.

"Where's the remote? I've only got half an hour, before I have to be back at the station."

"You're not staying," Sam said.

"Aw, come on. It's been forever since I've gotten to see you be an idiot with a woman. Don't ruin my fun."

"I'm not an idiot with women."

"You're a complete idiot with women, and I'll prove it...Tammy Cameron."

"Tammy Cameron was when we were sixteen," Sam said.

"Yeah, you had sex with her at the lagoon and got caught by her boyfriend. Then, he beat the shit out of you."

"Because he and his entire baseball team jumped me."

"Bowling team," Jake corrected. "It was the bowling team, and I could've taken them with one arm tied behind my back."

"Hey," Sam said, "Some of us didn't get our growth spurt until college."

Jake laughed.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, man. So you and Mercedes...?"

"No."

"Sure? Because, I don't think you have to worry about the bowling team these days. You're not in bad shape."

"I'm not getting involved."

How many times was he going to have to say that?

He'd come to North Bend to lose himself for a little while. Not to share the place with a woman, who made him ache like crazy and had the singular ability, to make him want to both howl at the moon and run like hell.


The phone rang, and Sam stared at it like it was a striking cobra.

"You going to get that?" Jake asked.

"Fuck no."

The machine clicked on, and a woman's voice said, "Mercy-mine? Just checking in on you..."

"You still have an actual answering machine?" Jake asked. "Man, it might be time to upgrade the place from the 1980's..."

Sam ignored him and strode to the machine and picked up the phone.

"Mercedes is in the shower, Mrs. Jones."

"Sam!" She sounded pleased to hear his voice. "You were going to call me Maxine, remember?"

He let out a breath.

"Right. Maxine..."

Jake went brows up again and Sam ignored him, again.

"I'll have her call you," he said.

"You're a sweetheart, Sam. Thank you."

"Wow," Jake said, when he'd hung up. "Look at you, not getting involved."

And Sam flipped him off and snatched the remote from his hand.

"Figured you'd want the 4-1-1," Jake said. "But if you kick me out now, you won't get to hear it. But hey, if you're not getting involved..."

"Tell me."

Jake grinned.

"Lucky for you, I work with a bunch of little girls."

"You work with a bunch of firefighters," Sam corrected.

"Who all gossip like girls. The money's still missing, as you know, and there's actually a reward going out on it, but Mercedes isn't the only one they hauled in. They questioned Brody Wesson further. And also Mandy Martin. You remember her, right? She said..."

"That Wesson was screwing her and he can't remember if he locked the drawer with the money," Sam said.

"Damn, you stole my thunder. Seems, The Golden Boy is keeping secrets. Mandy said the police searched the office and came up with a woman's toe ring, which was buried in the couch...and it doesn't belong to her."

"Or Mercedes," Sam said.

"Okay," Jake said, a little peeved. "If you already know everything, why did you ask?"

"Because, gossip is usually based in fact," Sam said. "Got anything else? Maybe something on the admin, Andrea?"

"Nothing on her. But Mandy did say, she believed Brody and Mercedes were just roommates. Which means the prick had a good thing going. They're going to question everyone who was in the office on the night of the auction, but there are a few problems."

"Like?" Sam asked.

"Brody isn't talking about any other possible indiscretions. And apparently, that whole wing of the building was a revolving door. Turns out, several people went back there to use the quiet hallway for phone calls, and some people were going through on bathroom runs. Also, the janitor had a thing with the caterer in the treasurer's office, one door down from Wesson's office. And reportedly, even the mayor's wife was seen slipping out of the hallway storage closet, just passed the bathroom. Go Mr. Mayor."


Sam stared at Jake.

"Are you telling me, that place saw more action than the rest of us saw all year?"

Jake grinned.

"Speak for yourself, Evans," he said. But then his grin faded. "The fact is, Mercedes is the only one who got caught with evidence. And there's a lot of pressure on Sheriff Luke to make an arrest. She's also the only one with an obvious motive."

"Circumstantial evidence," Sam said. "And people don't need a motive to steal cash."

"She stole a ceramic pot, because she'd made it for her boyfriend who'd just dumped her by text," Jake pointed out. "Hello, motive."

"She didn't know there was evidence to a crime in it."

"We both know that's weak, Sam."

"I know. And I know something else too, it's not Wesson either. Yeah, he's into politics, but he's a piggy-backer, not a big-plan sort of guy. He doesn't have the stones for this."

"So...what? He was framed?"

"I'd bet on it," Sam said. "And somehow, Mercedes got caught in the middle..."

He broke off at the sound of bare feet padding down the hall.


Mercedes appeared in Sam's line of sight.

She'd showered and changed faster than any woman Sam had ever known.

She was in sweats and makeup-free, her still damp hair piled up on top of her head, with wavy tendrils framing her face.

Without a glance, she headed straight to the kitchen and headed back with a carton of ice cream in her hands.

And Sam felt a small smile play around his mouth, as she ate right out of the container with a wooden spoon.

Mercedes Jones might be down, but she wasn't out.


Mercedes scooped another big bite of ice cream, and her expression finally relaxed, so much so, she smiled...until she saw the mess of the house. That wiped the smile right off her face.

"Oh no! Oh Sam, I'm so sorry."

"Don't worry about it," he said. "It's seen worse."

"This is true." Jake rose off the couch. "Way worse. We were what you might call wayward teenagers."

Jake didn't have the same height as Sam, but, he had a bit more bulk to his muscle tone. And of the two of them, he also possessed the charm, which had gotten him out of more trouble, than Sam had ever managed to get into.

Jake flashed all one thousand watts of that charm at Mercedes now.

"Jake Puckerman," he said. "I've seen you around, but we've never been introduced."

He held out his hand to her, smiling his 'reassuring' smile. It was number three in his arsenal, behind his 'you can't resist me' and his 'I want you' smiles.

"I'm the best friend, by the way. The better-looking, far more fascinating one, I should add."

"Mercedes Jones," she said, looking a little dazzled, which made Sam roll his eyes. "Nice to meet you," she added.

She glanced at the mess again, but Sam stepped in her way.

"I've heard a lot about you," Jake said.

"I'm sorry," she said, glancing at Sam. "I can't say the same."

"Not surprised," Jake said. "Evans is not exactly a big talker."

"No," Mercedes said faintly, heat coming to her cheeks. "He's not."

There was nothing in her tone, to suggest, she and Sam had spent some time in his truck, kissing like their lives had depended on it, but Jake knew him better than anyone else on the planet.


With a nod, and a wee bit of understanding, Jake's gaze shifted from Mercedes to Sam.

"Also, he can never find his keys and he snores," he said.

"Thanks, man," Sam said.

And Jake smiled at Mercedes.

"I hope you're hungry. I brought Chinese. Mike, my cousin-in-law and the third musketeer, would've brought a loaded pizza. But he's on government assignment right now, and I'm just superstitious enough, that I won't eat a pizza until he's home. You need anything else?"

Clearly surprised to be asked, Mercedes blinked.

"No, thank you." Her voice sounded funny and gave Sam a very bad feeling.

Jake didn't miss it either...in fact, he didn't miss much.

"All right, I'll get plates," he said very gently, waiting until he was behind her and out of her peripheral vision, to send Sam a steely look.

One thing the two of them had always shared, was a hatred of seeing anyone mistreated or taken advantage of.

Jake loved Sam, but the message was clear...don't hurt her more than she's already been hurt.


When Jake vanished into the kitchen, Mercedes moved to the couch, her head averted.

And then, there was the sound of a muffled sniffle.

'Shit!'

Sam had faced down countless gang-bangers, armed felons, and drugged-up perps.

He'd faced the worst humanity had to offer, but he'd never gotten the hang of dealing with a woman's tears.


Sucking it up, he sat next to her and she stiffened.

Ignoring that, he reached for her ice cream, thinking to set it down for her, but she surprised him with an elbow to the gut.

"What the hell?" he said.

And she hugged the ice cream to her chest.

"I told you not to be nice to me right now!"

"I'm not nice. I'm never nice. Jesus, remind me to never try to separate you from your ice cream again."


Jake reappeared, with paper plates and napkins in hand, as he took in the scene.

"Bad time?" he asked.

"Yes," Sam said.

"No," Mercedes said, and glared at him.

Jake nodded in approval.

"Keeping him in line. That's good. He needs that."

Sam shot Jake a look, which he completely ignored, as he plopped down on the couch right between them.

He almost bounced Mercedes to the floor and half sat on Sam as he settled in.

Gently, he took the ice cream from Mercedes and handed out plates.

And didn't get elbowed.

And Sam couldn't help but notice.

They divided up the food, with Jake taking the last egg-roll.

"Hey," Sam said in protest.

"It'd go straight to your ass," Jake said, and popped the egg-roll into his mouth. "No one wants to see that."

Sam ignored that.

They were both fit, and both extremely competitive.

Jake could probably kick his ass on a run, but he totally had him, in and on the water and the boards.


When Mercedes finished her food, she pushed her plate away.

"Okay, let's hear it," she said.

"Hear what?" Sam asked.

"Whatever information you two have that I don't."

Jake sent Sam a look, and Sam turned to Mercedes.

"Look, at this point, it's all really just speculation..."

"I'm not some dainty flower, Sam Evans. Spit it out!"

Jake grinned at her.

"We're going to be great friends, you and I," he said.

"As my friend, then, tell me," she said. "Tell me what I'm missing."

"It's about Wesson and his office..." Sam started carefully. At the first sign of tears, he'd shut the hell up. "...and what else might have occurred there that night."

"I already know what happened," Mercedes said. "He screwed Mandy on the couch and then screwed me, by claiming I stole the money."

"Yes," Sam said. "But the toe ring tells me, that in all likelihood, Wesson has had more than one woman in his office. And maybe, one of those women got greedy. Problem is, the sheriff's department is getting a lot of pressure to make an arrest. And that's hard to do, since the hallway outside Wesson's office was Grand Central Station that night."

And then, he told her about the comings and goings.


Mercedes stood and paced the room, stepping around the mess of things all over the floor.

"So are they checking out James, and the caterer, and everyone else, including Mr. and Mrs. Fancy Mayor?" she asked.

Sam nodded.

"Yes."

"But I'm the only one who got caught with any sort of evidence," she said quietly.

Sam rose and made his way to her.

"We're going to figure this out," he said.

Jake gave him a look at the 'we'.

"How?" Mercedes asked.

"We put the evening together like a puzzle," Sam said. "One piece at a time."

"There are a lot of pieces," she said, and crouched down to begin picking up the mess.

Sam pulled her upright.

"I'll get the mess later," he said. "As for the pieces of the puzzle, we'll figure it out."

Her expression showed her doubt and gave him a pang right in his gut.

Apparently in Jake's too, because he stood as well and said, quite intensely,

"No one's going to leave you to fry for something you didn't do."

Mercedes managed a small smile.

"Thanks. I owe you both."

"No, you don't," Jake said, and kissed her on the cheek. "'Night."

Sam followed him to the door.

"Don't sleep with her," Jake said quietly. "She needs comfort and a friend. And..." he continued, before Sam could utter a word, "...don't give me any bullshit like you're not her friend, because you're not getting involved. You're as involved as I've ever seen you."


Stay safe!